Wednesday, May 03, 2006

A Gig's A Gig, Part Deux

The first part was a mass email, the gist was, I got a job, the quote was used by Jackie Gleason whenever he got small-time work, and Richard Nixon showed him dead aliens at Homestead AFB in 1973. Well, I had the first day of the job today. I took the train to Hanover Park and found that in the years since Vyonne had her myriad VonCon weekends, a huge honking "private" subdivision called Hawthorne Homes had gone up. The directions I had were for people driving, pretty soon "pedestrian" will not even be in the dictionary. I could see the O'Hare-Elgin Expressway and knew I needed to get close to it. I started talking out loud like Tony Soprano, the muddahfuggin fat security guy in his golf cart wouldn't let me through the muddahfuggin subdivision with all its muddahfuggin two-dimensional scenery, retention ponds up the ying yang, geese who looked pretty damn lonely, an enclosed running track, and muddahfuggin Fat Freddy in his security shorts. So I had to walk in the opposite direction, up Springinsguth (named for one of Lovecraft's bowel movements, I'm certain), then down Frontage Road to Irving Park Road, then down Rodenburg and found myself--finally--on Central. In the 100 block, and I needed to be at 1200. Like, in the next ten minutes. And for those of you reading this, friends and family alike, who might think hey why the heck is Wayne so down on us muddahfuggin yuppies, well, at least YOU would pass me by and stop after thinking Now what is that bald headed nutbag doing walking 47 miles away from home? Then you'd give me a ride. Not so the parade of SUVs on Central. Finally, it was synchronicity that clicked in. I got a ride from a Waste Management guy whose ONLY reason for being on Central was to take some Benadryl to another Waste Management worker who was stung by a bee. I made it to work 3 minutes early, even though I had given myself 50 minutes to make it there. I felt a lot like Richard Kimble walking on my own, but there weren't any muddahfuggin yuppies in 1966. The ride home on Metra was sedate. I read a DAREDEVIL comic. Wayne


Blogger Scott said...

You know, when Ray Bradbury wrote "The Pedestrian," he was thinking about you.

Thursday, May 04, 2006 11:23:00 AM  
Blogger Larry Santoro said...

"...then down Frontage Road to Irving Park Road, then down Rodenburg and found myself--finally--on Central. In the 100 block, and I needed to be at 1200."

Ah! Existential triumph! Fantastical adventure! After years of looking and in all that topological convolution that is the western burbs, you wandered afoot and came up yourself, still searching!

Saturday, May 06, 2006 7:39:00 AM  
Blogger Maines said...

The Land Without Sidewalks is spreading . . . large chunks of Scottsdale and Phoenix have no sidewalks. Even my vintage Long Island town is losing sidewalks, and the ones they have are increasingly treacherous--especially in winter, when they clear the snow from roads and parking lots, leaving 10-foot-high mounds covering the sidewalks. It is as if the cars are trying to cull us pedestrians from the gene pool so that the survivors will exist to serve their machine masters.

Saturday, May 06, 2006 12:36:00 PM  
Anonymous Cameron Getty said...

yeah. shot glass films is not really a stunt production thing, but we might need you in the near future. can i have your email. mine is

Wednesday, May 17, 2006 5:50:00 PM  

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