Headphones On

There are snipers on the roof across the street from my office. I'm not, exactly, a fan of snipers. It's a bit like not being a fan of Bush 43 that the snipers, police, secret service, federal agents and traffic wardens are "protecting" from us Chicagoans.

Somehow, in my course of going on with my life, I keep ending up in the presidential motorcade chaos. Last night, 25 minutes was spent waiting on the lake side of Lake Shore Drive waiting for the motorcade to pass. 25 minutes. After all that... they must have diverted him down Michigan Ave and we didn't even have the pleasure of giving the bullet-proofed limo a glimpse at our middle fingers.

This morning, the president has decided to munch his waffles half a block from my office at the famed greasy cesspit that is Lou Mitchell's. Apparently when the president enjoys fried dough, life in a 2 block radius must freeze.

Bush 43 keeps turning my city into a mess, and I speak for the entire city when I say PLEASE GO HOME. We don't like you here so go back to DC where they tolerate having their lives shut down at your whim. I think Conor Oberst sums things up quite nicely with...

Buy some: Bright Eyes