Il Penseroso

An uninspiring day

2011-02-04T18:45:00.003-06:00

The usual shit, which was particularly tough to palette due to the thundersnow. The blizzard of 2011 kept us home the past two days, and it felt quite nice to me. No strangers, no stress, free from inhibitions. But today we returned to carry on with public life at work and more inane shit.

And so I moped ...

ixx. man with experience

2008-05-24T10:51:00.005-05:00

... everything was clear with bright blues and greens. the album "ease down the road" by will oldham rolled the man to a smooth stop at ashland and pratt. suddenly, while signaling a turn and proceeding right--smack! from this surprising incident he could only distinguish a sudden movement, and from his left periphery, a flash of red and dark color.

it was the right triangle. then a loud crash into the car. he jammed the car into park. "shit," he said and hesitated. he leaped from the car to see a boy lying in the street next to a twelve-speed bike. the boy gave a painful moan. anxiety stricken the man. A heightened sense of awareness seized the man, and at that moment a dark face in a van bumping gangsta rap passed by, disturbingly slow.

the man experienced a moment of clarity. finally, coming to his senses, he asked the boy if he was all right.

"are you all right?"
"i shouldna been goin' tha fass," the boy admitted, rubbing his leg.
"are you okay," asked the man.

the man put the tall bike on the grass and helped the boy, leaving him by the street curb. the man told the boy to go home, then unblocked traffic and headed home himself.

xviii. boy and man survive collision

2008-05-16T23:44:00.006-05:00

he was going downhill. cleaving the air as he did urged him to go faster. the bike was twice his size. he hovered in a right triangle over the top tube--his back, a hypotenuse.

it was a bright clear day. albert was soaking it up as he turned onto ashland ...

xvii.

2008-04-08T14:19:00.004-05:00

This morning, dreaming of eating skittles and raisins while smiling and talking to someone, I awoke with my cheek in a puddle of drool. It was 11 o'clock.

Finding work sucks. I quit grad school. Now I'm looking for a job. Jobless, without a master's.

Three months ago I quit my job as a media planner, working on a major retail account, and decided to matriculate at a prestigious j-school.

I quickly found myself writing on deadline, getting story ideas and talking to people. It was all very exciting. I learned about landmark court cases for libel and privacy torts that constitute law and ethics in journalism. I learned how to edit and include numbers in my writing:

Of 1,500 graduates with college debt, 48 percent cite feelings of anxiety or sleeplessness as an effect, according to a 2006 AllianceBernstein L.P. press release.

The rate of return on a master's of journalism degree is not worth it, I concluded. In a beleaguered news industry and an unforgiving lifestyle, continuing could have been disastrous!

I chose family. Ironically, fate has left me vulnerable.

xvi.

2008-03-29T22:03:00.003-05:00

Little Village Environmental Justice Organization and Pilsen Environmental Rights and Reform Organization, both grassroots organizations for social justice, have earned their stripes by forcing action on Crawford and Fisk generating stations to clean up or shut down.

Dorian Breuer, director of PERRO, told about a family who lived a half-block from the Fisk plant and had four asthmatic kids—one on a respirator. He hopes to team with a UIC chemistry professor to have students conduct field studies on ground samples around Fisk.

Samuel Villasenor, the “clean power” campaign organizer at LIVEJO, recalls from memory at least six to seven adults with new onset asthma who acquired it after moving to the Little Village neighborhood.

The amended Clean Air Act of 1990 has improved air quality since by mandating clean-up projects and imposing fines for breaching quality-control limits set by the U.S. EPA. In 2006 the H. Kramer and Co. brass foundry in Pilsen was hit with a $10,000 fine and a $500,000 clean-up project imposed by the EPA.

In November 2007 Mayor Daley introduced the Climate Action Plan, a program aimed at modernizing residential and commercial buildings to reduce energy use.

According to Ald. Manuel Flores, the Department of Environment is currently conducting an analysis on the impact carbon emissions have on health. The report is scheduled for release in mid-2008.

The U.S. EPA passed legislation recently to lower ozone-emission controls even more: Since 1980, ozone levels have dropped 21 percent as EPA, states and local governments have worked together to improve the quality of the nation’s air, according to a March 12th press release.

But environmental activists want it harder on urban-situated facilities.

EPA standards provide a flat-level basis, though when considering location, urban settings need lower emission standards to account for population density, according to Breuer.

“We’re also being affected by a myriad of other social ills like education and health care,” Breuer said.

“We need a stick-and-carrot approach” to developing a better partnership for sustainable energy between business and government, said Ald. Flores, a member of the Committee on Energy, Environmental Protection and Public Utilities.

“The stick is missing,” the alderman added; that stick is government.

xv.

2008-02-28T18:57:00.005-06:00

In 2007 Chicago rolled out its Blue Cart recycling pilot program, replacing the widely criticized blue bag program for 80,000 residences in seven wards. The results are good, but citywide expansion is slow going.

The Blue Cart goal in 2008 is to expand to 80,000 additional residences, though no official statement will be made until the city budget has been approved.

“[Blue cart recycling] is a success in the seven wards, but . . . it hasn’t expanded fast enough,” said Betsy Vandercook, former Chicago Recycling Coalition board president, who in April 2006 co-authored the most recent “White Paper” report that advocated for residential curbside source-separated recycling.

According to the report, the blue bag program yields less than 10 percent of recycled products from the waste stream.

“It is pretty obvious that blue bag recycling doesn’t work,” said Katy Groves, a Logan Square resident. “The bags break, and I can’t find them at the stores where I shop.”

On the other hand, Chicago’s Blue Cart program generated about 18 percent total recycling, including yard waste, from roughly 99,600 tons of refuse collected last year, according to the 2007 results released by the city in December.

Ald. Flores (1st ward) disseminated Blue Cart information through e-mails, city and 1st ward websites, literature available in the office, and “recycling block captains,” who volunteer for the city to inform neighbors with questions about blue cart recycling, according to Raymond Valadez, the alderman’s chief of staff.

It takes time for people to learn how to sort recyclables, but it’s a simple learning curve, Valadez said.

But during a budget crunch there are other government services that come before recycling initiatives, according to Matt Smith, a spokesman for the Department of Streets and Sanitation.

“Since Sept. 11 there is not a lot of money for all government services,” Smith said.

Indeed, the cost efficiency and recycling method of blue carts compared with blue bags have not justified citywide expansion. The 2007 Blue Cart results “are good, but not staggering,” Smith said.

Although 15 new drop-off recycling sites were also introduced with the pilot program, residents still are confused about Chicago’s municipal recycling process, according to Vandercook.

Awareness is a problem, said Vandercook, who believes that Chicago’s piecemeal effort for blue cart recycling hampers its ability to broadcast public service announcements about best practices for recycling in Chicago.

“We got a confused city here,” Vandercook said.

When asked by beginners how to recycle in Chicago, Vandercook’s advice may vary: It depends upon where a person lives, if it’s a high-rise or a single-family home, if the person owns a car. People fall into different subsets that require different recycling procedures because Chicago’s recycling system is mixed up, she mentioned.

Smith argues that blue bag recycling suffers from a “perception issue,” not a pragmatic one.

“Any environmentalist that tells you [source-separated recycling] will pay off is not accurate,” Smith charged. “Whether it’s a green cart, purple cart or plaid cart, it doesn’t matter if people aren’t participating.”

xiv.

2007-12-27T20:34:00.002-06:00

on christmas day albert weaved in and out of motor vehicles at 90 mph on the kennedy expressway. it felt nice balling the jack. he got a thumbs-up from a guy whom he had cut off. his adrenaline raced and his palms were sweaty. ween blasted through his ipod, through the stereo and into his ears, into his mind.

albert's brother once told him that he could have been a race car driver. . .

Xiii.

2007-12-21T19:57:00.000-06:00

Three bottles of rum were on the table--one empty. The newlyweds sat beneath a starry sky, far from chicago, and took in the caribbean with abandonment.

xii.

2007-11-20T15:05:00.000-06:00

here i am, here i sit. leaving chicago this morning i was skeptical about making my flight. it had to do with a mix of eagerness and nervousness--i'm not exactly sure about the source of this. the digression began around irving park and ashland. eleanor was talking when the negative thoughts inhibited me. i, albert, noticed the clock. then i began to brood as i usually will, fearing a missed flight. my last experience has stayed with me, when the gate closed as eleanor and i ran to catch our myrtle beach flight.

the signs started with the sc plate smiling faces, beautiful places that i noticed on the way. then, after the deulsions set in, i dictated eleanor's driving, which ran us into more delays. i felt "it" jeering me, mocking me. each time we got into another lane to avoid congestion, the chosen lane would jam. traffic lights caused extreme anxiety for me. eleanor noticed this and did her best to soothe albert.

i had forgotten a few details about the trip planner while fighting my demons. details that could have illuminated reason. my illness overpowered my common sense.

i'm happy to be back on the deck of my sc home.

xi.

2007-11-04T15:51:00.001-06:00

the bus rolled over the hills beyond the guatemalan border and left albert and eleanor in san ignacio, belize. they were out of money, so albert ventured off in search of an atm while eleannor stayed with the bags at the edge of town. when he returned, they were off in search of accommodations. before settling on the cottage, they had checked out a couple of lonely planet reccommendations that hapened to be either booked or unfairly described by the writers. the couple was relieved to put down their baggage, and no sooner did the bags hit the ground than they found themselves seated at the cafe, toasting their adventure with belikin beers.

x.

2007-10-30T19:53:00.000-05:00

on an ordinary day i listened to company speakers over breakfast, had coffee with an aol rep, discussed geo-targeting concerns with ad networks, observed fm pitch its value proposition, sat through our weekly client call and did the laundry. interspersed among these tasks were breathes of fresh air provided by news articles, facebook chat and exchanges of friendly e-mail. oh yes, i cannot forget primetime tv.

at aa|rf breakfast club i heard of new hires and employee anniversaries, hawkish new business progress, the web media department in which i work, and about the company wiki. the wiki offers the company a utility that connects employees, expertly provides industry insight, and puts forth an exemplary light by which to lure marketers seeking digital solutions. danish bear claws were served.

i brought along the assistant with me to meet our new aol rep and discuss client biz and what new offerings the portal has in its growing portfolio. the internet portals are devouring prospects in a rapacious show of free market capitalism.

time's up.

laundry's done.

two media campaigns i'm maintaining are under-serving impressions targeted to certain zip-codes. quite simply, the technology of computing allows servers to communicate and, based on information exchanges, deliver assigned ads targeted to computer-users in specific geographic areas -- other types of targeted reach are possible too. in reality the technology isn't quite ripe. that's why i had to address these issues.

fm offers marketers a channel in conversational media. the company was created by a former cnet sales director and the founding editor of wired, who also teaches at berekley's j-school. They claim there custom campaigns on popular blogs grant residual added value -- from organic search, like word-of-mouth -- through its inherent design that creates conversation. this fosters loyalty and trust, too. ironic isn't it.

i spoke up in the client call. it felt good, especially after my inauspicious beginning. the am guided the client through grains of digital interactive data.

democratic presidential candidates are debating in philly. i read an article on nytimes about obama's obscure days in nyc. he spent time there in his early twenties for schooling and bildungsroman, though about this period of his life he has had liitle to say. lately the press has not been generous to barack.

the balance of the day unfolded as usual. i caught up on e-mail, posted on fb, and am winding down with the idiot box.

ix.

2007-10-01T19:32:00.001-05:00

Today I was given a healthy dose of humility. I don't mind it, really. In fact, we all could use more of it. I blew it -- an ad-client presentation for the upcoming holiday season. Budget of $4.5MM. October 1, 2007. I'd like to mitigate this situation. And I have reasons, too. I'm sick of feeling guilty. A brief illustration: I took a new job with a digital marketing solutions company, working there for a month now on a retail account -- the biggest retainer for the department. Two weeks after joining, my partner, assigned to train me, quit. The assistant -- there long before I -- was promoted immediately. A week before the presentation was due the client invited the agency to pitch for a new part of the business. Everyone is consumed and little accountability exists. Agree with me that the gravity of the situation is evident. The assistant is a self-proclaiming crazy person. The Directors were consumed with winning the new business, no doubt to please their superiors. From the beginning I was vocal about my lack of client experience. Naturally I was unaware of how to proceed. So they should have not passed the responsibility onto me. Institutional provisions should have been made for the cause. We live in a free-market society, for heaven's sake. Wall Street is brutal. Be just. I do admit fault. I could have done better, given my talent and will power.

In summary, I do believe it was a worthwhile experience. What's meant is to be. . .

viii.

2007-08-26T19:41:00.000-05:00

toward the attacking third he darted while negotiating a 6-foot-4 african, a young lady and 2 defenders before putting the fruit low on the ground between 2 municipal barrels. precisely -- tall grass slowing the action.

his ego was fed.

vii.

2007-06-23T08:41:00.001-05:00

Chicago's traffic officer waved a car though the intersection of Washington and State. Eleanor waited for Albert under the elevated tracks. Albert rushed through EOW tasks, then shot out the building into the drizzling weather.

Eleanor had already switched to the passenger seat and gave him a broad, sweet smile as he hopped in to kiss her.

Eleanor needed a suit for her upcoming interview. Never before had she the use for one, but life calls for such things as we age. She asked that he drop her off at Old Navy.

As usual, Friday afternoon in downtown Chicago refelcted a state of emergency. It became a life-or-death situation for people to get out and start their already fleeting weekend. Albert darted the car through the mass, negotiating single-minded pedestrians, one-way streets and buses while observing traffic signals.

He attempted to turn left in front of the store, but the traffic cop refused. She motioned him through the intersection with merciless authority. He gave the bird and cut across three lanes of traffic and pulled over. He did not notice how near he was to the bus shelter.

But after Eleanor alighted, he experienced the fury of Chicago's traffic laws. Just as he noticed a traffic officer approaching, he let his foot off the brake and, as he was pulling away, a CTA bus zoomed in and trapped him. At this point, a smile came across the approcahing man's face.

Albert's nerves were rattling. His immediate impulse was to begin defending himself madly even before he had his window down, although he knew he was done. Albert pleaded, though it was a hopeless battle against traffic violations -- a dependable revenue source for the city. In an act of defiance he skillfully reversed one-hundred yards through buses, totaling three now, and finally around a cab before butting through pedestrians unsurprised at the crosswalk and taking off. His heart was pounding! The traffic cop cut him off, making one last appearance in the middle of State street while nodding his head and writing down the license plate number.

He was saying, "let him go, let him go."

Albert sped around him slamming his fist on the steering wheel. "Fuck, fuck," he was at a loss for words. A month later an enevelope arrived from the Secretary of State.

vi.

2007-03-13T21:33:00.000-05:00

Today was an emotionally disturbing day.

v.

2007-02-03T12:28:00.000-06:00

It was Sunday. Eleanor and Albert were walking along Wrightwood toward the “El". The wind swept the yellow Fall leafs away in giant swirls westward along the road. A large leaf smacked Albert directly in the face. He brushed it away when Eleanor asked him why she can’t tell her friends about his plans to attend Medill school.

There ensued an useful argument which continued between them until he left her on the train at Clark and Lake. She went on to meet a colleague to help with a paper and write one of her own.

Even on Sabbath day he went to the office. On the 13^th floor he entered and sat down at his cubicle. He printed a few reports, entered media rates for Johnstown –Altoona and thought of his course of action for the next week while Simon and Garfunkel coaxed him through his iPod earbuds.

He returned to their humble abode; even before putting his bag down the computer was booting up. He locked Mao in the room and sat down in front of the computer. He sat and reeled imaginative footage of himself in front of the computer as he was.

As he began Sunday chores he wrote an arcane note, dated 11/13 that follows as:

Dear Eleanor,

I’m still uncertain about it—undecided. What any man may tell you, he may tell his wife otherwise. Why don’t you ask me engaging ?s about work like you do him? You too speak out in defiance against your responsibilities at times.

Your Beloved.
AZ

Entitled Subversive.

iv.

2006-08-29T19:31:00.000-05:00

While in Tony’s looking for Mao’s food a conversation was struck from my left elbow. A woman with dyed-red hair and dark owl eyes stood there.

I first notice the patchy, pink sores on her face. At this instance a lady to her left was speaking anxiously over her shoulder toward us as she walked out of the aisle. We’re in aisle 6.

The woman then stares at me, as if awaiting my concerns, and asks if I have two cats. I told her one. She said she had two cats. Fat cats. Boys. I told her I bet she spoiled them.

She was a bonafide cat-lady. She was pleased for that statement. (I presumed the cats were the source of her facial sores: one can only imagine.) Then I told her mine was a girl, small. She recommended a glossy lavender bag of cat food.

I left telling her "mine eats tuna only." She remained musing in front of the neatly shelved pet-products.

iii.

2006-04-21T21:18:00.000-05:00

He worried himself, like a slow death, mostly with pointless things.

At 2 o’clock in the afternoon he awoke in a sweat. His head was throbbing from the booze he had to drink at a bluegrass show. He had too much to drink and his body was pushing the toxins out as if a fever. He moved around and felt the wetness.

Eleanor looked in on him. Her Carolina-blue shirt, with Peace stitched in red, soothed him. She recounted with her soft smile his mood last night when he came stumbling through the door.

He listened. It troubled him. He tried to recall but it came only in blurry vignettes. She described his face and his stagger. The stagger! He wondered if anyone whom he knew had seen him in public, in the city, staggering.

Disgusted by his pride, he quickly excused this digression by pointing out that he had had such a stressful week at work, and that everybody else does it. He likened himself to the protagonist in Death of a Salesman, a play he had never read. He reveled in this fleeting notion.

______________________________________________

Mike had come in the fall. He praised Albert in a sincere and endearing tone for his accomplishments since nearly failing out of college. Bliss.

ii.

2006-04-07T20:18:00.000-05:00

The cold bathwater he plunged into brought the memory of Armenia back. He had drawn a bath after a jog in the oppressive summer heat. His pulse beat with a thud. This memory rose with the water as he sank into their claw-foot tub.

One brought the other: he recalled negotiating in the Turkish-style bathhouse at Gyumri. He stood at the edge negotiating the plunge into the cold pool, while Magner was there urging him on, dripping wet and beating his overblown pink chest.

“I’m a man, I’m a man,” he repeated.

Then he jumped. And the cold water shocked him as he bobbed, eyes closed and gasping for air. There it was winter.

He opened his eyes again. Supine. He smiled in the tub and entertained this wool-gathering about that cold and foggy, dimly lit backwater of Armenia -- where the buildings crumpled and the wrought-iron balconies collapsed from the devastating earthquake of ’88 which left people homeless, bereft and weary with more woes.

He was glad to be home.

i.

2006-03-27T21:03:00.001-06:00

He remained to dwell for a moment on the conversation with his brother. Faintly visible in the early evening light were dust motes that seeped into the room through the cracked blinds. Albert swatted the air and sent swirling circles of dust.

The pessimism in Mike’s voice hung there while he sat. The walnut chair in which he sat was comfortable enough, he thought. Mike had phoned to wish him a happy birthday. Thirty. Albert had reiterated this in nurturing optimism; before hanging up he dared suggest something to his oldest brother.

“Cheer up, Mike. You and Chris need to plan a trip to Chicago. It’d be good for us all.”

“Yea, I know,” then repeated listlessly, “I know.” Most conversations with Mike followed the same beginning, middle and end.

He is reticent.