May The Paraphernalia Be With You
I do not believe in coincidence. Don't believe the devil. I don't believe his book. But the truth is not the same without the lies he made up. I don't believe in excess success is to give. I don't believe in riches, but you should see where I live. I believe in love.** Everything happens for a reason. At the very least, any occurrence possesses some meaning. This isn't to say that my world is altered if I drop my ice cream cone. What I'm getting at is profound. When I see Chicago sports teams' paraphernalia in New York City, God is talking to me. Giggle. Laugh. Guffaw if you will. You're just jealous that G-O-D and I are likethis.
It started when I began to take certain notice of a Cubs hat here or a Bear jersey there. Those sightings delighted me because Chicago is my home. No matter how long I live in New York City or anywhere else, I am a Chicagoan. So, I felt connected somehow to total strangers on the basis of their wardrobe. Until they would notice me staring and ask me to, "Fuck off, bitch!" For a fellow Bulls fan? Sure!
Soon I went from spotting the Chi-gear on ocassion to seeing it frequently. With the frequency came a great sense of timing. Freaky but cool, too. Recently, I was on the phone with my cousin Mary Rose, and as she was telling me that Bill was out of surgery and doing alright, this guy with a home made 'I Love the Chicago Cubs' tee walks right in front of my relieved little face.
You may be thinking, for fuck's sake, Shannon! Kids wear the Jordan Nike shit everywhere, all the time. Getting the new Jordans is a rite of passage, it's like getting laid. How does that have anything to do with your sign from God crap? Ahem, I don't count ANY of the Jordan stuff, not so much as a logo. That would be asinine. Suck my balls.
Some Sundays in the fall when I'm feeling sorry for myself because I can neither watch every Bears game (they're not broadcast in the Tri-sate area/armpit of the East) nor can I toss back a few beers while I watch ANY game. (Technically, nothing's stopping me. If I want, happy hour starts if I fart. I'm just not willing to risk losing everything in my life for a flat Bud Light.) All is not lost! Out pop the Brian Urlacher #54 jerseys and with them, my pissyness disappears. Incidentally, his jersey was the top selling jersey amongst any other in the entire NFL. Two years ago, but still...
This morning's sighting kicked total ass. I was walking from the subway to my place of work (where I blog and pee every hour because I drink gallons of water) and my internal dialogue chattered as usual, off and running, "I should get more Bears' stuff. I already have the sidelines baseball hat, but that's soooooo dykey. I've got the jersey. That's some serious shit right there. Oh, and I've got the t-shirt from training camp. Sucks that orange makes me look like I need a kidney transplant. But I need more, more, I dunno..." At that precise moment a wicked fierce chick wearing an old, beat up to perfection Chicago Bears t-shirt strolls right past me. I looked up right away and said, "OK, that was hysterical," to God.
Dear Higher Power of my Understanding,
Thanks for all the 'signs.' But can I start getting actual stuff? Like, may I have a free White Sox throw rug one of these days? Or new Bears flights for my darts (totally lesbian, I know!). I could go with some Cubs ones, too. Whatever you deem appropriate.
Faithfully Yours, As Long as It Works For Me,
Shannon
These clever communicaes could keep me stocked for years.
**name that tune
posted by Shannon E. Ennis at
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
It started when I began to take certain notice of a Cubs hat here or a Bear jersey there. Those sightings delighted me because Chicago is my home. No matter how long I live in New York City or anywhere else, I am a Chicagoan. So, I felt connected somehow to total strangers on the basis of their wardrobe. Until they would notice me staring and ask me to, "Fuck off, bitch!" For a fellow Bulls fan? Sure!
Soon I went from spotting the Chi-gear on ocassion to seeing it frequently. With the frequency came a great sense of timing. Freaky but cool, too. Recently, I was on the phone with my cousin Mary Rose, and as she was telling me that Bill was out of surgery and doing alright, this guy with a home made 'I Love the Chicago Cubs' tee walks right in front of my relieved little face.
You may be thinking, for fuck's sake, Shannon! Kids wear the Jordan Nike shit everywhere, all the time. Getting the new Jordans is a rite of passage, it's like getting laid. How does that have anything to do with your sign from God crap? Ahem, I don't count ANY of the Jordan stuff, not so much as a logo. That would be asinine. Suck my balls.
Some Sundays in the fall when I'm feeling sorry for myself because I can neither watch every Bears game (they're not broadcast in the Tri-sate area/armpit of the East) nor can I toss back a few beers while I watch ANY game. (Technically, nothing's stopping me. If I want, happy hour starts if I fart. I'm just not willing to risk losing everything in my life for a flat Bud Light.) All is not lost! Out pop the Brian Urlacher #54 jerseys and with them, my pissyness disappears. Incidentally, his jersey was the top selling jersey amongst any other in the entire NFL. Two years ago, but still...
This morning's sighting kicked total ass. I was walking from the subway to my place of work (where I blog and pee every hour because I drink gallons of water) and my internal dialogue chattered as usual, off and running, "I should get more Bears' stuff. I already have the sidelines baseball hat, but that's soooooo dykey. I've got the jersey. That's some serious shit right there. Oh, and I've got the t-shirt from training camp. Sucks that orange makes me look like I need a kidney transplant. But I need more, more, I dunno..." At that precise moment a wicked fierce chick wearing an old, beat up to perfection Chicago Bears t-shirt strolls right past me. I looked up right away and said, "OK, that was hysterical," to God.
Dear Higher Power of my Understanding,
Thanks for all the 'signs.' But can I start getting actual stuff? Like, may I have a free White Sox throw rug one of these days? Or new Bears flights for my darts (totally lesbian, I know!). I could go with some Cubs ones, too. Whatever you deem appropriate.
Faithfully Yours, As Long as It Works For Me,
Shannon
These clever communicaes could keep me stocked for years.
**name that tune
6 Comments:
Interesting... HP tends to talk to me through songs on the radio, but hey... if Chi-town Teams do it for you, I'm sure HP can acommodate you. {grin}
Glad to hear that Bill is out of the woods - or at least doing better than he was!
-Nick
By
Anonymous, at 12:46 AM
Nick,
Thanks very much for the good wishes. Bill will go home sometime this week. Man, does he have a long road to recovery ahead. Paging HP...
By
Shannon E. Ennis, at 4:38 PM
God Part II, lyrics written by Bono and performed by U2 on the Rattle and Hum albumn....c'mon, you can come up with something tougher than that....just kidding! Just for fun, I believe the song was written about...in some way, the guy who shot John Lennon, or somehow loosely based on the idea of Lennon's "Imagine." Somehow, there's a Lennon association with that song.
By
Anonymous, at 12:03 PM
By the way, sorry about your Bears and their quarterback injury. It makes Philly's whole T.O. nightmare seem a little less irritating.
By
Anonymous, at 10:30 AM
Rex Grossman isn't work the spikes on his sfeet. The reign of the pussy quarterbacks is over. Now that we have Vicks, Farvres and McNabbs, Grossman can't cut it. He's jinxed, too. He runs the offense, his body falls apart. I actually like that kid from Purdue, Kyle Orton. And someone has to say it, Chad Hutchinson looks like The Children Of The Corn on steroids. Whew! He is f'ugly! Frakenstein ugly. My apologies to his parents.
By
Shannon E. Ennis, at 11:14 AM
worth the spikes on his feet. worth. not work. worth.
By
Shannon E. Ennis, at 11:15 AM
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