red eyed cicadas

I saw a cicada. It was red, with red eyes. Actually I saw two. One was looking very out of place on the Milwaukee Avenue sidewalk, truly cut off from any soil or trees. The second was in the beak of a bird about to be fed to the little birdies in the nest not far above my head. People who have lived in this area of the country for a long time remember the last time the cicadas came out a mere seventeen years ago. One young woman recalled when she was nine she gathered as many as she could into a bucket, they fascinated her and she was in bug heaven being a bit of a bug geek and all. Another young woman was thirteen when the cicadas were last here. One flew down her bathing suit, "That's the worst possible thing that can happen to a thirteen year old girl." she says. After trying to remember what it was like to be a thirteen year old girl, I tend to agree. The cicadas ruined her summer, they were gross.

i heart mpls

I've lost my enthusiasm for blogging. Maybe that is not a good thing to admit on a blog. This is an attempt to rekindle our relationship Mr. Blog. I can't even tell if I'm happier now compared to when I lived in California. I don't think it matters anymore because I'm here and that's that. Someone told me that I would love Minneapolis - actually two people did in the same day! And now, I think about Minneapolis often. I recall a grad school program I found there, and I think maybe I am supposed to go live there, even though they have horrible winters even worse than Chicago. They do have the Mississippi. And a bunch of lakes though. Oh, and apparently FIVE food coops!

Here are some random things I've been contemplating:
1) I don't ever want to see any cicadas. 2) Why are people so defensive when a person critiques the movie "Knocked Up"? 3) It may be time to start a new and improved lefty magazine. 4) Will I ever live on an art farm and grow my own food (and make some art)? 5) I just want Jericho to come back on TV (please god.) 6) Why don't I go to budapest? 7) It is claustrophobic in the Midwest. 8) Midwest people hate on California as much as California people hate on the Midwest. (don't tell anyone about that though in an effort to keep the peace.)

This concludes my effort to rekindle my blogging romance. Goodnight.

urban foraging

Today we went on an urban foraging walk along the train tracks with a very knowledgeable guide. Lots of edible plants. We even saw a bunny.

easter!

cutting the easter cat cake

grumble grumble

Stormy skies brew overhead, bending the trees and making things bang. April snow falls as I walk down the sidewalk and I feel small. Living in Chicago, people get used to a feeling of powerlessness, that something or somebody else is in control. This city can dwarf a person, with its big buildings, expansive reach, and vaulting skies. The extreme cold and heat humbles you, and it happens regardless of your busy schedule. There are no earthquakes, but the thunder grumbles like a big tummy digesting its meal. Time passes, you have no control, perhaps this is why it seems people age less on the west coast – a false sense of control over circumstances - and perhaps this is why Chicagoans put up with the Daley dynasty – they have come to accept it when things don't change. Maybe it is comforting, when the sleet batters your roof, and the weather is on the loose again, the best you can do is trudge on, get inside and wait out what you can't control.

they call it the windy city

The wind is kicking up and the air is getting that bit of electric feeling that happens in the summer. More and more threads bind me here. Chicago is becoming comfortable, even though at times I don't like it. The winter was hard, but we did sit in a neighborhood bar the other night (the "Chip Inn") and drank beer while a jazz band played in the corner, the door open on the first warm night in a long time. I can see it in eager faces and hear it in friendly voices, that I could become enmeshed here, I could let Chicago in. It's possible to remember the good things about this city when there is no ice on the ground. I can begin to wonder if Chicago is smarter than I think it is; I will live here, go about my business, until one day I can't think of living any place else. Just like that. Without realizing that Chicago has played one hell of a trick on me.

still against the war.

An estimated 40,000 people protested the Iraq war in San Francisco yesterday. There was also a good showing in NYC. My favorite sign reads, "I can't believe I'm still f-ing protesting this shit!." Four years - it's hard to believe.

moon in scorpio

The Moon in Scorpio is noted for its emotional intensity and drive. These people are naturally obssessive and compulsive and need intense stimulation on a daily basis, whether its sex or physical activity or highly emotional relationships. They cannot stand over-intellectualism, indecisiveness, or superficiality. They go with their gut instincts and they are usually right. Their keen sensitivities or powers of perception make them good researchers, investigators or buisness people. Their probing instincts also make them good doctors, surgeons, psychologists, and sex and crime workers. They preoccupy themselves daily with issues of death, regeneration, and the occult.
Please Click Here

interests include

"Chocolate stout, owls and Winged Things, Westerns, Coney Island, Douglas Firs, and Absinthe"

-From the best profile I've read in a long time.

happy in la

LA was stressful, too hot, and basically horrible when I lived there. But now, when I look at LA blogs it seems like an easy place. People are wearing their converse and short sleeves. Artists and muscians are happily eating pizza while casually sitting on a bench. Local venues are sprouting. People are smiling. Even a secret underground bakery exists. I want to be with the nonchalantly talented ones walking around in the balmy LA night. It may be time for a visit.

secret lair

Doorway spotted on neighborhood walk. Who lives here?

i used to love ny

I caught an episode of The Facts of Life the other day. Natalie and Tootie went to NYC, and Natalie decided to move there. It was deep in the 80s and she moved into an apartment full of young artist/doctor/dancer/painter early 20-somethings all endearingly different and quirky and young, and as Natalie says, "the most forwardest people I've ever met." Natalie realized that she belonged there. And she got all inspired and wrote an article for the New Yorker, and was full of NYC excitement and the feeling of being in the right place at the best time. Natalie really came into her own in this episode. Back in the day, I thought that NYC would be that place for me. I would figure out who I was and get all creative. I used to love New York City like that when I imagined moving there.

sun worshipper

Today is the first sunny day in a long time. We went for a walk in the neighborhood without jackets. It's like the sunshine is finding it's way down into my soul. Everything starts uncurling from the wintertime darkness and Chicago doesn't seem so bad.

a monster

There once was a dog named Solomon. He was big, mostly white, with a few black splotches unevenly placed, over one eye and on his back. He looked very scary, so scary that when I walked with him down the street it was common for little children to scream, "Aaah! There's a monster!" Solomon would happily wag his tail ignorant of how frightened people were of him. He already had a bad reputation. He was a Pit Bull. He was expected to be very bad, especially by his original owners who had clipped his ears. Sol never lived up to the expectations put on him. He was as sweet as can be, big jowls and wide shoulders, he always wanted to be pet. But it turns out one part of him was bad; he had a bad heart. He died a young dog, sweet til the end, from a heart attack.

keep on walking

The past few days have been busy and full of different experiences. I saw a dozen basketball players crying, a bunch of snow swirling, and hundreds of teenagers reciting poetry. And someone reminded me of an old lady I once met who had her throat slashed walking home from the theater. She had to be close to 80 years old. The fantastic thing, was that afterwards, when she recovered, she kept on walking. Walking home from the theater unafraid. In a world with so many scary things, I hope to be like that old lady and keep walking no matter what happens.

i love patriarchy

To the little man with the red beard who yelled at me for "blocking" the train door: I curse you and your beard.

love it or leave it

Chicago has the worst postal service in the country, just another thing they don't tell you when you move here. Worst post office I've ever been to: Wicker Park Post Office. Whenever I go in, which is often, there is a long long line of people and one, usually incompetent, person at the counter.

One time, I could hear a group of workers watching TV and laughing in the back, while I waited in line for just under 1 hour. It is also common to see folks turned away and told, "We can't find your package, sorry, we'll call you if we do."

While waiting in line once, a woman turned to me exasperated and said, "This runs like a Communist agency!"

And if you don't believe me, check this out....in 1994 there was a Chicago postal scandal in which "Mammoth mounds of undelivered mail were found at several stations--including one pile 800 feet long, nearly the length of three football fields."

Living in Chicago means getting used to incompetency. Next rant? Icy sidewalks.

big fat snowflakes & big fat dreams

Big fat snowflakes are falling down on Chicago right now. Last night we went to the California Clipper. The man who last time dropped his pants in front of the plate glass window was there again. But, this time a blizzard was happening, so no pants droppage. Whew.

The Oscars are on tonight. I remember the year when Matt Damon and Ben Affleck won for best screenplay. They stood up there so refreshingly sheepish and authentically awed, like two kids from my neighborhood growing up that had this big dream come true and couldn't believe it was real. Massachusetts accent and all. That was one of my favorite Oscar presentations. Yeah, I have to admit, against all common sense, I like watching the Academy Awards.

alarming

Q: What is the book I see the most people reading on the el train?


A: The Fountainhead by Ann Rynd

hello cruel world

People are crawling out of the woodwork to talk to me, the old dusty woodwork, not the new shiny woodwork. In the last two days, I've been contacted by several people from my past. Maybe there's some cosmic sign above my head that says I'm lonely and that I'm convinced that everyone has forgotten about me. Maybe.

back in the big city

Chicago looked ominous as we approached on the train. I could barely make out the silhouette of a factory spewing smoke into the air. One of the first things we see is a huge police station with hundreds of police cars against the backdrop of the skyline. And a lady coughing up a lung inside the dirty el train sounded like she was about to die. Not such easy living here. Thankfully the bitter cold seems to have passed for the time being. It is amazing how pleasant living can be elsewhere. Maybe it's best not to be protected from the ugly harshness. I have to remember that once spring comes, Chicago will seem a lot more like paradise than it does now.

portland : easy living

It is foggy this morning, but the sun is starting to peek through. We ate at this fantastic tapas restaurant last night called Colosso. We ate breaded catfish, pork empanada, clams with garlic and cheese, beet salad, and this crazy vanilla/chocolate creamy concoction for desert and of course a lot of wine.

We walked around downtown; it is pretty grungy with a lot of old buildings. Powells books is amazing. Portland is very hipster-ish, mostly all white people. We walked through China Town, which I guess is as sketchy as it gets (not sketchy at all). We had a drink in a leather bar called The Dirty Duck. Great name for a bar.

I can not believe how warm the temperature feels. Supposedly, Portland has a summer, unlike the bay area. I don't want to return to Chicago, it is so peaceful and green here. I've noticed that Anarchy: A journal of Desire Armed can readily be found around town. Not surprising, as I know that green anarchists are aplenty here. We haven't run into many, altho we walked by the Red & Black café yesterday.

Living seems easy here. It doesn't hurt that we are staying in an adorable yellow house on top of a hill.

we're in portland!

We came to Portland to escape Chicago for a few days. It is raining, but the weather is extremely mild compared to the snow storm we left behind. I had never been to Portland before; it is a very calming place. It seems very quiet. Other differences from Chicago are: motorists don't try to kill you as you cross the street and people are nice to each other in public.

Portland has a crazy coffee culture. Apparently, people move here to become famous barristas. We went to Stump Town Coffee yesterday and the guy making coffee knew everyone's name and whatever their "usual" was. It's as if Portland is enjoying a popularity like Seattle did during the "grunge" years; very Singles-style, including plaid flannel shirts, except everyone here has babies.

snowed in : cat looking at snow

funny midwestern moment

I had to laugh when I found out I was the only person in the room who has seen an exotic sport called "surfing". But to be fair, I will admit that I've never seen a gopher hunt.

yarn porn

This is my first attempt at yarn porn. You can't really see the color well enough in this photo, but it is a lemony butter egg noodle color. It is a scarf. Living in the Midwest gives a person an irrepressible urge to do crafts. This could be viewed as counter-revolutionary, except that it is the most basic animalistic instinct, it is hard to argue how it can be so wrong.

omg it's 6 degrees

Once a rat is in your house, it is hard to remember how life was without it. Even though the one particular rat is gone, I lie awake at night listening for more rats. It is horrible, so is winter. Winter was novel when it began, but now it's so not. I have thought to myself more than once in the past week 'Why do people live here? Why do i live here?'

rats get cold too

What people don't tell you about Chicago winters is that the rats get cold and they come inside for warmth. As cute as a little rat may be snuggling inside a drawer, I prefer to have a rat-free home. One visitor met his early demise in the middle of my living room yesterday. I'll spare you the gorey details. Although I will say that I was screaming and had sprinted about a mile away from my apartment during the fatal "accident" involving our rodent friend.

you know when it's cold when

you can feel icicles forming inside your nostrils.

gotta get me some of those shoes

This one is for my friend Sunny. One of the most vivacious people I've ever met. It's not sunny in Chicago right now, but I trust that somewhere it is. I'm gonna get a pair of those shoes so I can have some sunshine around here. P.S. Sunny, you better be documenting things with that camera of yours.

here it is

Okay, it's cold. The display across the street says it is fifteen degrees. This is winter in Chicago. And yes I can feel the hawk clawing at me. I only want to stay inside, imbibe hot liquids and cultivate my wintertime depression. This weekend it is supposed to drop down to 8.

argyle street

This is what Argyle Street looked like when we got there. It was cold but the Vietnamese food was hot.

trees in the cemetery on the way to argyle street

I love the trees in the cemetery. All bare with branches like arms reaching out, they look like indifferent sentries by the grave stones. The trees don't seem to mind that we plant our dead by their feet as long as they get to keep reaching out their arms like they do.

chicago neon love

i miss my friends

I miss my friends. I miss my friends. I miss my friends. I miss my friends.

go bears

There is nothing better than watching a football game with a bunch of Chicagoans while the snow softly falls outside. People jumping up and cheering, eating sausage and saurkraut, high-fiving, drinking beer. Because it isn't about the Bears so much as it is about how much you love Chicago. Every Chicagoan wants Chicago to win, especially if money is riding on the game.

i miss you sf

Last night I lay in bed viscerally missing San Francisco. That city with it's spikey skyline harbored my dreams and grew my ambitions like tiny pearls. It doesn't hurt that San Francisco is drop dead gorgeous. Remembering its craggy pockets of fog, magical moons hanging pregnant in the sky, a few of many fantastic city visions. It took 13 years of walking it's steep streets to feel a part of it's fabric. Now it's like holding an ex-lover's hand close to my heart, and wishing we could go back in time atleast just to visit. What I miss most is feeling a part of things; a part of a funky, crazy little city, where you feel like you know everyone, where you have a favorite bar, where you've kissed on enough street corners and dropped enough tears until eventually you've cracked the pavement and left an imprint. Where you can see yourself still walking in that foggy shifty San Francisco air woozy from finally feeling just right.

the life aquatic

After watching a scary serial killer show on TV (seriously what else is on these days), there is nothing better than putting in a dvd of the fantastically ridiculous The Life Aquatic. I had been warned that this movie was not as good as the other Wes Anderson flicks, but I was in the perfect mood for it, plus I grew up watching Jacques Cousteau. The absurd ship with a sauna and whales peeking in the portholes, the bluegreen warm colors and the intricate mise-en-scène where sometimes you can see hallways and doorways and backgrounds that continue for days, the fake overly dramatic sub-plots, the silly sweetness of the characters–this movie will bring you back from the depths of depression. It took a while for me to warm to Wes Anderson, but I have become awed by the insanity of his imagination. His movies are cotton candy with a good soundtrack reminiscent of my pre-teen fantasy worlds. Thank you Mr. Anderson.

blue

The Gene Siskel is playing a bunch of Kieslowski movies. I saw Blue on Tuesday. A film I remember loving in my early 20s. It is still wonderful; why I liked such a melancholy film back then confuses me. As I watched it, I did feel immersed in blue – it conveys the weight of grief, especially grief carried by a young person. The most satisfying part is watching the light play off Juliette Binoche's face. The camera loves her. Kieslowski allows such small moments to really tell the story. The music is also very lovely in this film.

the coast of california

Looking at a map of California is like looking at my palm. Something I never really studied before, but when I take a close look it reveals all kinds of things. As I scan the lengthy coastline, I realize that I've driven the entire length of California. In fact, I have driven certain stretches innumerable times. From Chula Vista to Eureka every place has a memory. Some drives are too torturous to tell, but others were crazy freedom. Most of my life is mapped out in that coastline; California is imprinted upon me. What the heck do I do with that knowledge?

california dreamin'

I stood on Sunset boulevard in a short pastel dress holding my movie prop – a pack of cigarettes in a genuine 1960s package. My hair and make up was done like a starlet. I could sense the celluloid promise in the soft spring breeze, it felt warm and perfect, as if a spotlight was following me around. Los Angeles was all mine. The director had hand-picked me to be in a small scene with the lead actors. It was all becoming real in front of the Whisky a Go Go. The hard sidewalk felt like marshmallow as I stepped inside the California dream. They can make you into who you wish you were.

remember when empanadas

Last night as I was making empanadas to last throughout the winter, I remembered all the moments in the past few weeks that made me feel the acute passage of time. "Remember whens" – each as cumulatively sweetsour as a pomegranate seed.

the lure of the mouseketeers

When I was eight I thought the absolutely most magnificent place in the world you could go was Disney World. I really wanted a Mickey Mouse Club in my back yard. And when my mom told me that Annette Funicello was a doll, I thought she meant she was an actual doll. That simple sentence confused me for years.

on becoming something

I am one of those people that doesn't have a career, but I do fantasize about having one. These are my fantasy careers: Powerful Sleazy Politician, Serious Documentary Filmmaker, Professional Crafter on Etsy, Bakery/Cafe Owner, Botanist or Tree Doctor, Astrology Writer, Fearless Investigative Reporter, Rockstar, Pertinent Cultural Essayist, Meteorologist, Feminist Theorist and Icon, Historian, Complete Cultural Dropout. Things you couldn't pay me a million dollars to be: ER Nurse, Pilot, Garbage person, Pundit, Highschool teacher, Therapist, Prison Guard, Cop, low-paid Nonprofit worker. May success find all of us in 2007.