Farewell Dinner: Perfection

Last night Marie and I decided to indulge in a farewell dinner for ourselves. The spot: Sweets and Savories in Lincoln Park. It was one of the restaurants in our deck of discount cards and its review in the Sun-Times as "a destination of the savviest foodie" set our expectations high. As if that weren't enough, it's BYOB (we had a bottle of champagne chilled and waiting in the fridge) and Tuesday night they offer half price dinner!

The stars aligned and we were able to score a reservation due to a cancellation. Originally it was going to be three of us; but when our third got stuck late at work, it was back to the dynamic (and inseparable) duo. Fitting.

A little quirky best describes both the staff and atmosphere of Sweets and Savories. It's small--one rectangular room with seating for about fifty--and three wall posters sums it up for decor. Each staff member we encountered shared a curious timid demeanor, soft-spoken to the point of irritation and seemingly uncertain of how to respond to questions.

But oh the food. After a fifteen minute deliberation, we decided on two appetizers--a butternut squash risotto with crispy sage leaves and a gnocchi with escargot, mushrooms, and harvest vegetables. The latter was a risky move, as I've never had escargot and was a little nervous, but it was salty and delicious. For an entree we split the amberjack--a meaty white fish, much like halibut--served with lentils and tomato butter sauce. It was a tough choice as other menu options included a yummy-sounding gourmet burger, seared scallops (perhaps my favorite food), and a NY strip that I enviously spied on more than one table. But the fish was superb, especially the sauce, and it was a perfect portion for sharing.

When our waiter gave us the dessert menu, we took one look and said in unison, "Berry Cobbler." It was no contest and our instincts were right-on. Sweet but not overly so, and with a crumbly crispy crust, and a scoop of lavender ice-cream, it was the perfect finish to an outstanding meal meant to celebrate an amazing summer.

Lollapalooza, in pictures (from a disposable camera)

WET RATS


Thank you Walgreens for the functional and fashionable ponchos. 
Thievery Corporation 


Passion Pit, "Little Secret"

Techno Stage

Some long-awaited pics

Pritzker Pavilion 
Sears Tower- View from the bottom (Line was too long for a view from the top)

Before our bike ride. The owner of the bike shop thought he was a professional photographer. He ensured us that, "This [meaning, shooting from below] is the way they all want it" (???)

I love this one. Not just because it shows how far we biked!

Some Thoughts on Reading, and one Great (Chicago-related) Book in Particular

I'm ashamed to admit that I just finished my second book of the summer. I'll chalk it up to my general distraction with other things, the upsurge in my online reading, and the recent failure of my usually strong ability to judge a book by its cover.

My literary habits this summer prove, without a doubt, that I'm all or nothing when it comes to books. If I'm not into it--recent examples include, Tipperary, Running in the Family, The Lady Elizabeth, My Life in France--reading is the painful process of forcing myself to get through two pages a night before nodding off, book in hand. I rarely make it to Chapter Two. 

On the other hand, I just finished a 500+ page novel in 3 days, engulfing the last third in a mere afternoon. I'm not bragging--the extremism of my reading style is less than ideal. My literary pursuits often leave me in disheartened reading lows, or else all-consuming highs, and I end up, addict that I am, trying to prolong the feeling, refusing to close the book until I've read through the Acknowledgements, About the Author, and sometimes even the painful Reading Group Guide. 

But I digress. This blog is about Chicago, and I am writing this post because my latest fix was Audrey Niffenegger's The Time Traveler's Wife. Truth be told, it came to my attention the same way it probably did for many of the other readers who helped put it back on the bestseller list--the recent movie adaptation. However, I can safely say that the author's Chicago roots and the setting of the book in my current hometown were what pushed me to buy it. 

With one of the most creative plots of any book I have read, Time Traveler's Wife hooks you with its unpredictability and wand-less, spell-less magic. Its beauty as a love story will appeal to the most hopeless of romantics, while the tough questions it raises about time, knowledge and free will, would keep your college philosophy professor satisfied. 

Word to the wise: With the first few chapters, stop scratching your head and over-thinking it. Resist the temptation to give up as the chronology gets shifty and the events more unbelievable. Submit to the element of fantasy, and, like Henry, the time traveling protagonist, just hang on for the ride. 

Thanks Tom!

The Art Institute of Chicago has been free on Thursday and Friday evenings all summer. For the past, oh, I don't know, seven weeks, Marie and I have vowed that this will be the week we go. Somehow though, our last Thursday in Chicago arrived and we hadn't yet made it to this showpiece of the city's cultural attractions.

Even though I was feeling a little out of sorts (please don't be swine flu), I'm very glad we went. We started in the Modern Wing, but after one exhibit (which, I would describe as pleasant to look at but unimpressive as far as artistic skill goes) we opted for the classics.

A few favorites: from an interesting special exhibit on wine in art, one in particular stood out; the impressionists, as always, delighted, especially Monet's haystack series, of which this one was particularly beautiful; this giant piece gives the sense that the people are going to walk right off the canvas; and this, which I had never seen before, made me want to go to the circus. Hopper's Nighthawks made me nostalgic for a favorite quirky professor. The large crowd surrounding it, staring at it intently, made me wonder aloud to Marie whether famous pieces like this are actually better than those that we skim over, or whether we simply see them as brilliant because we have been told they are.

We checked off another long neglected item on our to-do list Thursday night: eat at Frontera restaurant. Since our first visit to the grocery store, we have been buying the made-for-stores salsa from this hot-spot Chicago eatery. Rick Bayless, the chef behind Frontera and its two neighboring restaurants Topolobampo and XOCO, is somewhat of a celebrity figure, having recently starred on (and won) Top Chef Masters.

Buying into the buzz behind Bayless and his restaurants, with the bar set high by the salsas (they really are that good), and with Marie's stepdad's generous blessing to go out for a good dinner (see blog title), we perched ourselves at the crowded bar and ordered up a couple of margaritas.

Unfortunately, I have to say I'm going to be sticking to jarred salsa by Bayless, and I might even go so far as to offer my services as guacamole chef for his restaurants. The guac was bland, in need of salt and lime, and the lame excuse for a bowl of salsa was neither wide nor deep enough to give a chip a good dunk. The chips were the saving grace, not too greasy, and good and thick and crispy. Desperately wanting Frontera to live up to our expectations, we ordered another appetizer, sopes rancheros--"crispy corn masa boats with savory shredded beef, roasted tomatoes, avocado and homemade fresh cheese"--which were tasty but nothing special. Though I had hoped for more behind this so-called master chef, I'm glad we checked it out, because I would have always wondered about the restaurant behind all the hype--and the phenomenal jarred salsa.

Google can Cook!

I think I'm late getting on this bandwagon, but I'm excited about it anyway. 

After deciding that I wanted to make something good for dinner tonight, I surfed around on my go-to recipe website. As we are laughably low on kitchen staples--spices, utensils, cookware, space--all the recipes were looking like they were going to be more trouble than they were worth. I had decided on a fallback--chicken fajitas--when I happened upon this blog posting mentioning a Google capacity I had never heard about. If you type a list of ingredients into Google and search, it brings up a litany of recipes using pretty much exactly what you put in (and to my delight, in most cases, not much more). We had the puzzling trio of chicken breast, spinach, and sweet potatoes on hand, and with one click of my mouse, voila!, I got a recipe made to order to those exact ingredients. I'm happy to say we are in the process of making a chicken and blackbean quesadilla, with spinach and sweet potato, and judging by the smells wafting from my teeny tiny kitchen, it's going to be delicious...and ready just in time for the season premier of Gossip Girl. 

Lincoln Park Conservatory

A few pics from our pit-stop on the way to the Arts Faire. 

Lincoln Park Art Faire

This weekend Lincoln Park hosted its 12th annual Art Faire. The signs have been up for a few weeks and I had marked my calender--it's been a while since I've been to streetfest, and it was only a few blocks south of my new apartment. 

The day couldn't have been better for it: bright blue sky, not a cloud, and a perfect 75 degrees.  

Without a doubt the most low key street festival I've been to all summer, it was all art and no play on this block. Not surprisingly, the craftsmanship on display was better than the average fest fare. There was some particularly stunning photography, but I fell in love with the jewelry by Chicago native, Rebecca Zemans. Simple, classic pieces of hammered silver and gold, I could have bought the entire collection. I especially loved this necklace, and the middle one here, and I tried this ring in silver and it was perfect. 

Bugs and Butterflies with my Babysitting

I've been babysitting for a great little boy for the past couple of weeks, hitting the park, the zoo, and today, an awesome museum that I didn't even know existed. Weird, because it's three blocks from my apartment, and I've always seen people walking around or on top of it (it has a roof garden). It's the Peggy Notebaert Nature Museum. And though it was full of school children on fieldtrips who were thrilled with the amazing butterfly habitat, adults can definitely get something out of it. Especially it's exhibit on how to be more "green."

A Review I wrote for Gapers Block

Here's the link to a review I wrote for Gapers Block, a Chicago centered web publication. Check it out (and by "it," I mean the whole web site, not just my posting!)

Give me some Downward Dog, I'll Keep my Dollars

I started off the summer on the hunt for free (or cheap) stuff. Food, clothes, fitness, fun, you name it, I was out to find it for as few of my precious pennies as possible. 

Looking back on the summer, I've been able to score the generally pricey activity of yoga for relatively cheap in several different places. I thought I'd recap on the deals I snagged and the studios themselves, for anyone who, like me, loves yoga but is short on cash. 

If you recall, my first week here, I attended two free sessions of classic vinyasa yoga: one on the roof of a building, and one in Belmont Harbor, overlooking the lake. Since they were free, I can't complain; and the views from both unconventional locales were beautiful (though slightly distracting). 

As I settled in, I moved on to bigger and better things: namely, heated vinyasa yoga. The first studio we tried, Om on the Range, offers 75 minute Baptiste Power Vinyasa Yoga, which is my favorite kind. It's strenuous and energetic, and after attending 5 out of 7 days of my New Student Unlimited Week ($20) I could see and feel the difference in my body. I liked this studio because it offered a wide variety (including Bikram, hour-long Vinyasa, as well as the aforementioned Baptiste Vinyasa), the instructors were knowledgeable but not too chatty, and the atmosphere was a equal parts tranquil and exhilarating. 

Next, we moved down to the South Loop to the CorePower Yoga studio. This is a national chain, and you can tell the minute you walk in. Commercial and untraditional, this studio offers swipe cards, merchandise with its logo, and a class option that involved weights. That said, its introductory special is unbeatable--a week of unlimited yoga, FREE! Besides the drawbacks above, a couple other things kept me from taking full advantage of my seven days: first, it was far from my apartment, and second, they ALWAYS played music, and did so WAY too loud, jerking me out of my meditative yogi state and giving me a headache. 

And this brings us to my present practice at Bikram Yoga Chicago, where they offer a generous unlimited MONTH for $29. Despite my preference for the Power Vinyasa variety--Bikram is much hotter, and with its stagnant postures and repetition is more boring--the deal was really too good to pass up. I'll admit that the first class was tough to get through, but I have since gone two more times, and I have a feeling by the time my month's up I might be a convert. 

Hmmm

By chance I picked up today’s copy of RedEye, a free daily newspaper, while I was waiting for the bus. Must have been my ESP acting up because I turn to page four and there is an opinion piece on DC. I literally laughed out loud on the (very) crowded bus. Just read it.

A Mom and a Move

It's been a busy last few days. First, I got a much-needed last minute visit from my mom over the weekend. We did all the fun stuff--shopping, great dinners, long walks, a bike ride, general catching up. And, I almost forgot, a trip to the casino. 

Yes, my mother and I spent Saturday afternoon at Harrah's Casino in suburban Illinois. Little known fact: a short thirty minute drive from Chicago, you can find yourself amidst shuffling cards, ringing slot machines, and whirring roulette wheels. 

I can't take the credit for this adventure. We were visiting relatives--my mom's cousin--and rather than spend the day sitting around small-talking, the Illinois kin thought it would be more fun to spend the day gambling. 

I'll admit I was more than a little skeptical. But it was a great time! Two highlights: watching a guy one table over from us win big--240,000 dollars big; and walking away with a hundred dollars in winnings of my own. 

I was sad to see my mom leave on Sunday, but I didn't have much time to be mopey. We had to be out of, what I have come to call Melrose Place, by midnight on Monday. Not that it would be too hard for us nomads to relocate to our next camp site. It was touch and go for a little, especially when it came to moving our clunker of a couch down a flight of stairs alone (only to leave it on the curb for the taking), but with the help of a luggage cart, we managed to get it done just in time to catch the tail end of the sunset from our new Wrightwood Ave roof deck! 

A Lovely Pair

Two topics of recent posts--Vanity Fair and Mad Men--come together in this month's issue. It's not all that surprising to me. Of course Vanity Fair would have a sixteen page spread (with phenomenal pictures!) about, perhaps my favorite show on TV (which I am still reeling from missing last night--I HAVE to get cable!).

The article focuses mostly on the making of the show, and its writer, Matt Weiner, whose OCD tendencies contribute to Mad Men's flawlessness. The photos though, (luckily) center on the leading couple--Betty and Don--and if they don't make you want to watch the show, I don't know what will. 

French Food Update

 Julie & Julia didn't particularly make me want to make French food (more like eat it). But I guess there are a lot of movie-goers who think that Streep and Adams make it look easy enough; there's an article in the New York Times Business section (really?) about the sudden increase in sales of Child's cookbook. 

Home Smelly Home

I’d like to share a story from one of the less enjoyable aspects of my weekend: the apartment search. Alas, we must leave dear 520 W. Melrose a week from tomorrow, and have found ourselves scrambling to find a new place. Given the up-in-the-air nature of our current situation, we are back to looking for the elusive sublet, in the abyss that is Craigslist.

Today—one of the most absolutely beautiful days I have ever seen in my life—I found myself somehow, in one of the most horrifying and disgusting places I have ever seen in my life. The worst part is, I never would have predicted it from the Craigslist add that lured us there.

The fiction went something like this:

“Apartment for sublet in a classic building, blah, blah, plenty of space, blah, blah, lots of light, a roof deck (!!!), utilities included. So sad to leave.”

The current tenant seemed nice enough, albeit, a little grungy in an artsy, hippie sort of way (he was wearing a Grateful Dead t-shirt with someone’s signature in the bottom corner). But, when it came to his living situation, he was completely deluded. He truly and earnestly believed that his apartment was a palace, when in reality it was a pigsty. A layer of food grime covered every surface in the kitchen and a stack of dirty dishes as well as a plate of half-eaten chocolate chip cookies sat in the sink. He claimed he was leaving to move in with his girlfriend, but I can’t imagine what that living situation would be like, since there was not a bed in sight in the apartment. She was there though, as were two other friends, all perched on the miscellaneous articles of furniture that filled the room along with a bass, a large African drum, and assorted cacti.

I could tell he thought that the roof-deck was the pièce de résistance to an all-around class-A abode; his face lit up like a little kid’s as he led the way out onto it. I’ll give it to him, if you kept your gaze straight out, on the horizon, it was a good view; you could see Lincoln Park and the Lake beyond it. Unfortunately, I let my eyes wander just the slightest bit and they fell upon the massive dump that was directly behind/below the building. Our good host didn’t seem to notice.

As our tour came to a close, he bid us good -bye and urged us to call once we decided so he could arrange the rest of the details. We nodded and assured him we’d let him know as soon as we came to a decision. It was as though he couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting to live in the slum that he called home. I couldn’t bring myself to crush his dream. 

Julie & Julia: Angel Food Cake on Screen

Last night, I made the last minute decision to see Julie & Julia. Literally…Marie and I were in line at the box office, the teller had already droned, “Next!,” and we were still up-in-the-air over what to see. The options ran the gamut from the feel-good frivolity of the above-mentioned flick, to the complex sci-fi drama, The Time Traveler’s Wife, to the shoot-em-up crime thriller Public Enemies. All on my running list of things to see.

Needless to saw, we settled on two hours of easy laughs and appetite arousing food. Indeed, the movie itself offers little in the way of plot; essentially it’s scene after scene of two women preparing and eating food.

Julie, the inexplicably depressed government employee turned inspired blogger, provided the only dramatic tension of the film. Perhaps Julia’s adversity was offset by my knowledge of how her story ends—with the publication of her cookbook—or maybe it was her sunny attitude towards everyone and everything in her life. Either way, I found myself waiting for a low point that never came.

Instead of dramatic tension to keep the plot rolling along and the audience interested, Julie & Julia relies on the countless French dishes that the two chefs prepare, each more delicious than the last, to enrapture its viewers.

I left the theater:

1. Hungry

2. Dying to visit France

3. Wishing I knew French

4. Brainstorming ways I could live in France

5. Curious about Julia Child, whom I had never heard of before the buzz about this film began, but whose memoir I had purchased several weeks ago in the picked-over O’hare Airport bookstore. (I started it last night before bed)

6. Wishing I had internet at my apartment so that I could check out the real Julie’s actual blog site

7. Last but not least, feeling as I am absolutely sure the film intended, content with the world and in general good spirits. Bottom line: if you’re in need of a serious mood booster see this movie. 

Some others' thoughts: 

http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/julie_and_julia/

http://movies.nytimes.com/2009/08/07/movies/07julie.html

http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/news/reviews/movies/la-et-julie-julia7-2009aug07,0,1724703.story

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Bring on the Madness: Season 3 Premiere

After having watched the majority of Season Two on my iPod on the elliptical at the gym last semester, it was nice to enjoy Mad Men in a social atmosphere once again; it merits a little bit of festivity. Luckily, since I don’t have cable, I have some new friends in Chicago who are just as enthusiastic about the addictive combination of classy and scandalous that is Mad Men. And, the screening soiree I attended last night was surely fitting to get back in action with the hard-hitters and harder-partiers of Madison Ave.

Channeling the leading ladies of the show, Betty, the picture-perfect domestic goddess, and Joan, the powerhouse queen of the office, Marie and I donned our pedal pushes, pencil skirts and pearls and arrived with hor d’oeuvres in hand. Though we didn’t stay quite as true to the gender-roles of the era—our host whipped up a delicious dinner while we ladies barely lifted a finger—in the drinks department we would have made Don Draper proud: gin martinis and old-fashioneds all around.

The episode itself, though lacking in a couple areas, certainly lived up to the angsty drama and flawless production of the previous seasons. The characters are up to the same old tricks: Don’s still manages to be a convincingly doting husband despite his shameless cheating; Campbell’s perpetual whining still grates on me; and Salvatore is still teetering on the edge of coming out of the closet, or at least blowing his cover. Peggy’s sparse presence was noticeable, especially considering last year’s shocker, but I’m expecting some resolution to that in upcoming weeks. I hope they continue keeping us abreast of Don’s ingenious ad ideas (London Fog: Limit Your Exposure), and I’m hoping to see some more emphasis on contemporary happenings, as the characters enter the tumultuous 60s. 

Here's what some others thought (careful! some contain spoilers):

Newsweek

Tribune

NYT

Grant Park Sings a Different Tune

All summer long, Grant Park has offered free outdoor classical music concerts each weekend at Pritzker Pavilion. Don’t ask me why, but I made it down for the first time on Friday, just in time for the last weekend of the festival. By way of a grand finale, this weekend’s selection was Beethoven’s Ninth, which, even to someone as shamefully unfamiliar with classical music as I am, is recognizable. Well, recognizable in the loose sense of the word; I spent the entire time I was listening to the piece trying to place it, finally settling upon all those Sundays mornings spent at mass.

Amateur symphony-goer that I am, I arrived a fashionable forty minutes late, thinking nothing of it. With provisions—a sushi dinner and wine—in hand, Marie and I made our way through the enormous crowd, only to be puzzled when, halfway through our California rolls, everyone else broke in to applause and began to file out. Refusing to believe it was over (there are always those misleading fake endings in classical music, right?) we remained cross-legged on the ground, while the more cultured around us headed on to their next activity. Too bad because I thoroughly enjoyed the twenty minutes that I heard, and the setting was spectacular (though Pritzker Pavilion bears a strong resemblance to a piece of scrap metal, artfully sculpted of course).

 

Buena Vista, Buenisima Comida

Buena Vista, which means "good view" in Spanish, is a Mexican restaurant a couple of blocks south of me on Broadway. I have long been of the mind that you can't really go wrong with Mexican, but you can't go really right with it either. Not to say that I don't LOVE some good chips and salsa and fajitas; it's one of my favorite cuisines, but mostly because I think it's ingredients and flavors give chefs and restaurants a lot to work with. 

A week or so ago, I saw the light and realized that there is a whole other level of Mexican deliciousness that I had not yet experienced. It came from this tiny, hole in the wall, two-man operation. 

I walked in to Buena Vista at around 5 pm on my walk back from some errands to try to reserve a table outside for later in the evening. It's safe to say that they have never had a first "reservation" they have ever had, and they didn't seem sure how to respond to me. Giving me a look and a shrug that said, "Look around, does it look like you need a reservation?," the owner/chef/waiter (it was unclear) told me to come back whenever. 

It's BYOB so we came back prepared--Coronas, tequila, and lime--and took our seats inside the closet of a restaurant. The food that came out of that matchbox kitchen blew all four of our minds. It was their meats--tender, ultra flavorful, and generously portioned--that impressed me most. I'm so glad that I got one chicken and one beef taco, because they were equally delicious (and the beef wasn't ground, it was shredded!) 

This was the kind of meal that I thought about days later. And our total (for three) came to $23. Perhaps the most entertaining part was the aforementioned jack-of-all-trade restauranteur. At first he seemed a little distasteful towards us, but by the end, after we offered him a tequila shot and a beer, he was cracking jokes and sharing recipe secrets. Hmmm...idea coming...maybe I could get a job there (free food!?)

UPDATE: I was shocked to find they have a website! Don't be fooled, it's  just as small-timey as I described.

Reading List: Something Old and Something New

This summer I’ve been on a re-reading kick. Earlier in July, I revisited Robert Penn Warren’s, All the King’s Men, which had been a summer reading assignment going into my junior year of high school. At that time, it had quickly risen to the top of my, then relatively short, list of favorites. First of all, I couldn’t help but be attracted to Warren’s language and style—almost unfeasibly long, descriptive sentences and unexpected metaphors. It’s certainly not for everyone though, and even I’ll admit that there are sections of this 400-plus pager that you can’t help but skim. What I remember from my first read though is being impressed, even astounded, by the spider-web effect that Warren achieves, weaving all of the plots and characters together by the end into a (melo) dramatic climax. Once again, not for everyone, but if you have a taste for the gritty political underworld and lyric prose, it suits that contradictory bill.

My most recent read was another school requirement, Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. I remember not being all that impressed with Mockingbird when I read it in 8^th grade English class. But, upon finishing it up the other day, after racing through the last few more-exciting-than-I-remembered chapters, I recognize, much more than I did eight years ago, why it is considered a classic. One thing that has remained constant in both readings though: my disbelief that the voice of the narrator, Scout, is feminine. Read it for yourself; I’m interested in other opinions on this.  

How this connects to Chicago: Naturally, after finishing it up the other day, I needed a new book to read. Maybe it’s snobby, and it’s probably ridiculous, but I don’t like library books. But neither do I enjoy shelling out $18 for a book at Barnes and Noble. Luckily, in my neighborhood, there are three (that’s right! Three!) independent bookstores. One of them, Unabridged Books, is right around the corner from both my apartment and my home away from home, Caribou Coffee.

This place is heaven. It’s everything chain bookstores are not. Where Barnes and Noble are Borders are huge, often crowded, and always commercialized, Unabridged Books is small, almost maze like, with tiny rooms each housing its own particular genre, perfect for hiding in to sneak some literary taste-testing. My favorite part: the note cards that line the shelves offering staff reviews and awards won by certain books. That, and the extensive sale room, which, unlike the ones at the big stores, houses unexpected titles, not just the rejects of the previous month. On my most recent visit I snatched a copy of Michael Ondaatje’s lesser-known memoir, Running in the Family. I’ve read a couple of his novels and enjoyed them, and so far the dreamy descriptions of Sri Lanka and the accounts of his flawed but charismatic family members suggest the $4.50 I paid for this one was a steal. 

UPDATE: Looks like To Kill a Mockingbird is a favorite beach read. Who'da thought? I wonder what Harper Lee would think about that. I was expecting fluffier picks, more in the vein of Emily Giffin or Jennifer Weiner, but I'm not complaining! 

Blades of the Glorious Past

Though I think California may have picked it up back in the 80s, rollerblading screams 90s to me. I have this distinct memory: summertime, I was about eleven, blading around the cul-de-sac of my suburban neighborhood with the girl next door, peforming (for who, I don't know) some kind of choreographed dance to Hootie and the Blowfish's "Hold My Hand" and "Only Wanna be with You." Dance might be an overstatement; I'm pretty sure we were just blading at various tempos and with assorted arm gestures around and around the circle. 

I relived that simple pleasure today. 

This afternoon, in a vacant church parking lot a couple of blocks from my apartment, I re-taught myself the art of blading. Armed with the pair of second hand skates I bought yesterday at Play it Again Sports (an underrated resource if you ask me) and some wrist guards, I laced up and shoved off. A little wobbly for the first few minutes, I quickly reclaimed this talent of my pre-teen years. Though my motives for this pastime have shifted somewhat--from a means of combating the summer doldrums through interpretive dance on wheels, to a low impact form of exercise, and quite possibly cheap means of transportation--I was pleased to find it just as enjoyable now as it was back then. And aren't I lucky, blading doesn't seem to carry the same stigma in Chicago that it does in other metropolitan areas. It's alive and well on the lake path, and that's where I'm rolling tomorrow. 

Lolla Lovin

Lollapalooza, like New Years,’ or Homecoming, or any big birthday, is an event surrounded by a lot of hype. And, in my experience, these types of things—which friends come in town for, that are looked forward to for weeks, and usually over planned—have a tendency towards mishap. That’s why I was so pleasantly surprised that my Lollapalooza weekend went off without a hitch, in spite of the extreme weather.

In fact, I’d say that the weather made it even better. Some concert-goers would probably disagree—after all, it was torrentially down pouring for most of Friday, and Sunday was sweltering—and not being a lover of extremes myself, it’s not surprising that many considered it less than ideal.

I admit, I had my moments on Friday when I seriously doubted that I could stick it out in the rain. Clad in a Walgreens poncho, with mud splattered calves and pruny fingers, I was hardly the model of concert-going chic. But as we grooved to Thievery Corporation and I look around at crowd—all as wet-ratty as me—I felt as though I had gotten about as close to the hippie alter-ego I’ve always believed was in me somewhere.

Sunday’s torturous heat also somehow seemed to complete my imaginary ideal of outdoor concert debauchery. Tied with Thievery as my favorite act of the weekend, Passion Pit performed at the height of the afternoon inferno. But fans crammed together despite the climbing temperatures, prompting crew and crowd members alike to shake any bottled liquid on hand, spraying the people around them in an act of neighborly love. Normally, I’m not all about getting showered with mystery liquids, but (and call me corny) there was something about the music, and the heat, and the crowd that made it all seem perfectly all right. 

Perry's Techno Tent at Lollapalooza

This weekend at Lollapalooza I became a fan of techno. I never would have thought it possible. I realized though, that I just have to be in the right setting to enjoy it. In the past, when played, for example, in a friend's car, the repetitive robotic sounding noises of techno always gave me a headache. But on Friday and Sunday night, under the glowing spider-web-esque tent of Perry's Stage, the music of spin masters like Crookers, Kid Cudi, Boys Noize, and MSTRKRFT, only made me want to dance. The pulsating beats and unexpected mixing of sounds created an energy amongst the crowd that was unparalleled at the other concert stages. I'm not yet at the level where I could listen to it all night, but I might be trading in my go-to low key bars for a bumping club come next Friday. 

Water and Steel

Chicago has a lot of tourist activities, but only one of them has been recommended to me by more than one city native: The Architecture Foundation River Cruise. Having tried to go once earlier in the summer only to arrive to sold out tickets, this time I planned ahead (a little bit). I snagged nine of the last ten tickets available for the time that we wanted, and our group proved just as lucky with the weather.

It was hard to believe our guide’s insistent claims of Chicago’s river-hating past with the water and the buildings along its banks looking so gorgeous. But, as she would remind us countless times throughout the tour, indeed, Chicago did not always appreciate its waterway. She also seemed determined to drill into our brains the idea of contextualism (yep, just as I suspected, Microsoft Word doubts the legitimacy of this word as much as I did). She used it to refer to the architects’ practice of mimicking the river’s qualities in their buildings’ designs. I remain unconvinced of all that, but it didn’t take fancy words or knowledge of architectural schools to recognize that Chicago’s river area has some of the most outstanding urban architecture around.

The tour was definitely an interesting way to see an area of the city that I hadn’t really explored yet, and it was undeniably informative. Perhaps, a tad too much so. I was expecting more entertainment, more stories behind the structures, rather than a mere litany of architecture firms, styles, and materials used. Nonetheless, on a nice day, it’s a pretty pleasant way to check out the downtown, and pick up a little cocktail party fodder while you’re at it. 

Pleasant Pedaling

All summer I’ve been meaning to bike the lake path. I’ve really wanted to buy a bike, and after renting one for a few hours last week, I’m more convinced than ever that this will be my next big purchase. First of all, so much is within perfect biking distance from where I live. Second, after how my hip has been acting up recently when I run, it’s looking like I’m going to have to switch my form of exercise.

We rented from Lakeshore Bike, on Recreation Dr., just a few blocks north of my apartment on the lake path. The guys who ran the little stand were super friendly and helpful, and seemed genuinely excited for us to enjoy our ride. It’s a very relaxed operation—all you do is give them a credit card and you can basically have the bikes as long as you want; you settle up whenever you get back.

Although my original plan was to head north to Evanston, the man helping us said it would be a much more interesting ride to follow the path to its southern end, biking past the downtown, Navy Pier, various beaches, and the gorgeous Museum campus. It ended up being the perfect distance too—about 10 miles each way by my estimate. We stopped a couple of times to snap pictures, take a drink and stretch, and just enjoy the scenery.

It was a great way to see the city in a new way. The only drawback—and there’s really nothing to be done about it—are the congested areas of the path. This is especially problematic for a nervous biker like me. Between the intense Lance Armstrong types aggressively barreling past and the small children darting every which way across the path, I definitely had a few close calls.

Luckily, I had an experienced biker by my side to keep the ride going smoothly (and to keep me at a heart-pumping speed). One of my top three favorite days in Chicago so far. 

Who needs Broadway?

Chicago is a competitive city. It seems especially concerned with proving itself equal to New York. Take, for example, its theater offerings, “Broadway in Chicago.” How much more blatant can it get?

Personally, I prefer Chicago’s theater district. Less glitzy, it makes do without the blinding neon lights of New York’s Broadway (despite what the website photo makes it look like). The stretch of theaters, in the area just south of the River, is less swarming with tourists than its counterpart in the Big Apple, making it easier to pop in, see a show, and get back out.

I was invited to see Jersey Boys, which tells the story of the Four Seasons, and their rise to fame from the wrong side of the tracks in Jersey. Of course, this show was made for New York, though I suppose the “Guido” character has become so universally recognizable that even Midwesterners can appreciate it. Behind the music, this aspect of the play was definitely the most entertaining.

The songs were wonderful; classic tunes that I knew the words to without knowing where I’d learned them. I recognized almost every one, even though I would have never been able to name the Four Seasons as the artists. Each one catchier than the last, it was impossible not to dance in my seat and mouth the lyrics (ok, I probably did more than mouth them-- sorry to the strangers sitting behind me).

And though we were undecided on whether or not the actors were singing (the optimist among us wondering why “Frankie Valli” didn’t pursue a career in music, and the most doubtful astutely catching the moments when his lip synching slipped up) either way, the production was charming and fun—in my opinion, two essential qualities of a successful musical.

Five Star Encounter

I just got these pictures and had to post them right away. Last Saturday night, while dining with some out-of-town guests at Phil Stefani's restaurant downtown, I had an exciting celebrity sighting. I've mentioned my obsession with Bravo's reality cooking show, Top Chef, before, and who walks in to the restaurant but my absolute favorite contestant, Fabio. He was every bit as charming in person as on the show (and displayed the same friendly bias towards the ladies--he somehow finagled his way out of taking a picture with the men in my party). He was in town promoting his book, which I'm sure will not only be full of great recipes, but show the chef's own charismatic personality as well.   

Two Sides of the Same Glacier

I have an explanation for how MIA I have been the past week or so. And I promise that the things that have been keeping me from my computer and Caribou Coffee (my internet hotspot) will make up for it, once I get around to writing about them.

 First on the list, my trip to Montana with my family. Actually, it was more a trip to Canada, as I spent four of the five nights I was away on the other side of the border in Waterton. It’s a gorgeous place-- our hotel (it was actually more like a motel, charming in its rustic quaintness) was right on the lake, and nestled between huge mountains. One interesting thing about the town of Waterton: the native mule deer population has become so used to humans, so domesticated, that the town has to put up signs warning guests to watch out for their dogs—the deer might attack! I actually saw a man hand feeding one of these Rudolph look-alikes some baby carrots. I secretly was hoping for an assault by antler.

Another thing that surprised me about my visit to Canada was the seriousness and intensity of the border crossing process. I always figured that, being next-door neighbors, and amicable ones at that, I’d just shoot on in to Canada with a wave and a smile. Apparently, I’m a dope for thinking this way, and the border guard was quick to make sure I knew it. After yelling at us for not putting the “children” in the car with both parents, and not having our passports out and ready, he went on to aggressively ask us our purpose in Canada. If you’re ever in Canada, never answer that question with “visiting.” Clearly at the end of his rope with us, he snapped,  “Everyone’s visiting,” as if Canada is some sort of Mecca that the lowly traveler can only hope to taste for a short time.

Though Glacier National Park is an international Peace Park—meaning, its territory crosses national borders—and it’s terrain is, I’m sure, equally beautiful on both the US and Canadian sides, I have to say I liked the Montana part better. Maybe it’s because everything is more expensive in Canada. Or perhaps the strangely changeable and dreary weather in Waterton created this bias. More likely, it’s the not-quite-mean but not-quite-friendly service that seemed to follow me wherever I went while in Canada, and the stark contrast between it and the small-town friendliness of Hungry Horse, Montana. 

Music in the Parks

A particularly late Friday night made for a lazier than usual Saturday, and, by extension, a fest-filled Sunday. I doubled up, visiting two parks--Wicker and Lincoln-- for the final day of each.

Having promised a friend I'd do Lincoln at night so as to see Sugar Ray (throwback!), I headed to Milwaukee Ave around 2 pm. Per fest fashion, the street was blocked off, forcing attendees to enter by way of a gate, inevitably being guilted in to the $10 donation (or is it an admission fee? It's all very hazy with these things). Once inside, I had the run of overstock bins set outside on the sidewalk outside the bigger stores, and perused the many craft stalls. We stumbled upon the techno stage where a mid afternoon dance party raged, complete with close-eyed dancing, head banging, and reverberating pavement.

Taste of Lincoln Ave certainly had its own dance party, though something tells me it was (unlike Wicker Park's) helped along by the fall of darkness. The bands at this fest were of the theatrical variety, from the 80s cover band (bedecked in full face paint, wigs, and black pleather), to the Too White Crew with its obviously ironic renditions of rap/hip hop classics like "Baby Got Back."

Sugar Ray was the cherry on top of this entertaining convection. His countless thank yous and reminders of his age complimented his 5 Red Bulls deep energy level nicely, moving even the most skeptical listeners to bop along to his summer-lovin lyrics.

Books

This weekend was the Newberry Library Book Fair, where the avid reader can can get great deals and the devoted collector can make great finds.
The library was impressive in itself, the kind of place books deserve to be housed. (Think historic- gilded banisters, marble floors, and vaulted ceilings.)
Because I went on Sunday, the inventory was thoroughly picked over. There wasn't much left in the way of current fiction, and the nonfiction titles remaining were mostly cheesy looking and obscure.
Luckily for me, the average used booksale peruser must not be especially interested in the authors of the "lost generation." I was able to scrounge up a biography a piece on Fitzgerald, Pound, and Mencken.
In the end, I didn't buy anything- even though all titles were half off in an attempt to clear out on the last day. For whatever reason I couldn't imagine myself reading the books I had picked up, and at the last minute I placed them on the reshelving table. As much as I like to think of myself as someone into used and old books, in truth, I guess I feel the same way about someone else's old books as I do about someone else's old clothes- not quite as appealing as new ones. Or maybe its that, at this point in my life it's neither practical nor afforable for me to collect books- for display, bragging rights, or other purposes. So, I stick to buying books that I REALLY want to read, not just the best that's left.

Some Pics from Michigan

Courtesy of Meg's Dad