One of my new duties as Executive Assistant is to plan the all-staff In-Service. That means getting food, space and training for 150 people.
It doesn't go flawlessly.
It barely even functions.
But with less than two weeks until In-Service, good enough will have to do.
Perfectionists don't survive long in this world.
8.17.2009
Here is the thing about my new job
Kate asked me today if I loved my new job.
I said no.
She asked me if I hated my new job.
I said no. How can you hate anything you don't know.
I don't know what I am doing. I daily hope I don't eff up mad enough to embarrass myself.
I said no.
She asked me if I hated my new job.
I said no. How can you hate anything you don't know.
I don't know what I am doing. I daily hope I don't eff up mad enough to embarrass myself.
8.11.2009
Day 2 of the Real World
Still sucks but let me explain....
The girl who had my job before me was also named Nikki...that is niKKi not niKi...so now i am either new niki or niki with one k.
My laptop's default date is 1988.
My air conditioner is broken. It is hot out.
My closet...I mean office is a "challenging" space
Organization was not a priority of "old nikki" neither was dusting, labeled folders or a stocked desk.
The girl who had my job before me was also named Nikki...that is niKKi not niKi...so now i am either new niki or niki with one k.
My laptop's default date is 1988.
My air conditioner is broken. It is hot out.
My closet...I mean office is a "challenging" space
Organization was not a priority of "old nikki" neither was dusting, labeled folders or a stocked desk.
8.10.2009
8.07.2009
Postponing real life so I can turn 24 in style
My new boss wanted me to start on Monday the 3rd....which happens to be right before my birthday.
I decided BMO really needed me another week; i was a valuable member of their team that could not just be snatched away from them without a weeks' notice; I was intricate in the training of new temps (how else would they know how to get around BMO's firewall); And I need a good solid week of goodbyes, we love you, we will miss you, please remember us in corporate hell when you are floating in nonprofit heaven.
So i took a week, tied up loose ends, ate out at all those loop lunch places i never got around to going to, and then my birthday rolled around....And then 3 a.m. at Sidetrack smacked me in the face and i was typing in sick around 6 a.m.
I swear I have never called in drun...sick before. Call it one last romp of irresponsible bliss. From now on it is the 9-5 for me.
But let me tell you all, 8 bottle of wine, artichoke dip and 1 dollar drinks on Halsted are never a bad way to celebrate a new year, a new job and the start of the future.
7.31.2009
Who says the Blog Gods aren't listening?
There I was, on July 15th, thinking i was just typing my mournful words of despair away into the vast ether of the blogosphere. But as I realized today i was actually making a powerful prayer to the computer gods, and they were listening.
Two weeks after making my sorry recession speech, I went back in to Christopher House to meet with the CEO. I thought I was going in for yet another round of interviews. Maybe there were a few communications/skills/talents tests from the 50's they wanted to run me through. Maybe they would like to hear my thoughts on Russian literature, South African apartheid, the third wave of feminism or the boy band phenomenon of the nineties. Or maybe they just wanted to hear more about what type of fruit/tree/animal I would be if i could be any fruit/tree/animal I wanted. (pine, lemon, mermaid).
Or they wanted to offer me a job!!!!!
Yes that is right after 6 months of BMO, countless frustrated phone calls home, a few random curses to the heavens and 100's of cover letters constructed, mail merged and emailed....I, Niki Fritz, am employed as an executive assistant at Christopher House.
I don't even care about all the details (like benefits including dental, paid vacation days, and my own sweet office), all i care about is i will finally begin my working career; I feel like I can finally start life.
(If anyone is actually more interested in who I will be working for check them out at: www.christopherhouse.org...they are over 100 years old and do this nonprofit stuff real good)
Two weeks after making my sorry recession speech, I went back in to Christopher House to meet with the CEO. I thought I was going in for yet another round of interviews. Maybe there were a few communications/skills/talents tests from the 50's they wanted to run me through. Maybe they would like to hear my thoughts on Russian literature, South African apartheid, the third wave of feminism or the boy band phenomenon of the nineties. Or maybe they just wanted to hear more about what type of fruit/tree/animal I would be if i could be any fruit/tree/animal I wanted. (pine, lemon, mermaid).
Or they wanted to offer me a job!!!!!
Yes that is right after 6 months of BMO, countless frustrated phone calls home, a few random curses to the heavens and 100's of cover letters constructed, mail merged and emailed....I, Niki Fritz, am employed as an executive assistant at Christopher House.
I don't even care about all the details (like benefits including dental, paid vacation days, and my own sweet office), all i care about is i will finally begin my working career; I feel like I can finally start life.
(If anyone is actually more interested in who I will be working for check them out at: www.christopherhouse.org...they are over 100 years old and do this nonprofit stuff real good)
7.15.2009
Let me show you my recession
The recession is 9% unemployment, 60% loss in savings and thousands of foreclosed homes. This is the recession:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/15/business/economy/15leonhardt.html?_r=1&ref=us
The recession looks painful and brutal, like a raw open wound.
But my recession is a more like a purple bruise, deeply felt but mainly superficial, not life-threatening just pride threatening.
My recession includes two jobs getting caught up and swept away in the mudslide of corporate investing. First there was the U of Chi gig cut after job freezes swept the frozen campus in February. Now there is the assistant job at the Christopher House, stalled with the IL State budget. Without government funding, nonprofits cease to run and I am left without my career path of choice. So I am surviving, I have a rented apartment, a somewhat steady limited weekly income and no reliance on savings or government aid (but some reliance still on my parents).
I survive but I do not thrive.
While others scrape by trying to salvage bits of a former life, I am readjusting my expectations of my future life. I am putting away fantasies of cross-continental trips abroad. I am shelving the idea of grad school at an East Coast school. I am forgetting about the possibility of a freelancing career. I am adjusting expectation not just for the next six months but for the rest of my life.
While the rest of the nation might have a pretty nasty scar after this all mighty recession, they will heal and live to tell grandchildren stories of foreclosures and lost 401K’s.
But I fear that I will heal with no visible sign of hurt, I will be left with no scar only the fear of a bigger bruise in the future. I am afraid that this recession has taught me to settle before I had time to rise up.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/15/business/economy/15leonhardt.html?_r=1&ref=us
The recession looks painful and brutal, like a raw open wound.
But my recession is a more like a purple bruise, deeply felt but mainly superficial, not life-threatening just pride threatening.
My recession includes two jobs getting caught up and swept away in the mudslide of corporate investing. First there was the U of Chi gig cut after job freezes swept the frozen campus in February. Now there is the assistant job at the Christopher House, stalled with the IL State budget. Without government funding, nonprofits cease to run and I am left without my career path of choice. So I am surviving, I have a rented apartment, a somewhat steady limited weekly income and no reliance on savings or government aid (but some reliance still on my parents).
I survive but I do not thrive.
While others scrape by trying to salvage bits of a former life, I am readjusting my expectations of my future life. I am putting away fantasies of cross-continental trips abroad. I am shelving the idea of grad school at an East Coast school. I am forgetting about the possibility of a freelancing career. I am adjusting expectation not just for the next six months but for the rest of my life.
While the rest of the nation might have a pretty nasty scar after this all mighty recession, they will heal and live to tell grandchildren stories of foreclosures and lost 401K’s.
But I fear that I will heal with no visible sign of hurt, I will be left with no scar only the fear of a bigger bruise in the future. I am afraid that this recession has taught me to settle before I had time to rise up.
7.07.2009
My redneck returns to the city
I spent the Fourth of July exactly where I needed to be: in the backwoods of Rhinelander, Wis. Surrounded by family, dogs and port-a-potties. This is my root, redneckin’ it up with a MGD and my New Yorkers. My dad calls me the city girl but mainly because he knows it irritates me. I love the humming sound of bugs, the skin-tingling feeling of ice cold lake water, the smell of smoke on your hair and the bloating of processed meat in my stomach.
OK so really I am a city girl. I love the el and skyscrapers and museums and the endless possibilities of the city. But every good city girl knows she needs to pretend to commune with mother natures at least once a year. It is revitalizing and makes you remember why you live in the city.
After 4 days of outdoorsyness, I am well rested, well read, well fed and also sun burnt and kind of bored. As I make my way back to the city, I just realize how blessed I am to have these two parts of life, to have the city in my heart and the woods on my skin.
P.S. In this year’s boat parade we won a first place price. Category? Best costumes. Our costumes? Bikinis. Dirty Old men? Of course.
OK so really I am a city girl. I love the el and skyscrapers and museums and the endless possibilities of the city. But every good city girl knows she needs to pretend to commune with mother natures at least once a year. It is revitalizing and makes you remember why you live in the city.
After 4 days of outdoorsyness, I am well rested, well read, well fed and also sun burnt and kind of bored. As I make my way back to the city, I just realize how blessed I am to have these two parts of life, to have the city in my heart and the woods on my skin.
P.S. In this year’s boat parade we won a first place price. Category? Best costumes. Our costumes? Bikinis. Dirty Old men? Of course.
6.30.2009
Date Nights
There are so many culturally enhancing, mind awakening, spirit reviving, and insanely awesome FREE things to do in this city. And yet sometimes it is nice to splurge, throw down 20 bucks for a movie and enjoy the city as if 20 buck was chump change. It is even nicer to have some wonderfully sweet young suitor splurge for you, making the movie that much more enjoyable and the young man that much more delicious.
Go see Away We Go. Go with a delightfully charming partner. And never feel guilty about spending 20 bucks to enjoy a movie well made.
Go see Away We Go. Go with a delightfully charming partner. And never feel guilty about spending 20 bucks to enjoy a movie well made.
6.28.2009
PRIDE: What a delicious mess
Life on Halsted slows to an irresistibly delicious crawl for PRIDE. Transportation is impossible, lines three people deep congest sidewalks and alcohol makes every corner an opportunity for a celebration. Pride makes Chicago look like summer.
After a few weeks of below average temperatures and a miserable coat of grey clouds, the sun decided grace Chicago with some real summer time sun rays just in time for half naked men and women to prance around in them. And prance, and dance, and hump and bump they did, all over the street. So many of them in fact that I could maneuver more than a block away from my little 1800’s house which happens to be sandwiched in-between Halsted and Broadway- the two main streets of Pride.
But of course with K in attendance I had no intention of leaving the Mecca of gay. To the streets we went to partake of the 1st ever Gay Pride Fair, which fittingly was like a summer fair with mimosas instead of beer, leather instead of live cattle and a general surplus of free condoms (including one free female condom- weird). We followed the condom fair with a night making the rounds at Sidetrack, talking up happily toned and waxed couples and drinking copious amounts of vodka seltzers.
And to end off the party of all parties, we attended the 40th annual Gay Pride Parade which was complete with Dykes on Bikes, dancing gay cowboys and more than a dozen politician pandering to the popular gay vote. I also saw a transvestite with tape over nipples and leggings half down straddle a police officer and two hairy bears attempt to dry hump around bulging beer bellies. It was not exactly a family parade, well except for all the families there including the Nettlehorse Elementary School. The parade managed to include the raunchy AND the political AND the family wholesomeness…probably because the gay community like the straight community includes all of this.
So for a slight soap box moment, gay pride parades are not just about getting raunchy and filling your pockets with free condoms (although that is the appeal of it for me). The parades are also to demonstrate gay political power, gay cultural power and gay domestic power. It is a parade to empower every aspect of gay life…which includes sexuality. So many ask why do gays feel the need to display their sexuality at parades, aren’t they just reinforcing stereotypes the “I’m so not a homophob” asks. They feel the need to display their sexuality because so many others deny it. They represent sex to show they are not ashamed, that this like politics and their children and their jobs, the fact that they have sex with a same-sex partner, is also a part of their life. Don’t ask, Don’t tell doesn’t exist for them. Don’t ask and I will show is more their motto.
That said the parade does get gloriously raunchy after float about 50, and by float 250 it is basically a walking naked billboard for everything from vodka to potato chips. Following over 300 floats was an endless night of partying on the streets. This was followed by my rather depressing 6:30 a.m. walk to work among the destruction of rainbow stickers and empty beer cans. Halsted looked like a life well lived.
After a few weeks of below average temperatures and a miserable coat of grey clouds, the sun decided grace Chicago with some real summer time sun rays just in time for half naked men and women to prance around in them. And prance, and dance, and hump and bump they did, all over the street. So many of them in fact that I could maneuver more than a block away from my little 1800’s house which happens to be sandwiched in-between Halsted and Broadway- the two main streets of Pride.
But of course with K in attendance I had no intention of leaving the Mecca of gay. To the streets we went to partake of the 1st ever Gay Pride Fair, which fittingly was like a summer fair with mimosas instead of beer, leather instead of live cattle and a general surplus of free condoms (including one free female condom- weird). We followed the condom fair with a night making the rounds at Sidetrack, talking up happily toned and waxed couples and drinking copious amounts of vodka seltzers.
And to end off the party of all parties, we attended the 40th annual Gay Pride Parade which was complete with Dykes on Bikes, dancing gay cowboys and more than a dozen politician pandering to the popular gay vote. I also saw a transvestite with tape over nipples and leggings half down straddle a police officer and two hairy bears attempt to dry hump around bulging beer bellies. It was not exactly a family parade, well except for all the families there including the Nettlehorse Elementary School. The parade managed to include the raunchy AND the political AND the family wholesomeness…probably because the gay community like the straight community includes all of this.
So for a slight soap box moment, gay pride parades are not just about getting raunchy and filling your pockets with free condoms (although that is the appeal of it for me). The parades are also to demonstrate gay political power, gay cultural power and gay domestic power. It is a parade to empower every aspect of gay life…which includes sexuality. So many ask why do gays feel the need to display their sexuality at parades, aren’t they just reinforcing stereotypes the “I’m so not a homophob” asks. They feel the need to display their sexuality because so many others deny it. They represent sex to show they are not ashamed, that this like politics and their children and their jobs, the fact that they have sex with a same-sex partner, is also a part of their life. Don’t ask, Don’t tell doesn’t exist for them. Don’t ask and I will show is more their motto.
That said the parade does get gloriously raunchy after float about 50, and by float 250 it is basically a walking naked billboard for everything from vodka to potato chips. Following over 300 floats was an endless night of partying on the streets. This was followed by my rather depressing 6:30 a.m. walk to work among the destruction of rainbow stickers and empty beer cans. Halsted looked like a life well lived.
6.20.2009
Unexpected Nights
The thing about Chicago is the night rarely goes as planned.
Tonight I was going to have a relatively selfish night of a long run, a fancy homemade scallop dinner and a new movie.
Three glasses of wine later and I am soaked in a random park by the lake wondering if the model boats on the playground are meant to symbolize beached boats or boats floating at sea.
Am I beached or floating?
And then Tom stopped by and pulled up a swing. And as he told me stories of directors I will never be able to pronounce, I thought about how good the rain felt and how lovely it was to be young and think you can make it in LA.
And i walked home drenched but somehow joyful as well.
Any night that ends happier than it started, is a good night no matter what the plan was.
Tonight I was going to have a relatively selfish night of a long run, a fancy homemade scallop dinner and a new movie.
Three glasses of wine later and I am soaked in a random park by the lake wondering if the model boats on the playground are meant to symbolize beached boats or boats floating at sea.
Am I beached or floating?
And then Tom stopped by and pulled up a swing. And as he told me stories of directors I will never be able to pronounce, I thought about how good the rain felt and how lovely it was to be young and think you can make it in LA.
And i walked home drenched but somehow joyful as well.
Any night that ends happier than it started, is a good night no matter what the plan was.
6.10.2009
U.T.I. in the C.I.T.Y.
Yesterday I got a UTI.
TMI on the UTI, I know. But I really wanted to write this blog in case any of my other fellow recent grads are also insurance-less and find themselves with a less than healthy uretha.
So you wake up peeing and then pee 15 mintues later and then pee again...time to go to Minute Clinic at CVS. $67 for the visit, $11 for the percription, $6 for the over the counter relief and you are on your way home without a 500 dollar emergency bill on your already overextended credit card.
Plus they send you a handwritten postcard wishing you well. My mom didn't even do that!
TMI on the UTI, I know. But I really wanted to write this blog in case any of my other fellow recent grads are also insurance-less and find themselves with a less than healthy uretha.
So you wake up peeing and then pee 15 mintues later and then pee again...time to go to Minute Clinic at CVS. $67 for the visit, $11 for the percription, $6 for the over the counter relief and you are on your way home without a 500 dollar emergency bill on your already overextended credit card.
Plus they send you a handwritten postcard wishing you well. My mom didn't even do that!
6.07.2009
Brunch in the City
All you naysayers of brunch clearly have something against joy and happy bellies. Coming from a state where there is no brunch, only the three boring main meals, I have come to cherish Chicago brunches. When else can you drink champagne before noon, eat pancakes after noon and have the option or eggs or a quesadilla on the same menu.
Brunch is brilliant.
This weekend I had the pleasure of partaking of two delightful brunches with my delightful mother.
First was the hangover cure of a blt and mimosa’s at Delecee’s on Saturday. While munching on fries and sipping our spiked orange juice my mom and I chatted away the late morning early afternoon away without an ounce of guilt.
And then there was the much anticipated boyfriend/mother/daughter brunch on Sunday. After scouring the internet for a brunch place both close to home and appealing in fun brunch options, we opted for Jack’s mainly because they had mango mimosas. My mimosa combined with a crab cake eggs Benedict and amazing company made brunch a hit.
People can hate on the brunch but I know it has to be because don’t have the company I am privileged in keeping… or the stomach for liquor in the a.m.
Brunch is brilliant.
This weekend I had the pleasure of partaking of two delightful brunches with my delightful mother.
First was the hangover cure of a blt and mimosa’s at Delecee’s on Saturday. While munching on fries and sipping our spiked orange juice my mom and I chatted away the late morning early afternoon away without an ounce of guilt.
And then there was the much anticipated boyfriend/mother/daughter brunch on Sunday. After scouring the internet for a brunch place both close to home and appealing in fun brunch options, we opted for Jack’s mainly because they had mango mimosas. My mimosa combined with a crab cake eggs Benedict and amazing company made brunch a hit.
People can hate on the brunch but I know it has to be because don’t have the company I am privileged in keeping… or the stomach for liquor in the a.m.
6.06.2009
First Family Wedding
My generation is getting married. Yesterday my 25-year-old cousin promised the rest of his life to his college girlfriend. They looked young and beautiful and in love and full of unrealistic perfection.
And I mixed wine, vodka and beer at the open bar, leaving my cheeks pink and my eyes unfocused in family photos.
What a difference 2 years can make in a life.
Two years ago my cousin was living in the basement of my aunt’s house looking for a job vowing to never live in Chicago. And now he is married and living in the burbs, ready to start a whole new life.
I have no intention of being married in two years but I do hope in two years I have the capability of completely disregarding my absurd convictions of 23 and committing my life to a promise of happily ever after.
P.S. My head is a wrecking ball.
P.P.S. The suburbs are weird. Like the 1950’s only with smuttier dressed preteens.
And I mixed wine, vodka and beer at the open bar, leaving my cheeks pink and my eyes unfocused in family photos.
What a difference 2 years can make in a life.
Two years ago my cousin was living in the basement of my aunt’s house looking for a job vowing to never live in Chicago. And now he is married and living in the burbs, ready to start a whole new life.
I have no intention of being married in two years but I do hope in two years I have the capability of completely disregarding my absurd convictions of 23 and committing my life to a promise of happily ever after.
P.S. My head is a wrecking ball.
P.P.S. The suburbs are weird. Like the 1950’s only with smuttier dressed preteens.
6.03.2009
Girls Night!
I almost don't want to write about this because this sushi place is the best kept secret in Chicago...but then i remembered that none of you reading actually live in Chicago. So the secret is safe on the internet.
Tonight our new extended group of girls went to Sushi X for Happy Hour. Happy Hour= half price rolls from 5-7 Sunday through Wednesday. Happy Hour also = amazing. For 10 bucks a piece we all got to try almost 10 different rolls of sushi and we all left satisfied.
But more that great sushi, we had an extended group of great girls. OK i'm going to get mushy for a second but it was beautiful to sit at a table of friends, women from all different areas, and talk for 2 hours straight. As someone in the group said it was like sex in the city only in a cooler city, with poorer women who have better fashion sense and more common sense.
In one word it was lovely.
Tonight our new extended group of girls went to Sushi X for Happy Hour. Happy Hour= half price rolls from 5-7 Sunday through Wednesday. Happy Hour also = amazing. For 10 bucks a piece we all got to try almost 10 different rolls of sushi and we all left satisfied.
But more that great sushi, we had an extended group of great girls. OK i'm going to get mushy for a second but it was beautiful to sit at a table of friends, women from all different areas, and talk for 2 hours straight. As someone in the group said it was like sex in the city only in a cooler city, with poorer women who have better fashion sense and more common sense.
In one word it was lovely.
5.31.2009
Let the Festivals Begin: Maifest
Chicago is known for its summer festivals. Starting this weekend through August there is some sort of music festival, art festival, book festival, or just plain drinking festival. I started out strong with a trip to Lincoln Square’s Maifest- the traditional, dance around the Maypole German celebration.
Getting of the el, we could already see the crowd milling around the streets. I stopped at the porter potties first ( I had hydrated in preparation for the sun and beer) and was pleasantly surprised by soap and water when I came out. Maifest is the picture of drunken civility.
After watching some German dancers and the traditional Maypole dance, I started to get a little jealous of all the tipsy revelers around me who had obviously gotten an earlier start than I had. We headed to the stand to get a $10 stein of good German beer. With our plastic souvenir stein in hand, we wandered some more taking in the sights: babies passed out in strollers with beer steins balanced dangerously above them, young people standing in groups taking large gulps of beer, old men and women resting on the sidelines discussing the babies and young people. It was truly a neighborhood event.
After polishing off a stein that rivals the Essen Haus in size, we decided bratwurst, weinersnitzel and sauerkraut would be a great idea. That German beer made us geniuses because it was the most delicious weinernitzel I have ever had, and I have had my share of wienernitzel. With bellies full and heads light, we headed back to the el after a solid 4 hours of German cultural activities.
Our only mistake: stopping at Marshalls on our way home. Drunken shopping= a new pair of cole haans.
5.30.2009
Feminist Revival from Preteens
I did not want to get up with my 8 a.m. alarm today. After getting up daily at 5:30 a.m. Monday through Friday, Saturday is my cherished "sleep til I’m full" day. I love to wake up at 6, look at the clock and roll back over to sleep til my body is so rested it practically begs to get out of bed. Sometimes I wake up at a decent hour but will just lay there in bed, enjoying the luxury of wasting away my morning. Eventually I will get up, make some coffee, maybe go get a bagel and read some New Yorker.
But not today. Today I got up at 8 a.m. By 9:30, I was showered, clothed, bageled, coffee’d and early for my first volunteer day with the nonprofit Girls in the Game. The organization integrates physical health with mental and academic health in girls aged 7-17. It believes the most successful girls are the well-rounded ones who are introduced to a wide variety of sports, skills and activities; it is so basically feminist (equality in body and spirit) that you could almost mistake it for just another after school program. But the program only allows girls to participate and the differences in the girls’ attitudes and behavior is visible. But enough of my feminist kick- you get the idea.
I was almost nervous entering the field house knowing I would be confronted with the effortlessly judgmental gaze of dozens of preteens. The gazes were there but they were more of curious nature than of the vindictive middle school hatred I remember. These girls seemed open and comfortable; it almost seemed like a different world. The older girls in the Varsity Square were preparing to “man” the stations and run the program. As they were running through their itineraries it was had to distinguish between the high school squad members and the staff; everybody seemed so in control and confident- a rare feat for high schoolers. As the program went on I saw the occasional temper tantrum -one third grader who quit after being tagged, another who refused to get in line- but in even these girls were easily redirected and everybody seemed to genuinely enjoy the program.
I don’t want to attribute this amazing transformation in girls strictly to the fact that there were no boys present; the staff was well organized, cohesive and seemed to genuinely excited. However I can not imagine 25 preteen girls and boys gently bouncing tennis balls on a racket in a game of popcorn without seeing a boy whack the ball into some girl’s face. I cannot imagine kids learning fencing without boys playing swords and girls backing away to the sides. I can’t imagine girls leading games without hesitation with boys jostling for the lead.
But these girls didn’t back away, they took the lead and proved that the next generation of women will be stronger, wiser and more powerful. For me it is a realization that made getting up at 8 a.m worth it.
But not today. Today I got up at 8 a.m. By 9:30, I was showered, clothed, bageled, coffee’d and early for my first volunteer day with the nonprofit Girls in the Game. The organization integrates physical health with mental and academic health in girls aged 7-17. It believes the most successful girls are the well-rounded ones who are introduced to a wide variety of sports, skills and activities; it is so basically feminist (equality in body and spirit) that you could almost mistake it for just another after school program. But the program only allows girls to participate and the differences in the girls’ attitudes and behavior is visible. But enough of my feminist kick- you get the idea.
I was almost nervous entering the field house knowing I would be confronted with the effortlessly judgmental gaze of dozens of preteens. The gazes were there but they were more of curious nature than of the vindictive middle school hatred I remember. These girls seemed open and comfortable; it almost seemed like a different world. The older girls in the Varsity Square were preparing to “man” the stations and run the program. As they were running through their itineraries it was had to distinguish between the high school squad members and the staff; everybody seemed so in control and confident- a rare feat for high schoolers. As the program went on I saw the occasional temper tantrum -one third grader who quit after being tagged, another who refused to get in line- but in even these girls were easily redirected and everybody seemed to genuinely enjoy the program.
I don’t want to attribute this amazing transformation in girls strictly to the fact that there were no boys present; the staff was well organized, cohesive and seemed to genuinely excited. However I can not imagine 25 preteen girls and boys gently bouncing tennis balls on a racket in a game of popcorn without seeing a boy whack the ball into some girl’s face. I cannot imagine kids learning fencing without boys playing swords and girls backing away to the sides. I can’t imagine girls leading games without hesitation with boys jostling for the lead.
But these girls didn’t back away, they took the lead and proved that the next generation of women will be stronger, wiser and more powerful. For me it is a realization that made getting up at 8 a.m worth it.
5.27.2009
Smells like Buenos Aires out here
When I stepped outside work today I was hit with the scent of nostalgia. The smoothly paved concrete streets of Chicago smelled like the crumbling cobblestone sidewalks of Buenos Aires. The smell of cigarette smoke and stale urine mixed with the anticipatory sweetness of summer and the freshness of the nearby lake to create an urban elixir that gave my soul a boost of big city energy.
Two years ago I wandered the streets of Buenos Aires, feeling very much an outsider and also very much alive in my own obscurity of la ciudad. Today I walked with direction and conviction through Chicago, feeling like I am home and yet still feeling alive in the comfort of my city and my home.
Two years ago I wandered the streets of Buenos Aires, feeling very much an outsider and also very much alive in my own obscurity of la ciudad. Today I walked with direction and conviction through Chicago, feeling like I am home and yet still feeling alive in the comfort of my city and my home.
5.24.2009
Mafia and Randolph Street Market
The Randolph Street Market was oh so very Chicago and endearing especially because of it's almost mafia esque entrance.
So V and I started our journey to the Randolph Street Market with an adorable free trolley ride to the market from the Water Tower. Quick, easy, free and frickin’ adorable, I want to travel in a trolley every where.
So once there we were about two hours to close. We had read that the last two hours of the market are free but we saw the mass of people exiting the trolley chocking up 10 bucks a piece. We were going to just skip it but we thought we might as well ask, and maybe flash a cheeky smile or two to get in. The following scene is what followed:
N&V: “Hello good sir,” smile smile smile. “We heard from a little bird that the last two hours of your fair market are free to promising patronages.”
Sudennly gruff cashier: “See the guy at the door” said under his breath without looking up.
N&V: “Thank you kindly.” Walk to formidable looking man at door. “Hellow sir, we heard that the last two hours of this fair market are free.”
Market Bouncer: “Where did you hear that.”
N&V: “We read it on your wonderful website.”
Bouncer head nods girls in
No lie. That is how it went down. The mafia has taken over the Randolph Street Market and is charging patrons for the last two hours. Still V and I were pumped we got to wander antiques for two hours for free.
Needless to say, there were antiques, lots of overpriced-I-would-buy-you-if-I-was-richer-and-a-yuppie antiques. And it was fun to peruse old jewelry, furniture and clothing. The dollar muffin from Inteligencia was awesome too. And inside the artists displayed their wares like in the good old days with slightly jacked up prices and a lot of creativity.
It was the perfect start to a summer destined to be filled with beautiful things i can't afford and good times with friends I can't afford to be without!
5.21.2009
Finally! The Modern Wing of the Art Institute Opens!
Before my temporary permanent employment at BMO, I had one gloriously free unemployed week in the freezing snow of January. During that week, I took my lazy unemployed butt to the Art Institute to stand in the midst of centuries of other lazy unemployed but artistic geniuses' work. As I wandered through my favorite European galleries I arrived at the American Contemporary section which while lovely felt incomplete. The large “Work in Progress” sign by the back staircase suggested I was right. The AI was still missing a piece.
For months afterwards when I would visit the museum, I go to the back of the museum with anticipation excepting those juxtaposing “work in progress” signs to me gone, replaced by fulfilling gallery of modern art.
This week I can say it was well worth the wait. The new modern wing opened with much hype last Saturday. Always the pessimist, I went with guarded hopes of seeing a few inspirational pieces. Instead I was greeted with three, yes three, floors of modern art ranging from photography to video to furniture to those odd unclassifiable pieces.
Needless to say I was impressed.
Not only was the wing chocked full of modern art goodness, the wing itself was a work of architectural wonder. Natural light filters into each gallery, sometimes in direct contrast to the harshly cold and modern pieces and sometimes in harmony with more subtle works of photography and paintings. The view includes a span of the almost futuristic Millennium Park and, on my visit to the new wing, the Chase 5K run- very modern indeed. Even from the outside the wing seems to have steel wings welcoming in visitors from the lake.
And for the first week, the gallery was free to peruse! Yes Chicago has corrupt politicians, failing newspapers and a crumbling public transportation system but we do up the art right good!
5.17.2009
City of Villages: Albany Park
Whooops! I haven't really been keeping up with the blog; too busy living my life to write about it which is a lovely feeling indeed. But I am still exploring my new home; determined to find every cheap, good restaurant in the city.
This weekend we traveled to the far reaches of North Chicago to explore the Latino book fair at NE Illinois University. Although the book fair was kind of a bust (unless everybody poops in Spanish is what you are searching for) the neighborhood was cute, almost suburb like; a haven of the middle class 70's lifestyle preserved in Chicago and then surrounded by Mexican restaurants and 5 for 10 buck panty shops. Yes you read right; 5 for 10 bucks.
So after the bust of a book fair, we wandered into a random mexican restaurant and order the staples, tacos, tortas and horchata. It was perfect. After satisfying our mexican food cravings, we enjoyed the walk back in the almost 80 degree sun to the kimball brown line stop.
From kids in tricycles to university quads to cool and quiet mexican restaurants, Albany Park isn't the bustling metropolitan hub that one envisions Chicago to be. It is quite the opposite, a mix of middle class families from all different backgrounds coexisting on the peripheral of the city. awww warm fuzzies.
the albany park public library
This weekend we traveled to the far reaches of North Chicago to explore the Latino book fair at NE Illinois University. Although the book fair was kind of a bust (unless everybody poops in Spanish is what you are searching for) the neighborhood was cute, almost suburb like; a haven of the middle class 70's lifestyle preserved in Chicago and then surrounded by Mexican restaurants and 5 for 10 buck panty shops. Yes you read right; 5 for 10 bucks.
So after the bust of a book fair, we wandered into a random mexican restaurant and order the staples, tacos, tortas and horchata. It was perfect. After satisfying our mexican food cravings, we enjoyed the walk back in the almost 80 degree sun to the kimball brown line stop.
From kids in tricycles to university quads to cool and quiet mexican restaurants, Albany Park isn't the bustling metropolitan hub that one envisions Chicago to be. It is quite the opposite, a mix of middle class families from all different backgrounds coexisting on the peripheral of the city. awww warm fuzzies.
the albany park public library
4.29.2009
Conversation from BMO
Random BMO Employee A: Hey N*&^! Ok did pretty much no one talk to you when you were up here? I thought I was invisible pretty much all morning to everyone but Brenda and Lisa until the people across from me started talking to me a while ago and came to the conclusion that I have the swine flu…delightful. Haha How are things down there?
Random BMO Employee B: Hahahahahah Welcome to 35!
You must be a way more cheery and happy looking person because every third person that walks by is like “looks like you’re having fun.” And I’m like oh don’t you know it sir. I think I got used to people ignoring me and forgot how to keep a fake happy smile on my face.
Give me the swine flu and then I won’t feel bad skipping work!
A: Haha I know I didn’t realize that it would be annoying sitting at that desk until I was sick last week and still had to act cheery saying “Good morning” to everyone when my throat was literally on fire. But it is kind of funny like a lot of people that pass you feel like they have to say something…most times about the weather, which is cool because I never have to check the weather anymore. haha
B:Oh god that is so funny. What are the perks of your temporary position at BMO Capital Markets? Well I never have to check the weather because I get to have banal small talk about the forecast with every 5th person that walks by. Nice. Oh and today there was this creepy uber persistent guy looking for a job who wouldn’t go away until someone came out and took his resume. And then he talked to the poor woman for like an hour. It was pathetic. Oh wait someone is coming need to plaster on a smile J
A: Oh my god, that’s sooo weird I wonder how he even got into the building without an appointment or anything. Do you know who it was that came out and was forced to talk to him? Haha kind of wish I would’ve been there to see that. HAHAHA I told you people are ridic about the paper towels! I love it though that even though they know that I’m the one that stocks everything they will complain to me that there are no paper towels instead of just asking if I could please put out some more. Honestly. Kills me.
B: Yeah there were pretty seriously agitated about it. I guess when you don’t have anything else to be agitate about paper towels become a big deal. Anyway crisis averted! ahahah
Random BMO Employee B: Hahahahahah Welcome to 35!
You must be a way more cheery and happy looking person because every third person that walks by is like “looks like you’re having fun.” And I’m like oh don’t you know it sir. I think I got used to people ignoring me and forgot how to keep a fake happy smile on my face.
Give me the swine flu and then I won’t feel bad skipping work!
A: Haha I know I didn’t realize that it would be annoying sitting at that desk until I was sick last week and still had to act cheery saying “Good morning” to everyone when my throat was literally on fire. But it is kind of funny like a lot of people that pass you feel like they have to say something…most times about the weather, which is cool because I never have to check the weather anymore. haha
B:Oh god that is so funny. What are the perks of your temporary position at BMO Capital Markets? Well I never have to check the weather because I get to have banal small talk about the forecast with every 5th person that walks by. Nice. Oh and today there was this creepy uber persistent guy looking for a job who wouldn’t go away until someone came out and took his resume. And then he talked to the poor woman for like an hour. It was pathetic. Oh wait someone is coming need to plaster on a smile J
A: Oh my god, that’s sooo weird I wonder how he even got into the building without an appointment or anything. Do you know who it was that came out and was forced to talk to him? Haha kind of wish I would’ve been there to see that. HAHAHA I told you people are ridic about the paper towels! I love it though that even though they know that I’m the one that stocks everything they will complain to me that there are no paper towels instead of just asking if I could please put out some more. Honestly. Kills me.
B: Yeah there were pretty seriously agitated about it. I guess when you don’t have anything else to be agitate about paper towels become a big deal. Anyway crisis averted! ahahah
4.26.2009
4.24.2009
Sunny Days make me Panic
Today is gorgeous. I mean high of 85, puffy white clouds that resemble forest creatures in the sky, want to wear a bikini top to work, kind of gorgeous.
I want to enjoy this rare glimpse of perfect weather but instead it reminds me of how long I have been in Chicago. 3 months and counting. Three months with no job progress, no career in sight, and what is most scary… no more of a grasp of what I want to do with my life.
I still think I could be a journalist or a writer or an event planner or a teacher or a business woman or a nonprofit director or a vineyard owner or a stay at home mom. In fact I don’t want to pick one of these things; I want to do them all.
And I hear you mom: just pick one and if you don’t like it move on. But in this economy, to get going you need to put ALL of yourself into one pursuit, into one career path.
I guess the real problem is that I can’t do anything half ass. I can’t just pick a career on the hunch I might like it, I need to know, to feel, that I am going to love it.
Just like this perfect day, I want to make a perfect career, filled with forest creatures and bikini tops.
I want to enjoy this rare glimpse of perfect weather but instead it reminds me of how long I have been in Chicago. 3 months and counting. Three months with no job progress, no career in sight, and what is most scary… no more of a grasp of what I want to do with my life.
I still think I could be a journalist or a writer or an event planner or a teacher or a business woman or a nonprofit director or a vineyard owner or a stay at home mom. In fact I don’t want to pick one of these things; I want to do them all.
And I hear you mom: just pick one and if you don’t like it move on. But in this economy, to get going you need to put ALL of yourself into one pursuit, into one career path.
I guess the real problem is that I can’t do anything half ass. I can’t just pick a career on the hunch I might like it, I need to know, to feel, that I am going to love it.
Just like this perfect day, I want to make a perfect career, filled with forest creatures and bikini tops.
4.21.2009
Oh ironies of irony
Yesterday my boss gave me a single red rose at 8 a.m. to celebrate the start of Administrate Professionals Week. I was asked numerous times if I had won this season of the Bachelor.
Today I was sent to single handedly hand out flyers to every professional in the building. Me, the administrative assistant, was sent to give flyers to my professionals that basically instructed said professionals to say thank you to admins aka me. Needless to say I got more than one slightly sarcastic thank you very much.
If the object of Administrative Professional Week is to humiliate and patronize your admins then BMO by all means succeeds. Here’s another shout out to Corporate Canada!
Side note: Floor 9 makes me understand why people drink at work. I’m pretty sure one woman was drunk because she kind of teetered and paused before stepping to the side to make room for me in the labyrinth of 9. Also gay men make 9 more bearable. Thank you gay men for complimenting me on my ability to match my outfit to the flyer I was handing out.
Today I was sent to single handedly hand out flyers to every professional in the building. Me, the administrative assistant, was sent to give flyers to my professionals that basically instructed said professionals to say thank you to admins aka me. Needless to say I got more than one slightly sarcastic thank you very much.
If the object of Administrative Professional Week is to humiliate and patronize your admins then BMO by all means succeeds. Here’s another shout out to Corporate Canada!
Side note: Floor 9 makes me understand why people drink at work. I’m pretty sure one woman was drunk because she kind of teetered and paused before stepping to the side to make room for me in the labyrinth of 9. Also gay men make 9 more bearable. Thank you gay men for complimenting me on my ability to match my outfit to the flyer I was handing out.
4.19.2009
Girls’ Night turns into Girls’ Hangover turns into Beautiful Girls’ Weekend
Admit it girls: We love a good girls’ nights out.
I’ll admit it. Occasionally I like to set down my well-worn copy of La Femme Mystique and go out on the town without one single feminist thought in my head.
I like to spend 2 hours getting gushied up: putting on 3 coats of eyeliner, teasing the crap out of my hair and stuffing myself into too small shoes/pants/dresses. I love going to the club and dancing like no one is watching but really knowing everyone is watching. I even love having the occasional cherry-topped drink bought for me. Sometimes it’s nice to embrace every single societal constructed stereotype of what it is to be a girl.
But what is even better than these hairspray filled nights are the chill girls’ weekend to follow. It is nice to wake up in your besty’s bed, with crazy cat curled up between your legs, and even crazier hair haloing your make-up smeared face. Yes it is nice to wake up a mess and not bother to fix it.
And after lounging around in borrowed pj’s for an hour and looking through the progressively drunker photos, it is perfect to throw on a skirt and a tank top and wander the suddenly summery streets of Chicago. After a Jamba Juice, followed by a massive coffee, mutual hangovers seem to disappear or at least fade and then of course the shopping is on.
What is amazing about girls and shopping, is it doesn’t matter if you actually find what you are looking for. Shopping is the journey not the destination. So after minimal purchases, it is lovely when our lunch “break” turns into a two hour long life conversations on the steps outside Chicago’s most adorable Italian café.
And how else could this perfect girls’ weekend end? Well only with dinner of amazing all organic and local appetizers at Uncommon Ground and the comedy show “Cupid Gets a Heart On” at the IO theater of course.
Yup girls weekend in Chicago is like life with a cherry on top.
4.17.2009
Welcome the Return of Spring, Cheeriness and Non-Transparent Legs
Having lived in the Midwest my whole life, I often consider friendliness to be next to godliness. This 11th commandment of the upper Midwest goes beyond the indifference other regions call cordiality; it includes genuinely caring about the happiness of your city-mates, your region-mates, and genuinely anyone sharing this lovely planet with you.
For example, EL riders often bless sneezers, give up seats to wearied looking individuals and strike up conversations ranging from Blago to the new voiceovers on the CTA. In elevators people will tell you about the best long underwear, what fabric they are made of and where to find them for 40% off. On the sidewalk people will say hi, let you pet their dogs and give direction in such great detail they’ve walked you halfway to your destination by the time they are done.
I like to think this overt cheer is a natural Midwest trait and if it wasn’t also a natural Midwest trait to be humble, I would brag about it- especially to LA’ers.
But for the past few weeks the April blizzard followed by the April hail storm followed by a week of miserable cold seemed to freeze the time-honored tradition of niceties. On Monday a guy actually stepped on a foot on the EL and only offered me a grunted sorry instead of the customary foot massage with essential oils.
But with today’s high expected to hit 70 it appears the good will of Chicagoans has returned. Today I saw a guy hold the door to the el for rushing early morning suits, the RedEye lady “hoped I had a great day” and a juice delivery guy gave a traffic controller a free juice to start her morning.
Each little kind act of Midwestern friendliness added a little warmth to my heart on this already warming day. Awww cheesy.
My theory is that the Midwest is so frickin’ nice for two reasons. A) In the winter, you have to be nice to survive. You never know when you might need another warm body for heat. B) In the summer you are so relieved to survive the winter you just want to share you love with everyone until winter swallows you again.
I’m glad we are moving in B section of our niceties because honestly my legs were becoming translucent, and that just aint hott.
For example, EL riders often bless sneezers, give up seats to wearied looking individuals and strike up conversations ranging from Blago to the new voiceovers on the CTA. In elevators people will tell you about the best long underwear, what fabric they are made of and where to find them for 40% off. On the sidewalk people will say hi, let you pet their dogs and give direction in such great detail they’ve walked you halfway to your destination by the time they are done.
I like to think this overt cheer is a natural Midwest trait and if it wasn’t also a natural Midwest trait to be humble, I would brag about it- especially to LA’ers.
But for the past few weeks the April blizzard followed by the April hail storm followed by a week of miserable cold seemed to freeze the time-honored tradition of niceties. On Monday a guy actually stepped on a foot on the EL and only offered me a grunted sorry instead of the customary foot massage with essential oils.
But with today’s high expected to hit 70 it appears the good will of Chicagoans has returned. Today I saw a guy hold the door to the el for rushing early morning suits, the RedEye lady “hoped I had a great day” and a juice delivery guy gave a traffic controller a free juice to start her morning.
Each little kind act of Midwestern friendliness added a little warmth to my heart on this already warming day. Awww cheesy.
My theory is that the Midwest is so frickin’ nice for two reasons. A) In the winter, you have to be nice to survive. You never know when you might need another warm body for heat. B) In the summer you are so relieved to survive the winter you just want to share you love with everyone until winter swallows you again.
I’m glad we are moving in B section of our niceties because honestly my legs were becoming translucent, and that just aint hott.
4.14.2009
SO to Dinner Dates in Lakeview
Shout Out to Lakeview for rockin’ with the amazing dinner date spots.
Tonight HB impressed the hell out of me. Not only did the soft shelled crab make me believe again in the power of sea food, the BYOB’s waiter discreetly refilled glasses every 10 minutes and patiently explained all our amazing menu options. To top it all off was a chocolate cake so delicious you didn’t want to swallow.
Oh and the company wasn’t bad either ;)
Tonight HB impressed the hell out of me. Not only did the soft shelled crab make me believe again in the power of sea food, the BYOB’s waiter discreetly refilled glasses every 10 minutes and patiently explained all our amazing menu options. To top it all off was a chocolate cake so delicious you didn’t want to swallow.
Oh and the company wasn’t bad either ;)
4.12.2009
A weekend in Geeb to remind me why I moved to Chicago
Going back home to Green Bay for the weekend is like going to a High School reunion; everybody is there- or at least everybody was at Stirups- the divey country western dance bar in “downtown.” Now listen I’m not dumping on Stirups- I love the dives and I love 3.50 rum and cokes- but sometimes you just don’t need to see your entire graduating class…especially when drunk.
Green Bay just reminds me of what I don’t want. I don’t want a downtown that consists of three blocks; I don’t want drunk driving to be permissible and a daily occurrence; I don’t want to correct gay jokes every 5 minutes; I don’t want to live in my past; I don’t want cheese heads to be acceptable club gear (just kidding on that one).
What I want is to make Chicago home and bring along the best of green bay- like china kitchen, los banditos hot sauce, the packers, karvana, my old yoga studio, and of course the besty.
4.07.2009
Kafka + SmittenKitchen.com + Kate’s kitchen utensils = perfect Tuesday night dinner
I have been in a bit of a cooking frenzy lately that I’m going to blame on the depressingly cold weather outside. My body has been tricked into thinking winter is coming again and therefore I must gain 10 pounds by eating as many baked good as possible.
Thus far I have made scones, cookies and quiche and I’m not looking to stop anytime soon. Tonight’s menu included an avocado/strawberry salad and empanadas, made from a recipe from my new favorite website smittenkitchen.com.
V and I started out the night with a bottle of Malbec – the gloriously non-bitter red wine from Argentina. After drinking a glass of wine a little too fast, I started talking too much and cooking too little. But and hour and a half later, our golden brown beef empanadas were gloriously fragrant and ready to be dunked in tapatio sauce.
Chicago is brimming with so many remarkable restaurants, it can be hard to avoid the temptation of an easy dinner out. But after putting an hour’s worth a finger tip endangering work into a meal, it was perfect to sit down with the besty and consume the object of our labor.
So thank you Kafka’s Wine on Halsted for some smooth wine, smittenkitchen for supplying recipes I would never try unless you made them look so easy, kate for having the best god damn kitchen utensils in Chicago and V for being the besty.
BMO April Update
I have noticed that the majority of my posts focus on the weekend. This is because i don't have a real life during the week. What I have Monday through Friday is BMO; I have waking up at 5:30 a.m., sitting at a desk where phones don't ring, waiting for lunch, trying to remember subways lunch specials (is Tuesday the meatball sub special?), slight afternoon coffee buzz, and then counting down the minutes til 4. This is not life; this is life's suicide.
But I do have occasional moments of pathetic hilarity to keep me going. So without further delay, let me entertain you with stories from the dark abyss.
1) I stayed up late last night making cookies for the IT guys in my new department only to discover this morning that 1 was diabetic, 1 was on a diet and the other "just doesn't really care for sweets."
2) I spend the majority of my time looking for new jobs at my current job. One posting for an administrative assistant for "A Reputable Company."
3) The highlight of my week was rearranging my new desk.
4) The lady behind me who once yelled at me for talking about "personal matters" after work hours in the cubes, daily calls to make hair, nail and other "grooming" appointments. And note she does this during office hours. Yeah personal my not perfectly bronzed butt.
But I do have occasional moments of pathetic hilarity to keep me going. So without further delay, let me entertain you with stories from the dark abyss.
1) I stayed up late last night making cookies for the IT guys in my new department only to discover this morning that 1 was diabetic, 1 was on a diet and the other "just doesn't really care for sweets."
2) I spend the majority of my time looking for new jobs at my current job. One posting for an administrative assistant for "A Reputable Company."
3) The highlight of my week was rearranging my new desk.
4) The lady behind me who once yelled at me for talking about "personal matters" after work hours in the cubes, daily calls to make hair, nail and other "grooming" appointments. And note she does this during office hours. Yeah personal my not perfectly bronzed butt.
4.06.2009
Blizzards in April: Not OK
I was OK with winter in Chicago. Really I was. Moving to the windy city, you have to accept that snow is going to fly up your nose on a weekly basis. But then you get a 60 degree day, spring is officially passed on the calendar and you can let your summer fantasies start...only to have the dashed by a friggin' blizzard in April.
For real, yesterday there was hail, sleet, and frickin' snow that left all of Chicago covered with a depressingly disgusting layer of slush. And with that all my spring resolutions were dampened.
So i'm now i'm back in my oversized sweats, eating pepperoni pizza and raw cookie dough, my eff you to chicago winter.
For real, yesterday there was hail, sleet, and frickin' snow that left all of Chicago covered with a depressingly disgusting layer of slush. And with that all my spring resolutions were dampened.
So i'm now i'm back in my oversized sweats, eating pepperoni pizza and raw cookie dough, my eff you to chicago winter.
4.05.2009
Sunday Night Fever: Comedy at a Dive Bar
I have found my dive bar and it is called: The Town Hall Pub. It is the only straight bar in boystown and lives up to that rep with old bar stools, bad lighting and after Sunday's hail fest, a leaky roof.
It also has some great beers on tap, some cool bartenders and free comdedy on sunday nights. Not only was this Sunday Julia, the kick-ass tatooed bartneder's birthday, but it was also host comedian's birthday, which meant every one knew everyone, everyone had been drunk with everyone and everyone intended to get to know everyone else even better by getting drunk and drunker.
Which, with 7 dollar pitchers, equaled a hilarious night. From pussy jokes to bush jokes to vagina jokes, the comedians didn't even attempt to keep it clean. At one point I helped the drunk host out of her new birthday dress and on to the stage so she could tell yet another "cum guzzler" joke. I didn't even know you could combine those words.
I may have had 1 too many pitchers and heard 8 too many words for vagina, but I have found my drinking stool away from home.
4.03.2009
First Fridays: meh...
Let's just say i had a lot of expectations for the Museum of Contemporary Arts First Friday event. I had an outfit with my new cole haan's planned. I had an empty stomach ready for Wolfgang Puck appetizers. And I was pumped to mingle with some of Chicago's finest young people.
Instead I was perched on my too big 3 1/2 inch heels, trying to eloquently eat less-than-gourmet salad, rice and chicken legs , while talking to an old friend from Madison who doesn't even live in the city.
No not what I imagined.
As promised there was a DJ, although no one was dancing. And there was the much publicized dating personality test, although it was bogus ( I am soooo not charismatic blue). And of course, there were plenty of spiffy looking young Chicagoans, all of who seemed to stuck up to talk to anyone besides their immediate circle.
Seriously not what I imagined.
But despite my feet killing me, it was fun to mingle amomng art work, peruse possible prospects from the balcony and pretend to be a young up and coming professional for the night. At least for the night, gritting through my pinky blisters, i looked like i had my shit together.
Instead I was perched on my too big 3 1/2 inch heels, trying to eloquently eat less-than-gourmet salad, rice and chicken legs , while talking to an old friend from Madison who doesn't even live in the city.
No not what I imagined.
As promised there was a DJ, although no one was dancing. And there was the much publicized dating personality test, although it was bogus ( I am soooo not charismatic blue). And of course, there were plenty of spiffy looking young Chicagoans, all of who seemed to stuck up to talk to anyone besides their immediate circle.
Seriously not what I imagined.
But despite my feet killing me, it was fun to mingle amomng art work, peruse possible prospects from the balcony and pretend to be a young up and coming professional for the night. At least for the night, gritting through my pinky blisters, i looked like i had my shit together.
Sometimes you need a little French in the morning
This morning as I was about to put my French roast coffee packet into the Coffee Express machine, I realized it was actually French Vanilla. Se la vi, I popped it in and enjoyed the sweet scents wafting up. Hmmmmm the French do everything better....
Including exporting their sexy accent to the French Canadians. Today the phones went out on M&A requiring a call at 7:30 in the morning to ComTel. I was greeted by a perky lady speaking french to whom I responded "Are you speaking French or do I just need to drink my morning coffee." Although she didn't find me amusing she did transfer me to Adam or Ad-um.
Let me just tell you that an hour call trying to fix the phone system is totally worth it when you are entertained by a french accent and little outburst in rapid french.
So just one obvious questions: Why are Canadians plauged with that awful extra vowel accent while their lovely neighbors monopolize all the sexy?
3.27.2009
WORST. INTERVIEW. EVER. = New City of Villages- Logan Square Edition.
Craigslist says Marketing. Real people say door-to-door sales.
Today I learned an important lesson in Craigslist job hunting; the word marketing can be used loosely, very loosely, maybe even to describe the ridiculously obnoxious practice of door to door sales.
So when I told everybody yesterday that I had an all day interview with a marketing company, I should have said, I will be spending 8 hours tomorrow walking around Logan Square in my best suit trying to get people to switch to Quill office supplies…and not getting paid for it.
So needless to say, I did not take the door-to-door sales job because a) I sucked at it and b) it paid less than temp work. But in the spirit of bright sides, silver linings and trying to stay sweet in this bitter world, I did get the chance to discover a new neighborhood.
Logan Square is not the type of neighborhood you can “discover” at night, mainly because of the danger of falling into man-sized pot holes. It is not trendy *yet* and it is probably not the safest neighborhood, judging by the fact that you have to buzz to get into the yoga studio. However, it does have some kick-ass looking Mexican restaurants, including one where a 60 year old borracho tried to seduce me with his mustache.
There are also plenty of tiendas selling everything from pasteles to custom made leather vests. Plus Logan Square is home to cheapest theater in town with tickets for month old blockbusters going for 3 bucks. I may never want to live there, but during the safety of daylight hours, Logan Square was just divey enough for me.
So although my feet are killing me, my grey suit is in desperate need of dry cleaning and I didn’t get paid today, I needed this day to remind me that at least temp work doesn’t require you to have your tetanus shot up to date.
Plus I got free pizza. Niiiiice.
Today I learned an important lesson in Craigslist job hunting; the word marketing can be used loosely, very loosely, maybe even to describe the ridiculously obnoxious practice of door to door sales.
So when I told everybody yesterday that I had an all day interview with a marketing company, I should have said, I will be spending 8 hours tomorrow walking around Logan Square in my best suit trying to get people to switch to Quill office supplies…and not getting paid for it.
So needless to say, I did not take the door-to-door sales job because a) I sucked at it and b) it paid less than temp work. But in the spirit of bright sides, silver linings and trying to stay sweet in this bitter world, I did get the chance to discover a new neighborhood.
Logan Square is not the type of neighborhood you can “discover” at night, mainly because of the danger of falling into man-sized pot holes. It is not trendy *yet* and it is probably not the safest neighborhood, judging by the fact that you have to buzz to get into the yoga studio. However, it does have some kick-ass looking Mexican restaurants, including one where a 60 year old borracho tried to seduce me with his mustache.
There are also plenty of tiendas selling everything from pasteles to custom made leather vests. Plus Logan Square is home to cheapest theater in town with tickets for month old blockbusters going for 3 bucks. I may never want to live there, but during the safety of daylight hours, Logan Square was just divey enough for me.
So although my feet are killing me, my grey suit is in desperate need of dry cleaning and I didn’t get paid today, I needed this day to remind me that at least temp work doesn’t require you to have your tetanus shot up to date.
Plus I got free pizza. Niiiiice.
3.23.2009
Office Space: the Canadian Version
I sincerely apologize to all my friends and family that had to endure my complaints about temping on the stress infested 35th floor. Sure 35 is home to some prim donnas and napoleons of M&A. Sure I hate having my name forgotten and my ego busted. Sure I occasionally want to jump out the glorious huge windows overlooking the trade center. But at least I feel something, at least 35 inspires some emotion for my pathetic excuse of an 8 hour work day.
But today working on a floor that I never knew existed, for a group whose acronym I can’t define I realize what a blessing even angst can be. Today I am sitting in a beige cubicle surrounded by an ocean of other beige cubicles. There are sings that say “focused work session in progress,” charts of workplace goals, warnings of the danger of carpel tunnel and worst of all beanie babies slumped on top of computers. It is the sad Canadian version of Office Space, without the breaks of flair and merry squirrels. And it evokes no emotion besides exhaustion, even after a large coffee.
Maybe it is the grey skies outside, the strain of the constant buzz of city life or just remnants of last weekend’s hang over but today life in the city does seem exciting or invigorating, but instead numbing and counter productive.
This morning I read an article in the New York Times about dairy farmers in danger of losing their creamery because of the greed of a business man. (http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/23/us/23land.html?_r=1&pagewanted=2&ref=us)
The story was tear jerking, heart warming and every other clichéd, over simplified emotion one person can feel but it also seemed more real than this life in a cubicle. The farmer was producing tangible good in exchange for real money. It made me want to move to a dairy farm up north. Actually I’ve been to a dairy far up north…so it made me want to move to an orchard in Vermont or a vineyard in North Carolina.
Really the article made me want to do something real and tangible with this very real and tangible life of mine before it turns into something that can be speculated, traded or discounted. In want to do something real with my life before I end up smashing a copy machine in the middle of a field.
3.22.2009
3.17.2009
300 dollar hair cuts- Ummm no thanks
There was an article in RedEye today about people “trimming” (hahaha-punny) their haircut budgets. African American women are choosing to forgo 100 dollar relaxing treatments and go au natural and other women are doing self trims. And then there is the gold coast residing “I just got a promotion” business lady who spends 300 buck on her hair cut. Seriously 300 bucks! In any economy that is ridiculous.
I have been known to be thrifty in my day. I even got my much coveted cole haan heels for 70% off. My hairs benefit from this thriftiness as well thanks to my recent discovery of salonapprentice.com (cred to viks on that one). Although the majority of these places are looking for people willing to make “dramatic” changes to their styles or people that are miraculously free on Mondays at 10:30 a.m., there are also a good chunk of apprentices at top salons who are offering 20 dollar hair cuts in 100 dollar salons.
Last Friday I gave my first apprentice a whirl and even if I had to endure some intense and almost painful small talk, I got a great hair cut with Aveda products for a mere 23 bucks. Even in the “big city” big deals are possible.
I have been known to be thrifty in my day. I even got my much coveted cole haan heels for 70% off. My hairs benefit from this thriftiness as well thanks to my recent discovery of salonapprentice.com (cred to viks on that one). Although the majority of these places are looking for people willing to make “dramatic” changes to their styles or people that are miraculously free on Mondays at 10:30 a.m., there are also a good chunk of apprentices at top salons who are offering 20 dollar hair cuts in 100 dollar salons.
Last Friday I gave my first apprentice a whirl and even if I had to endure some intense and almost painful small talk, I got a great hair cut with Aveda products for a mere 23 bucks. Even in the “big city” big deals are possible.
3.15.2009
News Flash: Irishmen Prefer Chicago to Ireland on St. Patty’s Day
Friday night, in the spirit of St. Patty’s day or more importantly $3 Fat Tires, my visiting vbf (very best friend- thanks Judy Blume) and I headed to the Dark Horse. After a heaping plate of fish and chips and a cold pint or two, we noticed a group of young blue eyed men examining a black t-shirt they had just received. The shirt read “I just got proper head” and was oh so cleverly advertising an ale brand. Of course I was immediately jealous of the tacky shirt and tried to bribe it off of them. But they insisted on clinging to their prized American souveneir. After examining passports and confirming that they were indeed Irish and not just inflicted with a speech impediment, we began discussing the St. Patty’s day tradition and why these 4 young Irish men were gracing us with their presence instead of partying it up in Ireland.
Apparently the two best places to be on St. Patty’s day is Japan or more specifically Tokyo or the U.S. particularly Chicago. What little celebrating Ireland does was apparently imported from Irish American returning to their motherland and is a rather watered down version of an American St. Patty’s day. There are no green rivers, flashing beads or dyed beer. On the other hand, the copious amount of drinking Americans do on St. Patty’s day is “just another day at the Pub” for the alcohol resistant Irish.
So in the spirit of sharing cultures, the Irish men made us drink a Guinness, which was more filling that the fish and chips, and we made them “taint” their precious Guinness with an Irish car bomb. At the end of the night, although one party may have been slightly more tanked than the other, both had experienced a piece of life on the other side of the pond and I had the headache in the morning to prove it.
Apparently the two best places to be on St. Patty’s day is Japan or more specifically Tokyo or the U.S. particularly Chicago. What little celebrating Ireland does was apparently imported from Irish American returning to their motherland and is a rather watered down version of an American St. Patty’s day. There are no green rivers, flashing beads or dyed beer. On the other hand, the copious amount of drinking Americans do on St. Patty’s day is “just another day at the Pub” for the alcohol resistant Irish.
So in the spirit of sharing cultures, the Irish men made us drink a Guinness, which was more filling that the fish and chips, and we made them “taint” their precious Guinness with an Irish car bomb. At the end of the night, although one party may have been slightly more tanked than the other, both had experienced a piece of life on the other side of the pond and I had the headache in the morning to prove it.
3.08.2009
RAIN
When it rains hard in the city, the intersection of Belmont and Halsted floods. Pedestrians must try to be super heros and either leaps over the puddles or quickly dive through traffic to avoid being ankle deep in mucky grey rain water. Sometimes it doesn’t seem worth the effort. And maybe it’s not. Maybe rainy days are Mother Nature’s ways of giving us an out, of giving us an excuse to lay in bed all day, listen to the thunder and read the New Yorker.
Sometimes in the city, you need a good hard rain to remind you of who you are and why God invented beds.
Sometimes in the city, you need a good hard rain to remind you of who you are and why God invented beds.
3.05.2009
Artsy Fartsy City Life
My dad is a straight-forward, black-and-white, “What the hell is a baguette?! That is a roll,” type of guy. And while he is thrilled I moved to Chicago (mainly because I moved out of my old room in geeb), he doesn’t really have much appreciation for what he calls the artsy fartsy city life. He doesn’t see the relevance of wandering through rooms filled with century old still lives, public art is a waste of his hard-earned tax dollars and the only time he has been in a theater in the past decade was to listen to his beloved UW Marching Band. This is not to say he is totally devoid of culture- I mean he watched Larry the Cable guy with passion and vigor- he just likes his culture in small whitewashed and apparently odorless non artsy fartsy ways.
But the more I explore this city, the more I am finding while I may come from a non paris Hilton simple-life, small town background, I am quite fond of the big city arting, which I have found very rarely goes with the big city farting. And this city makes it exceedingly easy as well.
First there is the Evard Munch exhib for a breezy 10 bucks at the Art Institute. For 10 bucks I got to stand in line for an hour with other art loving people (or actually cut in front of hour waiting art loving people) and then wander the life of Norway’s most famous artists. I learned he was not entirely the mad man he molded himself to be but actually a man reflecting much of the madness of urban life.
From his misogynistic view of women as sex sucking vampires to his more Van Gogh-like serene beach images, Munch’s talent while not always 100% original explains the wide range of urban emotions from light to dark. Man I could totally write one of those little wall plaquey things.
Second there was First Thursdays, a night for poor people (read just graduated and spend too much of alcohol people). It used to be First Fridays and include appetizers and drinks but this was obviously a bit too tempting to aforementioned poor people. So the appetizers were stripped but the galleries left stocked with local talent. Although it was a bit awkward to wander through some small galleries with price tags the size of my first car (or two of my baby geo prisms), some of the larger exhibits made the awkward silences worth it. I would endure no less than 5 silent galleries to just experience the “American Teenager” exibit complete with a drag queen story, a Hasidic jew’s view on life and a young lesbian couple’s struggle with being 17.
And finally there are free Tuesdays at MCA. In addition to events like Stitch and Bitch and Bingo Tango, you can also wander the smaller museum for free. Although I think my favorite was the wall of vagina clouds, there are also great temporary video installations and artists from across the globe. MCA also hosts a variety of lectures and talks throughout the month, that help me feel like I’m still capable of learning even though I graduated.
Chicago’s art scene may not be made for the sittin’ on the porch with a beer and a shotgun type (not exaggerating- love you pops) or for anybody that refers to art as “fartsy” but it is made for the too poor to pay to yuppy to stay home types aka ME.
But the more I explore this city, the more I am finding while I may come from a non paris Hilton simple-life, small town background, I am quite fond of the big city arting, which I have found very rarely goes with the big city farting. And this city makes it exceedingly easy as well.
First there is the Evard Munch exhib for a breezy 10 bucks at the Art Institute. For 10 bucks I got to stand in line for an hour with other art loving people (or actually cut in front of hour waiting art loving people) and then wander the life of Norway’s most famous artists. I learned he was not entirely the mad man he molded himself to be but actually a man reflecting much of the madness of urban life.
From his misogynistic view of women as sex sucking vampires to his more Van Gogh-like serene beach images, Munch’s talent while not always 100% original explains the wide range of urban emotions from light to dark. Man I could totally write one of those little wall plaquey things.
Second there was First Thursdays, a night for poor people (read just graduated and spend too much of alcohol people). It used to be First Fridays and include appetizers and drinks but this was obviously a bit too tempting to aforementioned poor people. So the appetizers were stripped but the galleries left stocked with local talent. Although it was a bit awkward to wander through some small galleries with price tags the size of my first car (or two of my baby geo prisms), some of the larger exhibits made the awkward silences worth it. I would endure no less than 5 silent galleries to just experience the “American Teenager” exibit complete with a drag queen story, a Hasidic jew’s view on life and a young lesbian couple’s struggle with being 17.
And finally there are free Tuesdays at MCA. In addition to events like Stitch and Bitch and Bingo Tango, you can also wander the smaller museum for free. Although I think my favorite was the wall of vagina clouds, there are also great temporary video installations and artists from across the globe. MCA also hosts a variety of lectures and talks throughout the month, that help me feel like I’m still capable of learning even though I graduated.
Chicago’s art scene may not be made for the sittin’ on the porch with a beer and a shotgun type (not exaggerating- love you pops) or for anybody that refers to art as “fartsy” but it is made for the too poor to pay to yuppy to stay home types aka ME.
3.03.2009
OH BMO: March Updates
I know I bitch and moan daily about BMO and yes it does deserve the majority of it but I thought I should start keeping track of some of my favorite BMO moments for prosperity’s sake.
1) On the super bowl lottery, one professional put in 2 dollars and won the whole 75 dollars. His colleague goes “Man that’s some return.” Then winks and punches him in the shoulder. If you can’t laugh at that what can you?
2) “Stealing” food after a meeting was done even though I wasn’t hungry, then eating it fast before anyone saw me and then getting a stomach ache. Yes it was stupid but I just have to get every possible thing I can free from this company.
3) Employees constantly making references to Office Space, and being serious. This includes the stapler on the desk I am temping at that reads “I do believe you have my stapler.”
I can laugh because it is temporary and not my life but otherwise I would cry, and then laugh and then throw my stapler at someone’s head.
3/12 Updates
4) FIRE DRILLS! First fire drills are the great equalizer. There is no way a Managing Director can maintain the intimidation factor when trying to balance a blackberry and a coffee all while stuffed into a stairwell with the lowely temps. Plus I love watching CEO's being lectured by fire men.
5) Hilarity = when CEOs fart while walking by you and pretend it wasn't them. I'm sorry but i know nothing that foul comes out of me.
3/16
6) One of the MD's: “That’s odd because he’s usually always has his lips in the right place.”
3/20
7) 24/ 7 News for 8 hour days. Ridic. There is a T.V. in reception where I am temping this week. My duties at the desk include turning the T.V. on when I arrive at 8:30 a.m. and turning it off when I leave at 4:30 p.m. That means 8 news-filled hours fill my day; that much cable news makes one realize what a joke 24/7 news really it. TV anchors analyzed everything from the McCain “catfight” to whether Obama is funny or not. Just proves that cable news should only be taken in 15 minute increments.
1) On the super bowl lottery, one professional put in 2 dollars and won the whole 75 dollars. His colleague goes “Man that’s some return.” Then winks and punches him in the shoulder. If you can’t laugh at that what can you?
2) “Stealing” food after a meeting was done even though I wasn’t hungry, then eating it fast before anyone saw me and then getting a stomach ache. Yes it was stupid but I just have to get every possible thing I can free from this company.
3) Employees constantly making references to Office Space, and being serious. This includes the stapler on the desk I am temping at that reads “I do believe you have my stapler.”
I can laugh because it is temporary and not my life but otherwise I would cry, and then laugh and then throw my stapler at someone’s head.
3/12 Updates
4) FIRE DRILLS! First fire drills are the great equalizer. There is no way a Managing Director can maintain the intimidation factor when trying to balance a blackberry and a coffee all while stuffed into a stairwell with the lowely temps. Plus I love watching CEO's being lectured by fire men.
5) Hilarity = when CEOs fart while walking by you and pretend it wasn't them. I'm sorry but i know nothing that foul comes out of me.
3/16
6) One of the MD's: “That’s odd because he’s usually always has his lips in the right place.”
3/20
7) 24/ 7 News for 8 hour days. Ridic. There is a T.V. in reception where I am temping this week. My duties at the desk include turning the T.V. on when I arrive at 8:30 a.m. and turning it off when I leave at 4:30 p.m. That means 8 news-filled hours fill my day; that much cable news makes one realize what a joke 24/7 news really it. TV anchors analyzed everything from the McCain “catfight” to whether Obama is funny or not. Just proves that cable news should only be taken in 15 minute increments.
2.27.2009
City of Villages: Andersonville, the other Gay Kingdom
This Thursday I traveled from my home gaydom to the opposite gaydom. I only had to travel 15 minutes due north on the Halsted bus to reach Andersonville, home of the less glittery, better basketball playing gays. My mission was a cheap bikini wax but the journey turned out to be a far greater reward.
First there was the bus filled with the most random smattering of people I have ever seen including a dread locked hippy, a sober faced Hispanic worker, a young professional man in a great suit, a rather beefed up young lady, and one guy trying to take subtle swigs of vodka from a small plastic bottle.
Then there was the neighborhood. With large stamps into the cement on all the corners reading Andersonville there was no doubting where I was. There were occasional rainbow sightings, of course not as prevalent at in Boystown and not any in the phallic form. In general the area was a little dingy like it was wearing an old thin coat of gray. With a plethora of bars and restaurants, it reminded me of a cheaper, older, less obvious boystown. In short it felt like home.
Then there was the wax: 25 bucks, including a threading of the details and some super cool smelling lotion. It was a steal especially considering Sonia the waxist gave me neighborhood tips the whole time. Definitely worth the trip to Andersonville!
Finally the way back I noticed all the hidden gems: little wine shops, less sketchy looking Mexican restaurants and a bar that showed the L word on Sunday nights.
In short it’s not the pretties of neighborhoods but definitely has those gems every Chicagoian dreams of finding.
First there was the bus filled with the most random smattering of people I have ever seen including a dread locked hippy, a sober faced Hispanic worker, a young professional man in a great suit, a rather beefed up young lady, and one guy trying to take subtle swigs of vodka from a small plastic bottle.
Then there was the neighborhood. With large stamps into the cement on all the corners reading Andersonville there was no doubting where I was. There were occasional rainbow sightings, of course not as prevalent at in Boystown and not any in the phallic form. In general the area was a little dingy like it was wearing an old thin coat of gray. With a plethora of bars and restaurants, it reminded me of a cheaper, older, less obvious boystown. In short it felt like home.
Then there was the wax: 25 bucks, including a threading of the details and some super cool smelling lotion. It was a steal especially considering Sonia the waxist gave me neighborhood tips the whole time. Definitely worth the trip to Andersonville!
Finally the way back I noticed all the hidden gems: little wine shops, less sketchy looking Mexican restaurants and a bar that showed the L word on Sunday nights.
In short it’s not the pretties of neighborhoods but definitely has those gems every Chicagoian dreams of finding.
2.25.2009
Memorial Day Make-Shift BBQ
Coming from Wisconsin- land where it snows on Memorial Day- I should have been prepared for a weather disaster today. After a weekend of glorious sun-filled weekend, we held out high hopes that we would be able to bbq today. But today came in dreary and chilly; the weather completely disregarded our Memorial Day grill out plans.
So time for my Chicago Memorial Day back up plan: Chicago style dogs at the nearest hot dog stand... which was closed. Ok, on we went to the next nearest hot dog stand with the best fries and a server that will tell you about each of his children’s numerous accomplishments...closed. No MIT success stories to make me feel under accomplished today.
So the back up to the back up plan is to wander Broadway. Wander we did until we saw some faint florescent lights coming from a basement restaurant named Flub a Dub Chub’s. Hungry and hankerin’ for a decent dog, we entered. With Star Wars playing on the TV and little tables scattered around the checker tiled floor, we knew we had hit gold.
The Flub a Dub Chub Chicago style dog was perfect: snappy skin, puffy bun, fresh toppings and all with a batch of hot fries and a rootbeer. Thank you Midwest Spring for forcing me to explore the basements open on Memorial Day and finding a new favorite hot dog stand.
2.24.2009
First Fight
Chicago you are windy. You are excessively windy; windy in a “slap me hard across the face when I’m down” way, not in the “sway on a porch swing with dandelions in our hair” way. I know you are the windy city. I know it is your nature to be windy but it is pissing me off.
You mess up my hair, you swirl dirt into my face and you flip my umbrella inside out- none of which is adorably playful but instead rude and disheartening.
Chicago, I know you want to play big city. You want to be rough and tough and play with the big boys like NY and LA but you are a simple one name city; you cannot abbreviate your name to some cool douche two letters. That just isn’t you.
So how about, Chicago, you stop pretending to be the in-your-face, money-driven, power-hungry, graffiti-covered, material goods coveting, sailor-swearing asshole and start being a hello-on-the-street, beer-drinkin’, Levi-wearin’, CTA ridin’, public art appreciating nice guy I know you really are.
If you decide to change your ways, I promise to let you get to third base.
You mess up my hair, you swirl dirt into my face and you flip my umbrella inside out- none of which is adorably playful but instead rude and disheartening.
Chicago, I know you want to play big city. You want to be rough and tough and play with the big boys like NY and LA but you are a simple one name city; you cannot abbreviate your name to some cool douche two letters. That just isn’t you.
So how about, Chicago, you stop pretending to be the in-your-face, money-driven, power-hungry, graffiti-covered, material goods coveting, sailor-swearing asshole and start being a hello-on-the-street, beer-drinkin’, Levi-wearin’, CTA ridin’, public art appreciating nice guy I know you really are.
If you decide to change your ways, I promise to let you get to third base.
2.21.2009
Sick in the City: the perils of life without health insurance
The city is so not sexy when it is sick. And I mean the city is sick, not just me. From the stomach turning wet hacks on the EL to the offensive trumpet sounding nose blowing in the office to the pathetic roommates stretched out on the couch at home, this entire city has some sort of virus lurking on every square inch of it.
But in addition to being snotty, hacky and sweaty, I am also the least attractive adjective: uninsured. While others at least have the comfort of a licensed professional telling them they are not going to die, they just have a virus, so suck it up and drink some o.j., I have to suffer through the possibility that I might have strep throat or mono or the plaque. Fear is not a known cure for anything and so I lie in bed, sleep ¾ of my day away, drink gallons of orange juice and hope that I’m not dying.
And as I’m lying there here are my thoughts for what my potential course of action could be:
A) Shell out the 80 bucks (plus lab results and prescriptions) to the Minute Clinic at Walgreens to have them tell me it’s not the plague and direct me to the cough drop aisle.
B) Go to Walgreens and buy anything that sounds like it would help me feel less like death: humidifier, decongestants, cough drops, stronger decongestants, nasal sprays and 3 boxes of special soothing lotion coated tissues. Total spent: around 80 bucks
In the end I choose B because I really like cough drops and needed an excuse to buy them anyway. I also throw in C.
C) Get a friend who has insurance sick and then make him go to the doctor to get diagnosed. Thanks Kevin! Good to know it is just a viral infection!
But in addition to being snotty, hacky and sweaty, I am also the least attractive adjective: uninsured. While others at least have the comfort of a licensed professional telling them they are not going to die, they just have a virus, so suck it up and drink some o.j., I have to suffer through the possibility that I might have strep throat or mono or the plaque. Fear is not a known cure for anything and so I lie in bed, sleep ¾ of my day away, drink gallons of orange juice and hope that I’m not dying.
And as I’m lying there here are my thoughts for what my potential course of action could be:
A) Shell out the 80 bucks (plus lab results and prescriptions) to the Minute Clinic at Walgreens to have them tell me it’s not the plague and direct me to the cough drop aisle.
B) Go to Walgreens and buy anything that sounds like it would help me feel less like death: humidifier, decongestants, cough drops, stronger decongestants, nasal sprays and 3 boxes of special soothing lotion coated tissues. Total spent: around 80 bucks
In the end I choose B because I really like cough drops and needed an excuse to buy them anyway. I also throw in C.
C) Get a friend who has insurance sick and then make him go to the doctor to get diagnosed. Thanks Kevin! Good to know it is just a viral infection!
2.16.2009
I love the EL
There is the expected budget deficit of over 200 million, the talk of new spikes in fairs despite the quarter bump last month, and the general dysfunction, delays and constant construction. There is plenty to bitch about the CTA. And everyone does…bitch…a lot. But coming from the geeb, where my one public transportation experience involved a man pulling a garbage bag out of his underwear, I am and will forever be in love with the CTA.
I love the little heated booths so crammed with people you almost feel like family.
I love how I can get everything I need handed out for free at the Belmont stop: The Printed Blog, condoms and bibles.
I love how pretty the color coded CTA maps look.
I love eavesdropping on inappropriate conversations on the EL.
I love having inappropriate conversations on the EL and then looking around to see who is embarrassed for me.
I love that I have learned when the lines curve and pitch so that I am prepared and don’t crash into neighbors. I love seeing newbies that haven’t bump so apologetically into chairs, poles and people.
I love the occasional amazing CTA conductors that say things like “may the force be with you” as you exit the train.
But most of all I love the EL at sunrise or sunset, when the city skyline seems to glow and I feel privileged to pay 2.25 to sit in that seat and see that calming beauty.
I know I am just as likely as my fellow CTA riders to throw a temper tantrum when the CTA inevitably hikes prices again but for now, in the days of ever plummeting stock prices and failed bailouts, let’s just remember how pretty the city can look at sunset from the train.
I love the little heated booths so crammed with people you almost feel like family.
I love how I can get everything I need handed out for free at the Belmont stop: The Printed Blog, condoms and bibles.
I love how pretty the color coded CTA maps look.
I love eavesdropping on inappropriate conversations on the EL.
I love having inappropriate conversations on the EL and then looking around to see who is embarrassed for me.
I love that I have learned when the lines curve and pitch so that I am prepared and don’t crash into neighbors. I love seeing newbies that haven’t bump so apologetically into chairs, poles and people.
I love the occasional amazing CTA conductors that say things like “may the force be with you” as you exit the train.
But most of all I love the EL at sunrise or sunset, when the city skyline seems to glow and I feel privileged to pay 2.25 to sit in that seat and see that calming beauty.
I know I am just as likely as my fellow CTA riders to throw a temper tantrum when the CTA inevitably hikes prices again but for now, in the days of ever plummeting stock prices and failed bailouts, let’s just remember how pretty the city can look at sunset from the train.
2.13.2009
Valentine’s Day better on the EL
Today I saw a man standing with a giant teddy bear at my EL stop. The man was shifting the bear around, trying in vain to find a natural position to pose with the stuffed sentiment of love. But, the whole time he stood waiting, he never looked angry, never seemed to resent the fact that he would be forced to share the miniaturized CTA chair with this over sized ball of cotton. He actually looked happy with his bear of burden.
Similarly I saw a woman with unruly bunch of balloons and a plethora of young men with overflowing bouquets of flowers, all pleased as punch to be squished onto the EL, maneuvering the blustery sidewalks or cramming onto the buses with their tokens of love.
Now usually I am not a fan of V Day; nor am I a fan of forced gift giving or of any cheesy or clichéd presents in any heart shaped form, but there is something about the self sacrificing struggle to give a lame $10 bunch of balloons to your love that makes it a labor of love and not just a Hallmark obligation. It is really what your love goes through to bring you those flowers – negative wind chills, crazy high sales tax, CTA nightmares- that makes Chicago an unexpectedly beautiful city for Valentines Day.
Maybe it is the fresh winds of the windy city or maybe it is the beautifully baby breathe free bouquet of flowers I received today, but something is definitely putting a little optimism in this former V-Day Grinch.
Similarly I saw a woman with unruly bunch of balloons and a plethora of young men with overflowing bouquets of flowers, all pleased as punch to be squished onto the EL, maneuvering the blustery sidewalks or cramming onto the buses with their tokens of love.
Now usually I am not a fan of V Day; nor am I a fan of forced gift giving or of any cheesy or clichéd presents in any heart shaped form, but there is something about the self sacrificing struggle to give a lame $10 bunch of balloons to your love that makes it a labor of love and not just a Hallmark obligation. It is really what your love goes through to bring you those flowers – negative wind chills, crazy high sales tax, CTA nightmares- that makes Chicago an unexpectedly beautiful city for Valentines Day.
Maybe it is the fresh winds of the windy city or maybe it is the beautifully baby breathe free bouquet of flowers I received today, but something is definitely putting a little optimism in this former V-Day Grinch.
2.11.2009
30 Days and a Hot Dog
Today, I have officially been in Chicago over a month and I severely bruised my pelvis. The two have more in common than the non-CTA traveler would expect.
Today as i airily jammed my CTA 30 day pass into the entry gate, I ceased to notice the defeating no-entry blinking light. I tried to continued my jovial jaunt through the gate only to have the bar rudely interrupt my pelvis making me realize that a) those bars are really inconveniently placed and b) my 30 day CTA pass had run its course. I have been living in Chicago for 30 days...or actually 31 days. I have been a Chicagoan for 31 whole freaking fantastic and fabulously freezing days.
And then the second major realization of my day hit me: I have not eaten a chicago style hot dog in any of those 30 days. This is huge considering on my previous trips down to Chicago, I had at least one hot dog a day and in one fateful day 3 dogs. But since permanently moving to this hot dog haven of a city, I have been distracted by other gloriously buzzing neon signs: gyros, italian beef not to mention indian, thai, mexican and any other country you care to put up in blinking yellow bulbs.
As any Chicago foodie will tell you, this is the place to be for unassuming but truly taste bud blooming appetizers, entrees and desserts. It is easy to get lost in the mass of five star restaurants and forget the simplistic beauty of a chicago style hot dog.
Luckily my girls are always up for a hotdog on a Wednesday night so we headed to Portillo's, not my favorite hot dog joint but a convenient local in River North. Of course i got a dog with everything on it- including some extra sport peppers I rescued from E's tray. It was gone within 5 minutes, as i have learned the chicago dog is best inhaled not savored.
One of the best 5 minutes of my 30 days in Chicago along with the sunset EL rides, Thursday nights at the Art Institute and spontaneous drag queen runway shows down Halsted at 4 a.m.
I swear there is nothing wrong enough in my life that can't be cured by a chicago style hot dog in eaten in my new home.
2.09.2009
City of Villages: Accidently Slept through Sunday but Monday in Old Town was awesome
Sunday was one of those insanely gorgeous days that make you not only believe in global warming but also rejoice in it. So I felt justified in just walking around Lakeview until my legs hurt and then promptly taking a nap that lasted most of the afternoon. Therefore I didn't have time for any new neighborhood exploration.
However luckily on Monday, greenhouse gases were still blissfully trapping unseasonably warm UV rays in Chicago and I was able to stroll through Old Town, a neighborhood with such a cliched history I almost didn't have to check wikipedia.
Old Town is sandwiched inbetween the yuppy grey stones of Lincoln Park and the richy condos of the Near North. (In case it isn't clear, i use yuppy as a semi-positive term and have no problem admitting i would someday like to claim yuppyhood myself.)
Like many other currently gentrified yuppy hoods, Old Town was first filled with European immigrants, then with vagabond artists and finally with the ever coveted yuppy cohort. And it shows. The streets are cleaned, the store fronts unseasonably adorable and there are large iron wrought gates welcoming you to Old Town. It's cute and welcoming and perfect for a faux spring day.
My exploring companions and i were not just causually strolling Old Town. We came with a mission of finding The Fudge Pot and relishing some high caloric chocolate goodness. We found it and all it's chocolate glory. With chocolate of every shade, shape and smell imaginable you can't go wrong at The Fudge Pot. Unfortunetly there was also a very tempting Cold Stone across the street and as the temps had topped 60 that day we decided to indulge in some chain store goodness.
If eating fattening fudge wasn't indulgent enough, eating corporate fudge brownie ice cream in the middle of a beautiful neighborhood was basically like dessert sex, sinful and totally worth it.
Unfortunetly, the weather gods punished us for dessert transgressions with a down pour of cold winter rain as soon as we headed home. Luckily, as big city girls we hailed a wet-dog smelling cab for the mile treck home.
Old Town maybe a bit a gentrified indulgence but it is totally worth it.
Additional post-it 3/07: On Round 2 to Old Town, we did not make the same rookie chain-store indulgence mistake. When we saw a bridal party walking out of the Fudge Pot licking chocolate covered bananas, we knew we needed to check the chocolate shop out ourselves. We indulged in a self created sampling of goodies including a marshmallow puff, a dark chocolate orange peel and some chocolate peanut butter fudge. It was all sinfully perfect and totally worth the XXX calories we consumed. For future reference, in addition to turtle clusters, chocolate covered strawberries and truffles, the Fudge Pot also has “naughty” chocolate molds that are not on display but I have a creative enough mind to know they are chocolate perfection.
2.05.2009
My New Permanent Temporary Job
I am now a permanent temporary employee of BMO Capital Markets. I’m not sure if the word permanent or temporary scares me more.
Let’s start with why temporary is a terrifying word. First is the obvious. There is very little job security in temporary work; even if it is “permanent temporary” work. It is a waiting game week to week to see if you will still have a job. As rumors of layoffs brew, temps always realize they could be on the chopping block as they were the last hired.
Then there are the living standards that go with temp work. My hard earned temp work gets me $12 an hour with no health insurance or benefits; after taxes that is less than $20,000 a year…IN CHICAGO.
And finally there is the connotation of a temp. Temps are the invisible and ignorable bottom of the BMO barrel. People assume you don’t have a life beyond sitting at a desk and transferring calls; nor ambitions or talents beyond making copies. No one asks what you want to do with your life or what you do with your life out of the office; probably because most financial professionals don’t have lives beyond their desks. It sucks to be the glorified answering machine of the office.
Then there is the word permanent, which is by far scarier. This job is “permanent” because BMO fired quite a few real administrative assistants to hire temps that would work the same job at half the price. BMO still needs phones answered and copies made so I potentially could be doing this job for years. YEARS.
The real fear of permanent comes from the ease of routine and the complacency of my brain to give into the routine. Every morning I take the 6:59 Brown Line train towards the loop. I get off, walk 2.5 blocks to BMO, swipe my card at security and ride up to the top floor before any one else starts their day. I then toast my English muffin, make my coffee and sit down to read the Chicago Tribune’s headlines. After a rigorous hour of online news reading, I head to another random floor to sit at someone else’s desk surrounded by pictures of their loved ones, and mispronounce the names of people whose phones I am hired to answer. At 4 on the dot, I grab my coat and bolt.
It is easy, too easy, and I think I could get into a rut her after only a week. And as Dr. Seuss says “ And when you’re in a Slump, you’re not in for much fun. Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.”
BMO is the epitome of Slump, the aftermath of the post-grad Lurch.
P.S. To be clear I am exceedingly appreciative to have a job when the entire nation is in and economic Slump because of the Bush Lurch. I am paying my bills, enjoying everything Chicago has to offer (that cost under 20 bucks) and in general enjoying being young in the big city. But, like most Americans, the fear lies in the future of the slump and in the possibility of permanence. Everybody ruts and most unrut eventually but at the bottom of that deep rut it is difficult to see a future unrutted.
Let’s start with why temporary is a terrifying word. First is the obvious. There is very little job security in temporary work; even if it is “permanent temporary” work. It is a waiting game week to week to see if you will still have a job. As rumors of layoffs brew, temps always realize they could be on the chopping block as they were the last hired.
Then there are the living standards that go with temp work. My hard earned temp work gets me $12 an hour with no health insurance or benefits; after taxes that is less than $20,000 a year…IN CHICAGO.
And finally there is the connotation of a temp. Temps are the invisible and ignorable bottom of the BMO barrel. People assume you don’t have a life beyond sitting at a desk and transferring calls; nor ambitions or talents beyond making copies. No one asks what you want to do with your life or what you do with your life out of the office; probably because most financial professionals don’t have lives beyond their desks. It sucks to be the glorified answering machine of the office.
Then there is the word permanent, which is by far scarier. This job is “permanent” because BMO fired quite a few real administrative assistants to hire temps that would work the same job at half the price. BMO still needs phones answered and copies made so I potentially could be doing this job for years. YEARS.
The real fear of permanent comes from the ease of routine and the complacency of my brain to give into the routine. Every morning I take the 6:59 Brown Line train towards the loop. I get off, walk 2.5 blocks to BMO, swipe my card at security and ride up to the top floor before any one else starts their day. I then toast my English muffin, make my coffee and sit down to read the Chicago Tribune’s headlines. After a rigorous hour of online news reading, I head to another random floor to sit at someone else’s desk surrounded by pictures of their loved ones, and mispronounce the names of people whose phones I am hired to answer. At 4 on the dot, I grab my coat and bolt.
It is easy, too easy, and I think I could get into a rut her after only a week. And as Dr. Seuss says “ And when you’re in a Slump, you’re not in for much fun. Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.”
BMO is the epitome of Slump, the aftermath of the post-grad Lurch.
P.S. To be clear I am exceedingly appreciative to have a job when the entire nation is in and economic Slump because of the Bush Lurch. I am paying my bills, enjoying everything Chicago has to offer (that cost under 20 bucks) and in general enjoying being young in the big city. But, like most Americans, the fear lies in the future of the slump and in the possibility of permanence. Everybody ruts and most unrut eventually but at the bottom of that deep rut it is difficult to see a future unrutted.
2.01.2009
City of Villages: Streeterville
Streeterville is my favorite Chicago neighborhood story. It is a story a plucky middle aged man, who bit his thumb at the upper crust of Chicago 1880’s royalty and got his plucky butt thrown in jail for it. It’s slightly depressing, mostly hilarious and hundred percent classic Chicago.
In the 1880’s George Streeter crashed his boat on a sandbar on Chicago’s shore. Instead of digging himself out, George had his wife set up house on the sandbar, putting his new home next to some of the primo real estate of the time on Michigan Avenue. Then naturally, George encouraged locals to dump their garbage around his home basically creating a landfill next to Michigan Avenue.
The landfill eroded to create new land, essentially extending the shoreline of Chicago. But because the city had defined the Chicago by the previous shoreline’s border, George claimed that the new land was outside of Chicago’s jurisdiction; it was streeterland. Of course the mayor didn’t appreciate having a squatter define the border of Chicago and after several confrontations (one apparently involving a gun fight), George was kicked out of the landfill and into jail.
The royalty took over and now streeeterville is filled with high rises and office buildings not to mention the Magnificent Mile, one of Chicago’s ritziest shopping areas. Streeterville, defined by the water on the north, south and east and the Mag Mile on the west, includes Navy Pier, the John Hancock Building and much of Northwestern hospital. Needless to say, the finer things of Streetville are fiscally unreachable for me but I did manage to find a dive bar just off Mag Mile that suited my wallet’s restraints.
It was the music blaring from some underground source that drew me to Streeter’s (50 E. Chicago), a dive bar if I have ever seen one. Once I’d hopped down the 5 slightly sticky stairs to the bar, I was greeted with an intense game of beer pong; yes beer pong the universal game of college frat boys. After dodging a few beer soak stray balls, I made my way past the dj closet, where one large man was stuffed into one small closet, to the bar. I was thrilled to find they had 312, my new favorite beer on tap for 5 bucks a pint.
After a beer, the dj came around and asked for requests. He gladly took all our requests from Kings of Leon, to Prince to Beyonce. I think he would have even accepted Ace of Base if I would have been brave enough to ask. He played all of our requests along with all of the requests of other patrons- including a few country songs that visibly pained him. Despite quite clearly not being a dancing bar, everybody danced including the waitress and bouncer and the frat boys in between tosses.
I realize Streeter’s isn’t a very accurate portrayal of Streeterville, but it is the one I can afford and one I think more true to Streeterville’s roots than $15 cocktails on the top of the Hancock building. I think George would approve.
1.31.2009
Lessons on Becoming a Chicago Apartment Gold Digger
Being a self-proclaimed feminist since age 3, I usually like to discourage the use any misogynistic stereotypes like slut, prude, gold digger. There just tacky and clichéd and usually wrong. But I’m going to ease my strict no sexist stereotypes for one entry because in truth I am a gold digger: a Chicago apartment gold digger.
So to take another leap from my feminist roots, I’m going to quote Carrie Bradshaw and say women are always looking for three things: a career, a boyfriend and an apartment. It is simplilistic but for this 23 year old moving to the big city, it held true. Moving to Chicago without the first two, I thought it was important, no vital, to have a kickass apartment.
So last December, I scoured craigslist for the best Chicago has to offer, and in the process I learned some important lessons on how to become an apartment gold digger.
Lesson #1: You have to get down and sometimes quite literally dirty.
I saw about 15 apartments and probably talked to some 40 or 50 different potential roomie searchers before I struck gold. I saw an apartment described as a smallish room, which was actually an 8X9 apartment complete with peeling paint and melted candles on the windowsill but lacking a door. There was stained carpets, mice turds, cigarette butts, moldy refriderators, empty beer bottles and unwashed pungent human bodies; none of which is shown on craigslist and all of which were deal breakers.
Lesson #2: It isn’t just about the looks.
You can’t judge a potential beautiful apartment just by looks; you’ve got to actually meet your potential roommates. There was one to-be-roommate, a struggling stand up comic, who didn’t smile through the entire tour and didn’t even crack a smile at my classic puns. That just isn’t right. Also watch out for the “LTR” because you will either never see them- in which case you might as well live alone- or you will always see their partners- in which case you are paying too much rent. And the geeky Twilight reading thick framed glasses girls while sympathetic and sweet are some major kill joys when you want to do anything besides watch Buffy past 10 oclock at night. On the other hand, the Dry Eye Drops carrying, my friends and I have a band, I have every bob Marley album on vinyl folks might just carry the party on a bit too long. It’s important to have your dealbreakers in roommates, ie, no smoking, no cats, no live-in partners, no Richard Simmons work out videos. Even gold diggers need standards.
Lesson #3: It is all about the accessories
Accessories: gold diggers little secret to a true find. It’s easy to forget, the little things when you are just looking for room measurements and CTA access, but the “etc.” can make all the difference in the end. Look for shared common things like a flat screen TV or if you’ve hit the motherload- TIVO. Also check out the kitchen for appliances- blender, stainless steel pans, or even a Kitchen Aid- are all reasons to celebrate a found gold mine. Also check out the potential room and see if anything will be staying. One place offered to give me all the shoes the previous girl left behind. It is these little things that can make a plain old apartment a golddigger’s home.
So how did these little lessons work out for me. Well I’m living the gold digger’s dream in a 3 story grey stone complete with TIVO, a Kitchen Aid AND a wine cabinet. The floors are all hard wood, the ceilings 12 ft tall, and there is an enclosed back porch. Plus my roommates include an indie rock thespian and wino lesbian, two of the coolest people I’ve met in Chicago.
Yup I hit gold.
So to take another leap from my feminist roots, I’m going to quote Carrie Bradshaw and say women are always looking for three things: a career, a boyfriend and an apartment. It is simplilistic but for this 23 year old moving to the big city, it held true. Moving to Chicago without the first two, I thought it was important, no vital, to have a kickass apartment.
So last December, I scoured craigslist for the best Chicago has to offer, and in the process I learned some important lessons on how to become an apartment gold digger.
Lesson #1: You have to get down and sometimes quite literally dirty.
I saw about 15 apartments and probably talked to some 40 or 50 different potential roomie searchers before I struck gold. I saw an apartment described as a smallish room, which was actually an 8X9 apartment complete with peeling paint and melted candles on the windowsill but lacking a door. There was stained carpets, mice turds, cigarette butts, moldy refriderators, empty beer bottles and unwashed pungent human bodies; none of which is shown on craigslist and all of which were deal breakers.
Lesson #2: It isn’t just about the looks.
You can’t judge a potential beautiful apartment just by looks; you’ve got to actually meet your potential roommates. There was one to-be-roommate, a struggling stand up comic, who didn’t smile through the entire tour and didn’t even crack a smile at my classic puns. That just isn’t right. Also watch out for the “LTR” because you will either never see them- in which case you might as well live alone- or you will always see their partners- in which case you are paying too much rent. And the geeky Twilight reading thick framed glasses girls while sympathetic and sweet are some major kill joys when you want to do anything besides watch Buffy past 10 oclock at night. On the other hand, the Dry Eye Drops carrying, my friends and I have a band, I have every bob Marley album on vinyl folks might just carry the party on a bit too long. It’s important to have your dealbreakers in roommates, ie, no smoking, no cats, no live-in partners, no Richard Simmons work out videos. Even gold diggers need standards.
Lesson #3: It is all about the accessories
Accessories: gold diggers little secret to a true find. It’s easy to forget, the little things when you are just looking for room measurements and CTA access, but the “etc.” can make all the difference in the end. Look for shared common things like a flat screen TV or if you’ve hit the motherload- TIVO. Also check out the kitchen for appliances- blender, stainless steel pans, or even a Kitchen Aid- are all reasons to celebrate a found gold mine. Also check out the potential room and see if anything will be staying. One place offered to give me all the shoes the previous girl left behind. It is these little things that can make a plain old apartment a golddigger’s home.
So how did these little lessons work out for me. Well I’m living the gold digger’s dream in a 3 story grey stone complete with TIVO, a Kitchen Aid AND a wine cabinet. The floors are all hard wood, the ceilings 12 ft tall, and there is an enclosed back porch. Plus my roommates include an indie rock thespian and wino lesbian, two of the coolest people I’ve met in Chicago.
Yup I hit gold.
1.25.2009
City of Villages: Wicker Park
I’m going to be upfront here. I am a huge judger. Worse I am a closeted judger. I like to pretend I have no preconceptions of people or places, that my big liberal heart loves everyone but really I’m a judger and occasionally a hater.
So when I headed west to Wicker Park last weekend, I expected to only see skinny jeaned, flannelled hipsters roaming the streets with their oversized headphones and angsty expressions. And although I did see the skinny jeans and they were disturbing, I also saw the flannel and kind of fell in love with it.
That is Wicker Park to me, true to its hipster stereotype but still strangely lovable. Loosely defined by the Chicago river and Western Ave to the East and West and Bloogingdale and Division to the North and South, the heart of Wicker Park is really Milwaukee. That is were you will find all the thrift stores a hipster could ever want plus Reckless Records, one of those record stores you can wander through for hours without anyone asking you if you need help because they know you are not shopping you are experiencing.
There is also the smattering of bars on Milwaukee and down to Damen. I had the privilege of briefly experiencing Rainbow Bar on Damen before the crush of tipsy trendies pushed me to a quieter bar down the street called Easy Bar. From the Rainbow Bar complete with creepy baby doll image on the wall and sizing up glances at the front door to Easy Bar, the quieter gap/j crew crowded bar down the street, Wicker Park lives for the hipsters but indulges the rest of us as well.
Like a lot of neighborhoods in Chicago, Wicker Park has evolved to become the hip community it is today. It has seen brewery owner’s mansions in the late 1800’s, an influx of Puerto Rican immigrants in the 50’s, followed by a round of gentrification and then invasion of artists in the 90’s. And like most Chicago hoods, Wicker Park is welcoming even to those less trendy.
The key lesson of Wicker Park is timeless: don’t knock flannel until you try it.
So when I headed west to Wicker Park last weekend, I expected to only see skinny jeaned, flannelled hipsters roaming the streets with their oversized headphones and angsty expressions. And although I did see the skinny jeans and they were disturbing, I also saw the flannel and kind of fell in love with it.
That is Wicker Park to me, true to its hipster stereotype but still strangely lovable. Loosely defined by the Chicago river and Western Ave to the East and West and Bloogingdale and Division to the North and South, the heart of Wicker Park is really Milwaukee. That is were you will find all the thrift stores a hipster could ever want plus Reckless Records, one of those record stores you can wander through for hours without anyone asking you if you need help because they know you are not shopping you are experiencing.
There is also the smattering of bars on Milwaukee and down to Damen. I had the privilege of briefly experiencing Rainbow Bar on Damen before the crush of tipsy trendies pushed me to a quieter bar down the street called Easy Bar. From the Rainbow Bar complete with creepy baby doll image on the wall and sizing up glances at the front door to Easy Bar, the quieter gap/j crew crowded bar down the street, Wicker Park lives for the hipsters but indulges the rest of us as well.
Like a lot of neighborhoods in Chicago, Wicker Park has evolved to become the hip community it is today. It has seen brewery owner’s mansions in the late 1800’s, an influx of Puerto Rican immigrants in the 50’s, followed by a round of gentrification and then invasion of artists in the 90’s. And like most Chicago hoods, Wicker Park is welcoming even to those less trendy.
The key lesson of Wicker Park is timeless: don’t knock flannel until you try it.
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