TMZ and the Sun Times are reporting a Blue Man was arrested in a Chicago park performing felatio on a high school principle. The most disturbing part of the story is not that a performance artist was caught acting with indiscretion or that high school principles principals are in fact, as we have thought all along, real gay, but that the arrest took place at 5:45 PM. Now, I know daylight savings time means the sun’s setting around 4:30 in Chicago, but fellatin’ in a park before 6? C’mon (so intended), that’s just poor form. The world’s going to hell in a hand basket, no doubt, when you don’t even have time to grab something to eat (intended) before your BJ in the park. It should be universally accepted that there are no phone calls to a LAN line after 10:00, and BJ’s only before noon, between 1:30 and 3:30 PM and 7:30 to midnight.
The strip of land on the southwestern edge of Lake Michigan was once the home of the Miami, Sauk, Fox, Ottawa, Ojibwa, and Potawatomi peoples. The Potowatomi had established dominance over the land by the mid-18th century, which gave them a few decades to enjoy their status before white settlers started trickling in from the east. The Europeans changed the land fundamentally and permanently (so far) when they made it an outpost for commerce and trade – also guns, railroads, bricks, and whiskey – but they couldn’t freeze the never-ending Rubik’s Cube of shifting populations endemic to it. First English and French, then Germanic midwesterners, then Irish and Italian, then black, then Eastern European, then Hispanic and Asian. Give or take. Then they started mixing and moving. Blacks in and whites out then whites in and blacks out. Mexicans west and Polish north. Commingling Palestinians and Puerto Ricans. Irish, static in the south. Indians pushing Chinese and Vietnamese east into the lake. And so Chicago sits on the southwestern edge of Lake Michigan, its people never quite finished.
Studs Terkel died on Halloween, four days before one of his fellow Chicagoans was elected president. He was 96 when he died, and had just published his last book, P.S. Further Thoughts From a Lifetime of Listening. You almost expect him to send us a P.P.S. from the afterlife, or wherever self-proclaimed agnostics go. Agnostic. Studs was never quite finished.
My girlfriend works for an influential website that specializes in ladies fashion and trendy things of that nature. Often they get pitches weird pitches that they can’t write about, because they are so crack head crazy. This is one of them.
A few weeks ago someone in her office recieved a pitch titled “Have you seen my crack?”
Apparently fashionable ladies in the windy city are taking razors to the back of their heads and shaving a stripe out of their hair. Its like the inverse of a landing strip pube ‘do, but on your skull.
“Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.” You know the sound. You’ve heard it on every remix from Ursher to Kanye. It’s Jeezy, baby. The Snowman’s guttural incantation is a call to arms up shoulder leaning and our Macaca on the Street witnessed it first hand on Monday at the House of Blues Chicago.
He’s holed up in a cubicle somewhere on Jackson Street and filed this report via G Chat as he recovers from the show. He’s on the scene, you heard? Get famiglia after the jump. Read the rest of this entry »