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.

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.

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.

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!

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!

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