THE GREAT GADFLY: We Are The Goon Squad And We're Coming To Town, Beep-Beep
Well, the big WTO-in-Chicago corporate oogie-boogie protest chaos horror economic summit riots were forecast to occur over this past weekend. The local media went nutso before the fact in a way that Jason has described far better than I can. The local print rags and TV banshees followed fear tactic recipes to the last stuttering letter, letting us know that this weekend could prove to be even more lethal than chemicals in produce, escalators, toys in Happy Meals or humvee seatbelts - oh, for heaven's sake, the media had a raging phobic hard-on for this weekend's potential carnage, working the city's hysteria in an all too familiar way, which "Bowling for Columbine" described far better than I could possibly ever attempt.
Meanwhile, the mayor stocked up on adult diapers and stress formula vitamins, had the streets of downtown Chicago stripped of newspaper machines and trash cans, and dramatically constipated the entire Loop area with scary looking creatures in gas masks carrying big plastic riot shields.
I have to be honest with you here. I completely forgot about this whole economic riot Seattle-comes-to-Chicago thing. Really. I think my invite got lost in the mail. I spent the weekend listening to a cornucopia of new music, watching "Pumpkin" and "The Powerpuff Girls Movie" on DVD, chatting on the phone with my friend Neener about stupid happy things, and writing approximately 7,000 new words for my NaNoWriMo story.
I was somehow safely isolated from the horror and chaos allegedly erupting in my city. Sometimes it's nice to be a little bit on the slow side, I suppose. There are definitely certain compensations to being a little thick.
Now, I'm not sure what happened over the weekend, but my God. Stepping out of the train to work this morning, I can only say that I was chilled by the aftermath. The grey skies looming with low dark clouds, the bleak broken sprawl of the defeated urban landscape, the cracked and distressed concrete at my feet, the unmistakeable stench of simple hopelessness and doom, the legions of lost miserable souls stumbling about in a daze, as if they were nothing more than discarded toys wound up by a rusty metal key and kicked in the face...
Oh, wait. It looked like this BEFORE the weekend.
Oops, never mind.
This weekend might have been a rare example of lazy indifference acting as an effective proxy for real, live elbow-grease activism. The media and the city bought truckloads of papier mache streamers and pointy little party hats, and nobody showed up to play pin the tail on the Starbucks. I'm reminded of the Mary Tyler Moore Show, and Mary's infamous lack of success as party hostess. Chicago was one big Mary Richards cocktail soiree this weekend. Ohhhh, Mr. Graaant...!
I actually think there was more street violence in this city when Winona Ryder was sentenced guilty for her shopping slip-ups last week, and all the Lincoln Park Trixies went on a brief rampage, driving their Jettas through the plate glass windows of Banana Republic storefronts and screaming into their cellphones, "THIS IS SO NOT FAIR!!!".
Moral of the story? Is there one? I dunno. Maybe it's this: You don't have to be a xenophobic, reactionary, fear-driven boob to live in this city...but it sure helps!
MEANWHILE: I finished reading my book this morning.
2003-10-14 - Last Haiku
2003-10-09 - Don't Cry Out Loud
2003-10-09 - Sit Down, You're Making Me Nervous
2003-10-08 - I'm Sure Miss Thing, I'm Sure
2003-10-07 - Carbonated Water, Caramel Color, Aspartame