Megan Chicagos

Farewell Dinner: Perfection

2009-09-23T13:15:00.000-07:00

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)

2009-09-20T15:31:00.000-07:00

WET RATS

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

Passion Pit, "Little Secret"

Techno Stage

Some long-awaited pics

2009-09-20T15:27:00.001-07:00

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

2009-09-20T08:25:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-09-19T07:26:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-09-14T17:36:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-13T20:43:00.000-07:00

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

Lincoln Park Art Faire

2009-09-13T20:07:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-10T17:14:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-08T06:34:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-07T17:16:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-02T09:52:00.001-07:00

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

2009-09-01T18:25:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-24T15:23:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-24T09:48:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-24T08:00:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-21T09:01:00.000-07:00

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

Bring on the Madness: Season 3 Premiere

2009-08-17T10:12:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-16T14:34:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-14T12:28:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-14T12:16:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-12T15:08:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-11T07:46:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-10T14:09:00.001-07:00

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

2009-08-10T07:38:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-07T11:42:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-08-05T10:07:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-05T09:23:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-05T08:28:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-28T18:42:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-26T14:56:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-24T07:30:00.000-07:00

Courtesy of Meg's Dad

Yet another first in Chicago

2009-07-22T10:20:00.000-07:00

Last night a couple of friends and I went to Sluggers dueling piano bar in Wrigleyville for a drink or two. Word on the street was that Billy Joel, who played last night at Wrigley Field with Elton John, was going there late-night. I didn’t have much faith in our chances of a Joel sighting, but I wanted to check out the place anyway.

I didn’t realize that piano bars are a culture unto themselves. We entered the bar on the ground level and were directed upstairs for the piano room. The party was already well underway, as a crowd encircled an elevated stage in the center of the room, on which sat two musicians pounding away on two facing pianos.

The atmosphere was lively and energetic; in fact, it was one of the most content and happy crowds I have ever seen. There was a sense of camaraderie that I have never experienced at any other bar, as patrons pooled together dollar bills in an attempt to bribe the pianists to play their requests.

How the musicians know both the chords and words to so many songs is truly beyond me. They played everything from CCR to Kelly Clarkson, and never missed a beat.

As added entertainment, extending from the center of the pianos was a dancing pole, which more than once was put to (not necessarily good) use.

Billy never showed up—to be honest, we probably just didn’t stay late enough—but I got to see a unique strain of Chicago nightlife. I’m not saying I’ll make it a weekly outing, but for special occasions, guests in town, or on a night when I’m feeling a particular craving for a wild sing-along, I’ll be hitting up Sluggers or one of the other famous Chi-town piano bars.

As a side note, Sluggers is truly an impressive establishment (though again, not a place I'll become a regular). In addition to the piano set-up it also has indoor batting cages and Chucky-Cheese-esque games. Disneyland for adults?

Yummmm

2009-07-22T08:29:00.000-07:00

Though this posting may put me over the line into food blogger territory, I couldn't help myself. The NYT has provided an incredible list of 101 DELICIOUS looking salads. I'm fighting the urge to go to the grocery store and stock up on ingredients this very minute. I figured I'd go through and pick out the best ones, but when I found myself jotting down every other number, I gave up.

Mediterranean in the Midwest

2009-07-21T14:07:00.000-07:00

My favorite food would have to be fish, and there is nothing like a super-fresh catch. Unfortunately, now I am living in a completely landlocked location. Luckily (and I'm not sure if this is a well-known fact or not) Trader Joe's has an excellent frozen fish selection, and it always manages to taste great.

Last night, Marie and I played amateur chefs and prepared our favorite fish dish. We used to make it all the time at school, and it works with any white fish. We usually use tilapia or red snapper, but last night we made it with orange roughy and it still tasted great. It goes well with sauteed spinach, prepared with a little bit of garlic. Here's the recipe for two people, roughly (my cooking is not an exact science):

2 filets white fish

2-3 Roma tomatoes, sliced thick

1/2 small white onion, sliced

1/3 c. Kalamata olives, pitted and halved

juice of 1 lemon

3-4 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 375

In a medium bowl, combine tomatoes, onions, olives, lemon juice, oil, and salt and pepper

With filets in a baking dish (preferably a small one so that there is not much extra space), spoon mixture over them

Optional- place a few lemon slices over top of filets and mixture--it looks nice!

Bake for about 20 minutes, depending on the thickness of the filets and the type of fish you use; I typically just keep checking it.

Up in Michigan

2009-07-20T14:20:00.000-07:00

I spent this past weekend in Michigan at my friend Meg’s family’s Lake house. Not that I have any complaints about Chicago, or anything I feel the need to “get away” from, but it was a pleasant escape to a scenic and fun spot.

Of course, it wouldn’t be an adventure without its fair share of mishaps. Marie and I set out around noon, expecting a quick hour and a half drive. The directions seemed straight forward enough.

By the time we were passing Sox stadium we had already been in the car for 45 minutes due to traffic. But that was nothing compared to the gridlock we got into once we were in Indiana. I just kept wondering to myself where all the people could possibly be going.

And though my first impression of Gary, Indiana, from the drive out to Chicago, was enough to make me never want to go back, we made the command decision to get off at the city’s exit to get gas, regroup, stock up on provisions, etc. I ended up getting some alternate directions from one of the guys who worked in the rest stop, and after weighing the options (sitting for God knows how long in bumper-to-bumper traffic or following the advice of a strange man and risking getting lost in the neighborhoods of smelly Gary) I decided on the latter. The scenery that followed will not soon be forgotten. We passed all variety of yard sales (including Bernie’s, which exclusively sold lawn ornaments), billboards screaming advertisements for the “Cheapest Cigarettes Around,” and buildings that claimed to be real estate agencies that were themselves foreclosed upon, to name a few.

Four hours after our Chicago departure, we arrived at Meg’s. But, the thirty-six hours that followed—from meeting her charismatic and hilarious relatives, to attending a party in a sand dune, to the 4 am dance party complete with conga line, to the marathon team effort at solving the NY Times Crossword puzzle, to communally devouring seven 14-inch long subs with her cousins—were well worth the long and frustrating drive.

The whole scene reminded me of the movie Dirty Dancing. It was the kind of simple, outdoorsy, wholesome family-fun, type place that is, I think, very hard to come by. When it came time to leave last night—after watching an unforgettable sunset—I was surprised to find myself resisting return to bustling Chicago and my not-so-busy life there. It was almost like a time warp that I wasn’t quite ready to leave.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

2009-07-17T17:24:00.000-07:00

I think I have a better-than-average memory, but I found myself feeling unfamiliar with much of the latest Harry Potter movie. I didn't have the constant deja vu feeling that I did with the other installments. Could this be because Half-Blood Prince was the ugly duckling of the series? I don't think so. I'm pretty sure that, during the summer when I voraciously devoured books 4-7, there was no such lull in my obsession. As a matter of fact, I think I particularly liked Book 6 (it has an especially important climactic moment by which I identify it (I won't spoil it)). That leaves the film adaptation to blame. And, honestly, it's to be expected this far along in the series. The books get longer and longer, and though I admire the loyalty to the text, a three hour movie can get a little tedious. But I think the real issue was that some of the objects, spells, potions, creatures, physical feats, etc., of Book 6, just disappointed on the big screen. My imagination must have done a better job than Director David Yates and his crew.

One advantage over the previous HP movies: the teenage wizards are finally getting old enough for a little romance :)

Check out the trailer.

Clyde's in Georgetown Inspired a Song?

2009-07-17T16:16:00.000-07:00

I haven't familiarized myself with the Chicago radio stations yet. I usually just scan around a little, end up leaving it on any station that's playing a half decent song, and then fifteen minutes later have a moment of, "What the hell am I listening to?" and quickly smack the scan button again. So today, while driving home from seeing Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince (review to come shortly), I wasn't really paying attention when all the sudden I hear the words "Washington, DC" and "a restaurant called Clyde's." Of course, I quickly turned it up and tuned in to hear what this was all about. Apparently (and I have a feeling many of you will find this just as questionable and surprising as I did), the well-known song, "Afternoon Delight," was written about an especially delicious and memorable shrimp dish (???) at the Georgetown bar/restaurant. I like Clyde's as much as the next person--their food is generally enjoyable and the atmosphere is very "Georgetown"--but inspirational? Really? I guess I always thought that song was more about...well, you know. Obviously, as soon as I got home (correction, as soon as I got to my internet hot spot, Caribou Coffee) I quickly googled the song title to find out if this was legitimate. The jury's out it seems. Note the "reference" contesting the Clyde's menu item's role in the song title. Listen to the song, here, and see if you pick up on any food references. Or, anyone willing to serve as a field researcher to try the dish and help settle this issue, let me know.

Chicago Taxi Drivers: Buy a Map!

2009-07-17T09:41:00.000-07:00

For most of my college experience, the taxi situation in DC was terrible. Zone system, anyone? I remember many a two minute cab ride that, because we "crossed zones," cost upwards of $10. Thankfully, cabbies were recently forced to get on the meter system, along with the rest of the United States. But I do not recall EVER getting in a DC cab, telling the driver where I needed to go, and him either a) not knowing the street or b) driving around aimlessly PRETENDING that he knew it, only to admit $6 into the cab ride that he didn't.

Both of these things happened to me last night in Chicago.

It's funny too, because my destination--a friend's house who was have a small get-together--is absolutely within walking distance. Had I been going there during the day, I wouldn't have bothered with a cab. But given the hour and my footwear--3 inch heels--a quick cab ride seemed the way to go.

Unfortunately, the first cab we got in to did not recognize the street name. I guess he really wanted our business, because instead of letting us out of the cab easily, he shoved his cell phone in my hand, instructing me to talk to his dispatcher (whom I wouldn't have been able to understand, even if the reception hadn't been spotty). Needless to say, we decided pretty quickly that we didn't want to deal with a clueless cabbie and hopped out.

Our cab ride home a couple hours later was also a snafu. How unlucky. This time though--and I am partially to blame since I wasn't paying attention--the driver headed about 5 minutes in the entirely wrong direction, before tentatively asking, "This is it, no?" Ummm, nooo. I said WEST MELROSE. Not sure what the issue was here--he didn't hear me, or had a momentary navigational lapse, or was on some sort of substance--but when we finally pulled up in front of our building, he courteously knocked $5 off the charge. They might not be Magellans, but at least the Chicago cabbies are gentleman.

A typical weird Tribune story...

2009-07-17T09:37:00.000-07:00

About a distant relative perhaps?

A Vain Affair?

2009-07-16T10:00:00.000-07:00

Vanity Fair is up there on my list of favorite magazines. It's certainly not the one I pick up in the nail salon, or take to the beach, or read while in front of the TV. I usually grab it in an airport, though it inevitably takes longer than the plane ride to finish. The attention level required to read and process one of its 5+ page articles is higher than it is for the average tabloid or women's mag. But, on the rare occasion I do pluck it off the newsstand, I always end up wishing I had a subscription.

Attracted by gorgeous, smiling Heath Ledger on the cover, I bought the August issue in Dulles Airport on my trip back to Chicago. One of the first articles I read encapsulates, I think, the appeal of the magazine, while at the same time highlights the limits of its clientele. In it, James Wolcott laments the blandness of electronic libraries like the Kindle (for books) and the Ipod (for music). A self-proclaimed "culture snob," the writer unashamedly admits to the pretentious element of collecting and displaying what we read and listen to, and wonders how that vanity will be satisfied as we move towards pure white gadgets of plastic and metal as the homes of our "cultural" collections. I don't think it's a stretch to assume that the inclusion of such an article suggests a certain level of agreement by the magazine's readership. That makes me wonder then, how many Vanity Fair subscription holders do with it precisely what Wolcott claims is a dying practice: display it proudly on their coffee tables or nightstands to show just how "cultured" they are.

Casa Central

2009-07-15T13:18:00.000-07:00

Since I got back to Chicago on Monday, I have been relatively busy--sending in applications, meeting with some great contacts, making phone calls--and have not had as much internet time as usual. But I'm determined not to let my blog suffer from our lack of home internet access, so I stopped by the library on my walk home from an interview, even though I really wanted to go home and get a snack!

Yesterday I had a meeting with a woman in Resource Development at Casa Central, a Hispanic social services agency that I am going to begin volunteering with. Since I got to Chicago I have been looking for volunteer opportunities, especially ones that would combine my interest in working with children and my Spanish language ability. I haven't really had the opportunity to practice speaking since I got back from abroad--I didn't take a Spanish class last semester :( -- and I really don't want to lose it. I stumbled upon Casa Central in my internet research, and after my meeting yesterday, I'm shocked that it took me so long to find. It's an amazing organization, with dozens of programs, serving all levels of the Hispanic community.

I am going to be helping out with their Adult Wellness Center, which is a program for seniors that goes on every day from 9 am to 3 pm. At the Center, the seniors are provided with breakfast, lunch, and snack, and take part in arts and crafts, as well as aerobics. It seems like a great opportunity for elderly members of the Hispanic community to get together and to stay active and healthy, in both body and mind. I'm going to be helping out there, talking with the seniors and helping organize the activities.

On the flip side, it's great because I will get to practice my Spanish. Initially, I thought that I'd like to work with kids, but the woman I met with made a good point--the kids mostly speak English. She assured me that if Spanish practice was something I wanted, that I would get much more working with the adults. She also mentioned that a small number of the participants had expressed interest in learning English, and had started a kind of ESL group within the program, working with English-speaking volunteers. When she asked if that was something I might be interested in, I jumped at the chance.

So if all goes well with my drug test and background check, and as long as I don't have TB, I'll be starting up with Casa when I get back from Montana with my family. Who knows, maybe the volunteer role could turn into a staff position with them; they have a newsletter, and a website, and have to write grants, and I'm sure they could always use more PR and outreach.

Only the Good Die Young (and only the great draw 41,000, and play for 3 hours at 60+)

2009-07-13T17:33:00.000-07:00

I’m at Dulles Airport, waiting for my flight back to Chicago after a weekend at home in Maryland for my mom’s birthday. Back in the spring, my Dad and I decided to get her tickets to the inaugural concert at Nationals Park-- Billy Joel and Elton John. So, Saturday night, all six of us crammed onto the Metro (and I mean squeezed—due to track maintenance, trains were only running every fifteen minutes which made for a super packed house of aggressive travelers) and headed down to Anacostia.

When we got there, we realized that the system for getting down to the field was going about as smoothly for this novice concert venue as getting metro cards had gone for my Dad. Apparently, we had to jump through several hoops to get into our seats down on the field (including having our tickets marked, getting purple wristbands, making our way to section 110, where we would get said markings and wristbands checked by guards). The system was completely inefficient, not to mention frustrating. In the process, I realized that concert-goers might be some of the scariest people on earth—from the stampedes and angry shouting of fellow field ticket holders, to the angry glares and rude words of those non-fielders that we had to gingerly cross in front of.

The crowd was surprisingly heterogeneous as age goes, but it was undoubtedly the whitest, WASPiest concert I have ever been to (video coming soon), and certainly that Nationals Park has ever seen. It was also the largest that the new stadium has ever, and probably will ever hope to attract.

Both Billy and Elton were showing their age—Joel in his profuse sweating and round frame, and John in his octave-lower-than-normal singing. But both had undeniable stage presence, and as one who missed out on their glory days, I can say that even if they are only mere ghosts of the artists that they once were, that’s pretty impressive.

Why "Windy"?

2009-07-09T13:02:00.000-07:00

I went to another Cubs game yesterday, and once again, the weather wasn't exactly cooperative. Remarking on the brutal wind that continuously kept what would otherwise have been home runs in the park, I said to the Chicagoan next to me that other teams must really hate to come play in the "Windy City." There I was, thinking I was making some astute comment, when he smirks and tells me that the nickname has nothing to do with the weather. In an effort to prevent anyone else from being in the same embarrassing situation, I decided to do a little research on the misleading moniker.

Apparently, "windy" refers not to the blustery-ness of the weather, but of the city inhabitants themselves. (For those who, like me, weren't aware that a person could be "full of bluster," here's the definition). Particularly though, it's the city's politicians who are responsible for this nickname, as they tend to be "long-winded and boastful."

I still think Chicago is windier than the average city.

I also got a kick out of the plethora of "minor nicknames"--a city has to have a lot of character to have so many.

Dining Deals

2009-07-07T08:50:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, Marie and I bought a deck of cards. Not for playing Solitaire, or Kings, or Poker (though in the absence of cable TV or internet, we could probably use those as well). Instead, we paid $20 for a full deck of restaurant cards, each offering $10 off. Without a doubt, it’s a good deal—all we have to do is visit three and we will have made up for it. But more than that, it’s a fun way make sure we keep experimenting with dining choices. Finally, it’s for a good cause—all the restaurants are chef-owned, and a portion of the proceeds from the card sales goes to a really interesting charity.

So, Saturday night, we decided to try out restaurant-card-roulette for the first time. We shuffled and picked a random card. Unfortunately, this one had three dollar signs, and we had to throw it back (even with the $10 discount there was no way that was going to work). The next one that surfaced was a sushi place that looked good, but I wasn’t in the mood for raw fish. (OK, so maybe our adventurousness is a little tempered). Finally we landed one that seemed like the perfect match, Trattoria Roma: one dollar sign, Italian, and in nearby Old Town.

Tiny (no more than 15 tables) and inconspicuous (we almost walked by it), Trattoria Roma is the perfect place to go to satisfy a craving for salty-garlicky-olive-oily-starchy Italian food. The menu is handwritten--and in some places illegible--because it changes daily. It took me about three seconds to decide what I wanted—tilapia with capers, olives, tomatoes and grilled vegetables—and luckily, Marie was on the same page. The card may have said $, but the prices aren’t cheap, so it’s a good thing their portions are generous enough to share. The wine list was short, but it had everything covered, and the service was friendly and helpful.

Great Cover Band

2009-07-06T09:51:00.000-07:00

These guys played at a bar in Lincoln Park on Friday night. I love cover bands and this one was especially talented. Their repertoire was impressively broad, they did it all--from the standard 70s and 80s numbers that are always covered, to some (somewhat irritating) country songs for the 4th of July, to an awesome Michael Jackson medley, and even some Britney Spears and Outkast. It didn't hurt that they had three capable singers, though they could use some reorganizing--the lead vocalist definitely doesn't have the best voice. No complaints though; "Sorry For Partying" provided a solid two and a half hours of great party songs and the crowd was dancing and loving it.

Beautiful Sunday on the River and the Lake

2009-07-06T09:46:00.000-07:00

My Wrigley Debut

2009-07-06T09:29:00.000-07:00

Under an ominous sky and a pestering light drizzle, I ventured in to the “Friendly Confines” for the first time on Independence Day. The park was packed—a sea of appropriate red, white, and blue—despite the weather. But for Cubs fans, there was nothing to celebrate on our nation’s birthday. The loads of Milwaukeeans made the Cub’s 11-2 loss all the more sour (and I’ll be honest, we ducked out in the 7^th inning).

Poor playing aside, I’m a big fan of Wrigley Field. The new Nationals Park may be nice, but compared to the Cubbies’ home field, it seems plasticy, even gaudy. Small, even cozy, no seats are bad seats in Wrigley (we were in the 200 section, safely under cover, but I would have been just as happy in the 500s or the bleachers). And I’m a big fan of two Wrigley traditions: 1) limiting music to the organ (they don’t mess around with “We Will Rock You” or any other “pump-up” tune); and 2) throwing back the opposing team’s home run balls (successfully walking the line between badass and unsportsmanlike).

My Second at Second City: Just Enjoyable

2009-07-06T09:10:00.000-07:00

Friday night I saw a show at The Second City, a famous Chicago comedy theater, whose alumni include Bill Murray, Jim Belushi, and Tina Fey. This was my second time seeing a show there; when I visited in March I saw America, All Better, which poked fun at the Obamamania and we’ve-reached-the-pot-of-gold-at-the-end-of-the-rainbow mentality of the year surrounding the election. Unfortunately, the show Friday night had neither the thematic coherence nor broad appeal of America, All Better.

As it happens, I wasn’t even sure exactly what show we were seeing until it began and one of the actors told the audience. When I ordered tickets over the phone, I had asked for Brother Can You Spare Some Change?, which, from my understanding, was in the same political satire vein as America, All Better. The operator informed me that Brother had recently been re-vamped and was now known as Studs Terkel’s Not Working. The fact that I had to ask her who Studs Terkel was should have been my signal that I wouldn’t understand half the jokes in the show.

That’s not to say it didn’t have its fair share of timely and sharp political and social commentary. One sketch, featuring an Iowan husband and wife lamenting the influx of “California Gays” into their state, was particularly funny (and not a little taboo). Even more politically incorrect (read: hilarious) was one which encouraged the adoption of “regular black babies,” and criticized the faddish obsession with acquiring more “exotic” offspring. Another involved the actors playing various presidents throughout the centuries—from George Washington to Obama—and it had its moments. Perhaps the best parts of the show were the audience participation sections, and mostly because, for whatever reason, the selected audience members were either outrageous or patently uncooperative. This made for an unexpectedness that had the crowd rolling.

The Priest and the Medium

2009-07-01T11:41:00.000-07:00

This book is about one of my favorite professors at Georgetown and his wife, who is a certified psychic and medium. From what I understand, it's the story of their meeting, which is a story I have heard several times from Dr. Knoll. I'm a little hazy on the chronology and exactly how it happened, but it was something along the lines of: he was taking some sort of hiatus from his training for the priesthood (I'm not really sure how that works, but I'm sure the book will explain) when a friend set him up with this woman, who turned out to be, as he told us a thousand times, his soulmate. And though I do know a few doubters, from what I've seen her "powers" are completely legitimate. She does "dowsing" and finds oil, has worked for the government, and I have personally seen her action--aura-reading, communicating with spirits, etc. I haven't read it yet myself, but Dr. Knoll and his wife are definitely intriguing, and wonderfully unique, so I imagine, if the author is any good at all, that it will be a good read.

Chic-ago

2009-06-30T15:24:00.000-07:00

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.

PRIDE... What a Ride

2009-06-29T09:42:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-29T08:24:00.001-07:00

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.

A pretty sky today

2009-06-25T17:44:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-06-25T11:46:00.000-07:00

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

Employed!

2009-06-24T18:32:00.000-07:00

Don't get excited...just for eight hours on Sunday. Check out my new place of work...but be prepared.

2009-06-24T14:14:00.001-07:00

http://www.libraryofinspiration.com/index.htm

Al Fresco Flicks

2009-06-24T09:49:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-24T09:04:00.001-07:00

These all look really good to me.

What are the chances...

2009-06-23T16:48:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-06-23T13:42:00.000-07:00

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

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

2009-06-22T15:25:00.001-07:00

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 Rock Concert in the Meatpacking

2009-06-21T21:13:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-21T14:55:00.001-07:00

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.

Eivissa

2009-06-20T17:49:00.000-07:00

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.

Taste of Randolph St.

2009-06-19T16:08:00.000-07:00

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.

As if you needed an excuse to come visit me!

2009-06-18T17:12:00.000-07:00

Lollapalooza 2009

Update

2009-06-18T16:34:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-06-18T11:00:00.000-07:00

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.

Day 2: Skyline Sun-Salutations

2009-06-17T20:30:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-17T13:07:00.000-07:00

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!

A (Too?) Warm Welcome to the Windy City

2009-06-16T12:13:00.000-07:00

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!