A Chicagoan Living Out on the Spoke
I know, I know. How arrogant could this Chicago mook be to call Wausau a spoke on the almighty hub of Chicago’s wheel?
I promise, it has nothing to do with heirarchy. Nada. Bupkiss. It is simply an expression of my geographical frame of reference—that internal sense of centering and place that acts like a psychic compass, not unlike the internal clock that nudges certain people from sleep or tells others they need to procreate before it’s too late.
Now, I wouldn’t even refer to myself as a Mook, thank you very much, but I will always identify myself as a Chicagoan, even if I move to Detroit or Providence or Vienna or Belfast.
To those of you who come back to read whatever it is I happen to be working through on any given day of the week, and to any of you who have found this post in an angry quest for the author of this strange blog to open a can of you know what—please, please move forward with the knowledge that though I frequently identify myself as a Chicagoan and may or may not sound flippant in my renderings of Wausau and the state of Wisconsin, I live here, indefinitely and gratefully. I fully embrace the advantages of living here over living in Chicago, and truly enjoy working and playing here with all the great people I’ve come to know over the span of two years and running.
With that, thanks for reading and I hope to offer something to enrich your day once in while. Just be sure to watch your back if you’ve made a monkey face at someone with Illinois plates recently.