A Brief Rant

I work in the financial industry, but I'm not rich. Truthfully, I'm not even sure I'm middle class anymore. I long ago realized that I don't have the ability to pick the next great thing in the stock market and I don't have the temperament to cold call all day and hard sell investors on the great idea my research department has come up with. Consequently, I work for an online discount brokerage.

I'm essentially a foot soldier on the front lines of the financial markets. And what I've seen has convinced me that this country is heading for a worse recession than I've ever seen in my lifetime. Consider: The Federal Reserve has bailed out a major brokerage firm and is allowing the nation's 20 largest securities dealers to borrow directly from its coffers. Not commercial banks, folks. Brokerage firms. Bear Stearns was only one of many.

Sadly, you have to be a major brokerage firm to merit a rescue. Our beleaguered commander-in-chief has announced no such plan to bail out the homeowners facing foreclosure. That would mean the government intervening in the economy and that's bad. The free market has to work these things out on its own.

Now, normally this would be a great year to be the democratic nominee for the presidency, especially running against a cranky septuagenarian like the presumed GOP choice. Sadly, however, the republican party has always been adept at using diversionary issues to persuade people to vote against their economic interests---who can forget George Bush sr. using Dukakis' objection to a constitutional amendment to ban flag burning against him in the rust belt or W. raising the specter of legalized gay marriages to scare up votes in impoverished areas in the south. All the while the corporations that donate to their campaigns have no compunction about moving their factories overseas to the third world where they don't have to worry about unions or paying decent wages to American workers. I guess patriotism is how you define it.

We've all seen the youtube video of Barack Obama's pastor, Jeremiah Wright. It's become a campaign issue that Obama had to address, and he did. It would have been simple to denounce Pastor Wright in a soundbite, but he didn't---instead, he delivered a nuanced speech about the nature of race relations that appealed to uncommon sense and intelligence. It's probably the greatest speech I've heard a presidential candidate deliver in my lifetime---and the riskiest. And it displayed something you almost never hear in a political speech: wisdom. It's a rare quality in our political leaders and Barack Obama has it. Wisdom.

However, it doesn't appear to be helping him in the polls right now. I'm afraid the Hillary faction will use the Pastor Wright connection to try to block Obama's path to the nomination. And if he prevails, I'm afraid that the republicans will use it in the fall and that it will be very effective.

It's funny---the republicans can openly court ministers who believe that AIDS is God's judgment against homosexuals, that women should stay at home, that the Islamic faith should be wiped off the face of the earth and that the universe was created six thousand years ago. I guess you can get away with it if you flatter your countrymen and tell them that they are the greatest, wisest, bravest people who ever walked the face of the earth.

No wonder they stoned the prophets in the old testament.

I sincerely hope that Barack Obama is our next president. Beware of those who preach sacrifice and patriotism while giving tax breaks to companies that move their operations off-shore and bail out the wealthy and powerful at the expense of the less fortunate.

And thank you so much for indulging my rant. It felt good to get this off my chest.

Ginger No More

I formally ended things with Ginger this past weekend---we hadn't actually seen eachother for a couple of months but had had plans to get together six weeks ago. I waited until the day before she was to come into town to send her an email to the effect that I was getting serious with someone else.

I know, I know. I'm a coward when it comes to ending things. Especially with someone about whom I harbor suspicions of instability.

She has sent me several emails since then---conciliatory and understanding on the surface with a hint of resentment underneath. You know the type. I reminds me of the time I quit a job because I hated my boss. She arranged for me to give a cordial goodbye to the group so things looked normal, but reminded me that the company had spent a lot of money training me.

Well, tough shit.

Anyway, she can send her email fantasies to Len now, but he's already made it clear he's not going to live on my leftovers.

So, Len came in for St. Patrick's Day weekend. I'm not a fan of the day myself, but Marla is and at 10:00 a.m. she had already reserved seats for us in a Westtown Irish pub. We did several shots and spent the entire day drinking and Len appeared to be doing well conversing with Marla's female friends who had showed up, but....

This horrible smell, the most obnoxious fart, blanketed our section of the bar. Everyone near us winced, except Len, who rather unconvincingly denied that he was the source of the flatulence. Twenty minutes later, the same thing happened and one of Marla's friends asked another if it was Len. It certainly did appear so. Well, at least he was doing well conversationally.

Anyway, Marla and I left with some friends of hers and continued drinking and eventually everything disappeared in a blur. We had brunch with Len the next morning and spent the rest of the day recovering. Monday, the world fell apart in the financial markets and for me this week will not end fast enough. I haven't even had time to write in my blog....

I Critique Len's Performance

Marla and I were at brunch on Saturday when my cell phone rang. It was Len.

"What's up Len?"

"Nothing. I'm bored. I think I should come up."

Len lives in a little town in Western Illinois where the real estate and cost of living are low but where there's nothing fun to do if you're under, say....80. This leaves him with money to spend but a boring social life. Consequently, he comes up to Chicago a lot of the time and sleeps on my couch.

Marla introduced him to a friend of hers a couple weeks ago, but no fireworks ensued. Len asked Marla to invite a friend and she invited two, among whom Len could have his choice: Pearl and The Troll.

For a guy, it's good to have a 3:2 female-to-male ratio. It gives you a chance to play to the crowd and by playing to the crowd, you increase your social value. Pearl is attractive---Asian, mid-to-late thirties but looks much younger and has that Bay Area California vibe, which is where she is from. If I'm any judge of women (on that the jury is out) she is also a potentially dangerous woman. Not that I have a lot to go on, but I sense a woman used to getting her way who could make things very difficult for a man careless enough to fall in love with her. Not that Len would give a damn.

The Troll, on the other hand, is not physically attractive---she is also Asian, overweight, slovenly in her personal appearance and careless with her clothes. If she were intelligent or said interesting things it wouldn't matter but, alas...I last met the troll after the marathon when she came to my apartment with Marla and would not shut up the entire time----Christ, the banal stuff that came out of her mouth embarrassed Marla too and I had not seen The Troll since that October afternoon.

So, The Troll, Marla, Pearl, Len and I gathered at my apartment and I ordered pizza. I was a little put off that Pearl and The Troll didn't offer to put up any money. Len and I always pay for each other and I knew he'd buy drinks or I'd buy brunch and it would work out and we just roll that way and always have and of course I'd pick up Marla's share being her boyfriend and I probably would have refused the money if Pearl and The Troll had offered to pay but it struck me at the time as presumptuous. Pearl, however, is probably used to having men pay for her and The Troll is not very socially adroit.

And so we were, drinking martinis and beer and eating pizza and The Troll picked up one of my coffee table toys and began playing with it. Pearl asked to see it and as The Troll handed it off I could see that it was broken. It was handed back to me. Now, accidents happen and it's the sort of museum gift shop piece that can easily be replaced so definitely no big deal but The Troll never apologized. She never said I'm sorry.....she just handed it back to me. And averted her eyes.

She was in a bad mood and Len was hanging all over Pearl. Were the two related? As a rule of thumb when you are interested in a girl and she's with a friend or friends, you should win the friends over to your side. Len made no attempt to do this---indeed, The Troll may as well have been invisible as far as he was concerned. I couldn't decide whether to sympathize with Len and say, Len, you've got a tough nut to crack trying to get that girl to be sociable-----or------say, Len, you're blowing it but not showing her any attention at all. It was a chicken-and-egg argument.

Anyway, we went to Nick's and Len continued to drink. And get loud. And hang on Pearl. And drink. And get loud. And hang on Pearl. And drink.....

And ignore The Troll. I decided the argument if favor of the chicken.

Marla and I kissed at some point and Pearl said,

"I wish I had somebody to kiss."

Marla replied,

"You can kiss Len."

Pearl laughed. And The Troll continued to stare into the distance. A few minutes later, it was The Troll who suggested to Pearl that they leave. And they left. And I walked Marla back to my place to get some sleep and went back to Nick's to drink with Len and Drinking Buddy. Len was the next one to go home and pass out.

The next morning Len's eyes were pasted shut and he was in no shape to join us for brunch. He's coming up this weekend and I may ask Marla if she'll introduce him to someone else.

And Len: go easy on the booze. And pay attention to her friend, if there's one there. Remember, it's the friend who suggests that it's time to go home.....

This Girlfriend Thing

Some men are relationship guys. These are guys who fret if they don't have a girlfriend and their encounters with women, from flirting to dating to sex, are geared toward that end. They tend to be rather picky about the women they socialize with, but there's a pre-emptive quality about their pickiness----they tend to be very sensitive about being rejected.

Then, there are the men with the roving eyes.

Last weekend, I was at Nick's when the female companion of a friendly acquaintance caught my eye. I avoided looking at her out of respect for Marla but when I went to the bar for drinks she introduced herself and mentioned that she had seen me here before. We exchanged a couple pleasantries and she asked if I had come in with "the black girl." I said, yes, that's my girlfriend Marla and maybe you and your friend can come over and say hi to us.

I took our drinks back to the table and Marla said,

"That girl is interested in you."

The thing was, I was attracted to her, too. She had that early 30s ironical hipster art student look I find so attractive. But, of course, I told her that I have a girlfriend. And I kept my eyes away from her for the rest of the evening.

Two nights ago, my upstairs neighbor, a medical student, had a get-together with her friends and invited the building over. I found myself in a conversation with a cellist---the kind of conversation you have after several drinks and the rapport comes easily and you make eye contact and laugh and you both know the attraction is there. Our hostess walked by and my companion said,

"This guy is your neighbor? He's cool."

I extricated myself from the conversation a few minutes later.

The amazing thing about Marla is that she gives me no trouble at all. I'm used to the drama that comes with relationships and I expect a certain amount of nagging and unpleasantness recriminations and I'm not getting them. She's laid back as hell, socially great and all my friends love her. Unfortunately, I keep feeling this powerful attraction to other women.

Yes, there are relationship guys and then there are the rest of us.....

Sober Reflections

I woke up with such a huge hangover this morning that the only way to alleviate it was masturbation. For some odd, unknown reason, hangovers make me horny. I think part of it may stem from the need to feel something different, anything, really, from what I am feeling. And an orgasm is great for a headache. For masturbatory fodder I mined a hookup from my college days, a student leadership conference. I almost called work to tell them that I'd be late, but that would have been detrimental to my self-esteem. Especially in light of what Drinking Buddy said to me last night at Nick's.

We were watching the election returns come in and Drinking Buddy was getting depressed.

"Great! Obama loses the white vote in Ohio. Buncha fucking racists. I've been there. Racist state. Won't pull the lever for a black candidate. How can anyone prefer Hillary?"

I steered the subject in another direction, since I didn't want Drinking Buddy veering to the dark side. Suddenly he turned to me:

"You know, you're a bigger drinker than I am....."

I audibly gasped.

"It's true. You handle it well, but you ARE a bigger drinker than I am..."

He was right.

We had probably had four shots at this point. There would be more, but this was at number four. I spend a lot of time and money going out, but having Drinking Buddy comment on your consumption is rather sobering.

On the other hand, fuck it. If I wanted to stay in and play pinnacle I'd have moved to Naperville.

The Winter of my Discontent

Marla and I were walking through the neighborhood this weekend when a bunch of women pushing a shopping cart darted in front of us. You get used to seeing strange things in Wicker Park but what made us do a double-take was that the young ladies in question were wearing Mexican sombreros, had penciled-in thin mustaches above their lips and were screaming what sounded like a parody of a battle cry.

Now---the girls looked to be in their early twenties, on some sort of scavenger hunt or shopping cart race. Perhaps a pub crawl? Did no one among them say,

"Guys, this might be construed as offensive by some people. We're wearing sombreros and mustaches and going through Wicker Park, which still has a significant Latino population. Could we be perpetuating offensive stereotypes?"

Apparently not. They were enjoying themselves with the unselfconscious air of the truly ignorant.

That night at Nick's, the place was packed with drunk louts. The bartender rolled his eyes when he saw us sit down, and we knew it was only a matter of time before people started getting kicked out. I returned from the bathroom to see a fresh-faced kid hanging on Marla. She saw me, smiled, and said to the kid,

"No, I told you I'm not doing a shot with you. Maybe my boyfriend will...."

"Yes, thanks, I'd love a shot," I said, downing the Jaeger bomb. I smirked at the guy, wondering how Mar would have handled the situation. She probably would have accepted the shot.
And maneuvered us into an argument.

We stayed for a couple drinks, including a complimentary round of shots and drinks (gotta love a place that takes care of their regulars), watched a few people get kicked out, including one who shoved the bartender (very lucky not to have gotten his ass kicked) and left. The next night, Sunday, we returned to Nick's to wrap up the weekend. I mentioned to the bartender that the weekend crowd seemed to be changing from when I first moved in, two and a half years ago.

"More musicians and art students, then," he said, adding wistfully, "I miss the old Wicker Park."

I don't get much sympathy from my college friends when I complain about gentrification. One of them drew a chorus of laughter when he said,

"You're just pissed off that people like you are moving in..."

Fair enough. But, it's not just a yuppie vs. hipster issue. It's when the loud and un-curious change the character of my favorite haunts. Just a couple weeks ago I was leaving Nick's with Marla when I was spotted by a bloke I used to work with, who's now in pharmaceutical sales.

"Yo, wazzup, mo-fo?" he greeted me. Marla visibly winced. I should mention, the former co-worker is a fraternity-boy shade of white, right down to his baseball cap.

Yes, the neighborhood is changing. And it feels as if the winter will last forever.....