Shoe Marketing

I learned a Bit o’ Honey coming straight from the Streets over this past weekend. It was so exciting!! There’s nothing I love more than discovering the process of customs and protocol of all cultures, both sub-cultures and those exploited on TLC.

For real. Shizz gets me off.

So I was just happier than a hipster after a Band of Horses show at the IHOP at 4:00AM to be told that THIS VISUAL supposedly means something...

Shoes.

Oh my God, shoes.

Back in the good old days, when I was a wee tot, when you saw shoes thrown up on a power line, it only meant one thing; that bullies were afoot, that some kid kissed the ground, got himself a wedgie so atomic that it could split an atom, and was then left to run home in barefooted shame to his momma.

Now-a-days, I guess shoes on a wire supposedly means that DRUG R US is in business, and it’s in business in the building where the shoes are.

WHO KNEW?? Well, those in street drug trade, I suppose. But, I did not! Now I have been informed!!

Granted, I’m not usually looking up at the sky and admiring the view when in the alley. I’m trying to not get run over, trying to dodge The Dog Molester (another blog for another time.) or I’m semi-creeping the building across from ours so I can admire Hot Lenny Kravitz Guy from afar. (Also another blog for another time.)

Not for me, of course. For Kaydee, because I’m always looking out for my girl.

I have to start making a list of these blogs for another time. The Dog Molester is notorious for both being rude and molesting dogs. Hot Lenny Kravitz Guy is a walking embodiment of all that is hot and glorious in all of Rogers Park. Not just a feast for the eyes, Hot Lenny Kravitz Guy goes out of his way to wave hello to you from down the alley, and makes sincere small talk that isn't uncomfortable or is forced out like a hard turd.

May we take a moment to honor Hot Lenny Kravitz Guy just on principle alone.........

........So those kicks may have been kickin’ it up there for a while. We did have some emo-kids that were squatting in a unit, and using my beloved back gate and dumpster as their own VIP entry way to their assessment free living arrangement. But I haven’t seen any wayward college kids in our courtyards, coppin’ a squat Indian style, and hijacking a wireless connection whilst they wait for “that guy with the key” to come home so they can “get their shit and catch the Greyhound to Cali for Coachella” in a while. So, business is probably closed for the winter. Or even better, permanently.

But yeah; shoes on a wire. Not as pretty as birds on a wire, but much more creative for supposed marketing purposes.

And now you know too!

Bootsy

FWIW; Should this Bit o Honey be completely incorrect, unfounded, or a mere urban legend, please let me know. CORRECT knowledge is even more powerful!

Bees In Real Time

I interrupt the blog I was in the process of writing...

...and rewriting...

..and rewriting...

...and REwriting..

..in order to bring you this breaking news. The Winter Bees have not let the winter blues beat them down.

Snowstorms are like major family events, such as weddings or funerals. It’ll either bring out the best in people, or the total ass damned worst. It’s dog eat dog during a Chicago snowstorm. God forbid if anyone cut anybody any slack.

If you may, please observe this scene from where all the good shit happens in my life. The alley.

On the left, you will see a van from Direct TV, obviously there on a service call, or to score some low cost, back alley Ritalin, also known as Strattera. On the right you will see an open garage door, an unseen very pissy lady inside, honking her horn an ass-ton, and shouting curses to the sky.

Her complaint, she’s blocked in her garage. Which, she may or may not be. I would say it depends on your vantage point and her skill. From my judgement, it looks to me like there’s a good enough amount of room for her to wiggle her way out of her spot, despite the snow and all.

Unless she’s driving P. Diddy’s Hummer Stretch Limo circa 2006, or she’s a seriously shiteous city driver, I’m not sure what the problem is. Drive your shit and pray, just like the rest of us do when the going gets tough and the tough call in from work and shizz.

Instead, she sat on her horn and yelled to the air that she was calling a tow truck. Why she didn’t call Direct TV, talk to the dispatch, and have them contact the driver to have him come move his crap...that I do not know. That seems a lot simpler and quieter than yelling to the world “DAMN YOU DIRECT TV! DAMN YOU TO HELL!”

Alright, well maybe not THAT dramatic. But I’m trying to set a tone here.

I don’t think that the Direct TV guy had planned that he was going to sequester this chick to her garage. I think the poor dude was like, “Shit. it’s snowing ass buckets, I have to do these service calls no matter how much it sucks ass outside. I’m so happy my job requires me to scale a roof in treacherous conditions. Lemme just stop what I’m doing so I can move my car that’s not in the way, and climb up here TWICE, because I’m not paid enough to take my life into my own hands only one time whilst in the field.”

At the same time, she’s probably all like “Damnit, why do I have to drive in this shit? Why didn’t I keep my kid home from school today? Oh..because she’s annoying, and I need her out of the house from 9 to 3, or I loose my freakin’ mind every time she wants to have a three hour screaming match over gumballs. But, now she’s screwed. She's the only kid left at school, because everyone else has to take the fucking bus.”

For what it's worth, I don't think the tow truck would have been able to do anything. As you can see, the van wasn't officially blocking entry/exit to her garage. It was on city property, pulled over to the side, and easily passible. That makes this woman, in my book, officially a pant wetter. Thumbs down to that! No honey for her!

Hopefully this tale had a happy ending. As of right now, the van is gone, the garage door is closed, and my husband wants me to stop fuckin’ around the alley as if I’m Brenda Starr, and make his ass some dinner.

Bootsy

PS: So much for that whole “not swearing as much” thing. Maybe better luck next year.

Or tomorrow. I’m no quitter. That’s why it took me so long to get through rehab.