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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.