| Diary of a Necromimesis |
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The month of July in Chicago……
The fourth of July is first. While most people think of family
barbecues and pretty fireworks I have an entirely different perspective.
Here in Chicago I’ve spent this particular holiday doing the following:
dodging bottle rockets fired at me (a neighbor’s living room caught fire),
watching helium bombs dumped from black vans blown up in the street
(this ones for you Harry!), listening to the shots fired from handguns in
celebration (wondering at the time where those bullets end up) and my
favorite is lighting my own bottle rockets while totally wasted (thank you
family and friends for being concerned!). Yes I could go on and on, but
suffice it to say it’s always interesting.
Now as everyone knows there is also the taste of Chicago. I hate
it. Nothing like going to pay three times the price for the same shit I eat
one block away from my house, while surrounded by one hundred
thousand bastards (one third trying to rob you at any given moment), in
the usual ninety degree heat with humidity up the ass and add on the
fact you have to actually go downtown. For those of you not from the
Chi, everyone I know finds nothing spectacular about the damn Sears
Tower or downtown area with its fucked up traffic and expensive
parking rates.
Next is my birthday. Unlike many people, most of my birthdays are
not in an inebriated state. I’d say its usually everyone else who helps
you celebrate. I’m certain this birthday however will be a drunken one
because my brother who is also an expert on the many fine varieties of
hard liquor, has decided quite recently to introduce me to the joys of
taking shots. Now I can officially check off both whiskey and bourbon
as of today. Even better he tells me I drink “well”. I think that means
since I didn’t vomit, cough until my lungs shot out or run for a bottle of
water as the flaming liquids trailed down into my innards I am doing
good. Somewhere in all this I am certain this is not what my mom
meant about it being important to learn new skills.
What else is in July? Vacation! Usually this quite often means a
trip to Wisconsin dells. Escape from the city to a town dedicated to
tourism. A stay at a cheap motel, a stop at the local mart for beer and
drop by the poolside for a bit. Harass the dummy who brags and brags
how he’s a hardcore pro at drinking (you all know who you are). In the
end laugh your ass off when he passes out with two beers. Vacation.
Waterparks, 36 oz steaks (found only one time and remembered with a
sigh), bars, souvenir shops (like anyone needs a shirt that says I got a
hot tamale or pms bitch), some wizard place where one crawls through
tunnels and climbs about looking for clues to answer questions such as
“what does the water mermaid comb her hair with?” Who gives a shit.
None of it makes any sense, not the haunted house or the upside down
fun house, but all of it is fun.
There are days in the summer when you want to kill your neighbor
because his fifty year old suburban weekend biker pals are all hanging
around roaring their bikes, or the ghetto guy from down the block is
knocking on everyone’s door begging for money because “his sister’s
car broke down in Tennessee again” for like the tenth time. I’ve lived in
a bad neighbor hood with the bums shouting vulgar come ons as they
lay on the church steps. I’ve lived in the burbs where the soccer moms
stare at you like a freak because you don’t join the ppo. But there is a
saying my brother told me once. The clean version: The heat makes a
mother fucker crazy in the Chi.
The fourth of July is first. While most people think of family
barbecues and pretty fireworks I have an entirely different perspective.
Here in Chicago I’ve spent this particular holiday doing the following:
dodging bottle rockets fired at me (a neighbor’s living room caught fire),
watching helium bombs dumped from black vans blown up in the street
(this ones for you Harry!), listening to the shots fired from handguns in
celebration (wondering at the time where those bullets end up) and my
favorite is lighting my own bottle rockets while totally wasted (thank you
family and friends for being concerned!). Yes I could go on and on, but
suffice it to say it’s always interesting.
Now as everyone knows there is also the taste of Chicago. I hate
it. Nothing like going to pay three times the price for the same shit I eat
one block away from my house, while surrounded by one hundred
thousand bastards (one third trying to rob you at any given moment), in
the usual ninety degree heat with humidity up the ass and add on the
fact you have to actually go downtown. For those of you not from the
Chi, everyone I know finds nothing spectacular about the damn Sears
Tower or downtown area with its fucked up traffic and expensive
parking rates.
Next is my birthday. Unlike many people, most of my birthdays are
not in an inebriated state. I’d say its usually everyone else who helps
you celebrate. I’m certain this birthday however will be a drunken one
because my brother who is also an expert on the many fine varieties of
hard liquor, has decided quite recently to introduce me to the joys of
taking shots. Now I can officially check off both whiskey and bourbon
as of today. Even better he tells me I drink “well”. I think that means
since I didn’t vomit, cough until my lungs shot out or run for a bottle of
water as the flaming liquids trailed down into my innards I am doing
good. Somewhere in all this I am certain this is not what my mom
meant about it being important to learn new skills.
What else is in July? Vacation! Usually this quite often means a
trip to Wisconsin dells. Escape from the city to a town dedicated to
tourism. A stay at a cheap motel, a stop at the local mart for beer and
drop by the poolside for a bit. Harass the dummy who brags and brags
how he’s a hardcore pro at drinking (you all know who you are). In the
end laugh your ass off when he passes out with two beers. Vacation.
Waterparks, 36 oz steaks (found only one time and remembered with a
sigh), bars, souvenir shops (like anyone needs a shirt that says I got a
hot tamale or pms bitch), some wizard place where one crawls through
tunnels and climbs about looking for clues to answer questions such as
“what does the water mermaid comb her hair with?” Who gives a shit.
None of it makes any sense, not the haunted house or the upside down
fun house, but all of it is fun.
There are days in the summer when you want to kill your neighbor
because his fifty year old suburban weekend biker pals are all hanging
around roaring their bikes, or the ghetto guy from down the block is
knocking on everyone’s door begging for money because “his sister’s
car broke down in Tennessee again” for like the tenth time. I’ve lived in
a bad neighbor hood with the bums shouting vulgar come ons as they
lay on the church steps. I’ve lived in the burbs where the soccer moms
stare at you like a freak because you don’t join the ppo. But there is a
saying my brother told me once. The clean version: The heat makes a
mother fucker crazy in the Chi.
About the Author:
Deborah Garcia is currently working on her first full length novel entitled
"Second Image". She has published poetry previously.
Contact The Diary at:
diary@thetruthmagazine.com
Deborah Garcia is currently working on her first full length novel entitled
"Second Image". She has published poetry previously.
Contact The Diary at:
diary@thetruthmagazine.com