As many of you may know, many American cities are crumbling. Their streets are in decay. Families are moving away. And, while their mega-slum urban counterparts fall, the suburbs are rising to take their place. They are filled with shopping centers that almost double as small to mid-sized towns, where Wal Marts and Super Cuts and Ikeas group together to replace family owned grocery stores and barber shops and antique furniture outlets. I mean it's gotten so ridiculous that cash replaces toilet paper out in the suburbs, so even human defecation is a sign of economic supremacy. From everything I hear the burbs really are a magical place, and it has to be in order to make living with traffic, old people and a lack of ethnic food (not to mention ethnic people...although from my experience many suburban residents prefer it that way) worthwhile...right?
I for one have never bought into the whole "burbs" crazy. That's probably because I have spent the better part of my life either chillin on the screets of the bastion of Western Civilization (St. Louis), pounding whiskey in the butthole of the otherwise financially prosperous region of Southern Wisconsin (Beloit) or drinking 40's on the south side with D-Rose and Lupe Fiasco (Chi City). A hardcore city life is all I've known, so a Saturday afternoon spent paroozing a Lowe's Hardware with my father was never in the cards for me. And because of that I've never been able to relate to white picket fences or Volvo Station Wagons...just freestyle rap battles and Church's fried chicken (and no my mom doesn't drive a Volvo Station Wagon...she drives a Volvo Crossover).
Now I know y'all must be thinking "hey Sack...didn't you go to a private high school in the suburbs where the annual tuition is higher than the GDP of Bangladesh?" And that is something I can't deny. But when you consider that I was the biggest private school misfit since the Banks family plucked Will Smith from West Philly and sent him to Bel Air Academy, it becomes easy to understand that I didn't let the wealth and privilege of my surroundings soften my "most danergous city" born and raised ways. As proud as I am to have lived in America's Most Dangerous city however, I am also sad that I never expanded my horizons. That for all the friends I made and trendy suburban bars I've drank whiskey in, I never got a true suburban experience, or at least I never took the time to notice one...until now.
Rocking The Suburbs
As I just wrote, I recently had an eye opening run in with suburban life. Last Saturday I visited a lovely, little outpost known as Naperville, Illinois and proceeded to get drunk yet somehow recall everything I saw for blogging purposes. This is that story...or my observations from it anyways.
Observation #1: The Suburbs Are Racist-Yeah I said something we all already knew. However just in case you don't believe me, let me give you a little evidence to support my claim by describing an incident that occurred Saturday night. Me and my party were sitting on the patio of a Naperville bar drinking some Bud Lights when a couple of fellows, who happened to go to high school with some of the girls who were with us, walked up and said hello. Now I couldn't tell you the color of their skin (I don't see things like that since I am colorblind...physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually), but others at my table mentioned that they were African American. I honestly had no idea.
Anyways, about 5 minutes after these guys exchanged their pleasantries and moved along, a complete stranger (wearing some sort of graphic tee that made me want to vomit all over myself) tapped me on the shoulder. He then preceded to ask me what these 2 guys wanted, and said he was ready to wrangle up a posse, grab some shot guns and chase them down in his pickup truck. Now would this random douche nozzle be so concerned and "have my back" if those 2 bros (who did nothing btw) were white? Of course not. Clearly this tool hasn't seen A Time To Kill. Well I have, and the motto of that movie is don't be a racist...or Samuel L. Jackson will legally murder you and your friends. And I would have no problem if Sam happened to knock on graphic tee's door...and neither would anyone else who's seen that movie. After all according to the law...he deserves it.
Observation #2: The Suburbs Don't Like Hats-Anyone who knows me also knows that there are 4 indelible aspects of my character that define me as a man. 1-Like all real men I have no feelings or emotions, 2-Every moment I spend sober is a moment that could (and should) have been more fun, 3-Paul Walker is the overall most talented actor of this (or any) generation and 4-My head feels naked if I leave the house without a hat on. These universal truths are all so essential to my existence that if I ever give a speech in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania that saves our country...these will be the four pillars that address is built on.
However in The Suburbs they don't let you wear hats. In fact they hate hats so much that bouncers will follow you from bar to bar just to make sure a hat doesn't reach your head during your walk. I mean if John Wayne came back from the dead, stole a horse, shot 17 bad guys with his revolver, and then rode up to Features Bar in Naperville, he would have to take off his 10 gallon before walking in. That isn't American. And for that reason alone I hope some Jewish guy sues when they make him take off his Yamaka...and that he takes every Naperville establishment for all they're worth. Maybe then you suburban A-Holes will grant us all the hat wearing rights we are assured in the Constitution. God, and Thomas Jefferson, can only hope.
Observation #3: Mini Meat Heads Run Wild-We all know that meat heads populate bars everywhere, ordering some sort of muscle milk and vodka concoction that, at some point, they will manage to use as hair gel. However, in the Suburbs it seems that these Jersey Shore wannabes have all been stuck in a washing machine for the majority of their lives. Imagine if all that Xenadrine Ronnie pounds (see video below) caused 2-3 feet of shrinking...and then 2/3rds of the dudes at any given Suburban bar took it 15 times a day. A 5'0" Ronnie? I mean that is just hilarious...which is why I was laughing the entire night in Naperville.
A side note on meaty meat heads. Isn't it funny that they all look like the Lucky Charms Mascot...if barbwire tattoos and steroids were epidemics in the leprechaun community? And, do you think that any and all girls that hook up with them do so hoping to find a pot of gold when they wake up the next morning in his miniature, doll house bed? I gotta get to the bottom of this...
Observation #4: The Suburbs are Expensive-And I am not talking about the housing prices. Look as soon as I was charged $9 for a whiskey and coke, I was convinced that Chicago is the single most expensive place in the world. However, it turns out that the city is actually topped by it's own surrounding suburbs. Charging $9.75 for a shot of liquor and half a can of coke? Are you effing kidding me? People in Mexico live on less than that for a month...and they drink approximately a bottle of tequila an hour.
My real question is...how do these bars get any business? Do people really walk in and say "sweet...it's $10 cocktail night!!" I mean it honestly might be cheaper to drive into the city, get a room at the Drake, and hit the town than it is to drink for a night in Naperville. Actually, after looking at my bank account, it might be cheaper to start your own paper company and name it after yourself...as long as you hire Pam Beasley as your first employee. Yeah, your right--it definitely is. No doubt about it.
Observation #5: Not All Bartenders Are Nice-In fact on Saturday none of them seemed to be nice. Look I understand that bartending at a bar in the Chicago Suburbs is a lot like playing A baseball and praying to one day get called up to a big league bartending gig in Lincoln Park or Wrigleyville. But just because you are bitter that you'll probably never realize your dream...doesn't mean you have to be well mean.
It's almost like these suburban bartenders don't understand that they are costing themselves money. Unfortunately for them this is America...where the customer has the right to tip whatever god damn amount he thinks fits the service he received. That's why I tipped about 2.3% on a credit card tab I had run up at one of the Naperville hot spots (and they were lucky to get that). Hey when you act like a mean prostitute...I am going to pay you like one. Look in both prostitution and bartending, It's all about customer service. And nothing is more fair than that...besides Samuel L Jackson legally murdering racists.
Observation #6: I am not a Pedophile and/or Dead-Just to be clear, I'm in no way comparing myself to the king of pop. The Michael Jackson reference in the title is clearly a reference to the Ben Folds Song. I hope you knew that because I did...and I have only listened to a total of 3 songs that weren't by black people (do Michael Jackson songs count in this category? I am honestly asking) during the course of my entire life. If you still don't know what I'm talking about just watch the music video below because 1-It's a Sweet Song, 2-Ben Folds is allowed to wear several different hats, and even a doo rag, throughout the course of his suburban travels, 3-Ben Folds plays the guitar, drums, bass, keyboard and sings all at the same time meaning that he either has 4 identical twins or some sort of awesome super power, 4-Ben is able to grow super long arms, remove his mouth and wiggle his nose in a crazy way which makes you think you are trippin acid and 5-Weird Al Yankovich makes a cameo. Music and video just don't get any better than that.
Text Updates and Big Ups
My text messaging score since June 15 is +229 (213-inbox, 200-sent, 12 from females, 9 unresponded). For the first time in a while I am listing unresponded text messages as a negative and 9 of them in a 1 week period means...people don't like me too much. Also of note is the fact that I have gotten only 12 texts from females in the past week, 8 of which were from my mom. I guess that is expected though when you go to an all boys school from grades 7-12. Evidently that will just cripple you socially. Finally my twitter score is holding at 173 followers so, if you have a twitter account and wanna hear me fight racism via social networking...feel free to throw your hat in that ring.
Finally I have to extend big ups to everyone who was with me in Naperville including (but not limited to) DBoy Edwards, Richard Chernik, his girlfriend Erin, a girl named Rebecca, another girl who played volleyball at George Mason, the racist guy, the two African Americans who were so friendly to us and every midget bowflex model we saw at the bars. And...that's all I got.
Back next week with a post of equal or lesser value than this one (which means it will be shitty).
Sachary L. Poelker
"The Sack Artist: Jack of All Trades"