1: Things just don't happen on purpose. Every event that happens is a result of random coincidence. Might seem odd to phrase it that way, but it's true. You don't set out to do the laundry on Friday night. You plan to go to the club, get drunk, meet someone and wind up in sheets. But the ATM says you have no money, your credit card is busted and by Friday night, work has taken all your energy away and you trudge home and start the washing machine. You plan to buy the paper when you leave the house to read on the train. Put .50 in your pocket. Get to the train station, go to your pocket. Find one quarter, but not the other. Head to the coffee shop to get a coffee instead. Walk out the door of the coffee shop and you see your friend from your last job and catch up on old times. All of that happened randomly.

I dare you to name one thing in this world that is planned and doesn't happen randomly. Science? Completely random. You may plan a test, but you can never be 100% sure what the outcome is going to be.

2:You are such full of shit.
1: Why do you say that?
2: Coming on here talking about random this and random that. Like some high level new age guru imparting your evidential wisdom on the masses who don't give a rats ass what you have to say.

1: What do they want to hear about?
2: Celebrities. Tv stars. Sports. Maybe a little politics. Definitely sex.
1: Religion?
2: Not a chance. Mysteries of the unknown. They want to know that this isn't all to life. They want to know how it all ends.
1: It ends badly.
2: That I will agree with you. Certainly can't end good considering how we came into the world. Squeezed through 11 inches kicking and screaming.

Chicago 'L' Beautiful Woman of the Week

The first rule of this is that White, American women are not allowed.

The second rule is that I'll make an exception to rule #1 if she speaks a language that isn't English. That may actually make it harder for the White women to get recognized since almost no one on the L speaks except for the loud cell phone talker, the teen agers heading home from school, the gay men talking about their latest boyfriends and the 20ish white women complaining about their corporate or near corporate jobs or

"Excuse me. Excuse me. I'm homeless. I don't have a job. I'm just trying to get some money so I can feed my family. Excuse me. Excuse me. If there is any way you can help out it would be appreciated." or (while holding a 1 year old baby)

"The Lord God himself was a kind and generous soul who sent his son down to protect us. Now, if you could find it in your christian hearts to give a little, there would be joy in your soul from christ and the lord would thank you for keeping a child alive one more day" Ding. Doors open. Ding. Doors Close. Switch to another car "The Lord God..."

This award. Award? This recognition goes out to the most beautiful woman I see on the 'L' during the week. Could be any of the lines, but mostly Green, Purple, Red, Brown because that's my domain. Occasionally Orange, Never Yellow or Blue. We'll just have to cross paths some other way.

Does Skin color or race matter? Not to me and neither does weight for those who wonder. But it might to you if you're wondering if it's you. I can't very well just say, black hair, 120 lbs and get it close. Or I could and maybe I will. Sometimes using the color of one's own skin and their race is important. When that happens,it happens. So, today, 22 November 2005, I recognize the Chicago 'L' Beautiful Woman of the Week: From the Brown line. Rush-hour headed north from the Mart. You sat next to the door on the left hand side of the train. Black hair, glasses and a 1950's box shaped purse. 25 or 24 years old. Between 5:15 and 5:57. About 5'2 or 5'4. Lest you think the beauty is all in the looks, it's not. Today I saw a smile that made me smile. I saw happiness in an avalanche of desperation and boredom. That more than anything made her stand out.

There it is Chicago. Your Chicago 'L' Beautiful Woman of the Week.

I love Cree Summer.

Haven't seen her face since she was on "A Different World", but there is just something about her voice that drives me crazy. She may be married, she may live a fantastic life with millions of dollars, and honestly it really wouldn't matter if she was, but I'd drop everything to be with her. Now the voices that do it are at polar opposites. Late at night, I flip on Comedy Central and there she is singing "Crashie Smashie" about her dead bandmates. Wake up in the morning and she's talking to Clifford about doing good things in the world. At first I didn't make the connection. I saw the character on the comedy station and thought for sure it was the cop from Reno 9-11 with the very long fingernails. It just had to be, right? I'm not starting a fan club. I'm not stalking. It's not going any further than the pages of this site. Just a note out to Cree.

What can you say?

Is it possible to disagree with the president?

It is possilble. Once you are behind bars, you can disagree with him and rant and rave all you want and we won't care. But out here? Out here in the real world, in this day and age, you simply cannot and get away with it We have to know your intentions for disagreeing with him and what your background is and just how far you are willing to take your disagreements.

But, I'm not taking them anyplace. They don't go any further than these pages.

That isn't for you to decide. It is for us to probe you, your friends, your work place, your internet access, your cell phone records, come into your house while you are at work without your notice, track what kind of pop you buy at the grocery store on January 13th, 2005 in Tuba City Arizona at 3:46 pm in aisle B6 next to the non-carbonated Yahoo chocolate milk, track what music you listen to, when and where you buy your food and track every single document you have ever printed from your home or work computer directly back to you with a flick of a light wand over the documentation. That 's our job. Your job?

Yeah. What's mine? I never knew that you guys assigned people jobs.

Your job is to live where we zone you, pay the taxes we tell you, funnel your children to the schools we allow you to, keep your opinions to your self, with an occasional allowance for the newspaper and become conformist schleps in a fantasy democratic republic society that is no more real than the crappy reality tv shows that dominate the television airways.

Medicine. Doctors. "Try this pill. Try that pill and we'll get something to work. We'll try as much as possible." They don't know any more than you do. So I take nothing. Nothing for colds. Nothing for acid indigestion. Nothing for headaches. Nothing for erection problems that I don't have. In the end, this is the conversation you will hear. "Mr. Mr. we have tried everything we can think of. There is nothing more that we can do." So, I start there and assume that there is nothing they could do to help me in the first place, so why bother with them? If 90% of being healthy if mental, why would I want to lower that percentage by finding out that might possibly have something that could be cured early by taking this medication? Knowing I have something would take that percentage down to about %50 and leave me depressed with paralysis. So, we live how we live. And we all die the same. Gasping for breath while others think "Oh. He died so peacefully."

I grew up on the south side of the farm district. Up wind from the smell, but there was no escaping the farm life. Up at dawn to do chores. Maybe some breakfast before the 1/4 mile walk down the lane to catch the bus. Back at the farm at 3:53 to do more chores, homework, some supper and maybe a little play time if the sun was still out. That was my life from 5 years old until I left home at 16 because I ddn't want to be a farmer anymore. Not a farmer on their land. I wanted to be a farmer on my own land. With my own house, my own kids and my own homemade breakfast biscuits. So I hitched a ride out of town in a black pick up truck and gave my first head to a semi truck driver at a Dixie truck stop. By the end of my first four days on the road, I had made $1300 and got an apartment in a small town north of McHenry. Close to the Wisconsin border. Close enough to smell the dairy farms I wanted to be on and far enough from my father so he couldn't call me if he wanted to.

It was a love story that had no love. It was painful to watch and even more painful to not do anything. But, that's the hand she dealt us. That was how we remembered her as she walked down the aisle with another man and we sat in the balcony. Not allowed to come down close to her. Not allowed to talk to her, but forced to be there by some unknown reason. It was never explained to me exactly why, but my dad just said that we needed to see and remember. I wondered, why couldn't we just forget?

It worked

I honestly believe the person on the other side of the ouija board was not making it move. Staring at the board, I felt nothing. Non-believer here. Show me something. but then I felt a chill that started at the back of my head, went to the front of my forehead and worked it's way down my body. It didn't start until after the first question was asked. I closed my eyes, lowered my head and heard the voice "Is it supposed to move that fast?" I looked down and it wasn't moving at all, but a centimeter. Any centimeter was fast. He was right. I thought maybe the other person was moving it, but no. It was locked in tight. You can tell the difference if somebody is purposely moving it and if it moves on it's own. Youth has the power to deceive and in many cases they do. But in this instance, there was no deception in progress. This was real and scary. And made me want to try it some more.

And now for something completely stupid: Another Republican subterfuge

Let me get this straight. In the lead up to the war, Republicans called any Democrat who didn't support the war effort or the President "Unpatriotic". "You are demoralizing to the troops." Now the Republicans have come out and said that the Democrats who did support the war were free thinking individuals who made the decision to support the war on their own. But, if a Democrat, now, using that same free thinking mind challenges the President now for misleading the country on prewar intelligence, they are labeled "irresponsible"? Republicans. Can't live with em. Can't tell whether their paycheck comes from the taxpayers or Fox News.

Hello, CTA? I'd like to report a solicitor on the train...

"Attention passengers. Solicitation on CTA trains illegal. Violaters will be arrested," is what I heard. At the same time, I'm looking at an Intel add
soliciting me to buy computers and the Cartoon Network soliciting me to buy cable tv and every business in Evanston beckoning my dollars. So, illegal in this case is a slippery slope. It's legal if you pay the extortion scheme to the CTA juice man sitting at the right hand of the mayor, but illegal if youneed to sell a couple of candy bars quickly to feed your family? I get it that you can't let all the pan handlers on. I get that. I don't pay attention to them as it is.
So here is how the CTA can make even more money and yet still raise the fares annually. You have anyone who wants to panhandle on the CTA, selling god knows what apply for a permit. Permits cost $500/yr. 500 people sign up and you have half a million dollars. This allows them legal access on the trains and depots selling wares. Buses are excluded and so are any trains going north of Belmont. We don't want those fussy folks in the north shore to be triffled.

I have to fight harder and harder and harder each day to get the words out of my mouth as fast as they come to mind or they are lost and I stand there looking like an idiot. Staring at my shoes and not giving direct contact because I can't remember two seconds before what I was trying to say or do. I turn the page in a book and can't remember what was written or what I just read. It is a slow decent into white out so I have to earn as much money, meet as many people, do as many things as possible now because 10 years from now, I won't remember today. I'll remember everything that happened from 1974 backwards and bits and pieces of benign conversations that make people shake their heads with "What the fuck? How do you remember that?" kind of looks. But, finding my keys in the morning. Can't do. Remembering where I put the cup of coffee I just bought. Can't do. Every world series winner from 1968 - 1996 - Yes. What did you just ask me? No. Can't do. It is frightening because it is unclear whether it is a reality that it is happening or just some subconcious masochistic self-fulfilling prophecy? So, I have this to face. Then at some point I'll have the death date. My dad died when he was 44. Not only do I not know if I'll make it past, I don't even know if I'll make it there. And if I do, what then?

I'll pay extra for that

I've been getting and paying for haircuts for many, many years. Not so many lately, but that's a preference thing, not a bald thing.
In all that time I've never had a close relationship with the people who cut my hair. Sit there. Tell them what you want and that's it. No small talk about what their kids are up to.
Today. Today was different. I have seen it done before in obvious places: car dealerships, offices, strip clubs of course, but never a barbershop.
She was well, how old she was isn't important. Not 20ish if it matters. But, she was gorgeous East European. And stacked and knew it. And used it.
My normal haircut takes maybe 15 minutes. She spent 45 and I'll go back just for her.
She smiled a lot and rubbed up against my neck. Again, I've had haircuts, this was different. She paused three or four times to look directly into my eyes and smile. Not saying anything, but smiling. She styled my hair without asking and said "I like it much better like this. You keep like this from now on." Now, as I get up to leave, she pauses again. Smiles and leans her very nice body into me and breathes lustily on the back of my neck. What just happened here? I felt the same way I feel after I'm done with a hooker. Relaxed, confident and definitely want to come back. So I will. But, I won't say where. She's in the city Chicago. You just have find her.

Well, that's not good

I was on the train coming home from work and I heard a familiar voice. I took a step forward to see. Then I heard what she had to say.
"I told this guy that I lost all of my ids and my social security card and my credit cards and now I needed to get a new identity. Plus, I just broke up with my boyfriend after 7 years and it was too soon to be getting in to a relationship."
"And is that true?"
"All lies."
"What did he do?"
"He was all like "That's terrible. Is there anything I can do? I totally understand where you are coming from. I'm cool with that" I mean, if he had any balls and he really wanted me, he would have been pissed you know and tried to fight a little harder. I only met him like twice and was only sober for about 20 minutes of that time, so it's not a big deal. For me anyway. Ha. Ha. Ha."
Welcome to Monday.

Ghost stories never happen to someone you know. Always someone who knows someone. And if you have a ghost story you have been a part of, no one knows about it because people would laugh at you. Some would call mine sleep paralysis. Some would call it just plain paranoia or psychosis. The other night I was sitting at my desk working on paperwork. Bills, notes, work that should have stayed at work. When I looked up, I saw a black clould float by and go by the bathroom. A chill went up my spine and down into my toes. Had I just seen one and if so, should I tell my kids? Inside the bathroom was my younger than 7 daugther taking a bath with the door open. Not 30 seconds after I saw the black clould go by, I hear a voice from the bathroom "Daddy, can you come here?" I let it go for three times, then finally got up to see what she wanted. I was still trembling from my own visions. "Daddy, was that a real ghost that went by the door? Had she really seen a ghost? Had she really known that I had seen something too, without even knowing what I was doing? My heart was beating more than ever now. I shook and answered: Yes. I think it was. Strange to say to a person so young and impressionable. "But daddy, that didn't feel like a good ghost to me. That felt like a bad ghost. Don't let him come back again, ok?" And down her head went behind the ceramic of the tub. And the curtain closed. I stood there for 15 seconds or more just breathing heavily and then walked away. Ghost stories do happen. Ghosts are real and they don't all come in these fashions. Not every ghost is a vision that can be caught with a camera and preserved. Many ghosts are caught and perserved in your mind. These ghosts never go away. This kind of logic is not new. Certainly these ideas have been around for millions of years. But what of the years now? What ghost stories do you have to tell? Urban legends? Certain people have been telling me stories about the military for years and I refused to believe them. Does that make me paranoid or an obstructionist to history?

On the streets of this city there are denizens. They live close by, maybe next to your house, but not in a house. "Dave" lives next to my house. Under a blanket and a tent tarp behind an abandoned storefront, he curls up nightly with fresh booze. Maybe it's a 40 oz bottle. Maybe a 16oz can in paper. In the morning he's gone. Gone down the street checking each of the black garbage cans for something useful. I see him each morning as I walk to get the paper. Sometimes I see him at night with a friend and a plastic bag of booze. The building is abandoned. Why doesn't he break in?

You know you are...

You know you are old if you say any of these things: Time was, back in the day, When I was younger, If I was your dad, When I was on that team, The way we used to do it, At my old company, Do you remember when? How many times do I have to tell you? No. I gotta check with my wife first. Because I said so. Where am I gonna get the money to pay the rent? Happy hour is that time between the end of work and the time you pick your kids up.

You know you aren't old if you say these: Will you just leave me alone and stay out of my business? Get out of my room! All right already, Whatever. Maybe we can sneak out later; No Way! But why? Where am I gonna get the money to buy pot? Happy hour is that time between Thursday afternoon at noon and Monday morning at 8 am.

Late at night she walks around the neighborhood asking for cigarettes. Stopping at each gate, peering in as if there might be somebody there to give her one at 12:02 am. 5-6 times she walks around the same block. Asking the same question to the same people and moving on quickly. Never asks for money. Just a cigarette and a light. On cold night, even though you don't smoke, you go in the house and get some matches. She comes around again and asks if anybody has seen her dog. She is tall, emaciated-skinny, long black hair, and a cough. You put the matches back in your pocket and she moves on down the street. Across the way she checks the back of a condo dumpster and finds the top shelf to a computer desk. As you head back indoors, you can hear the scraping of the furniture on the asphalt.

• Tedy Bruschi returns from stroke to play for the Patriots; Or does he return from suspension the NFL doesn't want to reveal?
  
  February 2005 - Stroke. Cause: Personal. Not released to public. Likelihood: Steroids.
  Annual steroid testing for NFL players: Random. While his number comes up for random testing he's in the hospital. NFL won't test him then because the test would come back skewed from the drugs used to rehabilitate him from the stroke.
  
  October 2005- Just like that he is back on the practice field and wanting to play again. No 7.5 minutes pieces on Sunday morning football shows about his progress, how hard he is training to come back. "It's a stroke and it's a long process coming back from that. It may take years for him to fully recover", you might have heard.
  
  Parallel Bruschi with Ricky Williams coming back just like that after serving a 4-game suspension for violation of the leagues drug policy. Just like that Ricky Williams is back because the suspension is over. Just like that Bruschi is back because the suspension is over?
  
  Why would the NFL subterfuge his suspension?
  He plays for the reigning Super Bowl champs
  He had a stroke and that evokes a sympathy factor
  He plays on the East coast whose media bias is pervasive.
  To allow a steroid suspension for him would seriously damage the NFL's credibility.
  
  Bruschi got off the same way that Barry Bonds got off. Suspended but allowed to use injury as a cover. The same way that Michael Jordan got off. Suspended for gambling, but allowed to use the grief of a dying parent as cover. Yeah, what happened to the stories on grief when he decided to play baseball? Ok to use grief as an excuse over here in basketball for why he's leaving, but over here in baseball it's a healing process. Oh right, he was going to drive his kids to school too. Forgot about that one.

NCAA bans mascots

"Don't pee on my leg and tell me it's raining." someone once said. And that is exactly what the NCAA is doing with the Mascot ruling of 2005.

In 2005, the NCAA declared that Native American mascots could no longer be used by teams when they participated in postseason tournaments after February 1, 2006.

But, the ruling doesn't apply to the entire season, only post season tournaments. So, for 9/10ths of your season, feel free to use the mascot any way you choose. We're sensitive to Native American's feelings, but only for a couple months of the year.

But, the ruling doesn't apply to college football because semantically they don't have a postseason tournament. Right. They don't have a single-elimination post-season tournament the way basketball does or double-elimination in baseball. They just have multiple one-game post season tournaments between only two teams at a time called Bowl games. But, those aren't considered post-season tournaments. Even though the outcome of the bowl games results in a final ranking, which is exactly what a postseason tournament does. Hmm. I seem to recall that they have in-season basketball tournaments called Coaches against Cancer tournament or along that line where four teams come into a big arena and each team only plays one game. It's also not for Div 1-A college football because college football at that level is a golden cash cow built on slave labor disguised as "empowering student athletes mind and bodies".

But, schools can appeal the ruling. And here is where the hidden agenda lies. And where you can begin to follow the green-papered road. What all the huff and scruff about the use of Native American imagery is over. It's simple exortion by the NCAA to get even more money from schools and a way to increase their bottom line. How it works is this: The larger the school, the more money adverstisers pay to put these schools on the air, the more national exposure the school has in a particular sport, the more money the NCAA wants from them. You want your appeal denied or approved? Pay up. This is the price. Florida State? They bring in milliions of dollars are national powerhouses in multiple sports. The NCAA wants them to appeal and want that appeal to be approved. So, they charge them $100,000. Easy enough for Florida State and sure enough their appeal was approved.

North Dakota State Fighting Sioux? Well, outside of ice hockey, they are not a national player. We're going to charge you $2 million for an approval of your appeal and we really don't care about you anyway.

Now we get to the University of Illinois. Yes they have history, but nationally, they don't play other than in brief appearances. So, the price for the Fighting Illini: $5 million. They have only recently sent in their appeal, but they may not have reached the money amount the NCAA wanted from them for a successful appeal because the response from the NCAA was non-plussed when asked. "We take them as they come." Doesn't sound too hopeful for Illini nation.

CTA. Stop the lies. Please.

Every time I read in the paper about how buying a Chicago card speeds up service I want to puke. The only thing it speeds up is the city's effort to track each and every rider's personal movements.
The state already has your movement tracked if you use the I-Pass system and can use that evidence against you in court. The system is already in place to use the information from the CTA. Here's an example of just how much time you save by using the Chicago card. I board the L right behind a person with a Chicago card. They take one second to go through. I take 1.2 seconds. Then we both wait 15 minutes for the next Green line to show up. This is what you call speeding up?
Now if you offer me a card that will make the trains all come on time and not be so crowded I can't get on a red line for three trains, that I will pay more for.

Media double talks on its own.

The thing I hate the most about the print and broadcast media is the hyposcrisy.
The incestuous nature of the business, I can somewhat tolerate. They can ball bust anybody they want, but when it's one of their own, they shut up quick.
Example, Dan Bernstein can make fun of Ron Santo all day long, making no leg, one leg jokes, but let a caller try and get on the air as Ed O'Bradovich's dead wife and that's not acceptable? Or take the case of the Sun-Times. Neil Steinberg can rag all day and for many years on Baghdad Bob Greene because he slept with college coeds. And the press had a field day with him. Bob lost his job, his wife died and Neil was right there to pound in some nails. Then Neil goes and beats up his wife and what do the papers say? One article in the competing paper three days after it happens and nothing since. I've been following the little quips the Sun-Times puts in when a columnist isn't writing that day. It is getting comical to see what they will come up with next. First it was "Neil is not writing his column today". Then it was Neil is taking the day off. They can dig and dig and dig into George Ryan or Rod Blagojevich, but it's hands off on Neil Steinberg. Where is Steve Warmbir when the public needs him?

Idea for a tv commercial

Tight facing shot on a woman driving a car. Woman wearing glasses. Camera pan left to a man squirming in his seat. Obviously he has to go to the bathroom. Hip-hop bubble-gum pop plays in the background.

Car pulls into driveway. Guy frantically gets out of car and runs into the house. Heads to the bathroom. Camera is at his back now. Long shot going away of many running into bathroom.

Capture SFX. Follow into the bathroom. Shot of man from behind. Hear the zipper sound.

Cut to shot of the toilet bowl and the words 'KOHLER' as the SFX of piss rains down and the SFX of a man sighing. Voice-over as the light is clicked off.
"Kohler. We're there when you need really us."
Light clicks back on as child walks into the bathroom late at night to get a glass
of water and stands on the toilet seat (Focus camera on lettering 'Kohler' above the childs feet.) "...And even when you just need us just a
little."

There are moments that try men's souls.
But, only soulless men refuse to try.