Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Chic-ago

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

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

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

Monday, June 29, 2009

PRIDE... What a Ride


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

7 is my Lucky Number


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

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

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

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

Thursday, June 25, 2009

A pretty sky today


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

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Employed!

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