the city so small

Brown mystery sludge oozes from the cracks in the underground El station walls. The city doesn't hide its age. As the train roars towards the station and the pieces of debris flutter away from the tracks, the city closes in. I often feel claustrophobic here even when I'm outside. The Midwest feels so open, the weather changes so quickly. It's flat here, with low-lying buildings that extend for miles and miles from the downtown skyline. The city goes right to the edge of the lake. Human construction as far as you can see.

The new "luxury" condos that are popping up everywhere do not help; they slowly replace the character-laden three-flats with nondescript blandness that apparently appeals to young people with money, I assume because it appears "clean." The stand selling girly magazines definitely does not appear clean, but I yearn for an 'I Spy Sexism' sticker every morning as I pass it. The over-priced beer at the formerly cheap taqueria ($4.50 for a bottle of Heineken?) makes me sigh. And my favorite park, now severed in thirds by a new playground is no longer a refuge.

The corruption, so common that it isn't even talked about. Or when it is, the question is sunnyside or over easy, not what will you have today. I gag when I think about it, the city's residents suffocating from something they've never lived without.

The train gets stuck on the elevated tracks. It weaves when a passing train approaches. I can see the operator out on the tracks doing something, she gets back on the train and it creaks and heaves towards the station. I breathe deeply when we're stuck, because you never know what will happen in Chicago.

dad's day

It seems that dads are often disappointing. Most of my friends feel alienated from their fathers, but the spectrum is a wide one. Can you can have a friendly conversation with your dad? Do you wish your talks concerned subjects other than the weather and sports? Do you see him more than once a year? Do you talk at all anymore?

I think it's best to accept whatever your dad was able to give, even if at times it didn't seem like enough. Or even if the lessons you learned from him weren't the ones you wanted. I'm grateful for certain things my dad gave me: a childhood spent fishing on a dock, how to make stuffed mushrooms, an appreciation of big band music, my first records including a buddy holly record, a love of the movies and a curiosity about technology.

Maybe our generation will do a better job of being dads as some taboos about gender and emotional expression seem to have faded away. Possibilities for men to be more than male have multiplied, and this can only be a good thing.

the f-book

To think that I almost succumbed to Facebook, my only excuse being that I feel cut off from my larger network of people since moving to Chicago. But after reading this article I don't think I can do it.

The article was published in January, but I just came upon it in a roundabout way. I've been reading the Idler, and apparently the Idler guy wrote it. More on the attractiveness of being idle later.

Here is an excerpt from the article - and this excerpt doesn't even get into the Facebook founders' horrendous politics which are the real reason people shouldn't use it:

And does Facebook really connect people? Doesn't it rather disconnect us, since instead of doing something enjoyable such as talking and eating and dancing and drinking with my friends, I am merely sending them little ungrammatical notes and amusing photos in cyberspace, while chained to my desk? A friend of mine recently told me that he had spent a Saturday night at home alone on Facebook, drinking at his desk. What a gloomy image. Far from connecting us, Facebook actually isolates us at our workstations.

Facebook appeals to a kind of vanity and self-importance in us, too. If I put up a flattering picture of myself with a list of my favourite things, I can construct an artificial representation of who I am in order to get sex or approval. ("I like Facebook," said another friend. "I got a shag out of it.") It also encourages a disturbing competitivness around friendship: it seems that with friends today, quality counts for nothing and quantity is king. The more friends you have, the better you are. You are "popular", in the sense much loved in American high schools. Witness the cover line on Dennis Publishing's new Facebook magazine: "How To Double Your Friends List."

AREA

Yesterday there was a release party/gathering for AREA magazine, a publication that I sometimes write for (see: "Health Care, Self Care". The current issues is about Chicago as a policy lab. You can peruse the magazine online here: www.areachicago.org

neighborhood peonies

uncontacted peoples

I was completely amazed to hear the news tidbit about the uncontacted tribe of people in the Amazon. I take for granted that everything in the world has been discovered and there are no more magical uncharted places on Earth. Could i be wrong?

Is it that i've been living in over-developed landfilled cities with man-made coastlines for too long, that i think every human settlement pushes the boundaries of geographical sustainability. My idea of the world has shrunken to match my urban surroundings, in a city where police shoot and kill a cougar who lost its way and a coyote finds refuge in a Loop Subway sandwich shop. Nature has nowhere to go here, the wild butts up against the unwild and is mundanely destroyed by it.

Just knowing about the uncontacted tribes makes "modern" behavior like a trip to Target seem absurd. It's important to remember that our way of life is not natural.

writing tips

It's hot and humid in that oppressive Midwestern way that makes you droop. After yesterday's thunderstorms and chilliness this heat surprises everyone who thought winter may keep going into June. Peonies are falling over themselves weighted down by their heavy blooms, tree pollen is floating in the air, and people's clothes are coming off.

This evening I had the pleasure of watching a smart group of teenagers interview Joe Meno who turns out to be pretty smart himself. He gave them all sorts of useful writing tips, including never title your poem "untitled" and the only way to write good stories is to write a lot of bad ones first. The best part of the interview was that he grew up in Chicago and these kids are Chicago kids. Yet again, I see how Chicago, even with all its problems, imprints upon a person's soul. "Oh yeah that's the block with the White Castle." It's the simple recognition that he grew up here just like they did. And most importantly, he imparted to those kids: 'I'm a writer, so you can be too.'

it was a genuine shock

From the Associated Press:

Missing Cape Cod lighthouse located in California
WELLFLEET, Mass. - Local historians for decades thought the 30-foot tall lighthouse that once overlooked Wellfleet Harbor had been taken down and destroyed in 1925.

Turns out, it had just been moved to the California coast.

The fate of the cast-iron tower was uncovered last year by lighthouse researchers and reported by Colleen MacNeney in this month's edition of Lighthouse Digest.

Wellfleet historian Helen Purcell says the discovery of the lighthouse at Point Montara at the southern end of San Francisco Bay was a genuine shock.

hello

It's spring 2008 already. It seems like I should freshen up the blog. I haven't written for a while because most of what I've been thinking was so uninteresting to myself that I can't imagine anyone else wanting to read about it. It was a long Chicago winter, but I survived it.

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.

does anyone smell a skunk?

My holiday was filled with divorce, seafood, tears, uncomfortable moments, and skunk (the game and the animal). I can't decide which moment was the lowest: My brother insisting men become distinguished but women just get old, or my niece declaring that the Angels are going to war with the Muslims on New Year's day and if they win there will be 30,000 years of peace, but if they lose all the people that did not go to mass will die(?!hello creepy catholic school!?), or when the Dept. of Homeland Security unwrapped my presents and then RE-WRAPPED them, taping them up with Dept. of Homeland Security seals. Atleast I won the game of skunk and I'm back to my normal existence sans relatives.

socks on trees

It gets so cold here that someone knitted socks for the trees.

jingle bells

I'll be happy when the holidays are over.

snow sounds

The snow makes a crunch sound when I walk on it. It reminds me of a film we watched in elementary school about Eskimos. The soundtrack had a lot of walking-on-the-tundra sound, which amazingly sounds the same as walking on the Chicago sidewalk. Could be the work of a foley artist. Still, I keep thinking "I'm walking on the tundra." I guess aural memories are just as strong as scent memories. Atleast it takes my mind off of my numb hands.

more snow pictures

snow!

clear lake christmas

The lake was a big mirror of blueness. It smelled like new and the Northern California air was just the right chill. Above the lake, we walked with scarves wrapped tight on the dirt trail winding through scarred pines. We walked with running noses, and got cold. Back in the cabin with the fiber optic Christmas tree, we cooked enchiladas and pie and ate and ate some more. On the TV played a silly movie. Later, me and Sarah drove until we found a Chinese restaurant with a bar. We drank our beers under the tinsel and surrounded by locals. You girls aren't from around here, they said. We watched big families make holiday toasts. When our glasses were empty, we drove the station wagon around the edges of the silent lake. Back in the cabin snug and warm, we giggled about Harbin hot springs and fell asleep on Christmas eve. In the morning, the fiber optic tree twinkled at us as we closed the door to check out.

co-optable co-ops

Back in Chicago. Again reminded of the vacant american dream. Bewildered by the difficulty of finding Newman-Os and organic tofu in a city this size. Feeling the passage of my San Francisco days. No tofurkey this year. Even North Carolina has Coops.

a life lived under the ocean

Communion is my job. It has been said, to watch a person play is to see his soul. A life lived under the ocean in silent murky sound. A musician’s brain performs strange mathematical somersaults. With prodding, concentration and discipline, music comes. Up top in the air is where the rest of life vibrates. Choosing to rap myself in velvet water so the world can listen. If she sticks her head in for long enough.

life lesson #12,784

Never trust someone who says they hate onions.

train goodbyes

It is foggy in Chicago. Today the trees were framed in the train window like a painting. Bare tree limbs in the gray mist with just a few yellowish leaves barely hanging on. My mind drifted in a roundabout way as I thought about my old car, then my wine colored rug, and then to my ex-boyfriends family, and finally to rest with Maria. I remembered how I ran into Maria on the BART train one morning unexpectedly, because she lived in Sacramento. Surprised to see me, she asked me how I was and what I was reading. I don't remember the book I had on my lap, but I do remember chatting with Maria for a few minutes before reaching my stop and I remember how warm she was, and how motherly. I stepped off the train thinking what an amazing woman. About a month later, I got a call that Maria had died of cancer, and i felt how strange and lucky it was that I ran into her on the train and was able to say goodbye.

headline of the day

"Productivity Slows to a Standstill"

when chicagoans say chicago

The job was a bust. But travelling across Chicago everyday allowed me to feel a part of the city. I studied the different faces, ethnicities, and fashion while riding the trains. I passed through a lot of neighborhoods: Wicker Park, Downtown, Belmont, Uptown, Lakeview, Roger's Park. I don't feel like I stick out so much anymore. I have a sense of the geography and the landscape; brick buildings, tall lamp posts, and sweeping skies that hint at the giant lake not far away. I watched the leaves turn from green to bright yellow, and now I watch them fall. I'm beginning to understand why when Chicagoans say "Chicago" I hear tenderness, defeat, familiarity, and stubborn hope stuffed in that one word like a plump grape ready to burst.

o in chicago

costumes

I thought I wanted to be a pirate. Then, I realized I just want to be Johnny Depp. Today, I thought maybe I could be a sting ray. Most likely, I will not dress up and then be really sad and cranky on halloween because I don't have a costume. Although, I do have a back up princess dress in the closet. Then again, maybe I can be a trucker. A scary trucker. A ghosty princess dead trucker that was killed by a stingray.

public transit oh so gross

Today on the train, the man sitting behind me was coughing this phlegmy, mucous-filled raspy cough that made me (and I imagine everyone else within ear shot) feel like I had a throat full of phleghmy mucous too, even though I didn't. He was better than the man from last week who had the looooong finger nails and was drinking pickle juice out of a jar, and just when I was thinking, "Well, atleast he isn't eating the pickles" he sticks his loooong pointy finger-nailed fingers inside the pickle jar and pulls one out and starts chomping. It's hard to describe how gross this is while barreling through Chicago on a train; Try to imagine pickle smell everywhere. I haven't even mentioned the mystery substance smeared all over the floors of Chicago trains. Dark brown in color. What is up Chicago!?

the chicago years

Today I felt as if I had been dropped inside a movie, or maybe it's more like a mini-series; I like to call it "The Chicago Years". Surrounded by people I don't really know, yet everything and everyone seems so familiar. This is proof that there is commonality between life in different cities for people that have similar interests, often to a somewhat scary degree. The bad part is that sometimes I feel divorced from the action, as if I am watching a scene play out on screen. I think this surrealism will continue until I feel more rooted. And particularly until people around me have a sense of who I am and how I can be useful. I have lost some confidence due to this sense of "not being known". Its the trick of being certain of who you are without the old smoke and mirrors to help your presentation. Without any context I'm left by myself in the middle of all these new people that look and sound so much like the people I left behind.

yellow

The trees in Chicago turn yellow in the fall.

conspiracy anyone

Every time I turn on the TV I see women tied up, tortured, and killed via numerous popular crime shows. In the context of all the girls that have been murdered in the past month, why isn't anyone objecting to these images? Doesn't anyone see how wrong it is to display torture as nightly entertainment?

low tide on cape cod

This is First Encounter Beach where apparently a bronze marker commemorates the first encounter between local Native Americans and passengers from the Mayflower. This is bay side, so it is a nice place to watch the sunset and quite the pilgrim pickup spot.

before we were grown up

You look so grown up in your picture. And when we talk on the phone we both sound so grown up. I remember when the look on your face wasn't calm self-assurance; It was only confused growing pains and just plain old pain. I also remember you had a look of amusement when you said that many years later we will laugh at all this. And now we are older and stronger and I'm happy that we can talk on the phone and just laugh.

happy to be back

I've returned from my yearly trip to Cape Cod. This time we saw the cheesy part of the Cape; the part that hasn't been refreshing since the early 70s when I'm sure it was the place to party. Iceberg lettuce salads, old dirty salty types serving surprisingly fresh seafood, and a beer they've christened "Nobska Light." We stayed in a cheap motel with low cardboard ceilings and a metal tree figurine hung on the wall above the bed.

We also saw beautiful stretches of beach that rivaled Southern California. I had never seen the National Seashore before, it runs along the wilder ocean side of Cape Cod with huge orange sandy dunes and rough (for the cape) waves. There were even surfers in wetsuits in the water. We also visited probably the best library in America: The Wellfleet Library. It has an adorable logo of two mermaids reading a book, free internet, a great selection of books, and a warm lefty population of older artsy people which hosted me and "We Interrupt This Empire" several years ago. Also, Wellfleet has a place called "Box Turtle Woods" - yes, a wild box turtle habitat! Check out the Wellfleet box turtles here. I heart Wellfleet.

As much as I love the Cape and all it's weirdness, this is the first time I've felt so happy to be back in Chicago.

commuting sucks ass

I was chilled today waiting at the bus stop for over 30 minutes. I wondered how I will survive the commute when actual winter hits. There is no bus shelter or bench. You are forced to stand on the windy corner with no protection. Usually the busses run more regularly at rush hour, but sometimes they bunch up and 4 come at the same time and if you miss those you gotta wait for a loooong time. Most sucky Chicago things are often attributed to the city corruption which lands slacker people in important jobs as part of the patronage system. I don't know how true that is. But it kinda would make anyone hate government theifs. I'm reading "Prison Memoirs of an Anarchist" which will make anyone feel cozy and warm in contrast to poor Berkman's long prison sentence. I honestly don't remember if he gets out early or not. I kind of remember from Emma's memoirs that he does the whole time, but I might be wrong. We leave for the Cape tomorrow, so look for some good pictures when I get back.

fresh veggies!

scare fest

Hows about that scare fest on TV today? I have to admit I watched the complete docudrama. Scary. Especially all those shakey camera shots. I'd like to see a blair witch version of 911. Right after I finish my big foot remake. This past weekend I successfully celebrated my freedom by attending an outdoor music fest and a White Sox game (I ate a HOT DOG WITH ONIONS!). It was all very American. Topping it off with a mini-series that did successfully scare me. Good job ABC. It was almost as scary as Couric's interview with the prez.

My favorite part:

COURIC: I know we're almost out of time, Mr. President, and you have a very busy day ahead. But one philosophical question that many have that I'd like you to respond to, if you could, is that US policy, vis-à-vis Iraq, and the United States' close alliance with Israel, certainly highlighted in recent events between Israel and Lebanon, has galvanized terrorists worldwide. In other words, these policies have created more terrorists than they have eliminated.

BUSH: Yeah.

COURIC: How do you respond to that?

BUSH: Well – the first thing I would tell people that – we weren't in Iraq on September the 11th, 2001, when 19 killers killed 3,000 Americans in the most brutal attack on our – on our soil – ever.

COURIC: But they were from Saudi Arabia.

antidote for cynicism

I never thought I'd say this, but I am starting to miss the college students I used to work with at Berkeley. They were always full of anticipation, exhilirated by the possibilties of life that lay before them. They were all much more diligent than I was in college. They studied hard and were smart cookies. They embodied a mix of neediness and independence that was sometimes adorable and at other times insufferable. Often I felt old, dumbfounded, and annoyed in their presence. Sometimes I was horrified by their ignorance, for example when I overheard two young women say they would NEVER call themselves feminists, I think one of them actually said "ew!" Other times I was touched by their sentimentality and ability to quickly form community and accept others. Most of all, I miss the way their hopefulness and uncynicism rubbed off on me no matter how hard I tried to avoid it.

life's too short

Check out the picture, life is too short. If you don't slow down you'll miss the hotdog man doing a little dance. Just another weird Chicago thing I passed on the street lately. The biggest lesson I am learning from having left the Bay Area is how to let go. Even though that has been impressed upon me by several people who left me before I wanted them to, there is nothing like choosing to take off yourself. Forced disengagement. In the process of letting go, bits of memories come crashing through, several each day actually. Little snippets of conversations, disagreements, protests, meetings, drunken nights, embarassing moments, big parties; scenes that unravel into complicated situations that sometimes I don't want to remember. I don't know why these rememberances come back to me so vividly and suddenly like they do. Staring out the bus window, I take a deep breath and push them aside for a while. At some point, I think I will need to put it into context; a narrative I can understand. One thing is certain; the past decade has been filled with life and interesting situations. But tonight, tonight, here in Chicago I rode a tandem bicycle with A. home from D's house. Weaving in and out through the cold night air. I never rode a tandem bicycle in the Bay. Not even once.

mornings and coffee poem #134

I love mornings and coffee
because I feel as if I could do anything.
Mornings and coffee, even if it is bad coffee,
go so well together
I am productive when it is the morning
and I'm drinking coffee
A pair like beer and whiskey
Mornings and coffee

a city that is crisp and clear

One nice thing about being far away is that it allows me to look back at San Francisco from a distance. In my memory things are crisp and the air is clear. Billowy fog rolls over twin peaks. The city is small and compact. Streets are familiar. Friends are full of energy and excitement with ideas and news bubbling out of their mouths. A hint of fall chill is in the air with sun reflecting off the victorian houses and the bay glittering in the background. Small crooked bookstores and big cavernous warehouses hold a mix of interesting people. Middle Eastern music wafts out of my rooommate's room and everyone is planning their halloween costume. Is it possible to live in the past and the present? That isn't the most recent San Francisco in my memory. This sparkly recollection of the city describes when everything was my own version of Tales of the City. When coincidence was everywhere and anything was possible. That is not the San Francisco I left. But, maybe it will be the one I go back to.

outfoxing the hawk

When the weather starts turning cold the true nature of this city emerges. The fortified brick buildings, the double-paned windows, and the gritty grimy grayness. Old signs adorn old store fronts. Coldness and darkness will soon take over the green growing landscape of summer. People bundling up as if it were a natural reflex with shoulders hunched forward. Glowing windows in thick buildings, neon lights inviting you to come inside and have a drink. Resignation of the bus riders. I look forward to the extremity of winter, as if it were an extreme sport, to see if I can survive "the hawk's" assault. Hoping the the inside-time will expose some great internal answers. As I am often told here, "You have to be crazy to move here from California." And it is not even fall yet.

just a crow's fly

Sitting on a porch and rocking in a rocking chair is what I've been doing. North Carolina has wispy tall pines and a lovely beach. People in the South say things like, "It was just a crow's fly away." They eat chipped beef. Big front porches on the old houses look quaint combined with the clapboard shutters. I witnessed an entire golf game – the game does have it's charm. And I think the sign that said "Beware of the alligators" was for real, but I'm not sure. Cable TV, Ms. Pacman, and snack food is comforting. I feel like navel gazing lately, whether I'm in North Carolina or Illinois. All introspection is what is going on. Describing the outside of things is much easier than describing the inside.

pre-teen

Two men next door are busy tonight putting in a brick patio, I can hear them hammering. I can also hear the music they are blasting. They are listening to the cheesiest love songs sung by I don't know who, but she has a very high pitched voice. It is worse than songs I listened to when I was 12. Speaking of being 12, lately I have been having that adolescent feeling of cringing at being noticed in public and hoping no one on the bus gives you a look or says anything. In general, I feel more exposed here in Chicago as a female. I don't like men looking at me or whistling. I just don't. And if I were braver I would tell them to fuck off. I think this adolescent feeling is about more than the unwanted public attention but it is not bloggable material, although it is funny that I feel 12 again as I am getting gray hair.

big city of dreams

Like most cities, Chicago is full of contradictions. Daisies packed in dirt strain towards the sun leaving me wondering who plants hundreds of daisies in a Walgreen's parking lot. A young girl randomly yells at me, "I'll kick your ass if you don't give me my money!" Water drops off the ceiling and onto passenger's heads, which seems to be a phenomenon of Chicago buses along with cockroaches. Yard sale signs crowd the utility poles, advertising, "There's something for everyone! Really great stuff!". The girls upstairs have a "Three Friends Lemonade Stand" one weekend. There are really good avocados at Stanleys vegetable store which enables A. to make really good guacamole. A young guy runs through my front yard with a gun which means the gang boundaries may have moved over to my block.

from beirut to those who love us

My friend in Beirut replied with a video. I couldn't find the video online, so I have transcribed the text for you to read:

From Beirut to those who love us.
July 21, 2006

(woman singing):
One of whom are dear to us
Great those who used to care for us
Tell them whatever may happen

(sound of bombs interrupts her singing)

"I can't go on"
"Repeat, repeat"

(sound of bombs)

(Narration:)
We are around 4 million people
So far, 150,000 of them have left the country
And we were hit by 16,000 missiles
Israeli missiles
At first we disagreed on how to address you
Do we speak to you as Arab viewers?
Or as Europeans?
In the end
We agreed that it is irrelevant
No one is listening anyway
No one heard about a half million displaced
Half a million displaced
More than 300 martyrs
And 1000 injured
Did you hear of a town called Marwahin?
Marwahin?
Srifa?
Qana and Al Mansouri?
Sabra and Chatila?
Dir Yassin?
Kifr Qassim?
Massacre!
Massacre.
Massacre.
A moment of silence..

Now, listen well
We are besieged
And the smell of gunpowder is in the air.
Gunpowder, and the world is watching..
We are beseiged because the world is watching
What matters is
We still have a bit of food and water
And pride
And dignity
And love
We are 4 million people
4 million and one
One who was born today in a school under seige
We are here
Where are you?

One of whom are dear to us
Great those who used to care for us
Tell them whatever may happen
Don't forget to care for us

what to say

It is hard to imagine Chicago being cold. It was 98 today. I can't say that it is a pleasureable hot. The lack of an ocean breeze has become evident (and no the lake doesn't quite cut it.) Everyone prespires all the time. But, I do like that the hot weather forces you to interact with the elements. Unless you never leave an air-conditioned apartment, you will be affected by the heat. It is a forced equalization in a way.

I finally emailed my friend who was living in Beirut (Or atleast last time I heard, he could be anywhere really.) And again faced with the dilemma of what to say. What I feel is that I am horrified by what Israel is doing. But it is distant to my life. Beyond trying to empathize by following the news, reading over friends of friends emails, and imagining what it must be like, I don't really know. I haven't been touched by war directly. I feel so lucky for that. The immensity of that knowledge, the unfairness paralyzes me when I butt up against the undeniable fact that I benefit from U.S. imperialism. I don't want to wallow in guilt which plagues much of the left, but I know that I need to acknowledge it. Despite the tongue-tiedness, I still want to send a message. I want to communicate that I am worried to someone I care about. So I just end up saying, "I hope you are okay." and hope that suffices. I haven't heard back yet.

baby, lets have a baby – before bush do something crazy

It's hot again here in Chicago.

I heard that SF is having a summer. I remember the last summer SF had, I think it was a few years ago. I know SF is just doing this to annoy me.

I saw The Coup play again last weekend. Why is this the summer of The Coup? I went years in the Bay Area not seeing them play (except at that FNB fundraiser in Dolores Park). I think I had a mental block about liking them for several different reasons. It seems safe to like them now.

Also saw SHB play his country music to a weird club full of weird Chicagoans. He was good. Typical SHB, "If you don't like country music, you can kiss my ass, suck my dick, and get the hell out!" Since we do like country music we stayed. True to form, I drank too much and almost fell off my bike on the ride home. That's to be expected.

normalizing

Beth says that when you get hit by lightning your body fundamentally changes, so that lightning is drawn to you. People hit by lightning are more apt to get hit by lightning again and again.

My body is slowly becoming accustomed to the Chicago elements. I am starting to shed the slight uncomfortableness of being in a new place. My allergies are completely gone, which seems miracle enough. Although I find the city noise and bustle to be unpleasant and I have begun to yearn for the country.l I do enjoy the weather and the dramatic changes it takes throughout the day. The lightning/thunder last night was brutal. I think the garage beside my bedroom wall was struck by lightning.

When I glance down at my feet I momentarily startle because they do not look like my own. They are a pleasant toasted brown color as a result of being on the beach for four days. I had forgotten what a different shade my skin becomes when exposed to sunshine and it adds a strange oldness to the newness of becoming normalized.

dunes

I went to Lake Michigan. It is a huge lake. Look at that picture. It is huge. And it was this carribean blue color. I didn't want to swim in a murky dark mess of a lake. I didn't have to. The water was clear and seemed to be clean, although that may be a questionable assumption when dealing with Lake Michigan.

We looked at the stars by the fire near the lapping waves. We learned to make fires efficiently. I left sandy dirty and relaxed all around. We caught the headlines in town of Beirut in flames. It is alarming yet seems so far away. I wonder about my friend that was living there and if he is okay, or if he had left the city. When the big blood orange slice of moon rises over the horizon and we sing silly camp songs to keep the cougars away it seems like a good thing to stay away from the noisy places. Until you read the details of destruction and then feel like we have to stop this craziness in the world. Then it is time to go home and clean the sand out of my ears.

dancing in september

The sun has set and the skies of Chicago are alive with fireworks. The constant pops and crackles and booms will last most of the night. It is hot, but in a way that is soft, relaxing, and moist, tempered by a semi-cool breeze. I am obssessed with weather conditions. I imagine being 80 and sitting on a front porch talking about the weather for hours on end. Assuming there still is weather when I am 80. Actually, I'd be happy doing that as my main occupation when I hit 40.

Most (all?) members of Earth, Wind, and Fire grew up in the Henry Horner Homes here in Chicago. Henry Horner is a project that was erected in the mid-50s when a bunch of federal $ was allocated for housing. And then was neglected for decades in this segregated ghetto-ridden city. It was all meant to happen that way – no accident there. And it is one of the buildings that will be demolished under Chicago Housing Authority's new plan to tear down all the public housing.

Back to Earth, Wind, And Fire. I was in the grocery store and "September" came on over the store sound system. And people could not help boogie-ing in the aisles. Almost everyone was doing a little dance. Some thinking no one was watching, others just blatantly shaking their booty. We were seriously one beat away from having a spontanteous choreographed musical moment. Really, you have to be inhuman to resist Earth, Wind, And Fire.

Do you remember the 21st night of september?
Love was changing the minds of pretenders
While chasing the clouds away

Our hearts were ringing
In the key that our souls were singing.
As we danced in the night,
Remember how the stars stole the night away

Say do you remember
Dancing in September
Never was a cloudy day

yeah.

When I left the Bay the sky looked empty. Here the sky is windy, big, leafy, and lately full of fireworks (Chicago celebrates the 4th for a whole week). When it is really hot, you can't really do anything until around 11pm which is problematic when you have nothing to do.

Sometimes some people make you feel like you have to do something though. Like write your book, make your movie, take your trip, or sing your song. You know what I mean. Usually it is someone that is writing his book, making his movie, taking his trip or singing his song. (replace "his" with "her" if appropriate). Sum this up with a 3AM text message I received from S: "OMG Bjork is so F-ing HOT!!!"

random chicago observance

If you order a sandwich in this town there is a 95% chance that you will get a dill pickle served with it.

living in the country

Someone came over to my new apartment and exclaimed, "It's like living in the country!" It's not really like living in the country, but my neighborhood is pretty mellow for a city. Berkeley is more bustling than Logan Square for sure. People plant these really nice little flower gardens on the corners of streets. Old brick buildings have pretty trees in front and "For Rent" signs in the windows. New condos sit empty and latino families have moving out yard sales on the weekends.

I am busy watching lightning storms and painting walls bright colors. I've been drinking a beer a day, watching fake Russian cosmonauts at the Gene Siskel, reading about "The Machine", and talking about neoliberalism in the book club, and of course being bored out of my mind working. When when when when when?

fireflies

Okay, so I am being really bad and blogging during work .

Fireflies are amazing. They flew low and heavy over A's garden yesterday at dusk. I got to study them up close. They are flying lanterns. I had assumed they were mythical animals that existed only in my childhoood. But, they actually exist. I don't understand how people can see these magical little splashes of light without experiencing complete awe. It is like being able to watch a shooting star up close.

weekend

My new neighborhood farmer's market had two stands set up today. One selling bread and one selling apple butter. No vegetables were for sale. One guy at a stand said that it was slow because of father's day and usually there are 5 or 6 stands.

Yesterday was Puerto Rican pride day. And it was super windy yet warm. I slept with the windows open and you could hear the raucous crowds and police sirens all night. My cat was uneasy by all the commotion and whined all night long. Fun. Today he fell asleep in the closet on top of a back pack.

I noticed this weekend that there are a lot of yuppies in Chicago and that it is best to avoid them.

mr. happy

I've been too tired to write in this blog. I've only been living here for 2 weeks now, so I guess my slackness is forgiveable.

Turns out that my chiropractor is zany. He told me a story about one of his patients discovering that chiropractic treatment solved his impotence problem. While telling this story, my chiropractor referred to the penis as "Mr. Happy." I don't make this stuff up kids.

But hey, my back feels a lot better.

update

What Chicago looks like:
There are a lot of different kinds of bricks in Chicago. Brick is everywhere.

How I feel:
I feel like I need a vacation, like I have been operating on overdrive for months. I am actually looking forward to going to the chiropractor. Usually I hate going to see doctors of any kind. I am trying a place called "The Wellness Center", doesn't that sound nice? Oh and St. John's Wart is a wonderful substance. I love it.

How I am getting new stuff:
My books are all showing up busting out of their boxes. I am scouring Craigslist for bookshelves. I have never used Craigslist to acquire things before this move, now I am addicted. I look at anything posted that looks remotely interesting usually "purple" or "vintage" are words that indicate an interesting post.

The status of my cat's cat food:
I am also on the lookout for the special kind of cat food that my cat eats. I have a half a bag left, things are getting desperate. He is a puker. So, I know if I am forced to switch brands I will have a lot of puke to look forward to.

What I did tonight:
I went to the first meeting of the book club tonight with some smarty pants people. We discussed the book "A Brief History of Neoreolism".

hello chicago

I'm in Chicago now. With a need to have things in place so I can think. My body is not right. I have plans to go to the Chicago Wellness Center very soon. The pain has been a major impediment the past few weeks. I hope it is just temporary. I had so many things to write about. Now that I have internet I can't remember them. I did go the local movie theater the other night. $3 movie. Can't beat it. And the candy was cheap too. My bike is yellow and is named "Scout" and it has a seat that looks like a saddle. There are good things going on.