I don’t know either

The following was written on my lunch break during jury duty today.

Right now I am sitting on the twenty-second floor lobby of the Daley Center, overlooking the downtown Chicago area. The view, needless to say, is rather breathtaking — it is a sea of skyscrapers in which it is the very short buildings that stick out, not the very tall, because of the gaps and pits they create in the sprawling urban mass. The chief exception to this is the Sears Tower, which appears to be just a few blocks over, and on a sunny day like today, I can see it extending up into the sky, its two massive prong antenne very nearly skewering the sun. Last week it was cloudy, and the top thirty floors or so were obscured by a large gray puff of water vapor, but not today.

When I consider the height of the Sears Tower, suddenly it seems as though I’m really not all that far off the ground, and the cars on the street that a moment ago had looked like Micro Machines have suddenly grown to the size of Hot Wheels, and suddenly it seems as though I can see the facial expressions of each individual person scurrying around on the plaza below.

Before my imagination catches up with itself, suddenly I see a 747 fly overhead and barrel into the top of the surrounding buildings; then, I see it again, except this time the 747 crashes directly into the twenty-second floor lobby of the Daley Center. What could I possibly do in the event of such an unlikely occurrence? Could I dive into the stairwell? Run to the other side of the building? Dare I pass through the doors marked “Private” which surely lead to judges’ chambers? Would a 747 heed any notice that entrance to a particular hallway is restricted to authorized personnel only? Would a Swiss army knife be at all useful? The answer to these questions is “no”, except for the first question, to which the proper answer is “nothing”. Luckily, while it can be argued that malpractice suits and action claims are all-American, the civil court system in general and the Daley Center in particular seem to have escaped the notice of Osama bin Laden and his ilk.

I look more closely at the window. Oh, it was just an elaborate flat video screen all along. As it turns out, I’m twenty-two floors below ground level. An easy mistake to make.

And now I must return to the courtroom, in which I will do my part as a United States citizen to make sure that somebody who is complaining about someone and the person they’re complaining about get the fair and swift justice they deserve.

The correct answer cannot be determined from the given information

I am thinking about taking the GRE. For fun if nothing else. And if it helps me in any way to fulfill my lifelong dream of becoming a Research Fellow in Comparative Analytical Cartographical Geography at Ball State University, more’s the better!

Mr. John Oates’s number one fan

My older brother, John, is one year closer to thirty today.

I do not have, offhand, a hilarious picture of him to post, so I will instead share with you this email message he wrote to me. This was his response to my assumption that a fellow posting as “HansDrinker” on my forum was impersonating several of my friends on the very same forum. “HansDrinker” was, as it turned out, John. (Note: the thread in which his original message and my reply appear has been erased, as I felt really stupid about it.) I can’t say I agree with everything he said in response, but I can’t argue with the way he said it:

Unfortunately, I don’t know of the person who has been impersonating you. It certainly wasn’t me – I’m perfectly happy being myself, or a crude likeness thereof. Would an impersonating asshole go to the trouble of filling out the personal info (all 100% true by the way, and full of hints on my true identity) on the profile and post a picture of rocker John Oates? Would an inpersonating asshole think up a creative and thought-provoking name (one that I have been using, on and off, for several years, mind you) like HansDrinker? Would an impersonating asshole go to the trouble to check and double check the lyrics to the theme song from such a shitty show as the Facts of Life? I think not. I apologize if my post in some small part ruffled some feathers (as a soon-to-be 28 year old I can certainly verify that the facts of life are indeed all about you) – that was not my intent by any means. I was only trying to be amusing to you and your cohorts (where’s the joy?) and be part of the club. I saw the email below and went to your forum almost trembling with excitement at what new witty posts may lay in waiting. Needless to say I was disappointed at what I found. I look at the Lucubus on almost a daily basis, and I was looking forward to the opportunity to contribute my two cents worth to the forum.

I don’t know what hardships this asshole impersonator has caused you, but I am dismayed at the one obvious result. Despite the name encased at the top of the menu at the top of your forum start page (“I Do Not Know These People”), it appears that you do indeed know “these people”, and any unknown newcomers are met with extreme prejudice and hosility. The irony of the forum title notwithstanding, perhaps in a deeper sense it speaks of the inability for human beings to truly connect with one another in this modern, electronic, cold-hearted age where people spend countless hours “communicating” with each other using a keyboard and modem and don’t even know the name of the person that lives in the apartment next door. Regardless, were it my forum (a pipe dream, alas), I would have been delighted at a new, well-crafted, obviously thought-out post from a total stranger who put witty things into his profile. Perhaps in time I would come to think “This man of mystery, HansDrinker – what a lovable old drunk!” And perhaps in time you would have come to think that, as well.

But it is not to be. And so, I proclaim to you – HansDrinker is John Russell Hackett, born on January 30, 1974… [personal information snipped] …Like yourself, I attended Northwestern University, graduating with a degree in environmental engineering. I then went to Clemson University and obtained a Master’s degree in the same discipline. I currently live in Denver, CO, and work at an engineering consulting company, where I do work in the areas of environmental radioactive waste remediation and risk assessment. I am single, but looking (and, if one were to judge by the length of this, in obvious – nay, desperate – need of a girlfriend). In my spare time, I enjoy reading (The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay was fucking awesome), playing guitar, listening to music, and David Lynch movies. More recently, I also have gotten into mountain biking, taking black and white pictures with my new digital camera, and the West Wing (the Bernie Mac show is also pretty good).

Well. Perhaps this has convinced you. Perhaps not. It may be better to be feared than loved, but you catch more flies with sugar than you do with vinegar.

I have posted this at his suggestion. Happy birthday, John!

Blogger Pro? Should I? I wonder…

I saw a man he danced with his wife

In downtown Chicago, it seems that 90% of all the stores on the first floors of the buildings are represented by one of the following businesses: McDonalds, Au Bon Pain, Sbarro’s, Wolf Camera, or Dress Barn. Starbucks is also fairly ubiquitous, but this is the case for every major city, and every minor city for that matter, and so we shall give it no attention. The existence of Starbucks the corporation as a virus infecting all of civilized creation has been established by philosophers far more prescient than I.

And what of McDonalds, you ask? Surely that is viral as well? Certainly, but you must understand the scope of this. As far as redundant McDonalds locations go, this beats out even the brief time I was in Milan, Italy, and there were three McDonalds restaurants within one block of the train station. In the course of a fifteen-minute walk through the downtown area, I passed by at least five separate iterations of each of these businesses, many of which occurred multiple times on the same block, and as soon as I passed one set of these businesses, the next began. It was as if I were Fred Flintstone running endlessly through my granite house, with the same scenery scrolling behind me over and over again. Similar to that, except my feet didn’t make the “dinkydinkydink” sound.

Sbarro’s, of course, is an international chain, but one that does not have nearly the cachet of the aforementioned two. And yet, its popularity is natural, because people like pizza. The most recent claim to fame Sbarro’s has to offer, unfortunately, is that one of its downtown Jerusalem locations was the site of a Palestinian suicide bombing which killed a number of people.

Au Bon Pain, “the French Bakery Café”, is an unknown quantity — for me, at least, because I’ve never eaten there. I can’t imagine there is a high demand for quiche anywhere in the midwest, but I suppose that if it were going to be anywhere it would be here amongst the uppity and well-traveled attorneys and politicians, and not out in the sticks somewhere.

Wolf Camera is interesting, because it proves that people are still, by and large, taking pictures with film cameras. And taking a lot of them, too, based on the number of locations available to do one’s business at.

I have no idea why anyone would shop at a place called “Dress Barn”. It’s like buying a bicycle at a place called “Bike Silo”. It just doesn’t make any sense.

So why do these businesses have so many locations in close proximity to one another? My father points out that downtown Chicago is a very crowded place with a high population density, implying that these businesses are playing it smart by putting in locations that will catch the overflow from busier locations. (“Oh, honey, this Dress Barn is too crowded, let’s go to the one across the street.”) I think it may be more complex than that, and upon further reflection it becomes fairly clear that it is all due to the fact that the failing economy has left municipal governments little recourse in raising money for their programs; thus, they have adopted Dress Barn, Au Bon Pain, and the rest as their Official Sponsors. I mean, come on, that’s some valuable advertising space that’s getting sold on the ground around City Hall and the Daley Center. Next time you eat or shop at one of these locations, check their storefront signage. In tiny print, it will say, “Official Sponsor of the City of Chicago”.

Why, I almost guarantee it.

Performing my civic duty

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I now count myself among your number, thanks to Cook County and its judicial process. Let me simply say that the Richard J. Daley Plaza building is very tall and has a nice view. Also, jury assembly rooms sure are crowded in the morning!

Further bulletins as events warrant.