My Friday, As Retold By The Scrolling “Missed Connections” Headlines On Chicago’s”

By: Greg Boose

Friday 5/11/07

so so so sorry you spilled yr coffee when I opened the door. I hope your day gets better. – w4m – 24 (Southport Starbucks)

you were the hot blonde in a yellow top standing next to the guy with coffee all over his shirt. We made eye contact several times and laughed about him. I would love to meet up with you somewhere where that guy isn’t! Ha! – m4w – 31 (Brownline)

Did anybody else see that lady sneeze ketchup in that guy’s face???!!!! Oh my God!!! Brownline to the Loop 8:42 am. TOTALLY F@%*ED UP. – (brownline)

we both got off at the wrong stop, you cried – w4m – 32 (Armitage)

Friday morning caught in the sudden downpour. Me: Attractive redhead with black purse. You: Hot Asian guy with long hair gently kicking the scary dude face down in the grass with maybe blood on his collar. You a doctor? Let’s have a drink! – w4m – 26 (State st)

to the old lady who got her umbrella stolen by that screaming shirtless guy, sorry I didn’t intervene. I kind of just froze. – w4w (Randolph St)

10 am, brownhaired guy in line at the Dress Barn…dude, that place is for women! Did you hear me pounding on the glass??!! – (downtown)

You were the guy sitting crosslegged in the corner of my elevator wearing a red blouse with yr head down – w4m – (181 N Clark)

saw you getting yelled at by your short boss. Where’d you get that nice blouse? Seriously. – m4m – (181 N clark)

To the beautiful Spanish woman who pointed out to everyone passing by on the escalator that a guy was wearing a woman’s shirt. I had the Bears hat and yellow polo on. PLEASE contact me. – m4w – 30 (Marshall’s)

Tall guy trying on the green buttondown shirt at Marshall’s. Hate to tell ya but it didn’t match with your brown pants. (downtown)

Yo! Sorry to whoevers wrist I stepped on in the stairwell but that bomb threat really freaked me out – m4m – (2nd Floor? Marshalls)

You dropped your wallet inside Marshall’s. I have it! Message me and tell me your name. – (Marshall’s)

I didn’t know it was going to be the last piece of sausage and banana pepper. You didn’t have to yell at me, dickface – (Sbarros)

You were the security guard w/ the soothing and sexy voice talking to the guy in the green hiding behind the card machine. Wished you would talk to me with that voice over a glass of wine or cup of coffee. – w4m – 34 (State/Lake station)

Re: I saw that! You really stomped on him. — Yo! Sorry to whoevers wrist I stepped on in the stairwell but that bomb threat really freaked me out – m4m – (2nd Floor? Marshalls)

Some jerk wouldn’t let you sit down on the train because he had his “very broken hand” on the other seat. You: blue shirt, black skirt, great legs and a gorgeous pout. I was the guy who offered you my seat and got off at Fullerton – m4w – 23 (redline)

Re: Re: I feel really bad about it. I can’t get his squeal out of my head. — Re: I saw that! You really stomped on him. — Yo! Sorry to whoevers wrist I stepped on in the stairwell but that bomb threat really freaked me out – m4m – (2nd Floor? Marshalls)

Have a missed connection with a gray moped? It was totally stolen by a guy in a green shirt while I watched from the third floor. Thief really favored his left arm. I called the cops! – (Lincoln&Roscoe)

Now that’s a wipeout!!! I thought you were dead but then you moved. – (Lincoln)

Left your moped on fire and ran. – (Lincoln)

Found your keys in the street. – (Lincoln)

To the skinny guy running by with his clothes on fire. Stop, drop, and roll, mofo. – (Lincoln)

Missed connection with my clothes on the line in my backyard. Up yours you kleptomaniacal freak. – (3400 block N. Ashland)

4PM – You were the pretty black girl who got knocked over by the screaming guy being escorted out of Bank of America. I was the good looking tall guy in the red puma jacket who held the door. What happened? – m4w – 36 (Lakeview)

You kicked my husband in the chest for just saying your clothes might be too big for you. If we see you again… – w4m (Cornelia Street)

to the guy who wanted to trade his watch for a ride to his landlord’s office. you sounded desperate and sincere, but I never let strangers in my car. sorry. – w4m (Lakeview)

Hey Jackass! I almost ran you over – (white Honda on Broadway)

I let you borrow my cell phone and you wept like a child. Turn to the Lord Jesus! He loves you! – m4m – 55 (Chicago)

9:15pm…Scrawny dude with wrist wrapped in napkins, sitting outside Potbelly’s and shivering in a huge T-shirt. You should have just stood up to the manager instead of flipping over that table. – (on Southport)

You were the hot blonde woman playing tug-of-war over a red sweater with some maniac guy. Wished I got out of my car to help! You are totally beautiful. – m4w – (Roscoe St.)

Midnight – to the guy in the red sweater at the Pick Me Up Café. Really sorry I bumped your table and spilled your coffee. I would have bought you another cup if you hadn’t run off like that. – w4m – 34 (Lakeview)


Response To A Vanity House’s Solicitation

By: Laura Hirneisen

Dear Ms. Rodeger,

Thank you for finding my poems in 2River View. I thought only communists, New Yorkers, pot smokers, and middle-aged men named Horatio read poems any more. But then I discovered your fan email brightening my inbox.

When I read you think my poetry deserves immortality, I wept with bliss. Please take my words to the shelves of stores called Barnes & Nobel as you promised. (I think what you meant to say was Barnes & Noble. Confusing the book store with the peace prize is a common error. I once used to think the Nobel Prize was funded by Barnes & Nobel too. No I didn’t, but I really want us to be friends, Ms. Rodeger. You like my poetry and I like you.)

Since we’re going to be pals now, I hope you won’t be offended by what I’m about to say. If you’re easily offended, Ms. Rodeger, please skip ahead to the next paragraph so we can stay chummy. You said, “Self-publishing is one strong avenue to share your photography with the world in book format.” I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but when you forgot I write poetry, you made me feel less special. Your slip-up tarnished my star and made my aura turn a little blue. I wondered if perhaps you sent the same letter to other people as well, people who take pictures, people you also said should have their work immortalized.

But your words are crafted in golden elegance, each tenderly strung sentence a gem adorning the tiara of creativity. And you convinced me. Now that you have so graciously assessed my talent as a poet, I would like to take the strong avenue you spoke of. I see this avenue in my mind: long and gray, tall glass buildings on either side. For some reason, a homeless man lives in a Sanyo box on one corner and bloated pigeon corpses are being mauled by taxi cabs, but I won’t let this bother me.

Which reminds me of what else happened when I opened your email, Ms. Rodeger. I thought of vampires. I pictured my poetry wearing a black satin cape with a red lining. While I am a WASP female, my poetry is inexplicably embodied as a swarthy skinned, mustachioed male. He is named Dagar, has a scar under his right eye from taking a beer bottle to the face in a scrappy bar fight, and smokes cigarillos in vast quantities. To gain his immortality, my poetry leeches the blood from unsuspecting readers.

Did you know vampires are categorized as bloodsucking evil spirits who rise from the dead each night to sap blood from the living? What’s ironic is that you sent your email at 2:47 a.m. Could it be that you too are vampiric in nature, Ms. Rodeger? If so, perhaps this explains your affinity for my poetry and your proclaiming it worthy of immortality.

Not that I mean to imply you are an evil spirit, Ms. Rodeger. Quite the opposite! You are bringing sunshine, warm winds, and happy unicorns into the lives of struggling artists everywhere. Today, in reward, I will send you a check.

Thank you for opening my eyes to my own brilliance, Ms. Rodeger, and for giving me the roadmap to achieving success and immortality. I hope to hear from you again soon and to begin sharing my photography poetry with a larger audience. You’re swell!

Best wishes,

Laura Hirneisen

Disclaimer: This message contains confidential information and is intended only for Ms. Geraldine Rodeger, which is a lovely name, isn’t it?


Less Popular Fonts Lash Out At Times New Roman

By: Eric Feezell

Comic Sans MS

Times New Roman? Times New Roman? All I have to say is: what a joke! You know what I picture when I hear the words “Times New Roman”? I see a toga-wearing, thirteen-year-old boy-humping pervert bouncing up and down in a horse-drawn chariot, thumbing through philosophy books and eating grapes or something! I mean, should we really be expected to take this font seriously?!

Although, I guess that’s kind of the pot calling the kettle black.

Courier New

I thought maybe I could rock the “New” thing, too. Imitation’s the highest form of flattery, right? Although, I must admit, that wasn’t really my intention. Honestly, I wanted to ride some coat tails — a smooth and easy journey to the top. Fame, fortune…maybe my own little section in the New York Times. And look where it got me: a bunch of lazy-ass college freshman using my generously proportioned curvatures to inflate their term papers in order to satisfy length requirements. Yeah, sure, I mean, it’s nice to have a bit part in the final product, but let’s be realistic. I know their drafts are being done in Times.

Makes me feel like a three-dollar whore.

Gill Sans MT

Alright, Times New Roman, we all know you think you’re better than the rest of us. What with your ubiquitous default status on practically every single word processing application known to man, and your supposed readability, and your fancy-pants serifs. Well, aren’t you just God’s gift to typeface?

Let me ask you something, though: Why the pretentious “New Roman,” huh? What’s that all about? See, because I’m looking at you, and then I’m looking at Times. You, then Times. You, Times. You know what I see? The SAME FREAKING FONT, you smug S.O.B.!!! Doesn’t any-damn-body else realize this?!

You know what else? In case you hadn’t bothered to notice, serifs are EFFEMINATE! They make you look like Nancy boy! Like a piggy, piggy pig-tailed little GIRL! Stupid serif-wielding booby man!


Double right arrow black widow spider crescent wrench ball peen hammer tropical oasis ear spider dialogue blurb first place trophy first place trophy.

Bauhaus 93

Since when does a little popularity among acne-ridden high school English students and their underachieving instructors earn someone bona fide street cred? Back in the day, it meant something to be a font. You were there, living and breathing it, one with the zeitgeist. A font was just as much a cultural building block as it was a means of written representation.

Times New Roman is nothing but the retarded brainchild of some stuffy, rotten-toothed Limey who wouldn’t know class and good looks if they were type-stamped across his forehead. Big whoop, you were developed for The London Times. What kind of a history is that? I was developed for the visual distillation of an entire intellectual and artistic school of thought — not to mention the fact that I later went on to represent the purveyors of a remarkable new musical genre (I won’t even get into the groupie stories. Good Lord.). Then, what do you know? Here comes Times New Roman, popping up in all the popular new publications and stealing all the babes.


Poor Richard

I know what you’re thinking, Times New Roman. “Pathetic,” right? You think I’m pathetic. That’s cool, man. Whatever.

Let me ask you something though, homes: You got an almanac? ‘Cause I got one. You got one?

Do you?



Test Your Knowledge Of Literature’s Greatest Bird Flu Scares

By: Laurence Hughes

Identify the work of literature in which each bird flu scare appears:

A. A seagull’s unnatural behavior leads to fears that it is infected with avian flu. Previously ostracized by the flock, the gull returns showing signs that it has visited a higher plane of existence, and now has the power to move instantaneously to any point in the universe. While this ability makes it “a one-in-a-million bird,” the other gulls grudgingly acknowledge that it is not normally an indicator of infection.

B. A sailor kills a suspicious albatross with an arrow, but does more harm than good, as all of his shipmates drop dead en masse soon after. Later he is eager to tell his story to anyone who will listen, but cagily sidesteps the question of whether bird flu played a role in the tragedy.

C. The deaths of several people in San Francisco are thought to be the direct result of close contact with a falcon. Investigators subsequently discover that the so-called “black bird” is actually an inanimate figurine and thus incapable of transmitting an active virus. The coroner’s finding that the victims were riddled with bullets also helps rule out avian flu as the cause of death.

D. A man complains to authorities that a raven has taken up residence in his house and refuses to leave. He reports that the bird is behaving suspiciously, repeating the word “Nevermore” over and over. Police determine that the subject is despondent over the recent death of a loved one and dismiss him as a crank.

E. A violent assault by birds on an isolated farm is only the first in a growing number of incidents in which masses of birds attack populated areas. Scientists acknowledge that birds possess a capacity for uninhibited ferocity and outnumber humans by an overwhelming margin. As the attacks become more frequent, it becomes a mathematical certainty that birds will wipe out mankind in a matter of days. On the plus side, none of the birds appears to be infected with avian flu as originally feared.

F. A pirate’s parrot called Captain Flint, previously known to say only “pieces of eight,” suddenly announces “I feel kind of punk” and lies down complaining of body aches and fever. Within thirty minutes it is dead.

Answers: A: Jonathan Livingston Seagull; B: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner; C: The Maltese Falcon; D: The Raven; E: The Birds; F: Treasure Island

Watch for our next quiz, Test Your Knowledge of Literature’s Greatest Global Warming Scares.