GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1107: DEKALB CRIME

 I took today off so I could drive to Elmhurst and let a doctor stick needles into my spine. My back feels better already, and it was nice to have a sort-of three day weekend, so why not write a Goodnight, Fuckers?

I've been making a few jokes on social media about whether or not I live in a dangerous neighborhood, and the answer might actually be, in all seriousness, yes. There are two Flock cameras across the street from my apartment complex, if that gives you any indication. More on that in a moment.

I'm from Elmhurst, and while Elmhurst has crime, it's not like DeKalb's crime. Shootings in Elmhurst, for instance, are rare. And when violence happens there, it's usually from out of towners robbing a gas station or what have you.

DeKalb crime is in your face, though. For example, I recently had to give up eating at one of the best pizza places here because I learned that the co-owner was a pedophile. It doesn't say what he did, but the sex crimes registry mentioned that the victim was twelve years old. So fuck that place.

A few years ago, someone robbed one of their delivery drivers at gunpoint, if you want the example to continue. Every once in a while we get a drunken act of violence, like where they say the NIU student who stabbed a guy outside a bar on Lincoln Hwy (which, if you keep driving east, turns into Roosevelt Rd for those of you closer to Elmhurst.)

And then there's the guy who . . . hell, just read the article. Warning, you probably don't want to read that. And if you wonder how it could have started at the library, then you've never worked at a library.

Which brings us to my neighborhood. There were three recent bouts of violence. Two were shootings that happened a couple of blocks away from me, and the other was a stabbing that happened at the apartment complex next to mine. From what I understand, that stabbing happened RIGHT IN FRONT OF ONE OF THOSE FLOCK CAMERAS. And there still hasn't been an arrest. I kind of doubt these things are good at what they're supposed to be good at: catching criminals. They're really good at extracting our data against our will, though. Why do we have so many of these fucking things, again?

As far as I'm concerned, the jury's out. I've never been afraid to go outside. Nothing has ever happened to me here. Then again, I'm a pretty big dude, so not many people want to fuck with me. So what do you think? Do I live in a dangerous neighborhood?

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1061: IF YOU DON'T LIKE THE WEATHER . . .

 . . . just wait a few minutes. We've all heard some variation of this seemingly age-old phrase. I'm not doing a history of that, by the way (I heard that sigh of relief), but I did just learn, mere seconds ago, that Mark Twain said it first, so maybe it's not an ancient proverb, after all.

Just about every region claims this, and almost all of them are wrong. But I've learned during my time in DeKalb, that this is one of those places that is telling the truth. Back in Elmhurst, Addison and Joliet, one of the first things I'd do every morning while trying to convince myself to go to work was check the weather. It was usually accurate or close enough for me. In DeKalb? I've decided to give up on it. The forecast is correct maybe fifty percent of the time, and I'm not going to rely on a coin flip.

Today was the last straw because I'd been promised a nice cool day of thunderstorms. The way my apartment is placed, I can open the east windows wide and never get the floor wet, even on the stormiest day. The west windows? I wouldn't even leave them open a crack. Rain gets in there like little wet bullets.

I work at my kitchen table, which faces the east. I looked forward to the calming effects the rain would have on me, as Mondays are the busiest days at work, and it can easily turn me into a flailing jagged ball of stress.

(There is also something wonderful about being inside while it's raining out. Maybe it's the smell of the storm through a screened window. I always did love that.)

What did I get instead? A half an hour of the weather I wanted, and then a cloudy humid breezeless blah for the rest of the day. At the very least it wasn't a stressful day. Not once did I feel the desire to hang up on an unruly customer. I'd never actually do it, but the thought doesn't just creep in--it busts the fucking door down and announces its presence in a rich baritone.

I haven't even mentioned the surprise rainstorms that suddenly erupt on previously pleasant and sunny days. Storm warnings that sometimes necessitate the air raid sirens also fail to deliver on a regular basis. I got a tornado warning recently, the kind that makes your phone scream terrible noises at you with messages to seek shelter immediately. Out here I felt sure that I should probably take these more seriously than the ones we got in Elmhurst, but when I saw none of my neighbors gave a shit about it, I followed suit.

I'm irritated about barely getting a spring this year. I should expect it by now, but it is my favorite season. It was always just barely cool enough to make a jacket mandatory, and then it went straight into the eighties heat.

Do you know what this means? I've officially become a middle-aged man. I've never complained about weather before in my entire life, and here I am devoting a GF to it. I'm starting to approach 50 a li'l, and I look pretty good for my age. Alcohol is supposed to age you beyond your years, but I suspect it may have accidentally preserved me instead, like a caveman who has tripped and found himself in a bog, although my dad looked young for his age when he passed. He was just about to turn 60 and looked like he was in his late forties. So maybe I'm full of shit about the booze.

At any rate, the years have finally caught up. I no longer have a lawn, so I can't tell kids to get off of it. Is it too soon to worry about developing a taste for Werther's Original? I *do* like Necco wafers . . .

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1011: THE LAST OUTPOST OF THE EMPIRE . . .

 . . . at least until Iowa.

I've lived in DeKalb for a few days, and it's been pretty nice, but it *is* in the middle of nowhere. I like the middle of nowhere. There's a lot of farmland and woods and prairie out here. You know how, if you're driving, the road signs tell you what the next major town is? When you get to DeKalb, the road signs advise you that Iowa is pretty much the next thing of interest on this road, and there's still about 90 miles of Illinois left.

I spent today trying to put things where they belong, or at least in the room they belong. Unpacking with this fucking cage on my foot is difficult, to say the least. Right now the dinosaur computer I write just about everything on is in my living room, and I'm trying to figure out how to get it all to my study, where I plan to do all my writing going forward. (Yes, I have a study. And yes, you may see it when it is ready.) I have two ideas: I can crawl on my hands and knees, pushing each component one at a time. Or I can put each component on a sheet that I can drag behind me as I make my way with the walker.

I supposedly go back to work next week. I'll bet the doc gives me another week of rest first. I'm taking a practice drive during rush hour tomorrow morning to see what the commute will be like. Better than I expect, I hope. But I'll have a better idea of how much time I'm going to have on work days soon. Which means I'll be deciding the fate of GF soon. I started writing these again because I had unexpected time. I might not have the time soon. I'll probably make that determination tomorrow. In the meantime, I'll keep writing these while I can.

I can't express to you how happy I am sleeping in my own bed every night. Not having to wake up twice (sometimes three times!) to refill the air mattress. It's like I've been given a respite in life.

I have to get up early tomorrow, so I'm heading to that bed right now. It will be glorious, just like you glorious fuckers. Goodnight.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1009: JOLIET

 

For the past few months I've lived in Joliet, IL, much to my amusement considering the shit that I've talked about this place over the years. I'll be moving to DeKalb soon, and I'm surprised to discover there are a few things I'll miss about Joliet.

It's kind of a nexus. I currently live in an area that makes it feel like the suburbs, almost like Elmhurst, where I'd lived most of my life. But when I'm on my way somewhere, when I turn out of the neighborhood, I find myself looking out across a gorgeous marsh. I'm going to miss that view most of all, especially in the morning when the sun has yet to burn off the mists of the night before.

But then I can make another turn and find myself in a rundown part of town, some of it pretty bad. This is the part of town that gets Joliet its reputation. Aided, of course, by the movie referenced in the image above.

Take yet another turn, and holy shit, you're in an industrial park, billowing smoke stacks and all. Here's where Joliet gets most of its smell.

And another turn will bring you out into farmland, where the crop stands tall already.

That's all within the city limits. What other city can you say that covers that much diverse territory? And yes, I've driven past the prison. It looks oddly . . . pleasant.

From what I understand, DeKalb is mostly a college town. Technically Elmhurst was a college town, but these two aren't quite the same thing. The college is the only thing in DeKalb. Otherwise we're surrounded by farmland. Technically it's in Central Illinois. I'm moving to a different region. Weird.

That commute is going to fucking blow. The gas. Oh Jesus fuck, the gas.

It will be worth it in other ways.