Author Archives: dissident

Howard: Part II (The Reckoning)

“Poverty often deprives a man of all spirit and virtue; it is hard for an empty bag to stand upright.” -Benjamin Franklin

I awoke, letting out a long, guttural groan. My eyeballs felt like they were going to fall out of my head. I checked my phone for the time. “2 new messages.” There was a sinking sensation. It was 12:45pm on Sunday afternoon. I checked the messages.

Haha, we didn't even go to church!

The first message was from Thompy at 10:57am. The next was from Howard.

Where are you?

Howard had sent the message at around 7. I got out of bed and felt a little drunk still. I walked into the kitchen and guzzled a glass of cold water. I felt bloated and disgusting. I folded the sleeper sofa and sheets and made my way to the door. It felt like about 35 degrees outside, and it was raining. I composed a text message to Howard on James’ front porch.

I made some regrettable decisions last night. For that, I am very sorry. I'm on my way back right now.

I left around 1:00p and walked in the rain. My clothes and feet were soaked when I arrived back at Howard’s around 2:30p. He was sitting at the kitchen table. I walked in and set his spare keys down on the table without saying a word.

“What took you so long?” Howard asked, his eyes never leaving his computer screen.

“It’s a long walk from Wriggleyville to Roger’s Park.” I replied.

“Why did you walk? The Red Line’s right there!”

“I spent all of my remaining money last night.” He just shook his head and said nothing.

I walked into the living room and began to pack my belongings back into my tote. There was a long while where neither of us said anything. I just wanted to get the hell out before he broke the silence and began to guilt trip me.

“So… why did you apologize earlier?” I was crouched over my bag stuffing clothes in. I paused for a moment and stared at the wall while I pondered the question.

“Because I neglected a commitment I had made to you and I feel like I disappointed you.”

“Come here.” I walked in and sat down at the dining room table with him, folding my fingers and resting my arms on the table. Howard reached out and wedged his hand in between mine and proceeded to hold my hand. I was immediately defensive.

I didn’t want to pull away because it would add animosity to an already tense situation. I pursed my lips and maintained direct eye contact indicating my disapproval of the inappropriate contact. He ignored my body language. He began to speak in a wistful, soft-spoken tone.

“I’m not disappointed in you. When I woke up this morning and you weren’t here I didn’t know what happened. I had to wait until the boys got up to find out that you stayed with your friend. Why didn’t you text me?”

“I didn’t think you’d appreciate a drunk text at three in the morning explaining that I wasn’t coming back or going to church in the morning.”

“Why were you drinking?” He asked.

“A lapse of reason, I suppose. It was the last night the blokes and I would have together before we parted ways. We went to Wicker Park, what do you expect?”

“A real lapse in reason. You know that’s a contradiction to the house rules, right?”

“Well you seem to have suspended “the rules” for them so what’s the difference? They told you they were going out to bars. You’re holding a double standard. If you took issue with it, you should have nipped the problem in the butt then. You were sending us mixed messages.”

“They weren’t causing an incident. You caused an incident.”

“I decided to respect your rules and not come back drunk and wake you up. I recognize that it was inconsiderate neglecting to notify you of my whereabouts. For that I apologize. You have every reason to be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry at you. I love you and I don’t want to see you destroying yourself. When you do these things you devalue yourself and you devalue the image of God within you.”

I lost my composure at that exact moment. I didn’t mean to laugh in his face but I really kind of did. I pulled my hand out of his grip used it to hoist myself up from the table. “I’ve got somewhere to be.” I said.

Howard got up and followed me into the front room. “Let me tell you about a time when I had a ‘lapse in reason.'” He said. “I was in my 20’s and I was under a lot of stress. I’d had a really difficult day at work and there were a lot of things getting out of control in my life. Then one night in a moment of weakness, not only did I give up my purity but I paid to have it taken from me. I defiled my own temple, and I defiled the image of God inside of me.”

I did my best to hide the shock of this news. I nodded my head. I imagined myself in the situation. I felt this intense sensation of self-reflection which must have come from feeling so ugly that nobody would possibly want to have sex with you unless they were being paid… then add to that the guilt of having wronged some ultimate power. I was glad in that moment that I do not subscribe to any religion. It must have been a pitiful scene to be a part of.

Howard continued, “You can control your actions, you can’t control the consequence.” This was perhaps the most useful thing he ever said.

“You know, Howard, one of my ultimate fears is of hurting people. I am acutely aware of my impact on others. What ends up happening is that I’m so self-conscious about being ugly and barbaric that I forfeit opportunities to get ahead in life.” That was the first time I had ever vocalized that before. Only as I was saying it did I realize that I was connecting a cause and effect that I had never seen before. I was learning about myself.

“Then why did you deliberately ignore the house rules last night, knowing that you would disappoint me?” Howard was becoming more poignant. Now we were getting somewhere. He was letting his wall down and with disregard for my feelings. We were getting closer to truth. Now we could have a real conversation.

“I was drunk. I stopped caring. You know how that goes.”

“NO! I don’t.” Howard declared in an elevated tone, then pivoted around and marched back into the dining room and sat at his computer.

“Do you mean to say that you’ve never been drunk?!” I asked, as I took a seat at the opposite opposite to him at the table.

“No, I haven’t. Maybe you can explain something to me… why do people drink, anyway?”

“Misdirected mating instinct I suppose.” Howard waited for me to go on. I just let the silence linger.

“Care to unwrap that one for me?”

“Well, I mean, the initial appeal is to meet someone. Even if that doesn’t happen you end up in an emotionally heightened state. Similar to the way you feel when you have your morning coffee.”

“I guess I’ll never understand it.” Howard said. “I still love you and I care about you, which is why I don’t want to see you destroying yourself.” Every time he said that I cringed. He was being a little too familiar for having only known me for a week. “You look like you’re about to cry,” Howard continued.

“Wrong again, Howard.” I got up and continued to pack my bags. Only then did I realize that he wasn’t trying to manipulate just for the sake of control. He was a sad and lonely man just looking for people to love him, just like so many of us.

I wanted so badly to help him, but he wasn’t ready for it. I couldn’t tell him that he was misguided in his attempts to coerce affection out of strangers. I couldn’t tell him that he was wrong to invite travelers into his home but insist that they enjoy Chicago in a way that he deemed fit. It was time for me to go. I put on my backpack and duffel bag and I prepared to see myself out.

“Just one last thing…” I declared. “If you are letting feral cats in, don’t be surprised when you get scratched.” Howard looked puzzled. I didn’t say anything more, I just turned and walked away.

I got in my car and prepared for the next leg of my journey. This time my host was to be a refugee from Lebanon.

Debonair

Of Blokes and Birds: Part II

“He who does not travel does not know the value of men.” – Moorish proverb

Earlier in the week Howard was diagnosed with Sleep Apnea. On Wednesday he was fitted for his CPAP machine and taught how to use it. Its rubber straps wrapped around his bald head and the met with a rubber hose at an intersection in the middle of his face. The hose ran down to a cylindrical contraption about the size of a gym bag.  He asked us what we all thought of it. Thompy said, “You know the vacuum on Teletubbies?” While we were doubled over in hysterics, Howard was just shaking his head and trying to maintain his dignity.

“When he’s wearing that mask all I can think is…” I cupped my hands and put them over my mouth and then said in my best Sean Connery impersonation, “I am Chicago’s reckoning.” They all started laughing. “You merely adopted the darkness. I SHLEEP in it!”

The weekend arrived swiftly. Friday night the blokes and I went out to Wriggleyville again. We got on the train and sat down. The topic at hand was how effortlessly they could pick up chicks in America just because of their accents. “Alright, I’ve got an idea.” Said Matt. “Tonight we’re going to get ‘Jarvis’ laid.”
Thompy voiced his approval “Yeah, let’s get some ‘slutes’ for Jarvis.”
“Yeah. Okay.” I said.
“What? Why not?”
“The moment you say hello, the game’s over. It’s like ‘Heyo, how ya goin’?’ and BOOM! Pregnant.”

The AVAS system on the train interrupted the conversation. “Doors closing. The next stop is Jarvis.” We all exchanged glances, equally as stunned.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.” I said. “I must have misheard that.” I got up and wandered over to the map. Sure enough, we got on at the “Howard” stop and were headed to “Jarvis.”

We met James just outside of the Belmont stop. We had a few drinks and then headed to my favorite bar in the neighborhood, Delilah’s. Delilah’s is a punk bar on Lincoln. It was there that we met Madison and Lindsay. The guys seemed to be indicating to me that I should choose one of them. It felt like the subject of a Nature program. I slid on over to Lindsay. “Hey. I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” I said.
“I’m Lindsay.” She replied. Matt was sitting in my peripheral nodding his head emphatically.
“I’m Jarvis.” I shouted, over the music. Matt’s hand flew up to his mouth to hide his expression and he immediately rested his elbow on the table and pretended to gaze out the window. It was not the most masterful attempt to conceal laughter I’d ever witnessed.

We spent the rest of the evening together and I was getting some strong signals from Lindsay. We seemed to be hitting it off. At the end of the night, we were standing outside and Madison was giving her play-by-play to Lindsay about the evening thus far. “I would CHEAT on my boyfriend right now to fuck one of these Australians!” I rolled my eyes. There it was. I didn’t stand a chance as long as they were around. “I’m too drunk.” She said. “Let’s get a cab.”

Before they left we all took pictures together. When it came time for Lindsay and I to have our picture taken, I put my arm around her. She moved in close. Madison was sitting in the back of the taxi shouting at her. “Lindsay, LET’S GO!” James got in position with his camera.

“Okay. On 3…” he said. I decided to go for it. I put finger on her chin and turned her head toward me. I closed my eyes and leaned in. I felt her pull away.
“What?! I’m not going to KISS you!”
I burst out in laughter. “Well, it was worth a shot.” I said.
“What the FUCK!” Madison’s protests could still be heard behind us. James made sure to take an extra long time taking my picture with Lindsay. We said goodbye and called it a night.

On Saturday morning Thompy made crepes for us. He showed Howard his recipe and how simple it is to make them. Howard said, “This is nice because I usually go to a place called ‘The Creperie.’ Now I can make them at home for cheap.”

I couldn’t resist myself. “‘The Creperie?’ It sounds like a place I would go to dispose of my waste.” At breakfast we asked Howard how his CPAP machine was treating him.
“Well.” He replied. “I came up with a name for it. I’m calling it my Parole Officer.” He began chuckling and looking around expectantly. Thompy said what we were all thinking: “Why?”
“Because a Parole Officer is the person that’s assigned to you when you get in trouble with the law and you have to do community service.” This was not a suitable explanation in my opinion.
“Yeah, but how does that apply to the CPAP machine?” I asked.
“Because Sleep Apnea is when you stop breathing for short spells in your sleep and I have to wear this mask on my face. It detects when I stop breathing and it takes my breaths for me. When I had my test done I stopped breathing 17 times in one hour!” These still seemed like two disjointed thoughts. Maybe it was over my head.

The day had gotten off to a great start. Around noon the guys and I all headed downtown. We split off to do our own thing. I sat in a Starbucks and began working on a Linux project I had been putting off. Around 3 I got a call from my sister. “SEEZDAR!” I exclaimed.
“Hey, how are you Brodder?”
“Doing well.”
“I’m calling you because we’re in Chicago. Why don’t you answer your texts?”
“I must have missed them. I’ll check my phone’s sound settings. I’m sorry. Where are you?”

“We’re in Wrigleyville. We’re about to leave. I just thought you might be interested to know what scene I’m witnessing up here though. There must be some sort of lingerie contest or something at The Houndstooth Saloon. There are a bunch of women dressed scantily clad running around in 20 degree weather. It seemed like something my pervert brother would be into so I thought I would inform you.”

“Oh my god, thank you! I’ve got to go!” I sent out a group text to James and the blokes. “Gather the troops! Slutes in Wriggleyville.” Matt and Thompy called for the details. I boarded the nearest Red Line subway and was northbound immediately. On the way I got a text from Thompy.
“Matt wants to know if your sister is part of this lingerie contest.”
I replied “Tell him he can choke on a black dick.”

When I got off of the train they were right outside. “Gentlemen!” I shouted, and they turned around. I shook their hands. “I’ve brought you here on a hot tip. Now let’s give these girls some hot tips.” We moseyed on to The Houndstooth. There were indeed scantily-dressed women running around everywhere. We went to walk in and the bouncer stopped us.

“Private party. Come back after 5.” We instead went to The Blarney Stone and played a round of pool.

Thompy and Doyle observe this tradition where if one of them looses in a game of pool without sinking a single ball, he must drop his pants around his ankles and do a lap around the table. This was exactly the situation Matt found himself in. He put a dollar in the jukebox and pounded his beer. Thompy and I petitioned him. “Well come on, then.” Said Thompy.

“Yeah, don’t bitch out on us!” I said.
“No, I won’t. I’m just waiting for a certain part in the song.” Sure enough, his part came. He got his hands in position.

“Drop ’em!” I said. “Come on, get it over with.” This drew the attention of many of the bar patrons who turned to see what was going on. Matt pulled his pants down around his ankles and began his waddle of shame. His synchronization of the song was off, and it ended about 1/4 into his lap. There was dead silence in the bar and just about everyone was now staring at him as he hobbled around the pool table. When he got back to his starting point he abruptly pulled his trousers up and we made a b-line for the door.

We met with James briefly and discussed our plans for later. James was to go to a friend’s party but he said that he definitely wanted to meet with us at some point.

—

That night we found ourselves in Wicker Park. The blokes and I tossed back a fifth of Captain Morgan in an alley together and proceeded to party. We were at a lounge with a balcony level where we were seated. A couple of ladies wandered past us looking for an open seat. Thompy invited them to sit with us. They began to talk and Thompy explained that he didn’t like everybody sitting in a row at American bars but much preferred floor seating. “You know, if I want to go an’ say g’day to some bird who wants to say g’day to me…”

The girls exchanged glances and one of them shrugged a cute little shrug as they both chuckled. They were spellbound. It was going to be another “rusty third wheel” night for me. The conversation inevitably led to where they were staying and the girls asked about my travels. “So why are you staying with Howard?” they asked.

“Welp. I’m currently putting together a documentary about whether it is possible to disappear in today’s technological age. I was caught accessing a server I used to manage for my old workplace and was brought in for questioning. That’s when I split. There’s a warrant out for my arrest.”
Everybody’s mouths dropped. Thompy was equally as shocked. “No shit, Jarvis? I didn’t know we were keeping the company of a fugitive!”
“Yeah, did you notice that I’ve been paying for everything with cash?”
“Come to think of it, yeah. You’re right. So what if you get caught?”
“Well I’m not bringing danger to anyone around me. They would just cuff me and take me away. I’m not a violent offender. Plus, it’s not like I hacked government or anything. It’s just the local PD looking for me. No FBI that I know of yet.”

We talked for a little while longer and then wandered into a night club called “Debonair.” Immediately when we walked through the doors, I knew I was home. There were flat panel LCDs on the walls showing sinister images with vector backdrops which corresponded to the music playing. The sound was like a cross between Dubstep and Darkwave. The bass was deep and penetrated your very being. My whole body absorbed the vibration as though it were inciting me to move with it.

I wandered away from the rest of the group and just began to float through the crowd, assimilating into the noir ambiance. The bodies around me seemed to move in slow motion. The lights pulsated with the music. There was a wall of color in the very back which juxtaposed the silhouettes of people  dancing uninhibitedly.

The women in this place were all leather-clad and menacing. As I drifted past a glance would be exchanged. Their eyes were full of hunger. These women were dangerous. Just my type.

I went downstairs. Above the stairwell there was a white resin horse bust mounted and illuminated from inside so that it glowed red. “This club is my home.” I thought to myself. “It is where I belong.”

James sent me a text around midnight. He was headed my direction. “What’s the name of the place?” He asked.
“Debonair.” I replied. “I’ll meet you outside.”
I walked outside right as he was walking past. I reached out and touched his arm. “James.”
“Oh, holy shit. This is it, huh?”
“Yeah. How did you get here so quickly? I mean how did you know we were here.”
“I got a text from your friend. Not Matt. The other one. I forgot his name. I have him in my phone as ‘Aussie 1.'”
“Weird.” I said. I pulled out my phone and opened a recent text I had received from Thompy. “Aussie No. 1” was in the “From:” section.
“Are you fucking with me?” James asked.
“How could I have set that up? C’mon, let’s go.” We headed inside.

Once inside, James got us a round. He struck up conversation with a very attractive girl with dark hair and red lipstick. He introduced us. Her name was Sam. She seemed to be very affectionate toward him. She was touching his face and talking in his ear. James disappeared for a moment to go to the restroom and her friends came and gathered her up.

I was too far away to say goodbye but I could see her looking around as her friends led her out. Joe came back looking confused. I told him that her friends came and got her and they left. “C’est la vie.” he said. “These things are fleeting. I didn’t expect anything different to be honest” but the disappointment in his voice indicated otherwise.

We decided to go too. That’s when I was faced with an ultimatum. James invited me to go to Barrelhouse Flat with him and meet our mutual childhood friend, Lily. I had prior commitments to go to church at the Moody Bible Institute the following morning with Howard.

I told Thompy, “You know what, the main reason I even agreed to go to church in the first place is so that Howard might be more inviting to me being there thinking that I could be ‘saved.’ Fuck him. I’ve been putting up with him all week. I don’t care if I burn my bridges with him now. I just don’t want to put you guys in the position to bare the bad news.”

Thompy replied, “Well that’s fine. We’ll just tell him that you stayed at your friend’s house. End of story. It’s not like we have to lie about it or anything.”

“Yeah, but you’re going to get to listen to him whine about it. I don’t have to put up with it after tomorrow. I can just come and get my stuff while you guys are in church. You’re the ones who have to deal with him for another day.”

Matt piped in. “Mate, you’re going to meet a bird, are you?”
“Yeah, a friend.”
“Go then. It’s not even an issue.”
And so I did. When we arrived at Barrelhouse Flat, Lily was outside. She turned around and saw us approaching. She threw her arms around me. “Oh, my GOD!” She put her hands on my shoulders and asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I live here now.” I said.

Again she flung her arms around me and jumped up and down with elation. She grasped even tighter and tucked her head into my shoulder and gave me a sweet little kiss on the neck. Lily is like that. She loves deliberately and without restraint. It isn’t anything sexual or even romantic. She is just very compassionate toward the people she cares about.

The night was drawing to an end, and I had run out of money. James bought me another drink and we caught a cab back to his house, which he also paid for. I pulled out the sleeper sofa and lay down. He went to grab some blankets. When he returned I said, “Thanks again, James. I really didn’t mean for you to pay for all of that stuff tonight, I’ll get you back once I’m on my feet. Also, thanks for putting me up.” He frowned at me with disapproval and shook his head.

“Do you remember when we were kids and we used to get ready for the school dances together?” James asked.
“Yeah.” I said.
“Do you recall the time that we stood in front of your mirror and you taught me how to tie a tie?”
“Yeah, I think I do now that you mention it. It was the mirror attached to my dresser in my bedroom, right?” He nodded his head.

“Goodnight, my friend.” He said, then shut off the light.

The City Survival Guide: I

I grew up in the wilderness. I would spend my free time tromping around on the countryside getting lost and having to find my way home. You could say I made a bit of a sport of it. As such, I learned to use my intuition and deductive reasoning skills to get myself out of jams I found myself in. This skill has proven infinitely useful as I embark on my journey into a new kind of wilderness.

“The City Survival Guide” is an account of some of the ways I’ve applied these skills to my new setting.

Navigation

Chicago’s street system is laid out in a very intuitive way. The streets run North to South and East to West. The numbering of the blocks begins at the intersection of State Street and Madison Avenue. This is 0W/E, and 0N/S respectively.

With a few exceptions, every 8 blocks is a mile with a major road every 1/2 mile (or every 4 blocks.) These major roads are the routes along which most public transit travels.

I’ve found myself in the situation on multiple occasions where I am on a street and don’t know which way is North. It’s winter here so there’s a pretty consistent cloud cover and the position of the sun in the sky is not a reliable indicator. There are a couple of ways to determine this. The first method is based on satellite dishes.

The Satellite Belt

It is more cost effective to launch a satellite into orbit from The Equator. The centripetal force of the Earth’s rotation gives the satellite some extra lift and cuts down in fuel costs. For this reason, commercial satellites point almost exclusively South in the Northern Hemisphere.

A Stick in the Mud

The second method is one I used to call upon when I’d go hiking in the woods. Find an object which stands upright and casts a shadow. Ideally, it should be tall and slender. One can shove a stick in the mud if one so chooses. Put a place-marker at the tip of the shadow. Wait 15 minutes, and mark the point of the shadow at its new location.

The shadow has traveled almost due West to almost due East during the time that has elapsed. Stand with your left foot on the first mark and your right on the second. You are now facing almost due North.

Analogue Turn-By-Turn Navigation Systems

Now a word on who to ask for directions: shop owners and patrons are largely useless. With modern technology, very few actually learn the layout of the street system and instead rely on GPS to get around. Public transit officials can be just as bad but some of them can be helpful. Ideally you want to find a mail carrier. They look at addresses every day and tend to know their area pretty well.

Being Alert

There are certain times when you should remain extremely alert and aware of your surroundings. For example, traveling on the trains after midnight can be risky. Make sure all of your sensory input is available. Don’t listen to music, play with a $700 smart phone, or read a book on public transit during peak crime hours.

If you’re walking in a neighborhood in which you feel threatened, don’t be afraid of your reflection. Walk far away from buildings. You have better perception around corners and you can use the reflections of the windows to observe others walking behind you.

Try to travel in groups but if you have to travel alone, know that your body language says a lot to a potential attacker. Walk with your hands out of your pockets. The last thing that you want is to have some thug approach you as you fumble to get your hands out of your coat pockets. Don’t let an attacker have the advantage of the element of surprise.

Of Blokes and Birds: Part I

“A journey is best measured in friends, rather than miles.” – Tim Cahill

Monday morning I awoke to Howard shaking my leg. “Wake up. Let’s make breakfast.” That was the most unwelcome thought I could fathom at that exact moment. I looked up at the clock. 6:14.

“Okay, I’m gett uma ufama um…” I began a sentence which trailed off into murmurs. I then swiftly closed my eyes and proceeded to fall back asleep. Howard’s second attempt to wake me was “I made coffee.” This was a much more welcome proposition. We made breakfast and then he went and woke up the Aussies in a similar fashion.

“Come on, MATES! It’s time to get up.” to which Matt replied, “THAT’S OUR WORD!”

We sat down to breakfast and Howard asked Thompy how his night had gone. “I finished a game of pool with Doyle [Matt], and it was my shout. So I made my way over to the bar, as I got close some old fella waiting there turned around and looked at me funny. I said to him, ‘How ya goin?’
An’ he was like, ‘Good.’
So I said, ‘That’s the way!’
An’ he was like, ‘What?’
An’ I said, ‘That’s the way.’
An’ he said, ‘Beg your pardon?’
‘That’s the way! As in… that’s good that you’re good.’
An’ he goes, ‘… Are you German?'”

After breakfast Howard took the guys down to the Shedd Aquarium. I felt bad for them, knowing that they were just getting in around 1:30am the night before and were probably still hungover. While they were away I decided to go ahead and hack one of the WEP networks I had seen the night before. It only took about 5 minutes to get into and most of that was the time it took to type in commands.

After I got internet access, I took a personal inventory of all of my belongings and began to gather information about where the nearest CTA line was and where I was in relation with the neighborhoods I was familiar with.

Everybody arrived back at the homestead in late afternoon. Once everyone was settled, I informed the Aussies that I had gotten internet access. Thompy responded immediately “Awe, righto Jarvis! Can you get us hooked up?” Jarvis was a nickname they had taken to because they thought that’s what Howard said my name was the first time they heard it.

“Yeah, I’ll hook you up. Maddafagga.” He grabbed his laptop and we got him connected to the neighbor’s wifi. Howard came in the room as we were getting connected.

“See now this is exactly what I wanted to avoid.” He said. We all looked up at him, puzzled. “I don’t want everybody sitting on their computers ignoring one another. This time is about us getting to know each other.”

“No, we’re not. I needed to get internet access for myself though. I’m going to need to get email and directions. I simply can’t be productive without it.” I replied.

“Yeah, and we haven’t been able to contact our friends and family back home in days.” said Thompy. Howard had no choice. We were already connected. He admitted defeat and retreated back into the kitchen.

After dinner that night, the Aussies invited me out to watch Thompy play guitar at an open mic event in a nearby coffee shop. As soon as we got outside I let out a deep sigh.

“Ugh, finally!” I proclaimed. “Small doses. That guy…” This initiated a conversation about how the guys felt about Howard. The consensus was that he was a decent guy but a little overbearing at times. I also found out that they were both Christians but not cultish about it like Howard.

When we arrived at the cafe we sat across from two absolutely gorgeous women. Matt and I sipped coffee and listened to Thompy play. His music was wonderful. I was impressed. So were the ladies apparently because as soon as he sat back down they struck up conversation. Thompy got one of their numbers. They would all hang out the following night.

Tuesday evening the guys went out to party with the girls they met at the cafe. I stayed in with Howard so that he wouldn’t feel like we were just using him. We again got on the subject of politics. This time it was far more civilized. At one point he asked me if I was liberal or conservative, to which I replied “I’m a radical moderate.” This apparently warranted a hug.

Wednesday morning I awoke to a Moody Bible sermon blaring on the radio at 6:30am. After breakfast I got a chance to ask Thompy about his prior evening. “Awe, it was heaps o’ fun.” He relayed. “The one bird whose number I got was talking with me and everything was fine at first but then she just started getting all sorts of weird on me. Just — nothing I could say was right, and she was being just really nasty. We were sitting on one couch and Doyle and the other bird were across the room on the other couch. He and her weren’t exactly hitting it off either so we switched sides. We both ended up hookin’ up with the opposite girls as we started with! Ha!”

Wednesday night we had dinner with Howard. The subject somehow turned to Gary Chapman’s “The 5 Love Languages.” I was actually the one who brought it up. We were discussing the psychology of being a gracious receiver of gifts. Matt wasn’t familiar so we caught him up to speed. Between the rest of us we were able to get all five listed: quality time, words of affirmation, gifts, acts of service and physical touch. Matt replied, “I don’t know what mine is but it’s DEFINITELY NOT TOUCH!” I lost my shit. I was doubled over laughing.

After dinner, we decided to stay out and check out Wrigleyville. I introduced the Aussies to James. We all had a few drinks and got to know one another. My interactions with the Aussies were comparatively tame up until this point. The weekend was coming and I had just facilitated the meeting of the minds between three intelligent and adventurous men. I susptected that things were about to get interesting…

Howard: Part I

“But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you. For you will be repaid at the resurrection of the just.” -Luke 14: 13-14

Howard is a toucher. As soon as I arrived he threw his arms around me and held on for an inappropriately long period of time. My compulsory reaction was “Oh, hey! We’re doing this then? I think it’s a little early in our relationship for us to be getting physical, don’t you? I feel like we just met.” to which he replied, “I’ll frequently be giving you hugs, or coming up and putting my arm around you… I wawnt you to feyl welcome and loved in my home.” I didn’t mention that touching me would have the exact opposite effect. I just left it alone.

I could hardly find my way to his house and had to call him for directions. When I turned the corner for his block, there he stood in a pair of khaki slacks and an argyle sweater. He is a short, stocky, bald man with wire-framed glasses that look like they were purchased in the 80’s. His bottom lip is substantially larger than his upper, and protrudes outward when he smiles with his lips closed (which is almost exclusively how he smiles.)

Howard prides himself as a southern gentleman and a Christian. He claims to be too liberal for his conservative friends but at every opportunity he had he would vehemently tout his positions on various political topics, all of which sounded like he was parroting a Fox news program he had seen. I later came to find that it was commonplace for him to outright state a quality about himself which he later contradicted directly through his actions.

So there we stood in an awkward embrace outside of his apartment complex. I was peering around the neighborhood nervously as I was devising various escape plans in case he went in for an ass grab. He finally released me and put his hands on my shoulders, making no-less awkward eye contact and saying, “I wawnt you to feyl loved and welcome in ma home.” He then switched over to the opposite shoulder and went in for another hug.

There were a couple of patterns that would begin to emerge. He would always hug me, make awkward eye contact, and then hug me on the opposite side. He also frequently repeated himself for emphasis, but it came off as disingenuous.

We finally went inside and I set down my duffel bag and cot. “Okay. This is going to be your corner. You said you brought your own beyed right?”

“Yeah.” I replied. “I’ll set that up later.”

“Okay, come with me.” We walked down the street to the coffee shop where he introduced me to the two Aussies who were staying with us. We then proceeded to go to the local supermarket. “I love this stowr. They have evraything you need. Absolutely. Evraything. You. Need.” He then proceeded to take me on a tour through his small local market and showed me where everything was before buying the one item he came for and leading me out the door.

“The Australians are wonderful people. Just wonderful! They’re good Christian men who are traveling across America sight-seeing. They want to watch the Super Bowl tonight” and that is just what we did.

Howard had told me early on in our correspondence that he did not have Internet access there. He had a Clearnet personal wifi dongle which he had affixed to his personal laptop. He said that he likes it that way because then people aren’t sitting around on their computer the whole time. He sat on his laptop for the entire first half of the Super Bowl.

I saw this as a welcome opportunity to survey the wireless in his neighborhood. After all, he couldn’t get upset at me when he’s using his laptop right?  I pulled out my netbook, attached the Alfa hi-gain antenna to it, and popped into monitor mode.

wash -i mon0

A whole host of wireless access points appeared. All protected with WPA or WPA2, and all with WPS enabled. I shut the laptop down and continued to watch the game. I made small talk with the Aussies a bit, but doubted seriously that we had anything in common.

The halftime show came on and Howard decided to grace us with his presence. It was Beyonce and she was working her hips as usual. The show opened with pyrotechnics and a screen behind her with graphics. It was really quite impressive. “Well I’ll give her this: she sure does have a nice opening.” I said. The Aussies immediately exchanged glances and fought back hysterical laughter. That was the moment I realized that they may not be the luminescent tributes to Christianity that Howard had made them out to be.

So were they frauds? Were they just stringing Howard along? A slew of questions began to fill my mind. I just sat with a devilish grin on my face, observing them from the corner of my eye.

About halfway through the third quarter, the Aussies got up and announced that they were going to catch the rest of the game at a bar in order to get the genuine American experience.

“Okay, just remember the house rewles,” Howard said. “Be back before midnight, don’t get drunk, and don’t wake me up when you come in.” They reaffirmed him that they would be good, and Howard declared “LOVELEY! LOVELEY, GUVNA!” I think he was trying to mimic their accents, but it was a wretched impression. If anything, it made me think of an Englishman, and it would have been a shitty impression of an Englishman.

Howard and I had a little bit of one-on-one time to chat after they left. We talked about life, politics, and hardship. That’s when he began to talk about “The Blacks.” He mimicked their accent equally as poorly and just as offensively as he had done with the Aussies.

“They expect everything to be handed to them and they don’t wawnt to work. Evraybody wants to say that it’s due to poverty but I can tell you what it ayis. It’s lack of a postitive male role model. Many times the man isn’t in the picture, and if he is, he’s lazy and doesn’t want to work.” Howard said.

“Now, okay. I agree that laziness and misuse of government welfare programs is a problem, but it’s not a black problem. It’s a social problem. I think it’s unfair to generalize a race of people as having an inherent instinct to mooch.”

“Well they wawnt to blame it on slavery, and it’s layke ‘I wasn’t there for slavery and neither were you and don’t forget: we didn’t go there and take them! THEIR OWN PEOPLE SOLD THEM! That’s what they don’t ever tawk about.”

I noted his complete disregard for any kind of dialogue. He was rattling off talking points without acknowledging logical challenges to his perspective. There were so many holes in his logic that I didn’t even begin to try to point them out. I was clearly not talking to a rationally thinking human being.

“Look, all I’m saying is that I think we’re disenfranchising black people by telling them that their problems exist because they’re black. How is a black child supposed to feel any sense of hope for their future if they’re being told, ‘You’re destined to this lifestyle because it’s an inherent quality of your race?’ I think that’s an ignorant perspective. Furthermore, the longer we see ourselves as separate from one another, the weaker we’ll be as a people. We’ll never be able to come together and work toward the common good. You know how to stop black problems? Stop talking about them as being black problems.”

I changed the topic to my plans for the following day. “I can tell you still feel teyense” Howard said. “I want you to relax and enjoy yourself while you’re here.”

“Well unlike your other guests, Howard, I’m not here sight-seeing. I have work to do. I mean, I’m going to enjoy myself while I’m here, but now’s no time to rest.”

“And that’s faan, but I wawnt you to relax, okay?” I was a little put off. He was fishing for a sign of submission. I decided to challenge his provocation.

“I’m relaxed. You must be misreading my body language. You have made me feel very welcome in your home. How could I not feel relaxed?” Just as I suspected he would, Howard resorted to physical dominance. He abruptly put his arm around me and emphatically pulled me into his torso.

“Good, that’s awl I wawnt. I wawnt you to feel loved and welcome here.” He left his arm linger on my shoulders as he looked me in the eye and said, “You’re going to be alright.”  His breath smelled like molding cheese. “You’re going to do just fine here.” I feigned a heartfelt smile and tilted my head. Howard then proceeded to rest his head on my shoulder. This was where I drew the line. I stood up abruptly.

“Well I’d better get my cot laid out. It’s starting to get late. I unrolled the canvas and sat lotus style, assembling the metal inserts.

“I lyke you already.” Howard declared.

“Why is that?”

“You’re adventurous and thoughtful. I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

“Trying to disarm me,” I thought to myself. “So this is his game. He invites people into his home and then exercises power and influence over them. Well I’ve had plenty of experience dealing with this type of person. If it’s verbal gymnastics you want, then verbal gymnastics you shall receive. Let’s dance, motherfucker.”

—

Howard lay down to go to bed at around 10:00p. Everything was dark and silent except for a muffled conversation which seemed to be coming from the apartment directly above us.  I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep yet so I decided to have a closer look at the wireless networks that could be seen in the area. There was one which was open entitled “Java Virus Testing.” Its BSSID was the same as another ESSID in the area named “T|-|3 F0><“

So this individual had an open network perhaps fishing for victims, and another network he was using for personal purposes. Interesting. Let’s see what “The Fox” does when he catches a mouse. I connected to his “Java Virus Testing” network. There didn’t appear to be a DHCP server running. I ran a sniffer on the local interface and only really saw ARP requests and the like. No unusual activity. It didn’t appear that this individual had any sort of IPS or active monitoring happening. The funny thing is that his “T|-|3 F0><” SSID was using WPA2 but vulnerable to the WPS exploit. I would give it a shot tomorrow.

I zipped up my duffel bag and secured the padlock, then wrapped the shoulder strap around my arm before closing my eyes and trying to get some rest. Sirens could be heard in the distance. The muffled conversation upstairs seemed to be escalating into a heated argument.

Just as I was nodding off I heard the front door open. I lifted my head just enough to see the Aussies creeping in as quietly as possible. I glanced over at the digital clock. “1:38AM” was glowing red. “There is a very interesting dynamic in this household” I thought to myself. I put it out of my mind and drifted swiftly into a deep sleep.

The following day Howard was to take the Aussies to the Museum of Science and Industry. I would begin to get a two-week plan together. I also intended to begin to probe into the relationship between Howard and the Aussies. This was going to be an interesting week…

The Arrival

I awoke on Sunday morning groggy and exhausted. I spent the prior evening visiting some of my hacker friends back home. We stayed up until the bewitching hour chatting about life, work, and all things Linux. I only managed to get around 4 hours of sleep but it didn’t matter. They were the ones I chose to spend my last day at home with.

There was no time to waste. I jumped out of bed and immediately began loading my vehicle with my belongings. “Okay. I’ve got the duffel. I’ve got the cot. Where is my…” I began to search frantically.

While I was searching through by boxes, my GPS was searching for a signal. Fantasies of my upcoming day began to flow to me. I had been in contact with my first host periodically throughout the week. He informed me that he was also hosting a couple of Australians currently and that later in the week a South African was to join us.

One of my major reservations about the whole situation was that he is a fundamentalist from the deep south. He is essentially my arch-nemesis archetype. He calmed my apprehension somewhat by telling me that he is “too liberal for his conservative friends and too conservative for his liberal friends.” Arch-nemesis or not, I had to swallow my pride. It was either his place or the street.

My first order of business was to get a hold of James. James is my fail-safe in the city. He’s a childhood friend whom I can trust. He’s proven in the past that he is loyal to our friendship even when the stakes are high. There was an incident we went through once where I could have been facing jail time and he stored some sensitive documents for me. His house will be my base of operation as I travel throughout the city.

It was a half-hour after I had planned to leave and I was dumping boxes of papers all over my apartment. I was becoming increasingly anxious as I sifted frantically through my papers. “There!” I declared at the top of my lungs. “Fuckin’ FINALLY!” I saw the embossed dog tags brandishing the name “dissident” and I grasped the chain. I hung them around my neck as I paced swiftly toward the door. As I drove away, I glanced in my rear view mirror to see my sneakers dangling from the telephone line, retired the night before at about 4am. “Fuck this place.” I declared under my breath.

The drive went slowly. As I came around a bend on I-90 I saw the skyline of The Second City appear on the horizon. I don’t know why, but until that moment none of this seemed real. I was suddenly overcome with the sentiment that “this is home now.”

I arrived at James’ house at around 3 in the afternoon. He helped me unload some things from my car: a roll-under storage container with my summer clothes, a couple of computers I had implemented as a server and an IDS. When we were done he said, “How about a beer and a smoke on the back porch?” I accepted his invitation.

“Welcome to the city.” James said. Tom Waits’ “Chicago” began playing from his phone in the background.

“Thanks. I’m terrified that it’s gonna shit on me.” I replied.

“Well that’s a distinct possibility.”

“I think I’ll be able to figure it out, though. Most people view all adversity as a generally bad thing. I consider most adverse situations to be opportunity for growth, and most often welcome them.”

“Well, you’ve certainly picked the choice time for adversity in the city.” James said. “You know, it’s one thing coming to visit in the summer, but true Chicagoans have seen at least one winter here.”

“I guess I’m earning my wings right from the start then huh, James? I came to the city jobless, homeless, in the wintertime with $100 in my pocket. That’s how all success stories begin, right?”

“You’re destined for greatness, my friend.” James replied.

I don’t know about greatness but perhaps delusions of grandeur. I spent about another hour there and it was time to go. I got in my car and programmed into my GPS the address of Howard, my host for the upcoming week. I began revisiting my apprehension about sleeping in the lion den. I called Howard and informed him that I was on my way. I was a few blocks into my journey and my GPS unit displayed a banner stating, “Lost satellite signal” and then crashed.

I was too far from James’ to find my way back easily, and too far from Howard’s to know how to get there blind. I was northbound on Lakeshore Drive with no good place to get off and get my bearings. “Welcome to the city indeed, I murmured and I grasped the wheel with both hands…”

Preparedness.

“The will to win is nothing without the will to prepare.”
― Juma Ikangaa

It is three days until my departure. I held an estate sale last weekend to try and sell as much of my stuff as possible. I’ll be holding it again this weekend. When everything is cleaned out I’ll be ready to leave.

Ready to leave. The thought is alien to me. I picture myself at my front door with my bag packed, taking one final look over my first apartment before I abandon it forever. I picture myself taking my first steps toward my hero’s journey with my head held high. The truth is that I’m a scared little child.

This whole decision was reactionary from the beginning. I’ve been cornered and this is all I’ve got. I have a glaring history of being unprepared. It has gotten me into a lot of embarrassing jams from which I should have learned my lesson. On this occasion, I lost my job and had almost no savings to speak of after 4 years of living with a surplus in my personal budget. My reaction was to start my own business.

I wasn’t entirely confident in my ability to run my own business, and as such was barely willing to put in the effort to get it up and running. It didn’t help that small business ownership was a knee-jerk reaction to being fired. I have no formal business plan or accounting strategy. The whole time I was planning the business, I was daydreaming about running away and drifting from place to place but I dismissed the idea as absurd.

I’ve realized something. Everything in life must be approached with strategy. If you want to be successful, you must imagine your potential failures and make backup plans for every scenario you can fathom.

Prepared or not, I’ve kicked down my ladder. I have no option of staying now.