Subject: [Uclinguist] Jeroen’s name
Dear all,
I forgot to add, in response to several natural queries: “Jeroen van Craenenbroeck” is pronounced [jE.'run vOn 'krAE.nEn.bruk] (where E=schwa, O=turned c, AE=a slightly raised ash, r either a tap or short trill).
–Jason
Posted in small world
1. Man wearing two ties, one tied on top of the other, on the 172 this afternoon. Was otherwise dressed to the nines. Interesting note: one was red, the other blue. Perhaps attempting to resemble both party’s politicians at once.
2. Odd incident involving babies, bubbles, corgis, and portraiture on the quads. I think this one is best left to the imagination.
3. Giant C-SPAN bus covered in photorealistic American flag/eagle graphics pulling onto the quads via 58th street. Man got off and asked me what I think about Hyde Park and our ties to Obama, but did not ask my name. If some unnamed U of C student is quoted on C-SPAN spouting genericisms about her school and politics, it’s probably me.
4. A CTA BUS ON WOODLAWN BETWEEN HPB AND 47TH. WHUT. I can only assume they have closed off The Boulevard in front of The House. Do not particularly wish this to be a permanent reroute, even though it makes the buses closer, as said bus nearly ran me over ON THE SIDEWALK in its attempt to turn down a narrow street with cars parked along both sides.
Posted in small world
I whine about my neighborhood a lot. And honestly, once you’ve lived here a while, you’ll understand–a good deal of it is deserved. But in no way is it unbearable or even entirely terrible. For example:
-Kids in Hyde Park love me. I mean, kids in general love me, but kids in HP regularly stop to talk to me, wave to me, sometimes even hug me. They probably think I am one of them, but it’s a good chance for their parents to teach them about “Stranger Danger” and it generally makes my day.
-It’s quiet. There is a lot to be said for quiet. Especially with sleep being such precious commodity. Except there are also a great deal of squirrels outside who don’t like to follow the same rules.
-Valois! Mispronounced French name, broccoli and cheese omelets, loud Greek cook. If I got hangovers it’d cure them.
-Sex in the Stacks. JUST KIDDING.
-the 15 bus, aka the OBAMA EXPRESS. What what.
-Shaaaaake Day, ’cause I’m a cheapass and nobody don’t love a Wednesday afternoon sugar buzz.
-Washington Park.
-The Experimental Station AND Backstory AND the community garden AND Blackstone Bikes.
-The super-cheerful staff at the 53rd street Starbucks. But the ones at 55th are slow and grumpy.
-The fact that the terrible deep vast massive puddles that form every time it rains eventually dry up.
Posted in big world
Today on the way home from Treasure Island (the overpriced faux-gourmet supermarket that is the only place to get real groceries in Hyde Park, nothing to do with R. L. Stevenson, for the uninitiated) I passed by a spot under a tree on Harper where some idiot had thrown bread crumbs, presumably for the cute, small birds to eat. Instead, bully pigeons had pushed all of the smaller birds away to greedily gobble up the crumbs. I noticed, though, that further ahead on the sidewalk, one liver-colored pigeon was separated from the rest of the pack. As I walked closer, I noticed her unique pattern of movement–she was walking under each tree further down the path to check for crumbs. Somehow she had decided in her little birdie brain that since there were crumbs under the one tree, there would be crumbs under every tree. In theory. Definitely not in practice. She kept looking anyway.
“Wow,” I said to her, “You really ARE a U of C pigeon.”
This startled her and she flew away. Now I KNOW I’m right–too smart for her own good AND socially skittish.
Posted in small world
“You know, he’s one of those people that, when you see him, you know he’s a douchebag. And there is no other word to describe him except douchebag. And he knows he is a douchebag, and he revels in his douchebaggery. And when he is not around, all you can do when you mention him is to also immediately mention that he is a douchebag, and aware of it, and all that that entails. And somehow I still voluntarily spend time around him–and then proceed to complain about the douchebag who just wasted my life.
…So I guess my question is, does this make ME the actual douchebag?”
Posted in small world
I want to look as hot and put-together as dying patients on medical dramas whenever I happen to kick the bucket.
Posted in big world
I’ve spent entirely too much time in here this summer. I think my bangs have made them accept me at long last, though, which will be a positive for the school year since I have three classes in Cobb. I am currently half-downing another giant trough of Rajun Cajun matar paneer (damn you, inflation, now I cannot eat lunch on a fiver any longer.)
I have heard OK Computer on the stereo about seven times post-Lollapalooza. Still trying to deduce the hipster logic behind this one. I think that irony via shit you’ve never heard of has become too expected for them and now they’re being hip and unexpected via the expected. Kind of like Urban Outfitters.
They have about a hundred types of energy bars for sale and I have never ever seen anyone buy a single one. I would bet some of these are banned by the FDA nowadays, that is how old and tired they look.
Some girl with freakishly white-blonde eyelashes just said “I’m trying to be healthy, so I’ve started drinking chocolate soy milk exclusively.”
There is a sum total of two neckbeards down here at the moment. One of them is no facebeard and all neckbeard–almost like he trimmed it that way, which blows my mind even more than ironic mullets do.
“Yo, Joe, are you a Unitarian? Oh my god, I am too! We can be Uni-buddies.”
Stereo has switched to schmaltzy smooth jazz covers of Air songs.
Shirt: “EVANSTON IS HEAVEN-STON”
Dear new cashier whose name I do not know yet: oh god yer ass i mean iphone is aDOrable.
Does feverishly scribbling notes on napkins make me a nutty professor already?
Or how about my awareness thereof?
Posted in small world
