viva.chicago
Hughes and i stumble upon the Italian-American festival in that empty lot where Gallery 37 kids do their artwork. The one across from Marshall Field's and Borders. We have to check it out, for i am half-wop, you know.
There's actually a miniature version of the Trevi Fountain, and i give Hugo a penny so we can each make a wish. (I can't tell you 'cause then it won't come true. Duh.)
Some pudgy man with dark, curly hair is sing Tom Jones songs. Actually, i can't tell if he's singing or lip-synching. Either way, it's not enough to make me want to throw my panties at him.
After a spin through the exciting event, i make Hugo come over and sign a petition. I'll pretty much sign any ol' petition. Some old woman (who needs to shave) keeps saying, "Help keep Columbus Day."
Hughes keeps asking, "Where's it going?" but the woman doesn't get it.
"It's not going anywhere. They're trying to take it away."
I'm a big fan of holidays. Hurrah for Columbus Day! Liberals may badmouth ol' Christopher and his Nina and his Pinta and even his Santa Maria -- but i don't know much about history.
There's a man next to the old crone, a slick, slimy-looking man in a suit. He's got a mustache, 'nough said. "They want to change it to Indigenous Persons Day," he says, scowling. "Revisionist history."
I can feel him grabbing the small red button i have pinned to my jeans jacket. It reads, WHITE TRASH. I try to ignore him. He gives me the creeps.
"Why would you wear something like that?" he asks me. Oh, boy. Here we go.
"You shouldn't be ashamed of who you are."
I sigh. "I'm NOT trash. It's ironic."
"Oh, i get it," the woman exclaims. "It's an icebreaker!"
I'm thinking, Yes, dearie, those are both I words. Very good.
"I just think it's funny," i say, edging away, glancing over at Hugo.
The man says, "Well, a lot of people think we're that, don't they?" Who is this "we"? Can they tell i'm half-Italian just by looking at me?
"Aren't you scared to wear it?" the woman asks. "Because of the gangs?"
Hugo's like, "Well...we don't really see too many gangs, do we?"
Sleazeball changes tack, "I think that's great. You say what you want to. Everybody should have a right to say what they feel."
"Umm, yah," i say, backing away toward State Street. Hugo and i make a break for it.
"I want Indigenous Persons Day," Hugo pouts.
"I know, me too," i say. "Can we go back and take back our signatures?"
There's actually a miniature version of the Trevi Fountain, and i give Hugo a penny so we can each make a wish. (I can't tell you 'cause then it won't come true. Duh.)
Some pudgy man with dark, curly hair is sing Tom Jones songs. Actually, i can't tell if he's singing or lip-synching. Either way, it's not enough to make me want to throw my panties at him.
After a spin through the exciting event, i make Hugo come over and sign a petition. I'll pretty much sign any ol' petition. Some old woman (who needs to shave) keeps saying, "Help keep Columbus Day."
Hughes keeps asking, "Where's it going?" but the woman doesn't get it.
"It's not going anywhere. They're trying to take it away."
I'm a big fan of holidays. Hurrah for Columbus Day! Liberals may badmouth ol' Christopher and his Nina and his Pinta and even his Santa Maria -- but i don't know much about history.
There's a man next to the old crone, a slick, slimy-looking man in a suit. He's got a mustache, 'nough said. "They want to change it to Indigenous Persons Day," he says, scowling. "Revisionist history."
I can feel him grabbing the small red button i have pinned to my jeans jacket. It reads, WHITE TRASH. I try to ignore him. He gives me the creeps.
"Why would you wear something like that?" he asks me. Oh, boy. Here we go.
"You shouldn't be ashamed of who you are."
I sigh. "I'm NOT trash. It's ironic."
"Oh, i get it," the woman exclaims. "It's an icebreaker!"
I'm thinking, Yes, dearie, those are both I words. Very good.
"I just think it's funny," i say, edging away, glancing over at Hugo.
The man says, "Well, a lot of people think we're that, don't they?" Who is this "we"? Can they tell i'm half-Italian just by looking at me?
"Aren't you scared to wear it?" the woman asks. "Because of the gangs?"
Hugo's like, "Well...we don't really see too many gangs, do we?"
Sleazeball changes tack, "I think that's great. You say what you want to. Everybody should have a right to say what they feel."
"Umm, yah," i say, backing away toward State Street. Hugo and i make a break for it.
"I want Indigenous Persons Day," Hugo pouts.
"I know, me too," i say. "Can we go back and take back our signatures?"