Sinister: long-lost. & lookin' around.

[Robert Baker]

dear Sinister.


a few weeks ago one of my coeditors (funny that I have such things) and 
I revealed to each other quite by accident that we grew up less than a 
mile away from each other.  which is unusual, in that she teaches at 
the high school I attended, a good many miles from there, and that she 
is now studying in the same, tiny program from which I am about to 
graduate.  (well, almost the same program.  I'm still an undergrad, 
blah blah.) anyway the coincidence was enough to get us both going on 
with stories about the settings we unwittingly shared through 
childhood.  the eyeglasses shop indian, for instance (which, for all 
Chicagoans on board, is the best-kept secret of smut in the whole city. 
  if you're unfamiliar with this glorious attraction, email me 
immediately for directions.  it's worth the drive).  she also mentioned 
the prairie.

the prairie she referred to is not really a prairie at all.  in fact, 
until she mentioned the place, I had assumed that my brother and I were 
the only creatures on earth that ever referred to it as such.  it's 
actually a small field that surrounds the mess of train tracks beneath 
the bridge Pulaski makes just south of 71st street.  we played ball in 
the prairie, sledded down the embankments (on proper sleds in the 
winter, and bits of refrigerator boxes the rest of the year), and 
looked for rats under the concrete slabs of the bridge.  our mom would 
laugh at us when we called it the prairie, saying that when we were in 
school and we learned what a real prairie was, we'd laugh at ourselves 
too.

instead, when I played Oregon Trail on the Apple IIG's in my suburban 
grade school, I was annoyed at more than just the lousy graphics -- 
there I was, out on the prairie, hunting for food for my family (while 
little Billie was dying of TB or cholera or snake venom or god knows 
what), and there were bunches of stiff-looking deer and bunnies 
frolicking about in a setting that was depressingly free of embankments 
and railroad tracks.  what kind of prairie was this?  who wanted to be 
a damned pioneer in the first place?  not me.

thankfully, I've been to the prairie for real, and I was definitely 
right.  I mean, the vastness and the emptiness that my mom and my 
geography teachers described to me is there, and it's gorgeous.  but 
it's crisscrossed with train tracks, now, too.  and highways, and 
shabby little towns where people grow up and play with cardboard boxes, 
and all of that.  the midwest, as it turns out, is growing into the 
prairie of my childhood.  and Sue's too.

anyway, this is all very poignant for me (no, not in a fisting sort of 
way, though the image is lovely), mainly because I'm preparing to move 
to the desert.  not just this minute, or anything.  I've got school to 
finish up.  but plans are being made and money is being saved, and up 
until recently I have been quite excited.

you see, I'm truly anxious to get away from this place.  since I've 
last spoken to you, Sinister, many ugly things have happened.  parents 
have died.  plants have died.  romances have gone horribly awry.  
Chicago has been a poor friend, in general.  I'm lonely and tired and 
goddammit, I'm cold.  but I will miss the prairie, which I have found 
little pieces of all across this city.

ahem.  enough of that.

we haven't talked in awhile, have we?

well.

it's probably time to mention that I've changed my email address since 
the last time I posted.  to boot, that was a year and a half ago.  is a 
reintroduction necessary?  I dunno.  I think I prefer the idea of being 
someone new.  though I've missed you all something terrible.


love. baker


P.S.   i got the bit about the new single coming with poorly printed 
liner notes.  has anybody else had the same problem with DCW?  mine's 
got a bunch of blank pages where lyrics should be.



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