Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Chic-ago

Apparently Chicago has a bad rap as a city of greed and violence, dirt and grime. At least that’s what I learned when I visited “Chic Chicago,” an exhibit at the Chicago History Museum that aims to debunk this perception with its collection of beautiful gowns worn by Chicago’s most glamorous women.

The concept is unexpected, the mood fun and playful. In a dimly lit gallery, with a soundtrack of girly tunes— think “Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend,” and “Puttin’ on the Ritz”—in the background, women (the only two males I saw were young boys undoubtedly dragged by their mothers) can wander among the mannequins and imagine themselves in the fabric and color of their choice. And there are plenty to choose from: the dark velvet corseted forms of the Victorian era, the fringy and fun flapper styles of the 20s, the slinky silk and jersey numbers of the more modern woman. To all label lusters: this exhibit will certainly satisfy; the collection flaunts Ferragamo, Valentino, Chanel, and Versace, as well as some more unusual and (for me, at least) interesting craftsmen. My favorite was a stunning iridescent blue-green pleated silk masterpiece, by magician-cum-dressmaker, Fortuny, who invented the chemical process for the one of a kind material.

The text painted in pink on the walls above the dresses are quotes describing the Chicago of, the exhibit claims, men. The contrast between these words and the elegance and artistry below them is none too subtle, but it does help the exhibit achieve its goal: to pay tribute to the city's exemplary women. 

Monday, June 29, 2009

PRIDE... What a Ride


I experienced "Pride Sunday" from the unique vantage point of feeder of the masses. Somehow, between the time we interviewed with the GM of Roscoes, and yesterday, the bar-tending job we applied for morphed into the hodge-podge position of set-up crew member/assembler of  hamburger-chicken sandwich-footlong bratwurst/ice scooper/beer or pre-mixed vodka lemonade pourer.

We arrived at 8 am, and were greeted by our lovely lesbian supervisor, Nikole, some regular Roscoe staff, all gay and anxious to share it with us, as well three Mexican women, who would struggle throughout the day with “Miller Lite,” “Leinenkoogle” and “MGD” (Woe to any partier who had his heart set one in particular, because chances are he didn’t get it). Here’s a breakdown of the next 8 and a half hours

8:30 am: Taking folding chairs and tables out of the moving truck, the veteran Roscoe worker says to Marie and I, “Don’t worry, I won’t give you too many, we can carry the same amount ‘cause I’m a little girl too!!”

9:50 am: We dutifully don our hideous khaki pageboy style uniform caps (photos coming soon) while Roscoe workers refuse: “We can’t wear those! How am I supposed to flirt in that fugly thing, and I’m not messing up my hair!”

11 am: Serve my first beers and Absolut Lemonades to a lesbian couple, and upon my “thanks ladies”, one (wearing a bikini top, multiple face piercings and a shaved head) smiles and shouts “Thanks for calling us ladies!! Everyone always thinks I’m a guy!”

12 noon: Parade starts, complete with: 1) hard-bodied, oiled and tanned men dancing atop floats in silver metallic speedos; 2) drag-queens galore; 3) a procession of motorcyles which my gay associate informed me was his favorite, “Dykes on Bikes”

1:30 pm: The cashier I’m working with says: “I hate it when I think I see a cute boy and realize it’s a lesbian. Does that ever happen to you?” I shake my head. And then the question I’ve been waiting for all day. “Are you a lesbian?”

2:20 pm: Marie’s cashier explains the difficult dynamic of Pride Sunday: “I’m a hot gay guy, but today, I’m like nothing special. I mean I haven’t gotten one text in like 4 hours! It’s kind of like hot-by-normal-standards people going to Hollywood.”

3:15 pm: Somewhat obscene PDA in front of our booth causes me to turn away, the first of many of the afternoon. Marie and I exchange “Where are we?” glances.

4:45 pm: Exhausted, sweaty, and famished, we walk home, though it appears that we’re the only ones who won’t be partying the rest of the evening away. Thinking nothing of it (she had a tank top on underneath) Marie begins to take off the Roscoe’s t-shirt they gave us when we hear shouts of “Yeah baby! Take it off!” from a group of girls on the other side of the street. We smile innocently and continue the walk to our apartment, feeling a little like Dorothys in our very own Oz. 

7 is my Lucky Number


This weekend I discovered two things that Chicago has that give it an indisputable advantage over DC: BYOB’s and an abundance of second-hand clothing stores.

Having never been to a BYOB before (DC really needs to get with it), I wasn’t quite sure how it worked, and it seemed a little strange to be walking to the restaurant with my wine tucked under my arm. I felt mildly criminal pulling it out of my bag and pouring myself a glass, and I half expected the waiters to throw me out of the restaurant. We were dining at Joy’s Noodles and Rice, a Thai restaurant a block from our place, whose cute sidewalk seating we walk by every day. No street front tables were available, but my disappointment only lasted a second, as the hostess showed us through the restaurant to a back patio, adorned with hanging plants and lit by strands of white Christmas lights. Quite the romantic spot for my dinner date with two lovely ladies J

And just like my last dining experience, when given the check, I had to do a double take, but this time not because the waiter did us any favors. Our individual totals ($7 with tip!) more closely resembled a Subway or Starbucks receipt than the bill from a full sit-down dinner. (Our waiter, who really didn’t do much in the way of service, definitely benefitted from our surprise.)

Saturday I indulged my shopping craving responsibly, at the consignment stores along Milwaukee St. in Wicker Park. Having seen this neighborhood by both day and night, I can say that it’s definitely a little bit more artsy, more hipster, than either Lakeview (where I live) Lincoln Park (which reminds me the most of Georgetown) or Wrigleyville. And after scoring a Barney’s Co-op dress for (once again,) $7 (for a sense of the ridiculousness of this deal check out the prices on their website), it’s now my FAVORITE shopping destination.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

A pretty sky today


The weather has been pretty strange since I got here. One minute its gorgeous sunny, not a cloud in the sky, and the next its pitch black and pouring. But sometimes, like today, the few moments between those two extremes create some really cool and unusual skies. 

iPod. iTunes. iMac. iBook. iPhone. iCream?




Last night I experienced the “i” invasion on a whole new level. Though I’m pretty sure the futuristic ice cream shop that we visited in edgy Wicker Park isn’t actually associated with the Apple enterprise, it’s certainly cashing in on the techie appeal of all things “i.”

I learned last semester, watching the addictive Bravo reality show, Top Chef, that there is an entire movement in the culinary world dedicated to playing around with food and technology. iCream is the closest I’ve come to enjoying the fruits of “molecular gastronomy” myself, and it was pretty awe-inspiring (both in taste and experience).

The design of the shop was not entirely unique. Given the recent popularity of frozen yogurt and the proliferation of trendy spots to enjoy it, the bright, modern, space-themed interior was nothing new. But, what I saw where vanilla, chocolate, rocky road, etc. are usually listed made my head spin.

According to the menu board, picking your dessert is a four-step process

1.     Decide exactly what kind of delicious dessert you want: ice cream, light ice cream, yogurt (fat free or otherwise), sorbet, or even pudding!

2.     Pick your base flavor. They have all the typical choices, plus a few interesting ones like honey and hazelnut.

3.     Choose some mix-ins: candy, fruit, nuts, etc

(I know you are thinking this is pretty standard, but does DQ or Hagen Daaz let you choose your…

4.     Color! Vanilla can be green, or mint purple!

I ended up staying pretty tame with my creation: vanilla with nutella and graham cracker crust, and I left out the last step (It’s a fun idea, and I know it wouldn’t change the taste, but something about blue ice cream grossed me out).

Tough decisions out of the way, you get to watch them literally take the concoction of ingredients you selected, and transform it into ice cream, all with the help of liquid nitrogen and a custom version of the old Kitchenaid MixMaster. With a cloud of smoke, a whir of the blender, and some skillful stirring by the girl behind the counter (I hope she’s getting paid more than the one who works at Ben & Jerry’s), your own unique iCream materializes. Smooth and airy, my masterpiece was honestly some of the best tasting ice cream I’ve ever had, and it certainly was the most fun

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Employed!

Don't get excited...just for eight hours on Sunday. Check out my new place of work...but be prepared.
http://www.libraryofinspiration.com/index.htm 

Al Fresco Flicks

After wandering around for a half hour in Lincoln Park looking and listening for signs of an outdoor movie screening, and exhausting all mapping capabilities on my blackberry (not helpful at all), we finally stumbled upon the Chicago History Museum’s outdoor pavilion. Luckily, dusk had come a little later than the advertised 8:30 show time, so we had only missed the opening credits. And though I was expecting a grassy “theater” instead of a concrete one, there was something comforting and wholesome, reminiscent of a different era, about the scene. Chicagoans of all ages sat on blankets, some with picnic dinners, popcorn, or a bottle of wine, and I easily forgot that bustling Clark St. was only one block behind me. The summer series offered by the museum features movies set in Chicago, and last night's selection was My Big Fat Greek Wedding--not really a classic, but entertaining none the less. The atmosphere was enough to make the experience a memorable one (and the long walk and frustration of finding the place worthwhile), and I’ll definitely be back for next month’s screening, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (that one is a classic).  

NPR Non-Fiction Suggestions

These all look really good to me. 

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

What are the chances...

I’m intrigued and attracted by things having to do with “fate.” Serendipitous occurrences, extrasensory perception, fated connections, and the like, all give me a good feeling, like there is some underlying intention to everyday life. If you’re lucky I may have even shared my belief in my own in-tuneness with these phenomena at some point or another ;)

So I have to share this story…

After finishing up our softball game, I was standing around chatting with the team, discussing our beach plans when a girl from the other team approached. I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t recognize her, or rather that I wasn’t prepared to recognize her so it simply didn’t occur to me to pay attention. And so, I was left bewildered, frantically trying to place her when she unexpectedly asked, “This is really weird, I know, so don’t be freaked out, but did you live with (so-and-so) in DC last summer?”

“Yea…I did…” I responded, my tone surely reflecting the mix of doubtfulness and apologetic shame for drawing a blank that I felt.

She started to explain…When it finally registered, the pure unlikelihood of the situation gave me an instant surge of (perhaps disproportional?) excitement. I did know her, but just barely, for she had been a weekend visitor of our sub-letter.

That we happened to be playing in the same softball game is astonishing, but what is even more incredible to me, given the increasingly “virtual” nature of social contact (e-mail, text-message, BBM, Facebook, Twitter, etc.), is that she approached me at all. Though we had probably only exchanged a few words during her time in DC, most likely just our names, and “nice to meet you’s,” she introduced herself, despite the undeniable likelihood that she was mistaken, or worse, that I would be “weirded out.” The spontaneity of meeting her is even more wonderful if you consider that it means she actually cared enough to introduce herself to, essentially, a stranger.

If that wasn’t enough to make me want to be friends with this girl, she has since offered some helpful job hunt advice, and suggested we get together for dinner/drinks. Fate. 

Even though I caved and got one...

For everyone who knows my feelings on blackberrys, an NYT article on their (mis)use in meetings. 

Monday, June 22, 2009

For more on The Hold Steady and Craig Finn's antics...

In case you're interested, I like what this guy, writing for the Time Out Chicago blog, says about the band from last night. He describes exactly what I was trying to convey about the CRAZY lead singer. Apparently it's kind of his image. 

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Sunday Rock Concert in the Meatpacking






The website of the Taste of Randolph St. describes the neighborhood of the festival, the West Loop, as “a chic, upscale area housing several of Chicago’s trendiest art galleries and nightclubs.” So, as I walked off the “El” and saw only warehouses--literally, meatpacking warehouses--I thought I might have made a wrong turn. But sure enough, after walking a few blocks, I began to hear the recognizable boom and echo of outdoor amplifiers.

Even though we arrived at the tail end of the third and final day of the festivities, there was an impressive crowd. I discovered what had drawn such a large and energetic audience about a half hour after I arrived—an angsty rock band with Midwestern roots, The Hold Steady. Obviously, this was the first I’d heard of them, and maybe it was the chill atmosphere and free admission ticket, but I think I’m a fan. At the very least, the front man was entertaining. Small, spectacled, and middle-aged, the rage that came out of him was astonishing. Here’s a video, but it doesn’t do justice to what I saw.

I’m glad that I didn’t let the threat of rain keep me from making the trip across town for my first street fest and I’m hoping the other neighborhoods know how to throw a party like the West Loop.

Saturday: Chicago-Style

Yesterday I became familiar with two staples of summer in Chicago—rec. sports leagues, and the mania that is North Avenue Beach.

 Though I was planning to check out a Farmers’ Market that I passed by on my morning run, when I got a call from a new Chicago friend inviting me to join him and some buddies for their weekly softball game, I readily accepted. At his assurance that it was “more of a friends-hanging-out” type of thing, I threw on a sundress and flip-flops. If only I had known…

We pulled up to the field (which is on the same street as the house featured in the show Family Matters!). There was his team: disheveled, disorganized, and on the verge of forfeit for shortage of players. I quickly realized that I was going to be getting a little more than I bargained for in the way of sporting activity. Not only was I informed that I had to play, but after one look at the other team—full of linebacker-esque guys, full-figured ladies, and donning uniforms which boldly announced the name of their sponsor (!)—I started to wish I had stuck to picking out produce and perusing second-hand furniture. “Put down that Slurpee…you’re up” a team-member barked to Marie…let the games begin.

An hour later, sweaty, muddy, and bruised (literally), but with a victory under our belts, and an open invitation for next weeks’ game (apparently third-baseman is my calling) we headed to the beach.

Having been told by several people that North Avenue Beach is one of the coolest places to hang out in Chicago during the summer, I was shocked by its resemblance to the type of Spring Break atmosphere that I had managed to avoid all four years of college. Perhaps the unbelievable crowd yesterday can be blamed on summer’s late arrival to the city this year; everyone was just anxious to get started on their tans. I’m hoping this is the case, because otherwise, though it might be the Saturday hot spot for some people, I’m not sure that I will be making a habit of putting down my towel on the sands of North Avenue. I'll be on the look-out for a less crowded, less intense stretch of Lake Michigan shoreline. Because, to be honest, I’d trade the bumping club music, and the front row view of the “Fittest Man in Chicago” competition for sunning in some park any day, where flowers and four-leaf clovers are found in ground, instead of inked on biceps and lower backs.  

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Eivissa

After seeing it listed in the “Too New to Review” section of Time Out (a weekly guide to everything going on in the city) and noting the budget appropriate price-range (average small-plate $8), I decided to make my first round in the Chicago restaurant scene at Eivissa.

A tapas and sangria restaurant located in the super-cute neighborhood of Old Town, Eivissa offers an artfully balanced blend of the authentic and the trendy. While the atmosphere was anything but traditional—loud, with un-uniformed waiters and communal dining options—the menu was impressively true to classic Spanish fare. For example, the accompaniment to the pork tapa—lentils, perfectly tender and smoky flavored—brought back memories of the home-cooked ones Teresa, my senora in Sevilla, prepared for me at least once a week.

 Showing up at the height of the dinner rush, we were faced with an hour wait, so we decided to sit at the bar. It turned out to be a great choice as the bartender, who formally introduced himself as we sat down, eventually revealed that he recognized me from a coffee shop that I had used for their free internet (yet another money-saving tactic) the day before. Liberal with his menu suggestions and his pours, the tattoo covered “Tony” seemed determined that we enjoy ourselves. (We realized just how determined when we got our check—our drinks mysteriously cost $0).

Unfortunately, Tony and I must have different tastes because his first suggestion, the salpicon aioli pinxto--a piece of grilled bread piled high with a seafood salad and garnished with a passion fruit calamari--left something to be desired. Though pleasing to the eye, I was overwhelmed by the Hawaiian Punch (remember, the kids’ fruit drink?) flavor, while the seafood elements melded together unimpressively. By contrast, our other seafood selection, the mejillones asador, was outstanding. These mussels, grilled, rather than the typical steamed, and with a delicious warm sherry vinegar and tomato sauce (that I had to stop myself from mopping up with bread), were my favorite of the night.

For sangria fans, Eivissa offers the most extensive selection I’ve seen. With surprising ingredients such as energy drinks, bean of Madagascar, and cinnamon, and your choice of tinto (red), blanco (white), or cava (sparkling) wine, they are sure to be sweet and refreshing choices. Since I prefer my wine untainted by fruits and flavors, we chose a mencia-garnacha blend, called Millennium which I highly recommend.  

 

 

 

Friday, June 19, 2009

Taste of Randolph St.

A friend of a friend here in the city recommended that I check out one of Chicago's street festivals, The Taste of Randolph St., this weekend. His description--bands by night and food tasting by day, plus the chance to walk around the streets of Chicago with a beer in your hand--sounded so great that I had to check it out right away. Indeed, the "fest's" website leaves no doubt that it's sure to be a good time. Sadly, I don't know any of the bands--I've realized that if I'm going to live here I should probably get a little (or a lot) more familiar with the inde music scene--so if you recognize anyone in the lineup as a stand-out, let me know and I'll be sure to check it out. 

Thursday, June 18, 2009

As if you needed an excuse to come visit me!

Update

Miles of pavement pounded in search of employment: infinity
Paying jobs secured: zero 

I spent the whole morning walking the streets, entering every bar, restaurant, gym, and, I'm ashamed to say, even a few tanning salons, in search of some immediate source of cash flow. Some good definitely came out of it: 
1. A possible temporary spot at a gay bar (Rent, the movie, was on all the TVs in the place) during this year's Pride Weekend
2. Filled out an application at Halligan (my favorite from last night)
3. Good advice from the owner of a clothing store: always carry around your resume (I wasn't) because you never know who you'll meet and who they'll know 
4. A list of places NOT to work, offered by an infinitely helpful bar-owner (who, unfortunately wasn't hiring)
5. A good workout 

Chicago has a lot of bars...

I think I got a pretty good sampling of Chicago nightlife for my first time out. Thanks to some new friends who were serious about having a good time on a Wednesday night, we ended up bar crawling our way through two of the main “strips” of the city’s watering holes. First up, Cubby Bear in Wrigleyville, a hard-partying area that bears a striking resemblance to the District’s rowdy Adams Morgan (except, I’d say it has even more bars!).  This place was feet-sticking-to-the-floor fratty, and we decided to hit the road once the headache-inducing Rock Band Karaoke started. We popped in to Merkle’s next door, my pick because of its quirky name.

Deciding that maybe we could go for a chiller scene, and wanting to meet up with a Georgetown friend, we squeezed in to a cab and headed to Lincoln Park. I’m told by my fellow DC-raised Chicagoan that the first place we went, McGees, is DePaul’s equivalent of The Tombs--practically on campus and full of students. Our next stop, Halligan, with its friendly bartenders, casual but lively vibe, and plentiful seating, was easily my favorite of the night. We finished up at The Lion’s Den, and maybe it’s because it was pushing 2 o’clock on a Wednesday night, but the place definitely fit its name—dark and dingy, with pool and darts.

Ambitious, for a first night, but after three years of going to the same five bars every weekend, the variety was much enjoyed and appreciated.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Day 2: Skyline Sun-Salutations


Since today’s weather was much more cooperative, Marie and I got our free yoga…on the rooftop of an apartment building downtown! Whole Foods sponsors it every Wednesday, and an instructor leads a class out in the open-air, seven stories up. With rush hour traffic raging below us, I was surprised at how peaceful I felt as I rolled through my vinyasas. And it isn’t every day that the view from your upward facing dog is a blue (only sparsely clouded) sky.

Marie and I also took our first ride on the “El,” which, because it’s old fashioned and doesn’t take credit cards (?!), involved scrounging through our wallets and pooling our change to come up with the $2.25 each. I’ll have to remember to always hang on to a few singles, because I am NOT trying to get $18.75 back from the machine in quarters!

Tonight we’re planning to hit the town, with our random (in a good way) Chicago acquaintances (finger-crossed, soon-to-be friends). Can’t wait! 

Urban Explorer on a Budget: Day 1


I think that my predicament is pretty obvious. I’m living in a new city, and one that I can already tell has TONS of fun things to do, but, and it’s a big “but,” I don’t have a job. However, I don’t think that this limitation has to be negative. In fact, I saw in my very first day here that it can be extremely entertaining. Not only that, my roommate Marie and I already have a running list of free things to do that sound awesome. 

Unfortunately, the torrential downpour yesterday evening put a damper (literally) on the first one. We were planning on taking advantage of the free yoga on the Lake, but will have to wait until next week. Luckily, we already have another opportunity for free yoga tonight, this one on the roof of Whole Foods in the Gold Coast neighborhood. I’m hoping that free fitness is as great in practice as it is in theory!

Food is also going to present a challenge. First up on the list: find the best bargain grocery store. Without a Safeway or Giant in sight, and thrust into the unknown world of Jewel Osco, Dominicks, and Treasure Island, I decided to try out the latter. Though slightly turned off by the ugly facade and its strangely un-food-related name, I was roped in by its claim to be “America’s Most European Supermarket.” Of course, being like most Americans, and idealizing/idolizing all things “European,” I was anxious to try it. Never again. If “European” has become the equivalent of ghetto, then yes, Treasure Island takes the cake. And, their food isn’t even a bargain! However, I did get something out of it, and I may find myself taking advantage of this in the coming months…GREAT free samples, and lot’s of ‘em!

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

A (Too?) Warm Welcome to the Windy City



After a thirteen-hour drive, which was surprisingly painless except for the lack of edible rest-stop food (we ignored a veteran I-80 driver’s advice to stop in the MIDDLE of Ohio, where they have Paneras) I arrived at 520 W. Melrose St., my new home in Chicago!  

No sooner had we popped the trunk than my roommate and I were interrupted by our new neighbors. Julie, a toothless, self-proclaimed aficionado of the Indiana casinos, inquired about our relationship statuses and told us to watch out for the “bitch” in the building next store. Fran, an eighty-two year old donning a sparkly purple headband, offered us, within the span of ten minutes, a small pull-cart to help us move in (appreciated), her opinion on Julie (that she is a terrible gossip), and a dinner invitation for that night. We were stuck. She couldn’t be sweeter, and she was just so excited to have new neighbors that we didn’t think we could resist, but all we really wanted to do was take a quick walk around the block and eat at one of the cute places we had seen on Broadway St. on our drive in. We debated our excuses for ten minutes, calling in reinforcements (both of our moms) for advice on how to decline, politely of course.  Armed with a rehearsed excuse, and after the awkward and whispered, “you do it…no you do it” outside her apartment door, we were let in to the apartment. Fran then redefined my notion of neighborly hospitality. She offered us, in rapid succession, an electric can-opener (Oh! No, thank you. I think we brought one), a ham sandwich dinner (You know, we are really OK, we ate on the road), a box of Cheerios (Umm, yes we eat Cheerios. Are you sure? Ok, Thanks!), and, last but not least, a dress, pulled off the hanger and smelling distinctly of old-lady, and a skirt, which we were assured is “the style this year.” We backed out of the apartment, squeeking thank-you’s, as Fran insisted we come back later for brownies.

(As far as other tenants, so far we have only had the pleasure of meeting a young eastern European couple who, next to Fran and Julie’s gregariousness, look downright taciturn…but they did have the wine opener we were looking for!)

 It didn’t take long for me to realize that our new home is most definitely in the heart of Chicago’s gay neighborhood. Subtle signs (an abundance of doggie spas and pet accessory stores and three gyms within a two block radius) as well as those not so subtle ones (rainbow flags lining the street announcing the annual Halstead St. Gay Pride Festival) keyed me in pretty quickly. I have a feeling this is going to be very different than my old stomping grounds in the MD suburbs!