Misadventures in the city
By Beth Connors-Manke
Sometimes persistence is not a virtue. And this guy had it. The first time, he pulled up next to me in a way I could easily ignore as coincidence. When he then did a U-turn and honked at me, I started to get it. My ire flared, but I figured that the complicated maneuver of following me the wrong way down a one-way street would deter him. The issue would be finished. Continue reading »
Misadventures in the city
By Beth Connors-Manke
In December, I wrote a column about stickering over sexist images and graffiti that popped up along on my daily commute. In both cases, my resistance was reactive: I was trying to block someone else’s message. Since then, more sexist—sometimes virulently and violently sexist—messages have come my way, although not always at street level. Continue reading »
Misadventures in the city
By Beth Connors-Manke
Last summer, I wrote a column entitled “It’s getting dangerous around here” about being bitten by a dog in my neighborhood. The result of the incident (besides the aforementioned column) was that I bought pepper spray as a mild attempt at holding off canine attacks.
From that Misadventures dispatch: “When I get home [from being bitten by the dog], I’m pissed. I’ve spent the last year and half negotiating the hazards on N. Lime so I could make the streets safer for myself, and now someone’s damned dog has made my walks dangerous again. Seriously, I’d rather have a drunk yell profanity at me three times a week than have some lame-o’s loose dog take a big chunk out of my calf.” Continue reading »
Misadventures in the city
By Beth Connors-Manke
I’m wary of manifestos, but nonetheless I’m now offering mine. When NoC closed up shop for our annual holiday break, I was feeling cynical. On national news, I was listening to yahoos rail against American families receiving governmental assistance because of lost or downgraded jobs. Newt Gingrich was bombastically recommending that Occupiers give up their lazy ways and “go get a job right after they take a bath.” Even here in Lexington, the response to the New Life Day Center on Martin Luther King showed the degree to which some are willfully ignorant of the struggles—shared by many—brought on by this recession. Continue reading »
Misadventures in the city
By Beth Connors-Manke
Recently, a friend sat on a panel about homelessness and was dismayed by the audience’s questions. While he and the other panelists discussed the structural issues related to homelessness, it seemed the audience mainly wanted to know if they should give 50 cents when panhandled on the street. Having seen individuals fixate on the “50 cents question” before, I’d like to give my own blunt response to that query. Continue reading »
Misadventures in the city
By Beth Connors-Manke
Indianapolis, the 1980s: When I was younger, sometimes my dad would say, “Your mother made another friend today.” I have a big family, and few of us have the social skills necessary for intentionally making friends. We’re equal measures congenial, feisty, and reserved.
So, when my dad tells me that my mom “made a friend,” it means that some stranger in line at Kroger or between bolts at Jo-Ann Fabrics just started talking to my mom and wouldn’t stop. Being congenial yet reserved (she’s the least feisty of the bunch), my mom listens and sometimes adds a few comments. Continue reading »
By Beth Connors-Manke
Frantic note to self: Never, ever leave the north side again.
I’ll spare you some of the details of how this militant pedestrian ended up at Fayette Mall, but obviously this misbegotten Sunday afternoon was made possible by a C-A-R.
First off, it was a windy day. That can rattle a person. Second, driving in mall parking lots is like no other driving experience, and they certainly don’t train you to do it well in driver’s ed. Windy careening, SUV dodging, and then I was in the mall. Continue reading »
Misadventures in the city
By Beth Connors-Manke
I went looking for the goat man on what may prove to have been the hottest day of the summer. Halfway up my street, I realized the potential folly of my plan. Waves and waves of heat were rippling from the sidewalk. It was almost too hot for humans, so who would walk their pet goat on a day like today? I didn’t even know if goats could survive in urban heat like this. The more I walked and the sweatier I got, I realized that I probably didn’t know what a goat really looked liked. I had images from some book from childhood, but that was about it. On top of my utter lack of goat knowledge, I didn’t have any strong leads on the goat man.
Rumors had been circulating that there was a man on the north side who had a pet goat. That was my most solid piece of information. Some suggested that he only spoke Spanish; others conjectured that his goat had been stolen for a while, but that goat man had recovered his beloved pet. Several reports said he walked the goat with a rope leash. I figured my best shot was to start walking around and asking people if they’d seen the fabled man who walks a goat. Continue reading »
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