The interview went well. I like these guys, and I think they liked me. It really seems like an ideal workplace: more structure, but still with plenty of freedom. Projects for clients worth giving a damn about. And, most importantly, coworkers from whom I can actuall learn things. Anyway, I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

Other news: when I got back to my block, I found it filled with MPD officers. I'd estimate six police cars (some of them unmarked), and ten or twelve cops swarming in and out of the run-down house on the street that always has folks hanging out in front of it. "Search warrant," said the cops, in a way that made it clear that this statement encompassed all of the information they were prepared to share.

Judging from the variety of people who'd hang out in front of the house,, the cars that'd stop by, and the occasional stray whiff of pot smoke, it was pretty clear that those guys were dealing something. But they never really bothered me, or Charles, so far as I know. I got a "what the fuck do you think you're doing" one time when I dared to walk through a pre-deal crowd of their friends on the sidewalk, but I don't think that outburst came from anybody who actually lived in the house. The only other interaction I had with them was when two of the guys hanging out there stopped me and Charles as we walked by and asked us to settle a bet: which has the larger penis, a whale or an elephant? I said whale. And I stand by that, goddammit.

Anyway, it looks like bad times for those folks. I can't say I feel too sorry, though. Sometimes on my way to the Metro on summer mornings I would see a little old lady sitting on a cushion on a folding chair outside that house. Maybe she was escaping the heat; maybe she was escaping something else. She doesn't deserve to have some deadbeat nephew or grandson selling drugs on her lawn, even if they were doing it with a minimum of ruckus. On the other hand, she doesn't deserve to have her relations thrown in jail, either. Here's hoping it all works out for her.

the one good thing about this?

getting to wear this (purchased over the summer in florence. in fact, i pretty much based my entire decision to move to chicago on the fact that i own this hat):

i am fully aware of the ridiculosity, but am also fully aware that it feels like i'm wearing an awesome, warm, baby panda on my head.

(when in reality is really just a baby rabbit and cow)

Charles is soliciting help from the internet in naming his goldfish, which inexplicably made it through the weekend. So far my suggestions of "stinky", "wrinkles" and "superdude" have fallen on deaf ears. BONUS POINTS for anyone who can name additional dead classroom pets of the Simpson children.

And with that, I'm off to the i/v.

oh. mah. god. most disgusting story you'll read on the internets today.

this is what i spend time doing when i'm supposed to be finishing up an article, writing a huge research paper and starting work on a 1,000 word profile. this and reading hysterical stories about public masturbators on the CTA red line, which i ride quite often, and taking mental notes on how to deal with them when the situation inevitably, uh, arises. yup.

Right?

I've got a job interview this afternoon. I feel pretty confident — I already know that my biggest failing is working too hard, that I am a self-starting team player, that I'm keen to leverage new synergies in a proactive manner, and that manhole covers are round so that they can't fall down the holes they cover. And really, what else could possibly be asked in an interview? But if you all have any tips, now's the time.

guess what? i'm repping for the district this thursday - mr. loop and i will be attending the chicagoist happy hour at monk's bar downtown. they'll have a tab, at least until it runs out, which i am sure it will soon after i arrive! the only real question: should i dare wear my DCist t-shirt?