u s e y o u r h a n d s

This week’s selection of the more memorable ads from Chicagoland publications.

looking for trupti – m4w – 30

Looking for Trupti P. we met a few years ago. I want to say almost exactly 4 years ago. We met at an anniversary party. I wanted to apologize for events that happened then. Please write me if you see this. – Craig’s List

wanted: episodes of Space Ghost coast to coast

besides season one which is on DVD, i would like your VHS or DVD copies of subsequent space ghost episodes/ seasons. would prefer trade or barter of goods or services. i have a boat load or rare rock concerts. (list available). i also have music makin’ stuff (mic cords, etc)

please FWD this along to someone who might be interested. thanks.

Come to think of it, i think i might want some KNIGHT RIDER also. – Craig’s List

4/30-5/12: TEACHER FROM SPAIN GIVES PRIVATE LESSONS OF SPANISH

Hello,
My name is Ana and I am a student from Spain. I can teach you Spanish for a cheap price. My lessons would be based on basic grammar lessons, writing assignments, reading,phonetic clues, conversations clues, conversation patterns, pronuciation skills, and many tricks that might help you enhance your oral and written Spanish. Please respond if you are interested.
Thanks everyone for reading this ad.
Ana – Craig’s List

EXPERIENCE THAT FULL FEELING IN A GANG BANG – mm4w – 29

The Chicago Horsemen Group have come together to find a female whom is either single, separated, or married that want to experience this filled up feeling.

We are intelligent professionals that are discreet and very safety concious, where condoms are a must.

If interested let us know and please include a picture. – Craig’s List

MOTHER’S PLEA I need help obtaining information regarding the death of my son 3/11/04 at the New International Produce Market. He was a truck driver from Montana, making a delivery at a Celery & Vegetable Co., 2404 Wolcott, Pilsen. – Sun Times

JOB ENVY. “WOW, you work at Crate and Barrel?” “Is it really as fun as it looks, think I could get a job there?” And so the envy begins. Crate and Barrel is American’s leading home specialty retailer, world-renowned for design, value and customer service. Since we believe in promotion from within, we offer outstanding opportunities to career-oriented people interested in fast growth potential with our management team. We are actively seeking motivated individuals who have the drive and desire to succeed in a team environment to join us in the following hands-on training program. Department managers, management trainees. Our competitive compensation/ benefits package includes health and dental insurance, profit sharing, 401(k) and a 30% store discount. Please come into any one of our Chicagoland locations to complete an application or download one from our Web site or e-mail your resume to careers@crateandbarrel.com. Crate & Barrel, www.crateandbarrel.com. – Chicago Reader

THIRD SHIFT BAKER. SWJF looking for fellow print addict to share bibliophic tendencies. 5′4″, well-rounded, 43. Prefer over-educated animal lovers (especially fried) who can act like adults when necessary. Also fond of museums, zoos, miniature golf and kayaks. If you work nights, give me a call. 40758 (exp 5/20) – Chicago Reader

WE WANT YOUR outrageous Phlebotomy stories of patients or blood donors who give you a hard time drawing their blood. Send to phlebtales@writemen.com – Chicago Reader

MY NAME IS Brett, you know, like the famous white trash comedienne

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Ah, yes. Check out that header. I totally busted out with the interrobang. Because I am that incredulous that this week, fraught with blech, is not yet over. Why is there not a key specifically for the interrobang? I knew a guy who actually had such a thing installed in his typewriter. With it, I could write raving letters to the editor, blog entries about the crappiness of the new Beastie Boys song, and really good tell-off letters.

Driving Rituals

I was reading One Good Thing today. The proprietress of that site was talking about games she played with her siblings while driving. Sure, I did that, but I also play games with myself. I used to drive a ton, about 20,000 miles per year, mostly on long-haul trips. (No, I was not a trucker, but I often frequented truck stops, if only to turn tricks and get ranch-flavored Corn Nuts.) Anyway, whenever I cross a county line, I think “She died in X County.” I do this every time I drive.

Mediocrity, Thy Name is Subway’s New Atkins Salad

I am watching my ballooning figure, so I tried one of those Spinach Atkins salads at Subway today, but without the bacon and hard-boiled eggs. Spinach, shredded carrot, grape tomatoes, chicken, and cucumber. I hate cucumber, but my salad looked … anorexic. I had the dude add cukes to my Karen Carpenter, which I later picked off. I am a food stylist. I am food stylin’.

Wish for the Day

I only wish that I could pull off these words: G, dogg, and motherfucker.

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I had never seen him perform before, but I’d loved Morrissey’s music, both the solo work and during his time with the Smiths. And so, I flew to Los Angeles to see him live, and up close with my friend Deanne.

She has known me since I was 14 and was the person who I’ve shared my Smiths-Morrissey joys with, playing those tapes over and over while traversing from UC Santa Barbara to our hometown four hours away. There she’d be, singing softly, pronouncing all the Britishisms in the music and I’d listen very hard to all the lyrics, trying to dissect their total brilliance.

The doors of the hyper-Deco Wiltern Theatre opened at 8 p.m., but because we had General Admission tickets, I got in line at 2:30 behind 60 other people. The line snaked down the block, in front of the windows of a nearby Denny’s. These people had obviously prepared better than I, bringing deck chairs, books, and lots of lots of cigarettes. Dressed for comfort? Not many of them. Most of these hard-core Morrissey fans wore their best rockabilly duds, old Smiths-Morrissey t-shirts, and pompadours. It was cute, like drama class come to life. We, this band of misfits, made a fine tribe of worshippers. What’s that I smell? Cloves? Cloves? Yes, cloves.

I look right to find the source of bickering. And just outside the Denny’s entrance, I find two women, totally middle-aged if not older bickering and pointing. One of the women is screaming in Korean and pidgin English and the other one is goading her, “Bring it on, bitch!” A bewildered gal, putting out orange cones to mark the entrance, mutters “I do not have time for this shit at Denny’s today!” This little episode delighted the crowd, and many gathered around to take pictures with their phones.

Deanne joined me at 4:30 and we switched off waiting in line. At 6-ish, it really hit me just how stupid it was to stand/sit on concrete for five and a half hours. Between my numb bottom and aching feet, I feared that I wouldn’t get through the concert. And intermittently the line would surge forward, taunting the tired, eager throng. I, too, did not have time for that shit at Denny’s.

Finally, we were let in promptly at 8 and quickly found our places at a rail only 20 feet from the stage, away from the packed area in front of the stage. The pre-show music, presumably a vanity CD burned (by Morrissey himself?), was fucking annoying. Here, pretend you’re at the Wiltern. Get a Kurt Weill CD and intersperse it with ’60s French songs and FUCKING blare it. Then, stop the CD, put on a shoegazer Elephant 6 wannabe band, have them play for 20 minutes, then put the CD back on and turn it up to 11.

Oh, I must mention this. The majority – the vast majority – of fans at the show were Hispanic. And this is odd and not really what you’d anticipate. It seems that listening to Brit-pop is some SoCal latino form of rebellion. It goes hand-in-hand with the rockabilly thing. There were some white bepompadoured men (and some dykes as well) but mainly, the latinos were really into it.

Finally, Morrissey!!!

Wow. I’ve been to concerts before, I’ve seen famous people up close. But this was different. Morrissey was completely magnetic and electric. Flipping around his microphone cord, perfectly coiffed graying pompadour, sweat soaking through his western-tailored shirt. He was fabulous, as is the music from his upcoming effort, You Are the Quarry. It’s sort of like Bona Drag, actually. In fact, most of the set was tracks from Bona Drag, with a few Smiths tunes added in causing nostalgic hysterics.

And though he’s “celibate” or gay or what the fuck ever, I’m quite sure everyone left that show thinking, “I could – nay – will date Morrissey!” I never thought that I would be in a concert, crying, and convinced that the singer was crooning to me alone. But that’s Morrissey. Nothing has ever been better and I’ve never felt more connected with a crowd of people than when we all sang “Crash into my arms/I want you/You don’t agree/But you don’t refuse me/” Oh, and how we all wanted to crash.

What is it about him that inspired the level of crazy histrionics present at the Wiltern? Maybe it’s because he’s utterly private and rarely tours so fans never really O.D. on him. Or maybe it’s because most of began listening to his music at painful times in our life, when our own personal metamorphoses matched his. I have given up trying to figure it out. The surging desire to eat up every atom of the moment was both frightening and intoxicating.

Sure, there are things I’m leaving out, like the horribly crushing dancing of the guy behind us, who, when we asked him to chill, went fucking OFF. And I’m leaving out the crazed crowd-surfing and near-riot over Morrissey’s cast-off shirt. I leave them out because if I didn’t, they’d almost ruin the show. And I don’t want that. It was amazing, and it renewed my love for his music, which I’ve listened to since I was 16.

Now, two weeks later, what am I listening to as I finally write this entry? The man himself.

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