LUDIC LOG

The anarchist peace rally in Oz Park (how apropos) was amusing, consisting as it did of a pretty equal mix-up of surly young punx who've heard of more books than they've read and raggedy old hippie-crites who wish they could have been hanged after Haymarket, with some RCP pedagogues tossed in for curdling effect. A couple dozen of these left-overs stood around in the cold discussing a few hot topics: that awful, awful President Bush and this ragged little war he's cooked up (rarely has this correspondent heard the word 'junta' used so frequently, and with nary an agreement on how it might be pronounced); a proposed boycott of the CTA to protest the raising of fares by a nickel (a move which no doubt left thousands unemployed); ways to lend a helping hand to cop-killer/lefty journalisto Mumia Abu-Jamal (your reporter finds it interesting that the focus seems to be on claiming MA-J innocent, rather than pointing out that all he's guilty of is killing a cop, no crime in my little red book); food and rent co-ops; and various other 'direct action' stuff and nonsense designed to attract the attention, of, well, someone, I'm sure...

The chilly air aside, it was a pleasant experience for all, the 'no elitist discussion' rule guaranteeing that no one would use yucky big words that someone else might be embarrassed not to understand, and a solid shouting down of talk of violence or work boycotts ensuring that nobody got too bummed out. There was some vague talk about doing 'something' on April Fool's Day, but I was far too cold to get that bored, so I went off to have coffee with Mitch and Gyn...

There was nothing at this 'anarchist' to-do that surprised your friend, but I would like to register a complaint: where are all the cute boys and girls? Are 'we' all this ugly? Even the grumpy commies have the odd Adonisky or Aphroditov to distract me from all the deadly-dull dogma. I want to see more faces and frames at these little syndicalist fiestas worth ogling, children! I certainly don't show up for the discourse. Let's start putting 'lovely' in front of 'saboteurs', shall we? You don't want to make a liar out of me...

Ned, the office communist, keeps inviting yours truly over to his dreary cooperative condominium to dine with he and his bland lifemate. This fella-traveller is far too eager to impress me with his ethnicky wife, flaccid political 'radicalism', Fellini obsession and 'some-of-my-best-friends-are-homos' line. But, hey: a free meal is a free meal, right? I will be sure and keep you posted as to the results of this meating of the minds...

Gyn lived out a classic sitcom plot this weekend when she made dates with two boys on the same night! Due to her having lost her DayPlanner in the struggle against the pig oppressor downtown last week, she forgot that she'd planned a night of romance with both the crypto-situationist bartender at the Red Door and the neo-Marxist bike messenger from downtown on the very same Saturday night. She managed to work it all out despite not having a magically twitching nose or an identical cousin, but things look bad for her former drughead boy-toy beau (a reformed objectivist). Watch this space, and send me five bucks for Gyn's telephone number should you choose to stake your claim...

I was dining with my ex (a delightful crypto-conservative free marketeer miniarchist) at Ray Ray's Fish House when whou should walk by, surrounded by a coterie of videoquipped reporterettes and mike-wielding courtiers than our lustrous benevolent dictator, Mayor Dickie "It Runs in My Litter" Daley! Da Mare was strolling down State Street, holding forth on Soldier Field or whatever they're calling it these days, and he set my heart aflutter by looking right at me through Ray Ray's grease-smeared window and doing that charming businessman thing where you give a forced smile and waggle your eyebrows ingratiatingly. Gosh! Mayor Dickie, by the way, is the only person I know who can walk around in five-degree weather and still sweat like a pig...

Write to me care of this publication with gossip about local communists, anarchists, syndicalists, libertarians, fascists, or other radi-pol cutie-pies; also welcome as always are abusive letters, hot topix, cash money, or fotos of you and your comrades. I keep it all or throw it away, and you don't get anything but the cheap thrill of possibly being immortalized in this, the finest underground gossip column the resistance has ever seen. And for goodness' sake, let's get cracking on our appearances! The trial by proxy of the genocidist Bush regime is coming up in August, and I want your thrift store clothes to be draped over gorgeous bodies!