Sound and Fury.

These are things that have happened since I decided I wanted to be a cop, since I wanted to save the world.

I asked the man at the grocery store where the cream cheese was, and he said, 'between the beer and the butter'. Naturally.

The last image I have of my Chicago neighbourhood is, at 4:30am, an eight year old driving a car in the middle of the street, giving me an evil look that rivals the worst of my life.

Later that morning, a man who just arrived from Iran asking me if I knew if Starbucks was hiring.

Watching Fox News on the plane from Chicago from LA and starting an argument with the old man beside me because he was a bigot. Or because I am a bigot?
Remembering how much I enjoy riding a bike around, pedaling so fast that I don't have to for the next minute, coasting along and watching everything pass me by.

Sweating.

Worrying.

Dinner with family, getting my cousin to eat her vegetables.

Missing your soup and your hands.

To My Eight Loyal Readers...

This morning on the bus to downtown four different people tried to help this guy tie his tie. It was funny, and everyone around was really getting into it, cheering them on. The mission was not accomplished by the time he had to exit the bus, but I have faith that before his job interview or date or whatever he was on his way to his tie was in the Windsor knot he so desperately needed.

On a related note, I have decided that my life needs some direction of it's own.

I joked to my girlfriend this morning that I am going to become a cop. I couldn't quite get a read on her reaction, but she wasn't appalled by the idea.

So, after navigating through the OPP sight for over an hour, I swear to God I just e-mailed their recruiters for some additional information.

Imagining myself in a uniform cracks me up, but watch out people, I am the law! (in my mind)

The tone of my previous posts has been rather stark, I agree. I assure you all is well with me, and with my relationship. I guess I never expected to be so affected to the way of life in our little bubble, Humboldt Park. Poverty has a way of seeping it's way through every little crack.

It's sad to see such apathy on the part of this kids, and these kids with kids.

I was pacing around the apartment last night, waiting for the landlady to come pick up the rent. I would open the door every five minutes or so, not seeing her, cursing her name. Each time I looked out I saw something surreal. A girl no older than 12 stuffing a toy machine gun into her shorts; a different girl on a bike with a kid no older than two sitting on the handlebars, holding on for dear life; a group of five or six teen aged boys riding by on their BMXs, three of them holding screwdrivers in their mouths (I assume they were just doing some bike repairs, right?).

In two weeks I will out of here, and off to Los Angeles. A breath of fresh air, perhaps.

But leaving the one I love alone, to step out of the way of babies riding bikes or ignoring men whistling at her and staring for a few seconds too long, that's not at all comforting.

let it flow (excerpts from journal)

fights and yelling and dead ants and empty bank accounts and my ass through a coffee table and feeling so lost, so incredibly lost and not being able to keep my head above the water but knowing that in time, a short time, everything will be fine and all of this will just be past and maybe just something that happened that one summer in chicago but maybe it will help me grow and learn and know how to deal with shit when it creeps up like that rotten stench that grows from the garbage bins outside of our door.
yeah keep walking buddy don't look at my girlfriend like that or you will get what you deserve just keep strutting and go home to your wife and kids and stare at them.
get out of my face woman, i love you but i love me more so shut up, i ain't afraid of death but i am afraid of my momma, he can't hit me anymore because he is in jail now for that drug charge are things that we hear and this is chicago and these are the lives of the people all around us and for them its about fighting but for me its about biting my tongue.
ive never felt so far from god as i do now but i think that that is god telling me i need be closer.
hey landlady youre a real piece of work you know that? i bet you do landlady.
why do people think that going to church is salvation when the minute they step out of church they start acting like they are drunks staggering out of the club swapping numbers and smacking asses?
what is it with these people and fireworks, it sounds and looks like a beautiful baghdad
out there tonight but just shut up already.
your love is unlike anything i have experienced before. just keep it coming, and ill catch up with you.

Murderers, Blisters, and What Was That?

This morning, before eating breakfast, we killed 100 ants with wings that covered the floor inside of our door. She with the spray bottle of cleaner, me with tattered paper towels. Those ants stood no chance, for we have no patience for filth.

Also, a few days ago, we were roasting marshmallows on the gas range. I know what you are thinking, that this is the height of sophistication. Well, yeah. It worked well until I decided to tempt the hot fork with my lip, and now it is all burnt and blistered.

Last night I was in bed reading, for hours, and I heard two gunshots and one massive BOOM!
I have no idea what that was, but knowing the area it could have been either kids playing with firecrackers or a meth lab blowing up. Either way, I screamed like a girl.
The thing that bothered me most, though, was a conversation I heard outside the door. It was a gaggle of teenagers, dirty clothes and dirty mouths. The slang they were speaking was as foreign to me as any Slavic language. I could pick some of it up, and when I understood, I backed away from the window. It was scary stuff. A grocery list of crimes, and the louder their voices, the bigger the felony. Laughter, encouragement ensued. What the hell could motivate someone to not only do these things, these horrible things, but to brag at the top of their dirty lungs about them? I just don't get it. I hope I never do. I don't ever want to understand.

Montage Since Last.

In no order:

Church with strangers, I am under dressed.
Squirrels having sex, up and down the tree.
Girlfriend cutting white hairs off of my head, I am old.
Picnic in the park, I put too much garlic in the salad.
Boom. Boom. Gun shots or fireworks?
An argument here and there, eyes rolled.
Address found, library card received, books read, movies watched.
We eat marshmallows on the bus, diets a bust.
After six weeks, still second looks in the neighbourhood.
Missing father's last day at church, regret.
Craving a cigarette, then seeing someone coughing up a lung.
Staying up until two to talk about our respective countries dismantling, or in my case near-dismantling, better than that movie we were going to watch.
Three months, long months, of the beginning...

My Element.

After 10 days of microwaved soup and oatmeal, our gas was turned back on.

The gas man and I started talking about the cross-town series this weekend between
the Cubs and the White Sox. I asked him what made this rivalry so rich, and so deep.

'I could spend hours trying to explain it to you, and you still wouldn't understand'.

I kind of felt like he was belittling me, an avid Cubs fan, but his wrench was on the
gas main and I really wanted to eat something warm tonight. So I bit my tongue.
He kind of took it upon himself to start explaining it to me, though, and after about 15 minutes the conversation turned to race, class, and beer (consumption).
I got to talking about how I had lived here nine years ago, only in a slightly better, safer, neighbourhood.

This is where it all happened again.

He told me that my girlfriend and I were crazy to be living in this area. He said that once it gets hot, really hot, that we should mind our business and stay away from the window. He said that they don't look where they are shooting, and that their aim is usually quite pathetic.
He said, you are out of your element.

The gas was back on now, and I was scared stiff. I figured this was a good time to say thanks, take care, and be safe. He said, the same to you.

He looked me in the eyes when he said that. I knew he meant it. As he shook my hand, I knew he was right. I am out of my element.

Cold Showers and Microwaves; Shootings and the Wrong Address.

Rough notes, in no order, as to what has happened since my arrival.

1. First night here, double homicide around the corner. Gang-related. Funeral up the street, cops everywhere. Cops warn ' you should move, this area is not safe. ' Obviously they don't know us.
2. Three different mailing addresses tried, still no mail. It's hard to think that we are paying rent for a place that doesn't even exist. Not according to the Chicago Public Library or Citibank, anyway.
3. I am beginning to think that I don't exist. When we walk from the bus stop to our front door, men gesture and make comments to my girlfriend. Sometimes I look at them with hate, other times I laugh. Sometimes I curse that I am the same gender, the same breed as these dopes.
4. I just counted - 73. That is how many e-mails I have sent out to potential employers. Replies from eight. One with some hope. Hope. That's a word I am losing faith in.
5. The lady we are subleasing our apartment from didn't pay her gas bill. Nine days since we could last fry, boil, or bake anything. Eight days since I felt the warmth of a real shower.
6. I judge. In the neighbourhood we live in, you have to. It's not that I am a bigot, it's that I am afraid.
7. Living with someone for the first time is an incredible experience. Fighting with someone for the first time, however, is not.
8. Neither is having to put back groceries. You know, when you just can't find all the change.
9. I am loved here, and I am loved from afar. I am loved out of desire, and I am loved out of duty. I really don't care why you do, just keep doing it. I'll figure out why someday.
10. I have no idea how to change the light bulb in the kitchen, dear. Just keep using the light from microwave and the fridge to see what you are doing.

11. After travelling on many buses, spending countless hours at the library and through our impoverished neighbourhood, I am noticing how many unfit mothers there are. The next time I hear one swear at their two year old, or smack them on the face, I am going to lose it. Seriously.
12. I hear the oddest things on the bus. Girls talking about bowel movements. Drunk teens talking about their drunk parents. Men talking about my girlfriend. You know, normal stuff.
13. I miss meat, but I won't start eating it again. Seriously, meat is all around. Everywhere. Gimme gimme.
14. I have work to do. All over. Just give me time.