By J.J. Tindall
The Picture of Dorian Gray
A dining jacket of fresh asphalt,
boulevard after boulevard
of sturdy, fragrant
boutonnieres, cocktail in hand,
Our Town as
Dorian Resplendent.
Posted on September 30, 2009
Meet The Manther
By John Kuczaj
John Kuczaj is wondering what the male equivalent of a Cougar is.
Joe C Tiger? Panther? The Lion King?
Steve W A kuczaj. I think that’s “cougar” backwards in Latin.
Ryan C Sadly, a pervert if you are poor and playboy if you are rich.
Posted on September 29, 2009
Sex Talk With Scott Rock: What Men Fear
By Scott Rock
I’ve married the one woman in my life I thought I’d ever fall irrevocably in love with. I’ve had the same woman leave me two decades later. I’ve been through marriage counseling and personal therapy that I liked and found very helpful. I’ve crammed my head with more books and articles than I care to recall on how to improve relationships both before and after they go swirling down the toilet. Best of all, I’ve been involved with a woman with seemingly endless sexual boundaries.
That’s how I knew we were all in trouble when I reached the point in an article on the Fox News website last Friday where sexpert Dr. Yvonne K. Fulbright wrote, “Checking in with your lover is the best way to guarantee that he’s meeting expectations.”
It’s not because I’m a man and we tend to roll our eyes at such things. It’s because we’ve learned repeatedly and consistently from TV shows like Cheaters and the late comedian Sam Kinison that you’re going to be the very last person anyone’s going to be checking in with, and usually not until one of you gets caught naked in a back seat somewhere. Not that we men are the most ideal characters to be checking in with in the first place, but most of us have the ability to do more than just grunt and scratch our ass when challenged.
Posted on September 28, 2009
I Am A Security Guard: Se Habla Espanol
By Jerome Haller
Nothing notable happened during the first several hours on a recent Tuesday night. That changed about 2 a.m. A short, thin man with a smile arrived in the store. He approached me and requested “gay or raid.”
Because of his Spanish accent and choice of words, I needed a few seconds to figure out what he wanted. Then I got lucky and said, “Oh, Gatorade.” After pointing to the store’s rear, I added: “Just go to the back wall. The refrigerator is at the left.”
He likely did not understand my words, but he walked to the refrigerator and found the drink.
Many of my store’s customers are Mexican-Americans. Some don’t speak English very well. In my weak moments, I ask myself why they don’t learn the language. After all, they chose to come to this country. When in Rome, do as the Romans do.
Posted on September 25, 2009
At Your Service: The Stupid Season
By Patty Hunter
I thought going back to school would give me a reprieve from the stupidity at work. And I’m not just referring to a classmate in my environmental reporting class who asked what malaria was. No, no. Rather, it seems the stupidity has compounded itself. Now, instead of dealing with a few jackasses each of the five or six shifts I work at the restaurant, they wait for me. They pile up during the weekend and fill up my section, asking for the salad dressing on the side because they don’t like a lot of it and then want extra, thereby putting twice as much on the salad as I would have. They ask if our personal-sized pizzas are “manly enough.” If you need a pizza to confirm suspicions you have about your masculinity you’re in deep trouble my friend. But yes, it is manly enough to feed you. From the first bite on your chest hair will double in size and your pheromones will render you the most desirable creature on the planet. (I don’t know what that says about the 10-year-old girl that ate almost the same thing you did about an hour ago but I don’t really care.)
Posted on September 24, 2009
The Gayhound Goes To Washington
By Jerry Pritikin
I was just informed that I am one of five finalists chosen to speak at next month’s National Equality NOW March, October 11, 2009 in Washington.
I am going by “Gay-Hound Bus” . . . and as part of the JOIN THE IMPACT/Chicago group.
This clip was put together with a cheap camera, but it still made the final five. I admit we had to do a few takes. The first was when I meant to say, “The National Equality Now March and it came out “The National Inquirer March.” A senior moment.
Also, a few weeks ago I won the award for the oldest active player in the Seniors Cup Softball Tournament . . . 72 and my team came in second.
Take a peek at my blog.
My slogan: WE HAVE JUST BEGUN TO WIN!
–
–
Posted on September 23, 2009
I Am A Security Guard: My First Stakeout
By Jerome Haller
A two-man crew started boosting goods from my store several weeks ago.
They had struck three days in a row, taking shampoo and aspirin right after my shift ended.
The store’s review of surveillance video revealed an especially brazen stunt: One man simply stuffed a few big bottles of shampoo inside his shirt and strolled past a cashier.
Most likely the thieves were drug users trying to earn money for their addiction. Some shoplifters sell items to discount stores and pedestrians on the cheap. Eventually, they earn enough to score dope.
My store has one advantage: many shoplifters get greedy and stupid. They keep coming back for more loot, thinking the store’s employees won’t catch them. Then they get busted. It’s only a matter of time.
Thus the store took action on a recent Sunday morning. With about 45 minutes before the end of my shift, another guard walked into the store and sat with the assistant manager in the main office. About ten minutes later, the Head Guard stopped in and joined them. Afterward, the first guard told me to camp in the office. He explained that the guards wanted the thieves to think I had left. My first stakeout had just begun.
Posted on September 15, 2009
Chicagoetry: Oasis
By J.J. Tindall
For Margaret
Oasis
O: that’s my SELF
floating before me
content and contrite,
liberated by quietude
and the slant
of autumn light.
Posted on September 14, 2009
I Am A Security Guard: Bad Moon Rising
By Jerome Haller
As I left home for work on a recent Friday night, I glanced upward. A full moon shone through the clear sky. Lyrics from “Bad Moon Rising,” the Creedence Clearwater Revival classic, danced in my head. I wondered if that was a bad omen.
Yes, it was The night turned into a comedy of errors.
As soon I stepped inside the store, the other guard walked toward me. “I have a favor to ask,” he said.
I paused, recalling the night I stood at his post for 25 minutes while he left for bread.
Posted on September 11, 2009
I Am A Roofer
By Scott Buckner
Actually, I am not a roofer. Nor have I ever wanted to be one. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a roofer; it’s good honest work that is severely under-valued and under-appreciated by most people until rainwater starts drenching their indoor valuables. I’m even convinced that the first thing Adam and Eve did after they begat Cain and Abel was invent a sod hut with tarpaper and shingles that eventually needed tending to.
The fair amount of personal discomfort inherent to professions like roofing, furniture moving, and professional wrestling is why I chose to become a newswriter and later a graphic/ad designer instead. However, when you become an out-of-work graphic/ad designer, you can become a lot of things temporarily. This is how people like my friend Tony (an out-of-work construction project manager) and I ended up working for a week stripping and re-roofing his mother’s garage on the East Side.
I cannot call myself a roofer, even while involved in the actual act of roofing. I didn’t learn any secrets or insights into what it takes to be a really good professional roofer other than it all begins with the ability to not go sailing off the edge of a roof. The only thing I learned – other than how quickly you can trash a few pairs of jeans – is that relatively sedentary guys a year or two short of their 50th birthday with pack-a-day cigarette habits since high school have no business roofing anything more complex than a treehouse.
Tony: You know what we need right now?
Me: What?
Tony: Four 21-year-olds.
Posted on September 8, 2009