And I make no apologies for that. It's just that when you don't feel like writing, you shouldn't write. And I haven't felt like writing, at least here.
If there's a theme the past couple months, it's been miscommunication. When I wrote my post of April 9th, I made a not-so-subtle dig at the folks over at B News, who referenced both my Puffer's post on Chicagoist and the story "Random Thoughts on the Corner of 31st and Halsted" in a post. Then I saw they referenced the dig in the comments to another post. After some e-mail exchanges, I realized that we were on the same page with our love for the neighborhood, although we each go about professing that love differently. I think we're both concerned about how the neighborhood's changing. And they can't stand the derogatory terms thrown about when mentioning Bridgeport. I respect that, but as someone who didn't grow up here, I understand that any discussion about Bridgeport will have to touch upon its past. Is it unfair, yes. But you can't run from it.
If anything, I find myself defending the neighborhood staunchly when people berate it.
Then there was yesterday, and the mandatory staff meeting I had to attend. I tend not to write about work here, because one never knows who might be reading. But yesterday just sent me over an edge. I wanted to give this meeting the benefit of the doubt, but after twenty minutes of hearing office staff out-of-touch with what the house staff is doing downstairs telling us what we need to do, office staff covering their asses when challenged, and meeting items qualified with HR bullshit like, "I already have my opinion, but I want to hear from you before I give them", I slapped on my bike helmet and went home.
I love my job. I wish everyone could view it through my mind for a night to see the joy that I take in it. But there are two things I have tolerated for too long there: being ignored, and being patronized. After seven years there, we're still talking about the same issues that trouble us, and the same people who should be held accountable for their actions are not. I decided when I rose from my chair to leave yesterday that I will no longer tolerate either. This morning I updated the resumes and hit the job search boards after posting the Skylark Cheap Eats on Chicagoist. The introductory sommelier exam in San Francisco this October cannot come soon enough.
