It has been some time since I last let my thoughts spew onto the typed page, mainly due to the fact that I now seem to operating in some sort of 1920's existence. My wristwatch is desperately in need of a new battery, and initially, it would be five minutes behind after 24 hours. Well, I now have a full time position winding my watch to the correct time as it is now 5 minutes behind every 3 minutes. HA. I made a hilarious watch winding joke. Take that, those who said it couldn't be done!
Since I moved from the hustle and bustle of Lincoln Park in Chicago to the ironic facial haired land of skinny jeans, Logan Square, I have additionally had to adapt to living in a building with only one washer and one dryer. This would not be a big deal if it were located in my apartment, but alas, it is located in the basement and I am on the third floor. As a man who amasses about 145 pounds of laundry per time that I want to do my laundry, I have finally reunited with one of my favorite places; the laundromat. (Longtime readers of this spot will know about this love that I have for laundromats...http://tradwayone.blogspot.com/2007_09_01_archive.html read the Sep 20, 2007 entry) I, fortunately for all involved parties, have been keeping track of these trips to the laundromat, which in my hood, is called "Scrub a Dub"
Scrub a Dub 08/03/11
This place definitely used to be something much greater. A laundromat that other laundromats aspired to be like. I mean for God's sake there is a fluroescently lit "Kid's Korner" which now sits in an odd state- featuring what looks like the stuffed animal crane game and one of those recliner massage chairs. I had no idea kids were into those or needed that sort of relaxation, of course, the children in this neighborhood surely have a more difficult existence than the one I think of when I recall being a child (which mainly includes eating a SHIT TON of popsicles and trying to climb trees. Also being an asshole. Seems not much has changed. Except for the popsicle and tree climbing) The children around here might, in fact, actually be sent to do laundry. Anyways this facility is equipped with maybe 60 industrial dryers and the same amount of washers. Currently the machines are just under capacity and by that I mean maybe 12 are in use between myself and 3 other patrons. There are some dead plants, 6 old ass TV's playing nothing and the saddest looking employee in the world sitting behind a counter drinking a tamarind flavored drink. Maybe that's what's making her so sad? She couldn't get a normal flavor but rather got a great deal on some tamarind flavor and who the fuck even knows what that is? Everything here screams Miss Havisham's once great now dilapidated estate in Great Expectations, and I half expect to meet a hipster named Pip here sometime. I will ask him his thoughts on tamarind sodas.
Behind the counter with the girl in the tamarind induced depression, more signs of previous glory shine; a soda fountain featuring the very best Royal Crown products as well as a nacho cheese dispenser of some sort. Both look decidedly aged and aged about as well as someone who has been smoking Lucky Strikes since they were 12 (Ednas...these people are always named Edna. And they smell. Always). A bulletin board near the counter features, rather than neighborhood goings on, a number of rants by a man named Eugene. I guess we all need our forums. Eugene has chosen his and reaching a large number of people does not seem to be a goal of his. It would be like if Martin Luther had nailed his 95 Theses to a corkboard in a seldom used bathhouse of Wittenburg. AND also if Martin Luther did not care about religious reformation but instead about, and I quote, "has been spreading all that dog shit all around which is still day ruining to step in." Really Eugene? That's all it takes to ruin your day?
Scrub a Dub 08/15/11
There is a new owner! An ostentaciously dressed white man seemingly yelling his business plan at a grizzled older Hispanic fellow. Evidently number on on the plan is to "maintain these goddamned machines." From this I assume he just read Jack Welch's memoirs with a plan like that. Number one on grizzled old Hispanic man's plan is to try and politely leave this shouted at synergistic nightmare of a conversation. Sadly it seems he has merely the phrases he has picked up from Peter Francis Geraci commercials and Ronco rotisserie ads whirling through his mind, and he knows that either telling him about Chapter 13 bankruptcy or mesothelioma or "setting it and forgetting it" just wouldn't be right.
Scrub a Dub 09/10/11 "sempre con mio"
The changes that were promised are being made to return the Scrub a Dub to its glory days. $40 at a time. There is new shrubbery- roses and tiny ornamental grasses intricately planted in the beautiful gravel surrounding the parking lot. The counter inside, which as I mentioned previously was evidently there to sell fountain drinks and nachos to the starving, laundering masses, now is fully stocked with a dazzling array of laundry products. Big changes, right? The last time I was here I failed to write a log since I was more hungover than Benjamin Franklin on any morning, but had I done so I surely would have mentioned the number of women that were here inappropriately wearing leggings. If I wanted to watch sea lions mate, I would go to the zoo or sealionxxxaction.gov (an Al Gore sponsored site). These womean should be especially mindful of holes in their leggings. Realistically, the whole legging movement never should have started in the first place, but its new universal presence makes things even worse. I mean, if dudes started wearing jock straps outside their pants, I'd hope there would still be the sensible many who never gave in to this trend. Although I know a number of my friends would strap them on outside their embroidered fancy ass jeans and Ed Hardy or Affliction shirts and fedoras. Leggings as well as outer jock straps would just look silly on everyone, broham sandwich.
