Weekend notes…

1. I saw a guy at a bar last night wearing a promotional t-shirt from a local strip club. The guy–who was with a herd of high-fiving buddies–was bouncing from high-top table to high-top table, hitting on women. Perhaps he would’ve hit his goal easier and earlier had he made a different apparel choice for the evening. What exactly did his shirt tell a potential mate? “I’ve seen girls naked before?” “I’m not afraid to spend money to see them naked?” “If you don’t go home with me, I’m going to get a lap dance regardless?”

2. Ah, the Fourth of July is upon us. There’s nothing more white trash than the sights and sounds of grown men huddled in an alley lighting off bottle rockets. It pisses my dog off, too. Stop it. Just stop it. Or move to Indiana.

3. Another summer, another season of belly shirts on the shouldn’t-be-belly-shirted. I’m sure it feels liberating to have that tummy exposed to the gentle rays of an 80-degree Chicago afternoon. Do know that others don’t share the exhilaration of your liberation, though.

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