Poop and the Big City

Someone shit in the stairwell that leads to the storage room of my apartment. I was putting my bike away the other night, and I heard my roomy yell from the balcony that I should be careful not to step in the doody. Sure enough, there was a messy turd on the concrete floor of the stairwell. I know it was a person, as opposed to an animal, who "dropped it on the deuce," as Whitney Houston would say, because there was toilet paper all around it.

How do I justify this on a Chicago blog? It's simple: Homeless people will not shit in my stairwell if I lived in the burbs. Sure it stunk to high heaven for the next couple of days I had to get my bike, and the flies circled around like, well, flies on shit. But, that's a little treat you don't get in the burbs: Authentic, urban, homeless, poop.

Today, I saw three of my hot neighbors in their kitchen as I was going upstairs, and one threw me the extended smile, like the, "Maybe you should come in and talk to us, dumb-ass" look. I had nothing worth opening the glass door to tell them, except, "Hey, I hosed down the poop in the stairwell. Don't all of you thank me at once."

I opted to just smile back, and go upstairs. When I have an opening that's not poop-related, I'll give it a go.

The Elbow Room

Last night I went to the Elbow Room, which is a great bar near my house, and I can't figure out why I don't go there more. They have a big space downstairs where bands play, but they so rarely book acts I've heard of. They also have a friendly staff, and Old Style cans for two bucks, which worked great with the promotional cozies. Last night it wasn't any of these elements that landed me there, as much as it was the promise of free booze from a friend of a friend doing a promotion there.

Here is the highlight of the evening: A female friend of mine was being STRONGLY pursued by a drunk guy there. He went in for a kiss like six times, and was denied each and every time. He then came over to say he was leaving like eight times, only to go back to the bar to regroup and make more attempted last ditch efforts/exits.

This gave us a great opportunity to do a play-by-play and color commentary, and we could do so within ear-shot, since both parties were drunk off their asses.

Hey, Liars, anyone else do any good people watching lately?

Disco Sucks... 1979.

In Chicago, 28 years ago today... Disco Demolition Night happened. In case you do not know about this historic event... it was a promotional event that took place at the original Comiskey Park. It was held during a scheduled doubleheader between the White Sox and the Detroit Tigers.

What happened? They collected a bunch of Disco record and blew them up. Then people ran on the field (total chaos) and tore it up... so much destruction that the White Sox had to forfeit the second game.

I wish I was there.