It Ain't No "Walk in the Park."

I drove by a "park" in a not-so-nice neighborhood today, there was a sign that said Such and Such Park, but behind that sign there was no baseball diamond, no see-saws or play equipment of any kind, just a field of dead grass peppered with drug dealers.

Chicago seems to be sinking everything into tourism and getting the Olympics here in like 20 years, and they are doing nothing to improve areas like this, which are everywhere, sometimes only blocks away from "nicer" areas.

How about this, if Mayor Daley wants to have the Olympics here so badly, why don't we say that if he can survive a night in Such-and-Such park, then he can have whatever he wants?

Partial List of Comments Made During Semi-Annual Meeting of the Liar's Club

Occassionally, we at the Liar's Club get together to discuss official business, like planning for the upcoming Pony Blegger (downgraded from a simple Blegger). But most of the time, nothing really happens at these meetings except drinking and bullshit. Below is a list of just some of the comments made by the Liar's Club through the course of the evening last Thursday at Cody's:

1. I love the poon. Yeah, I thought The Pooner was a serial rapist when I met him, but he's a good dude.
2. Who are all these douchebags in your photos?
3. There was partial chocolate lovin'.
4. I would rather have someone throw-up in my mouth than shit in it.
5. I haven't read The Liar's Club in about 6 months.
6. I need to get laid at the Pony Blegger.
7. This is the part of the conversation where I just concentrate on my beer.
8. I'd go to a culinary school where you only use Velveeta.
9. I can probably buy one baby for $500 and get a deal on two for $850.
10. There's nothing like a cheesy rod.
11. I can just retire now and collect my Poon Pension.
12. You have two chemistry tutors?
13. I never realized Jet Magazine was the size of TV Guide.
14. The tamale fairy has been here!
15. You know what kind of movies he likes? Lady movies.

Cubs Wristbands.

Each February my pal Jason and I do the same tradition we've always done since I've lived in this city... we go get our Cubs wristbands. Yes, you read that right. Cubs wristbands. I am a White Sox fan - but this tradition is more about the hope that Spring is right around the corner, and the smell of baseball season is in the air.

The Cubs are so popular (like the Yankees and Red Sox) and so is Wrigley Field, which means most games sell out, or good tickets are hard to find for an affordable price. So for the sale of single game tickets to the general public they do this sort of lottery system in which for two days they give out numbered wristbands and then on Friday morning at ass-early-thirty (6:00am) they announce on the radio the winning number. That number is first in line to buy tickets. Sure you can go online - but it is almost impossible to get through.

If my wristband number won I would buy tickets for the White Sox series and also good tickets for the Giants series. But I am never ever close. Last year my number was off by 10,000. It is just a fun thing to do during a lunch break to get excited about the upcoming baseball season. Go Sox!

This has nothing to do with Chicago, being that it's from a British game show, but it's damn funny. Besides, I was tired of looking at my last post. Come on, contributing Liars, post something, or I'll keep putting random things like this on our rag.

On a Downtown Train. Shit. Why'd I Go With That Title? I Hate That God-Awful, Rod Stewart Song!

Every day one steps onto The El (short for elevated trains, for our 3 readers not from Chicago) anything can happen. Here are three things that went down during my rides in the span of one week:

1. During rush hour, when you can rarely get a spot to sit, I noticed a car that was inexplicably almost empty. It should have dawned on me that something like that is too good to be true, but one has so little time to think before those doors close. Well, when the doors shut I immediately knew why so few people were riding that car: It smelled like shit, and I don't mean that figuratively. Most everyone had their shirts over their mouths and nose, which should have also tipped me off before I got aboard, except for one sleeping, homeless-looking guy, who was more than likely the culprit, since not even he should be able to sleep through that kind of stink (must have been immune to his "own brand"). It was the coldest day of the year, so maybe he decided to stay warm by riding the train all day and shitting himself. Does he know how to have a good time, or what!!

I couldn't take another second of it, so when the train came to the next stop, I darted out of the stinky car, said, "That car stinks" to a man about to board, and ran to the next car. Just before the doors of the breathable car closed, the guy who I warned thanked me, and I said, "Yeah, I think he pooped himself." Then another guy said, "That was rough. I changed cars too."

2. Okay, no more doody stories, I promise. Yesterday I was listening to my ipod on a high, going to make me deaf some day, but who gives a shit level, something by Pavement I believe, but I could still make out a phrase that the doo-wop, street performer group was singing. Although they had reworked the song nearly to the point of being a different melody, and even with Stephen Malkmus' slacker vocals belting it out into my ear drums, I still made out this phrase: "I'm not happy when I try to fake it." I knew if was from a song I like, but I wasn't sure which. I took my headphones off to realize that it was an excellent rendition of Easy by The Commodors. As I slipped a buck into whatever it was they were using as a tip jar, the one guy doing back-up harmonies sang a quick thank you to me. Then, as I boarded the train, they started up a killer, reworked rendition of Stephen Stills' Love the One You're With. In fact, I've never cared for that song too much, but I loved the version by this overqualified group of Chicago street musicians. If I see them again, I'm asking them to play my birthday party, and you'll all be there, along with lots of balloons.

3. As I'm riding to work the other day, again, bumping my ipod, a Black kid, who's age I would guess to be around 11-years-old, but the sex was undermined at this point, tugs at my shirt to get my attention to ask me how many gigs my ipod held. I told her twenty, and she showed me her ipod, portable game system, and a few other devices. I said, "Man, you gotta be careful walking around with all those electronics." To which she said, "I'm a girl." Oops. I tried to explain that I was using the word "man" as an exclamation. She must not have been too offended, because she then showed me her Tupac book, which was pretty damn, cool. It had compartments inside with all kinds of lyrics he had written, and they looked like the originals, because they were on notebook paper. As I got off the train, I said, "Alright, this is my stop. Be good." I've been saying "be good" a lot lately, and it is a stupid habit that doesn't make much sense. Although, this kid seemed really sweet, and I hope that she will "be good."

Food, Bar, Coffee, Records.

A little sharing about some new spots I went to this past weekend. Chicago has so much to offer that I try not to get into a routine of eating at the same place... drinking at the same place... shopping at the same place. I always tell myself that when employees know my name that is not a good sign (especially if it's a bar).

The Spot: My vote for worst bar in Chicago (on N Clark near Montrose). It has so many things going on that none of it works. It's part 1950's Italian Restaurant, part dive bar, part hipster hang out, part sports bar, part bad 80's music, part swanky... and so on. The clientele is white boy wanna-be frat dudes that are more pathetic which does not make for good people watching (it's too sad). The place has no vibe, no comfort, and no class. The Spot is sooooo not the spot.

Painted Lady: Once called the Bleeding Heart bakery (which I've never been to, but it moved and actually still owns this little cafe) this is the little organic cafe that could (on W Chicago at Damen). A great vibe (not too earthy / hippie) and some fantastic coffee. The food was good - not spectacular. LP had the vegan chili which tasted more like salsa, but was not bad. My mac&cheese was very tasty... but how hard is mac&cheese. That fact that they are offering completely organic ingredients is stellar. The food is not cheap, but the price is fair for what you are getting in return. Well worth checking out especially over a conversation about flax seeds.

Atomix: A block away from Painted Lady is a little hole of a coffee shop called Atomix. A friend of mine practically lives there since it is close to her house and it has free wi-fi. And for students free wi-fi is a big plus. The coffee is good... maybe even a bit more than good. But the place is boring. There are no comfortable places to sit. The two women behind the counter where more into looking at their computer than acknowledging my presence and helping me. Sorry Atomix... you are just ok.

Premanent Records: Another block or so east on Chicago Ave is a little record store that spews charm. I've heard a lot of good things about this Permanent Records shop and have always meant to check it out. Sure it's not the greatest find in the world, but I did find a few pieces of vinyl I've been searching for. The store cat ads a great little touch to the place, and the owners are super. I'll be going back there to support a good part of the Chicago music scene.

Chicago's Finest Fast Food Lovers

First off, the views expressed in this blog are solely that of Dr. Kenneth Noisewater, and in no way are they being expressed by any other members of The Liar's Club team.

My Paramedic Roommate (PR) came into the apartment at around 2 PM, and in a gravely voice and announced, "I got arrested last night."* I congratulated him, and asked that he regale us with the tale.

He had some friends in town from Iowa, and they were all shit-canned at Subterranean. Just after initiating an unsolicited staring contest with the coat check guy, which he remembers, he knocked a beer out of a random, Black guy's hand, chipping the guy's tooth with the bottle, making him bleed, and this Paramedic Roommate does not remember.

Chipped tooth guy was none-to-pleased about this, and after unsuccessfully trying to kick PR's ass, he was held back by people, Chipped Tooth Guy alerted the police. Now, if I'm PR, I'm getting the heck out of the bar after this, especially since the guy told him he was calling the police, but PR stays there, drinks loads more, while already blacked-out.

So five cops come into the bar, walk PR out and into a squad car, and drive off with him. PR shows them his paramedic card, and one of them says, "Yeah, don't worry about it." They drive him to McDonalds, everyone pounds down some grease, and they drive him home. No arrest is made.

The reason I am posting this on a Chicago-related blog is that this is nothing out of the ordinary for Chicago police. People drink a lot in this city, the cops couldn't possibly arrest everyone who breaks a law while drunk, so they just deal with the bigger crimes. I understand this, and I'm okay with it. I've only been pulled over once in Chicago, it was by a bike cop, and that's different. Bike cops have something to prove.

What I'm not okay with is that while this story is a funny one, I was laughing my ass off at the time, it is indicative of something far more shitty. Raise your hand if you think these cops would have been so friendly had my roomy been Black, paramedic or otherwise, and chipped a white guy's tooth? Ah-hah!! I didn't see any hands go up! Wait, how would I . . . Anyway, I don't want to make any generalizations about cops and their racial beliefs, but yeah, it more than likely would have played out differently had that been the case.

I love my city, and I have loved running "stoptional" signs all these years right in front of our police officers, but there is no doubt that many Chicago cops, and cops in general, are assholes. Even if they're not born-assholes, they become them after the power goes to their heads. If they're not born-racists, they often times become them, since they see so many ethnic populations committing crimes in poor, segregated areas.

Sure, you may say, "But didn't a Chicago Cop fuck your wife when you were married." Why, yes! One did, and I hate him, and her, for it. Do I think that lots of cops like to lay married women? Yes, because they do.

I'm getting off track here, but all that I'm saying is while I'm happy my roomy didn't get arrested, because then he'd be less likely to pay us rent on time than he already is, but let's look at it this way: If you're out having a good time, some guy you don't even know, intentionally tries to knock your beer out of your hand, chipping your tooth, making you bleed, and you call the cops, would you want said cops to arrest him or treat him to late-night meal at McDonald's

*Turns out he wasn't, but that's what he said.