Wednesday, May 31, 2006

A few things

Please don’t say ‘in regards to.’

It’s in regard to or regarding.

Regards is what you say at the end of a letter.
Furthermore, you’re not golfing. Or worse, going golfing.

You wouldn’t say I’m going baseballing. Or basketballing.

It’s playing golf, dammit.

Pay attention, folks. This shit’s important.
I had a hoagie for dinner last night.

I love that word.


Here in the Midwest we call ‘em subs. But people from New Jersey like to call long crusty-breaded sammiches hoagies.

Way more fun. Way more tasty. Don’t you agree?

A tiny caveat on the regard/regards/regarding thing. You can say ‘as regards’ something if you like.

But please don’t do it around me.
I am reading: An article called "Going Beyond God" from
I am listening to: Gromit chew his breakfast
And I am: Hoagie-riffic!

Friday, May 26, 2006

Silly Friday

When did it become an accepted practice for holiday weekends to bleed over into the preceding Friday?

Every other week I have a full day of marketing status meetings with the various practice areas at my company.

Today was supposed to be no different.

Within 15 minutes of arriving in the office, people wanting to leave early for the holiday canceled more than half of them.

And I guarantee that after lunch this place will be a ghost town.
E-mailing last night:

Jim P: I tried setting my e-mail password to ‘penis.’ It said my password wasn't long enough.

Jeff: That's what you get for sitting naked in front of the computer with the web-cam

Heather: Try ‘Jeff’spenis.’ That might work. :)
I am listening to: Sales Pipeline Meeting (but not really)
I am reading: Steinberg/Sun-Times
And I am: Needing this weekend

Thursday, May 25, 2006

And it's deep too

Passing the train yard near Aurora. I am reading graffiti on the cars.

Here’s a new one: ‘Niggas Rule Forever.’


If in fact niggas are in charge, one would hope they’d do a better job of getting the word out.
Oh, Heather.

You’re not supposed to use that word.

Really? I’m not so sure about that.

It’s not as patently offensive as the Classic N-Word.

It’s n-word lite.
And who are these niggas, really?

The idiot who penned that intriguing graffito probably wasn’t even African American.

Just some sad, attention-starved poseur white kid who listens to rap and wears G-Unit garb to piss off his decidedly white and benign middle-class parents.
Stop saying it! Nigga is offensive! Stop! You’re white!

Fuck that.

Of course I would never be so stupid as to use that word among my African American acquaintances.

But c’mon. This is America.

If some nigga is gonna slap it on the side of a train car, I am free to talk about it.

I am reading: More train car graffiti
I am listening to: Richard Pryor - That Nigger's Crazy
And I: Ain't dead yet, motherfucker!

Wednesday, May 24, 2006


'The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what you share with someone else when you're uncool.' - Lester Bangs, Almost Famous
I am reading: new web site
I am listening to: Sheryl Crow - Every Day is a Winding Road
And I am: Uncool

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

It's all about marketing

The homeless veteran who sits on milk crates at the Madison Street Bridge changes his small cardboard sign more often than you’d think.

Today it read: “This Memorial week please help a homeless vet. Thank you!”

Nice tie-in with the holiday. Good marketing.
Yesterday I walked by the Other Homeless Guy who stands and sways outside the far East entrance to the mall at Ogilvy train station. He was wearing shiny new headphones – those tiny ear bud thingies that Currently Cool But Futurely Deaf People of the World are cramming into their heads these days.

If you’re gonna beg people for money at least have enough sense to look mildly homeless. Bad marketing.
Well you’re not just a bitch, Heather, you’re a snob, too.

So what if the homeless dude wears new headphones? Maybe they were a gift. Who are you to deny him that tiny bit of comfort in his otherwise tattered existence?

I’m not saying he shouldn’t have the headphones. I’m saying he shouldn’t wear them whilst begging for money.

It’s all perception.

Say I’m a tourist fresh off the train from Iowa or Nebraska or some other charming, sans-homeless state: Do I give my hard-earned money to the sign-sporting vet or the swaying and decidedly stinky dude with the spiffy new headset?

Good marketing wins every time.
I am reading: And writing content for the new web site
I am listening to: Three Days Grace – Animal I Have Become
And I am: Surly

Monday, May 22, 2006

I took

a different way to the train station this morning. By necessity more than anything – I paid a visit to the dry cleaner.

The drive was slightly more scenic than usual and seemed to be faster.

We’ll see if it's really faster or just a fluke when I do it again tomorrow morning.

I’m a big advocate of breaking out of habits – we creatures tend to go the same way, do the same things all the time. It’s comforting I guess.

For today, get out of your routine. Turn right instead of left and see where it takes you.
I did an amazingly thoughtless and selfish thing Thursday night. I was supposed to meet a very good friend of mine for dinner and instead I stayed at the bowling alley because I was having such a good time.

Ugly, isn’t it?

What’s worse, it’s not the first time I’ve done this to this particular friend. A friend I’ve known for nearly 25 years.

We get to see each other barely a handful of times each year. And I blew it off.

I’m sorry.

It isn’t nearly enough to fix the damage I’ve done this time.

There’s nothing I can do to make things better. So I’m working on figuring out why I did it in the first place.

Aside from the obvious answer that I am an incredibly selfish bitch.
But wait there’s more: Today is his birthday.

Nice job, Heather. Way to go.
I am reading: My corporate AmEx statement
I am listening to: R.E.M. – So. Central Rain
And I am: Selfish

Friday, May 19, 2006


got some work done on the train ride in this morning. It provides a little jump-start on the day and makes me feel like I’m slightly less behind than usual.
Last night I went bowling for the first time in nearly 20 years at Southport Lanes in Chicago.

A neat place. Not your typical smoky-dirty-trashy bowling alley. Probably the most fun I’ve ever had in rented shoes.

But I think the main reason it was better than expected was because of The Big Lebowski – the quintessential bowling movie.

There were a handful of us Achievers in the crowd so we spent the night cracking ourselves up with lines from the movie.

“Obviously you’re not a golfer.”

“This is not ‘Nam. This is bowling. There are rules.”

“I'm just gonna go find a cash machine.”

“That rug really tied the room together.”

“I’ve got a beverage here.”

And of course: “The Dude abides.”

If you haven’t seen it, please do. If you’ve seen it and didn’t like it, give it another try.
I went bowling, yes. But I did not bowl well.

Honestly? 46.

My final score was 90-something, however, because of the dollar bills I stuffed in the ball before whipping it down the lane.

The pins at Southport Lanes are still set up manually. So if you throw them a little green they'll knock a few extra pins down for you.

There goes another one of Heather's Rules for Life I guess.
I am reading: Healthcare practice docs
I am listening to: Not the fuckin’ Eagles, man.
And I am: Abiding

Thursday, May 18, 2006

Trees Need to Sway

It's my mantra.

When I feel far away from everything and everyone -- like I do right now -- I focus on that and it brings me back.
I am reading: Oracle Partner Business Plan
I am listening to: Nothing
And I am: Disconnected

Wednesday, May 17, 2006


Okay kiddies, today we are adding ‘O-Riffic’ to everything.

It makes even the most unpleasant things sound kinda fun.

C’mon, try it.

Remember when I said I wasn’t against much?

That’s not entirely true.

Turns out I do in fact have some hard and fast rules which, when followed, have made my life easier over the years.

Heather’s Rules for Life:

No littering
No eating desserts with the words ‘bread’ or ‘pudding’
No buying or driving German cars
No attending or hosting home shopping parties
No putting someone on hold to take another call
No bowling
No attending weddings I don't believe in
No talking on mobile phones in public
These are your only rules? What about lying, cheating and stealing? How about no killing?

Well, at my age those things ought to be a given, don’t you agree?

Just like the Catholic Church, these are just a few rules to supplement the basic commandments and make my life a little more pleasant.

Littering is the #1 rule and my favorite because it’s the only one I’ve never actually broken. That crying Indian dude really got to me when I was a kid. And yes, back then he was an Indian goddammit.
There are exceptions to these rules, of course.

If I end up in Hell (it could happen) it will be a home shopping party where I am forced to eat bad snacks with women I don’t know while buying over-priced shit that I don’t need for all eternity.

However, I recently attended a home party that was quite lovely: the snacks were good, the chicks were fun and I bought moderately priced jewelry that I actually like and wear.

Big Thanks to my dear friend Judy for changing my mind on this one.
Now that I think about it the Home Shopping Party in Hell also would involve bread or rice pudding for dessert.

Dessert is chocolate.

It’s mousse. Or cookies. Or cake.

It’s not some bullshit main dish dressed up with a little cinnamon to make it seem like dessert.
Have you done it? Have you added ‘O-Riffic’ yet?

Do it at least once today and I promise – just like my polka-dot underwear and that song by James Taylor – it’ll put you in a good mood.
I am reading: Sales & Marketing Status Reports
I am listening to: Garbage – You Look So Fine
And I am: Hed-O-Riffic!

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Rubs, Meetings, Zen

“You want some rubs, Grommie? How about a rub?”

That was last night.

When I ask Gromit the Dog if he wants a rub he rolls over on his side and puts one paw up as if to say, “Start here, please.”

Gromit really loves rubs. So before he goes to bed each night, he gets a mini massage.

Heather, that’s pretty twisted. Does Jim get rubs?

Of course. But he prefers scratches.

There’s another reason why Grommie gets rubs every night.

When you are massaging your dog or cat, you get to know the lumps and bumps of their little bodies. You notice things that weren’t there before.

And that can save your pet’s life.

For example, last night I was rubbing Grom’s ears. And who doesn’t love a good ear rub, really?

I noticed a dark spot on his right ear. It could’ve been a small scab; sometimes when he’s scratching he gets a little too enthusiastic and breaks the skin.

This was not a scab.

Even though I’d never seen one before, looking close, I knew exactly what it was: a tick.

Ew. A big ugly bug burrowing its way into Gromit’s ear.

Luckily it hadn’t been there too long. I pulled the vile thing out with some tweezers. And Gromit licked my face in appreciation.

I’ve heard that ticks are particularly bad this year. So please do your dogs a favor and give them a rub once in a while.
I have six meetings today. They start at 9 a.m. and end around 4 p.m. With no breaks. These are regular meetings that were rescheduled from Friday because we were all out at a user group meeting for the day.

I’m doing my best to fight off a serious case of the crabbies because it means I will get virtually nothing done all day.

In the corporate world people spend way too much time talking about doing things and not nearly enough time actually doing them.

Thankfully, I’m running most of the meetings so it won’t be too torturous.

There are few things I do really well, but I’ve learned from experience how to run a tight meeting.

1) Have an agenda.
2) Stick to it (without being a Meeting Nazi)
3) Come away with a list of things to do, who is doing them and when they are due
4) If it lasts longer than an hour, you’re wasting time

Some people like to think that meetings are social time. I’m sure it harkens back to story hour from grade school. And I’m sure the Story Teller really thinks he’s doing the group a favor by regaling us with all of his weekend adventures.

Once the Story Teller gets going, it’s hard to stop him. I usually let him tell one.

After that, he’s on lock down and we’re focused on the shit we need to do.
Getting off the train I felt that energizing comfort of being back into my routine.

The city smells like chocolate today. It’s so good to be back.
I am listening to: Heather Nova – Walk This World
I am reading: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Persig
And I am: Struggling to Stay Zen

Monday, May 15, 2006


an inordinate amount of time waiting in airports this past weekend. Due to "weather" my flight to Detroit was 2.5 hours late Friday night. Wouldn’t you know it, the flight home was way too early and now I’m waiting for Jim to rescue me from the baggage claim at O’Hare.

It is 7:45 a.m. on Monday.

Sitting inside by entrance 3C, getting ready to launch into a serious piss and moan session because I don’t have any observations to share, when two little birds land at my feet.

It was as if they were saying “Hey you, wake up! You’ve done and seen a lot this weekend! Think about it.”

Okay. Here’s a summary:

The late flight was worthwhile because I got to see the crisp full moon lighting up the clouds beneath me.
I love being a Hertz #1 Club member because it makes me feel special – my name appears on a sign telling me which car is mine. I don’t have to bother with checking in or any other bullshit, I just hop in and go go go.

Actually, any service that makes me feel special is good. I can't think of any others right now. Can you?
"She woke up every day like it was the first day of her life." - Da, regarding my maternal grandmother, Alma.
Cheerios with a banana for breakfast was nostalgic like most everything else over the past two days.

As planned, spent most of Saturday on my hands and knees in my parents' attic.
“I spend more time on my knees than you realize, Mom.”
“Right, Monica.”
Cleaning out the attic makes a nice allegory for the mental cleanse needed to continue my Year of Traveling Lightly.

It was deeply therapeutic.

The simple physical labor of moving boxes and bags and furniture. Combined with uncovering childhood relics.

Sorting, organizing, discarding.

A lot came down. Dusty junk that lost its purpose long ago.

Old ways of thinking, old habits developed to cope with another time that got stored away for some reason. Now just wasting space.

I’m imagining my mind like the attic Saturday afternoon: an open, clean space with just a few boxes of memories too precious to throw away.
The speed bag in the garage reminded me how satisfying it is to hit something.
As a reward for my good behavior I visited my old college roommate and her family Saturday night. The time just flies with them.

As well as we know each other, we still learn things about each other that are surprising, funny and deeply moving.

As always, they remind me Who I Am.
“I just like hearing their stories. I like asking them questions.” - Susie on the old, the poor and the homeless.
Went to St. Peters for Mother's Day Mass.

Yes, I did. Kindly keep your wise-ass comments to yourself.

A few things: Father Cooney was as interesting and funny as my parents said he would be. The church was just as I remembered it. And surprisingly highly conducive to meditation – I lost my feet within the first 10 seconds.

Lots of songs about mothers. Ave Maria is of course, the best.

But there's too goddamn much sit/stand/sing/kneel/sing/stand/sit going on. Too much ceremony and not nearly enough message.

I felt closer to God/the Universe/Whoever in the five minutes I spent meditating before the whole thing started.
It was so good being home for Mother's Day this year.

A nap. Visits from old friends and neighbors. Navy cake. A trip to my brother's house.
Now I’m home cuddled on the couch with the Best Dog in the World eating peanut butter toast.
I am reading: Work e-mail
I am listening to: Ben Folds - Landed
And I am: Spent

Thursday, May 11, 2006


in to work today. Almost two hours from my house to the Loop.

Rainy, wet, cold ugliness.
I am reading: Heather's To-Do List
I am listening to: Alternative Favorites 2005 mix
And I am: Indifferent

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Don’t Mind My Wandering Mind

You see a lot of strange shit on commuter trains.

I’m talking about the regular days. Not on the rare occasion when a self-absorbed ass-hat decides to commit suicide and inconvenience thousands of people in the process.

Warning: if you’re eating breakfast (or dinner if you happen to be in Tokyo) you might wanna wait to read what’s next.
Invisible Man Phenomenon: Involves people in public places who believe no one can actually see them.

On the train ride home about a month ago I watched a guy pick his nose for what seemed like forever. He was holding a book in one hand. And fingering his brain with the other.

He’d take whatever gray treasure he extracted, inspect it briefly, and then pop it in his mouth like a finger full of frosting.

The whole thing is fucked up for sure, but I’m most mystified by the fact that he had to look each time. Maybe the green ones just taste better.
Women are classic victims of the IMP. Staring intently into hand-held mirrors, these masterful artists pluck and apply and curl themselves into veritable goddesses, all in under an hour.

This is truly confounding for someone like me. Practically every other morning I stab myself in the eye with the pointy mascara thingy just standing still in my bathroom.

I have no idea how they do it on a (often violently) rocking train.
Just so you know, I’m not against nose pickery in general. Just don’t do it in public. And for Pete’s sake use a Kleenex.
You may have noticed I’m not really against much. Some have even branded me (oh, horror!) a bleeding heart liberal.

For you true BHL’s I’m not against you, either.

But I’m not one of you.

I’m more of a Libertarian. Leave me alone; let me do what I want to do – responsibly and without hurting others. You do what you want to do without hurting others and without involving me and we’ll get along just fine.

Worship a turnip. Fuck a pumpkin.

I don’t care what you do with your free time as long as you don’t hurt anyone. Especially children, old people and the handicapped.
All that is gold does not glitter; not all those that wander are lost. – J.R.R. Tolkien from The Fellowship of the Ring
I am reading: Nothing
I am listening to: Pearl Jam – Better Man
And I am: Wandering

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

You might think

I'm slacking. I'm not.

I've got a job that's been keeping me way too busy lately.

Makes me think of a quote from the quintessential chick movie: Steel Magnolias. Dolly Parton's character says:

"He's so confused he don't know whether to scratch his watch or wind his butt."

I know how he feels. Not confused so much. Just so busy I'm not sure what to do next.

Trust me, I've got plenty to write about -- just no time to do it right now. Hoping to be back soon...
I am reading: Nothing
I am listening to: Nothing
I am: Winding my butt

Monday, May 08, 2006


trust anything that bleeds for five days and doesn't die." - Mr. Garrison, South Park
It was a very good weekend but somehow I have nothing to report.

Although floating on your back in a pool looking up at a perfectly cloudless blue sky does not suck.
Sir Richard and his crew were back at work today albeit looking somewhat rattled.

Keeping with my policy that Everything is Better with Cookies, I brought Richard his favorites (Pecan Sandies) to hopefully cheer him up a bit. Every time I looked at him he looked like he was about to cry.

Makes me angry.
Hedy's Tip O' the Day: If you must kill yourself, please don't involve really good people who are just trying to do their jobs getting people safely to and from work every day. In fact, don't involve anyone. Just go away quietly. And try not to leave a mess. Thank you.
I am reading: A book by a friend
I am listening to: Pearl Jam - Severed Hand
And I am: Unsettled

Friday, May 05, 2006

I am fascinated

by people walking through the train station hugging pillows.

I've heard some people can't travel without their personal pillow.

I am not particularly attached to mine. It could be lost forever in some bizarre bedding tragedy and I wouldn't miss it for a minute.
I am crunchy today.

Crunchy is when you're slightly over-done. Too much of everything makes a person crunchy.

I'm bordering on burnt.
Train update: Sir Richard wasn't there this morning. It was an entirely different crew, entirely different train. Makes me wonder how much time they get to take when something like yesterday happens.
I am listening to: Hyperion marketing channels person doing a presentation (but not really)
I am reading: A draft of a book written by a dear friend
I am: Crunchy

Thursday, May 04, 2006

Before today

I complained when trains hit pedestrians.

They deserve it, I used to say. If they’re stupid enough to not heed the signals, they should die.

And then today I felt it happen.

I felt the train hit the person.

I heard the ugly, nauseating, rushing, brushing sound of something like a wet tree branch alongside my train car. It seemed to last forever but probably only went on for 20 seconds. Twenty seconds that amounted to a half mile while the train slowed.
Today marks one year with my current company.

I’ve got a performance review coming up and was using the quiet train time to look over last year’s calendar so that I can document everything I’ve done.

I came to those two really bad days back in August. Remember?

10 a.m. webcast, train ahead of mine hits woman on bike, late, late, late, LiveMeeting fuck-up only five people can access and Mom said “Bet you’re glad you’re not that woman on the bike.” Next day: Medinah event cancelled, forgot to call One Very Important Guy, Very Pissed Off, and Mom said: “Bet you wish you were the woman on the bike.”

The urgent train horn interrupted the bad memory and that’s right when it hit the pedestrian. What are the odds?
All of us unloaded about half a mile from the Downers Grove Main train station.

Jumping out of a train car without a platform isn’t easy. Especially with a bad knee. But there were guys standing outside to help.

I walked up to the scene. I don’t know why. Surprisingly few people were standing there.

One large piece of yellow tarp covering part of the remains. Another medium-sized tarp 20 feet east covering more remains. At least 10 small pieces of red and white tarp held down by rocks covering up the . . . pieces.

“There are just too many pieces everywhere. It will be a long time before another train runs east today,” said the police officer standing just beyond the yellow crime scene tape.
So now I am home. It’s lovely outside.
I am reading: work e-mail
I am listening to: the birds chirping
And I am: disturbed

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

I used to be a worm

If you're a bird be an early bird
and catch the worm for your breakfast plate
if you're a bird be an early, early bird
but if you're a worm, sleep late.

- Shel Silverstein
"Listen, any time I do something bad it comes back and bites me in the ass right away." - Heather
"Some people really like that." - Brian
I am reading: SharePoint registration crap
I am listening to: Beatles - I'll Follow the Sun
And I am: Quiet

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

You know who

He’s the guy who arrives late and leaves early. He takes credit for the ideas and work of others. He wanders around your workplace with a coffee mug in his hand socializing more than half the day. He's always figuring out a way to work the system so he can get something for nothing. And he’s a master at holding other people responsible for the shit he’s supposed to be doing.

Know him? I bet you do. I bet there’s at least one person like that where you work.

I’ve got one here. We actually work in the same department, for the same manager.

It would drive me absolutely bat-shit if someone judged my work by his performance.

And you know what? I’ll take one hard-working illegal immigrant over 10 of those lazy-ass bastards any day.

So don’t talk to me about the small percentage of immigrants who will take advantage of the system.

Because they haven’t cornered the market on laziness, not by a long shot.
In between rainstorms, we cleaned up the front yard on Saturday.

I was on my hands and knees (well, knee actually since a year later I still can’t put any weight on the bad one) for a couple hours pulling weeds. Then raking. Then stuffing all the piles into waste bags.

It’s exhausting work if you haven’t done it in a while.

If, maybe you have a team of Mexicans who come to your house and do it for you. A hard-working band of immigrants who may or may not be here legally.

But you don’t care, do you? Your yard looks fabulous!

And your back doesn’t hurt at all. Like mine did on Sunday. Like theirs do every day.
I am reading: Steinberg on the Immigration March in the Sun-Times
I am listening to: The All-American Rejects – Dirty Little Secret
And I am: Pissed Off

Monday, May 01, 2006

Sí, se puede

Yes we can.

That’s what they were chanting. The endless throng of immigrants walking down Jackson Blvd. past the Sears Tower into the heart of the Loop.

Their goal was to show strength in numbers but all I could see was individual faces.

Hopeful brown eyes. Lots of smiles.

People like you and me who just want to work hard and take care of their families and have fun occasionally.

Yes we can. Indeed.
Other observations

Standing at the corner of Jackson and Wacker for more than 30 minutes, American flags outnumbered Mexican flags 10 to 1.

And there was just one Polish flag.

Some of the signs:

“Human Beings are Not Illegal”
“Fuck Bush” (not subtle, but who can argue with that one?)
“We didn’t cross the border, the border crossed us.”
“We Also Have a Dream”
They’re here. They’re part of the fabric of our community. And they’re not going anywhere.

We can make this work. Yes we can.
I am reading: Nothing
I am listening to: Pearl Jam – Severed Hand
And I am: Inspired

It's no fun

being an illegal alien.

That’s the song in my head this morning.

Big apologies if it’s stuck in yours now. If you’ve never heard it, consider yourself blessed.
A number of non-minority types will use today’s big protest as an excuse to stay out of the city. Not me.

I like the idea of being near something this big, this historic.

Most of all, I really love chaos. A double secret part of me craves it.

Not that I’m expecting it though.

As with the millions of gorgeous, orderly perennials planted along the Magnificent Mile, I’m certain the City of Chicago is implementing a well thought-out plan for today. But with up to a half million people protesting, things could get ugly for small moments.

What’s left of the journalist in me is excited about being there for it.
I don’t agree with today’s protest.

But you said…I know. Amnesty for all immigrants.

I still believe that. I just don’t believe in this particular event.


Because they already had their fucking march back in March. Why do they need another one? How many days are they gonna take off to let the world know that they’re a very powerful minority? When will it be enough?
Then again, maybe this march isn’t scaring off anyone. My usual train (the 7:42) is more crowded than usual. Not with protesters, either. It’s just us average worker-bee types.

Wait. I get it. Everyone is taking earlier trains to avoid the pre-march madness.
I read somewhere that if you can’t leave work for the protest you should at least wear white to show your support for this cause. A quick glance around the train tells me a) nobody got the “let’s wear white” edict and/or b) nobody cares.
And where the hell is Jesse Jackson? He’s usually front and center when it comes to the Major Minority Media Event. Where’s his Rainbow PUSH Coalition today? Supporting his persecuted Mexican compadres?

Or is he, as I suspect, cowering in a corner somewhere contemplating his continued loss of cache as the leader of what’s become the second most-powerful minority in the United States?

Second most-powerful minority. It’s kinda like coming in second at a beauty pageant. Your only hope of ever reigning involves unforeseen scandal or tragedy.
Today’s march is going to be Really Big News. The people planning the protest have said they want to shut down every major city across the U.S.

Millions of people will skip work and school to participate in this historic event.

In the midst of all this excitement and anticipation, what does a half-ass journalist like me think about?

Lunch, of course.

Restaurants rely on immigrant labor. Which means it’ll be tough to get lunch in the Loop today.

Life is uncertain. Pack lunch.

Don’t thank me. Really. Sometimes the wisdom just flows.
My friend Richard the Conductor just made an announcement regarding extra trains in anticipation of the large crowds this afternoon.

He called it an “Immigration Parade.”

Parades have floats. Parades have marching bands. And parades have fat men wearing fezzes riding tiny ridiculous vehicles.

This is not a parade.
Update on the Jesse Jackson thing: as of 9:10 a.m. his Rainbow PUSH Coalition site had no comment on today's events. I asked a co-worker about this interesting phenomenon.

"If it ain't black, he won't attack!" he replied.
Confession: I had to look up how to manage the plural version of fez. I was guessing it was something more exotic like fezi.
I am reading: Steinberg in the Sun-Times
I am listening to: Pearl Jam – Severed Hand
And I am: Curious