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Yesterday was no exception, and the station at Addison saw a guy stumble into my el car, hands covered in blood, who then insisted that people give him “high-fives” whenever he shouted “Go Cubs!” While this sort of behavior is commonplace on game days, what was remarkable about this particular drunken sports enthusiast (and I didn’t really fully appreciate this until my ride home later from work later that day when I thought about it) was the school-boy like blitheness he displayed when he found a black plastic bag full of trash on the seat he chose on the el. To provide a little background, it’s necessary to explain the nature of trash on the el. Seasoned el riders and commuters will avoid touching trash at any cost. Even if it’s the only seat left, if there’s a bag of trash on the seat, el riders won’t touch it and will stand instead, even if they have a long way to go and lots of baggage. This is because the seasoned el rider understands that while trash on the el comes in a variety of shapes and sizes, the thing that all trash on the el has in common is that all, I repeat, ALL of it has been in somebody or another’s orifice in recent history. In fact, I challenge you to find trash on the el (aside from newspapers, I’ll give you that one, even though sometimes you’d be surprised) that hasn’t recently been in somebody’s body holes. For instance, here’s a list of trash, some of which I have actually seen and some of which follows logically from other trash and disturbing acts that I’ve witnessed, that could all have been very likely to have been in the bag of trash that the drunken dude with bloody hands found on his seat: Gnawed animal bones Sunflower seed husks (although these are usually spat directly onto the floor, seats, and nearby passengers instead of being left in a bag) Human feces Vomit Detached press-on nails, with portions of real fingernails attached. Drinking straws Human feces! Lipstick smudged Styrofoam cups. Etc. I can only imagine that this was the bloody drunken dude’s first time on the el. Because when he saw that bag of trash on the seat (and there were even other empty seats available!) he squealed with glee and raced over to the crumpled black plastic bag of trash and started swinging it around with delight. He then clutched it to his bosom and hugged it fiercely, exclaiming to his friend, “Look what I found!” At this point my index finger was already raised in the air in my pontificating posture, and I was about to recite my list of the types of trash that were likely to be inside the bag, but then the bloody drunken dude was discourteous to another passenger and so I decided to leave him to his own devices (also, I didn’t want to have to give him a high-five). Lacking my intervention, the bloody drunken dude put his arms through the bag of trash and wore it like a bra, trash dangling on his chest. A few stops later he started holding it open up to his face, spitting what I think might have been chaw into it. “It’s like a miracle!” The bloody drunken told his friend with awe. “This bag was right here on my seat! It’s like it was meant to be!” The bloody drunken asshole was really quite taken with his plastic bag of trash. So I forgive all the drunken sports enthusiasts their asshole behavior, and apologize for saying all those snobby things about them earlier in this journal entry - as I realized later on my el ride home that day, their child-like wonder with things that I would otherwise dismiss as filthy and potential biological hazards makes this world a more magical place! Brian 1:51 PM Sunday, April 04, 2004 I’ve been leading a fast-paced, topsy-turvy, hectic life lately and because of it, I rarely have time to hang at the Laundromat. Instead, I usually throw in a load and then dash off to buy some groceries or scamper back to my apartment to water my plants or complete one of the million little household chores that I’m always weeks behind on. But I was too tired this last Saturday evening at the Laundromat to do any dashing or scampering. So instead I just took it easy and hung out with my laundry while it was washing and … paid attention to my environment. And as a result, I made three interesting realizations that I never would have if I hadn’t taken the time to slow down a little bit. Interesting realization # 1: The Laundromat smells like farts. Interesting realization # 2: When I point through the porthole of the washer next to mine as a certain pair of underwear belonging to the woman at the Laundromat who is always reading Jane Austen books cycles to the front and I remark, “Ooh! Here comes my FAVORITE!” that woman regards me with disdain. Interesting realization # 3: I’ve been using the wrong compartment on the washing machines for detergent. See, there are three compartments for washing agents on the machines at the Laundromat. Putting a different chemical in all three compartments, of course, is only for socialites and the bourgeois. As a humble man of my station should, I only put detergent in one compartment. But what I learned last night is that I’ve been putting the detergent in the rinse cycle compartment when I should have been putting it in the wash cycle compartment. This realization, as you can imagine, relegates my washings heretofore to dubious efficacy in my mind. Interesting realization # 3, by far, has the most potential to change my life going forward. Indeed, correcting my washing error, now that I think of it, may prevent me from being called two of the five nicknames I’ve been called at work in the last two weeks. The five nicknames are: 1: Morrisaurus 2: Fuckface 3: Shitstink 4: Stupid 5: Unwashed P. Bumstink Brian 3:49 PM

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House of Noh!

Sunday, April 25, 2004

Evidently, in addition to admission into the stadium, a ticket to a local sporting event grants a perceived license to the holder to act the drunken asshole on public transportation to and from the sporting event. Yesterday was no exception, and the station at Addison saw a guy stumble into my el car, hands covered in blood, who then insisted that people give him “high-fives” whenever he shouted “Go Cubs!” While this sort of behavior is commonplace on game days, what was remarkable about this particular drunken sports enthusiast (and I didn’t really fully appreciate this until my ride home later from work later that day when I thought about it) was the school-boy like blitheness he displayed when he found a black plastic bag full of trash on the seat he chose on the el. To provide a little background, it’s necessary to explain the nature of trash on the el. Seasoned el riders and commuters will avoid touching trash at any cost. Even if it’s the only seat left, if there’s a bag of trash on the seat, el riders won’t touch it and will stand instead, even if they have a long way to go and lots of baggage. This is because the seasoned el rider understands that while trash on the el comes in a variety of shapes and sizes, the thing that all trash on the el has in common is that all, I repeat, ALL of it has been in somebody or another’s orifice in recent history. In fact, I challenge you to find trash on the el (aside from newspapers, I’ll give you that one, even though sometimes you’d be surprised) that hasn’t recently been in somebody’s body holes. For instance, here’s a list of trash, some of which I have actually seen and some of which follows logically from other trash and disturbing acts that I’ve witnessed, that could all have been very likely to have been in the bag of trash that the drunken dude with bloody hands found on his seat: Gnawed animal bones Sunflower seed husks (although these are usually spat directly onto the floor, seats, and nearby passengers instead of being left in a bag) Human feces Vomit Detached press-on nails, with portions of real fingernails attached. Drinking straws Human feces! Lipstick smudged Styrofoam cups. Etc. I can only imagine that this was the bloody drunken dude’s first time on the el. Because when he saw that bag of trash on the seat (and there were even other empty seats available!) he squealed with glee and raced over to the crumpled black plastic bag of trash and started swinging it around with delight. He then clutched it to his bosom and hugged it fiercely, exclaiming to his friend, “Look what I found!” At this point my index finger was already raised in the air in my pontificating posture, and I was about to recite my list of the types of trash that were likely to be inside the bag, but then the bloody drunken dude was discourteous to another passenger and so I decided to leave him to his own devices (also, I didn’t want to have to give him a high-five). Lacking my intervention, the bloody drunken dude put his arms through the bag of trash and wore it like a bra, trash dangling on his chest. A few stops later he started holding it open up to his face, spitting what I think might have been chaw into it. “It’s like a miracle!” The bloody drunken told his friend with awe. “This bag was right here on my seat! It’s like it was meant to be!” The bloody drunken asshole was really quite taken with his plastic bag of trash. So I forgive all the drunken sports enthusiasts their asshole behavior, and apologize for saying all those snobby things about them earlier in this journal entry - as I realized later on my el ride home that day, their child-like wonder with things that I would otherwise dismiss as filthy and potential biological hazards makes this world a more magical place!

Brian 1:51 PM

Sunday, April 04, 2004

I’ve been leading a fast-paced, topsy-turvy, hectic life lately and because of it, I rarely have time to hang at the Laundromat. Instead, I usually throw in a load and then dash off to buy some groceries or scamper back to my apartment to water my plants or complete one of the million little household chores that I’m always weeks behind on. But I was too tired this last Saturday evening at the Laundromat to do any dashing or scampering. So instead I just took it easy and hung out with my laundry while it was washing and … paid attention to my environment. And as a result, I made three interesting realizations that I never would have if I hadn’t taken the time to slow down a little bit. Interesting realization # 1: The Laundromat smells like farts. Interesting realization # 2: When I point through the porthole of the washer next to mine as a certain pair of underwear belonging to the woman at the Laundromat who is always reading Jane Austen books cycles to the front and I remark, “Ooh! Here comes my FAVORITE!” that woman regards me with disdain. Interesting realization # 3: I’ve been using the wrong compartment on the washing machines for detergent. See, there are three compartments for washing agents on the machines at the Laundromat. Putting a different chemical in all three compartments, of course, is only for socialites and the bourgeois. As a humble man of my station should, I only put detergent in one compartment. But what I learned last night is that I’ve been putting the detergent in the rinse cycle compartment when I should have been putting it in the wash cycle compartment. This realization, as you can imagine, relegates my washings heretofore to dubious efficacy in my mind. Interesting realization # 3, by far, has the most potential to change my life going forward. Indeed, correcting my washing error, now that I think of it, may prevent me from being called two of the five nicknames I’ve been called at work in the last two weeks. The five nicknames are: 1: Morrisaurus 2: Fuckface 3: Shitstink 4: Stupid 5: Unwashed P. Bumstink

Brian 3:49 PM

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Sunday, April 25, 2004

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