:: Wednesday, September 25, 2002 ::

Last night I had some kids asking me about diving this one dumpster. For one reason or another, digging through dumpsters has become quite popular and accepted among some hipper circles in Chicago. I'd like to think it has to do with the treasure-hunt excitement and reuse ethic, and nothing to do with the rising popularity of scavenger culture style. Hey, if kids want to dig for food in dumpsters, i'm all for it. Don't just do it to look cool though. Educate yourselves about the systems of economics and waste, and conduct yourselves in a way that makes things easier for other divers, i.e. don't leave messes or piss off security guards. Pardon My digression.
The issue at hand was that they were asking about this one particular sporting goods dumpster that has become a recent favorite of mine.

"Hey Ira," the one guy asked,"How do you get into the [name removed] dumpster?" My immediate reaction was dismay that someone else had found my secret source of camping supplies. I couldn't get mad at the kid because a) I think there's enough waste in chicago to go around, so scarcity isn't really an issue, b) The reason he found out about it was probably because of my bragging, and c) the dumpster in question wasn't a personal find, but introduced to me by a fellow dumpster diver. All the same, I have found so much nice stuff in there that it brings out the scrooge in me when I think about someone else tapping it.
"It's a secret," I told the kid. "It's not hard to figure out how to do it though." I told them that instead of telling them, I would send them on a quest to figure it out for themselves, and if they'd given it an honest try and still couldn't do it, then I'd help them. They seemed excite by this.
"It's like one of those RPGs" they told me.
"I have to do it this way," I told them, "because that dumpster is so good. I pull hundreds of dollars of stuff out of that dumpster each week." Damn, there I go bragging again. They'll complete their quest now for sure. I was exaggerating a little, but not that much.

In the past month i have found:
1 Internal frame backpack, used $100
1 External fram backpack, new $260
2 pairs Nike sunglasses, new $50 each
1 water filtration system, new $98
3 battery powered headlamps $30 each
2 pair Italian made ice climbing cleats, new $60 each
1 pair climbing shoes, damaged, $100
1 pair Teva sandles, new $100
5 pairs x-country ski boots $70 each
clothes, waterbottles, climbing gear, small bags, lots of random small stuff.

The bottom line for me though is that material possesions, whether bought or found, are still just stuff. Sure, I'll use some of these things, and I can probably sell some on ebay or trade them or whatever, but there's no real reason why i shouldn't share. Good luck on your quest, my young accolytes.
:: Ira 10:39 AM [+] :: [comment/respond]
...

This morning I wore this blue denim shirt that my dad gave me. It’s a good thing because it was cold outside. My hands were wet when I wet outside and they got cold, in a nice freezing reminder-that-you're-alive sort of way. Andrea left the house a minute before I did. She rides this fast little Bianchi road bike so one minute put at least four blocks between us. We take the same route in the morning, down North Ave to Milwaukee, so I like to race and catch up with her if I can. I slid into my toe clips and cranked as hard as I could, tearing out across four lanes of traffic, eastbound. The sun was clear and slicing through everything, and I tucked down over my profile bars and squinted out toward Rockwell, looking for a biker silhouette among the light morning traffic. Then I just hauled ass with my calf and thigh muscles, spinning as fast as the street would let me. Riding my fixie feels like sitting with my ass in a slingshot, because there are so few moving parts and I don't even have to think, just crank as hard as I can and fly though the air. Despite the cold, a layer of sweat was building up under my t-shirt, but the long sleeve button-up denim is well enough ventilated that I didn't get sticky. There are all of these cracks and holes and bucked up chunks of pavement that a biker has to navigate around on North Ave between California and Milwaukee, and all of these ghetto cars with broken windows and multicolored exterior paneling that honk and tailgate and drive like the traffic laws are personal insults to their honor, but I didn't notice any of them this morning. I was riding too fast. I hit all green lights and passed up everyone on the street. I turned onto Milwaukee Ave. I didn't catch up with Andrea until the Milwaukee/Division/Ashland intersection, where she turns down Ashland toward Pilsen and I follow Milwaukee all of the way down town. I saw her from a block away as she was turning. My legs were sore and I was sucking lungfuls of cold air, but still I punched it down for the fifty yards to the intersection and followed her down Ashland. Ashland runs North South and is a main traffic artery.

"What took you so long?" she asked as I road up behind her.

"I never would have caught up if you hadn't waited for me," I responded.

Fall days are perfect. We rode together down Ashland until Grand Ave, where I turned east and headed down town.

There are moments in life where you don't do anything but feel. They are exhilarating and you don't even think about them until afterward, when you recognize how they are the things that make life the amazing thing that it is. You can never plan them, they just happen and defy even your most optimistic expectations.
:: Ira 2:07 PM [+] :: [comment/respond]
...

It is definitly fall, although you couldn't tell just by looking around. the trees outside my window are still green and the street looks the same as always; heavy traffic, piles of trash and glitter sprinkles of broken glass. Despite it's visual dominance, the city can't hide the crisp chill blowing through the air, signaling the comming of winter. In pagan mythology, the Blue Hag symbolized the end of warmth and plenty and the comming of winter. She blustered in on the wind, cackling and trailing her icey hoards and lean scavenging animals, warning all in her path the the lazy days of summer and prosperous harvest were comming to an end, and all of the warm bodied creatures better gather their stores and dig in for the winter, because whoa boy, it was gonna be a cold one.

People in the streets are wearing more clothes, but aside from that no one seems to be paying much attention to the cold yet.

:: Ira 10:19 AM [+] :: [comment/respond]
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