wendy and lucy

I'm one of the few people that did not like the movie "Wendy and Lucy." I listened to a radio interview with the director this morning, and it did not make me like the film any more. On paper and in theory, I should like this movie – it's sparse and realistic, it's about a young woman and a dog, it was filmed in the Pacific Northwest and directed by a woman. I'm sort of the target audience for a film like this.

To me, it seemed like a grad student project. An okay film, but not something I would necessarily pay money to see. Michelle Williams was decent, but not oscar-worthy. There was something about this film that I just didn't buy. Maybe that Michelle Williams is really heading for a cannery in Alaska? It seemed more plausible that she'd be heading to a barista job in Portland.

I appreciate the director's effort to expose the precarity of life in the grand US of A, but it didn't work for me. Maybe if I was still an alienated 22-year-old that can't get a job and doesn't know what to do with my life. But, getting older has taught me that that stage of life is a lot less interesting and romantic than I thought it was while I was in it.

I wonder why this director has a fascination with people on the edge of society. If I had to bet, I would say that she has never been close to the social/economic precarity her characters face. And that is probably why the film does not ring true.

one more week chicago

It's been warmer. It's like my blood is less gelatinous, like motor oil when it warms up, everything moves easier. I'm still amazed by how many things A. and I have accumulated while living in this apartment. The truth is, that we could live just fine without 98% of our stuff. The books we never look at, the CDs we never listen to, and the plates we never use. Yet we're bringing it all with us. The cats are jumping in and out of the boxes, not sure what is happening.

almost out of here

Well, we're packing up all our stuff. Listing furniture on Craigslist, and all the other joys that come with moving. I'm still recovering from my last day at the office, but I'm oh-so-glad that's over. I still feel stuck in sludge that is normal winter-feeling for me. I alternate between being really excited and a little scared. I always freak out a little during "in between" times. I like to be settled, and have all my stuff somewhere. That's just how I am.

how much more snow can we take

There is a silent heavy snow over Chicago today. It seems to match the somberness of events lately. The Oakland BART police killing an unarmed man, Israel attacking Gaza, the jobless rate out of control... I mean what is going on.. why so much tragedy? This year is coming in with a roar.

clarity for the new year

We spent New Years on the Outer Banks again this year. The ocean was beautiful. There are often pink sunsets on that thin slice of land.

I'm back and working again. Thankfully, we are gearing up to move away from Chicago. I moved here entertaining the possibility that I could find a home here. That the old buildings would be quaint, and the darkness would be romantic, and the leafy springtime would be enough to balance out the winter. It has become clear to me, that I don't belong here. That there are some kind of karmic meridians or whatever, that are just not good for me to live on. I realize that seems hippy dippy, but I can't deny the pull geography has over me. Some places can be magic, and some can be a sink hole. That doesn' t mean I'm not happy that I moved to Chicago. I absolutely am.

back in chicago

Back in Chicago where everything is a little bit dirtier. A symphony of phlegmy coughs on the CTA propelled me towards Logan Square from the airport. I'm constantly amazed by how depressing it can be here and reassured that "weather" is the major cause of my current discontent. Followed by "job" as a close second.

the getaway

We escaped the horrid cold just in time. We're relaxing in A.'s lovely parent's house in N.C. where I can turn off my brain for a while and attempt to de-stress. The only difficult thing, is that I'm finding it so hard to get any work done here. I just want to forget about work for a while and veg out, watch TV, eat lots of food, and enjoy the environs.

it's about time

How has it taken 8 years for someone to chuck their shoes at president Bush? I imagine the impulse must be irresistible when he's standing right in front of you.

snake stick

I found this snake stick while walking on the beach at Bolinas, CA with my good friend Jessica. I thought it was a snake at first, but it was just a snake stick. I smuggled it back to Chicago. The winter, which has only just begun, makes time move like molasses. Walking on a California beach seems like a memory from a lifetime ago, or maybe a dream, the snake stick reminds me that it was real.

what a day!

CHICAGO – Federal authorities arrested Illinois Gov. Rod Blagojevich Tuesday on charges that he brazenly conspired to sell or trade the Senate seat left vacant by President-elect Barack Obama to the highest bidder.

Full story here.

if only you knew how cold it gets here

joy

This morning, we spent a good 20 minutes scraping ice off the car with a broken kitchen spatula.

A neighbor looked upon us with pity and disbelief, then got an ice-scraper out of his trunk for us to borrow.

o.m.g.

get me out of this city.

it's snowing

It's snowing. It has snowed already in Chicago this year, but for some reason this feels like the first snow. My California cat is curled up into himself waiting out another winter, probably wondering what the hell he is doing here, instead of napping under the Berkeley lemon tree he liked so much. Now in our Chicago apartment, when the sun makes its rare appearance, desperate for some rays, he stretches out on the window sill trying to get a winter tan.

joe onions

From the November 20th Providence Journal...

Body of Slain Mobster Unearthed in Riverside
The Rhode Island State Police yesterday unearthed what they believe are the remains of Joseph P. “Joe Onions” Scanlon, the onetime hood, police informant and victim of an infamous Rhode Island gangland slaying.

Half-Irish and half-Italian, Scanlon grew up in Hartford’s South End, then a predominantly Italian neighborhood of working-class families, tidy houses, corner markets and bakeries. Scanlon grew up to be a short-order cook at various Hartford restaurants.

Scanlon went to Providence, then the center of the New England rackets under Raymond L.S. Patriarca, and fell into a life of crime. But it all ended abruptly on April 3, 1978, with a bullet through the skull.

He had a winning personality, the family friend said, “and wasn’t so bad looking.” He was Joe Onions, she said, “because he made the girls cry.”

chicago baby

I met a little baby today. She was absolutely beautiful and made these really funny faces and weighs all of 6 pounds. As I was riding the CTA to work, staring out the window on all the brick and cement and hard surfaces, trying to wrap my head around Chicago, I almost can't imagine a delicate baby born in this city so indifferent–which is the one word I pick to represent Chicago. It's just too precarious a way to start off a new life.

spain...on the road again

Slowly I've built my Sunday around "Spain...On the Road Again." I stumbled upon it once, and now it's part of my Sunday schedule. If you haven't seen it, it's about four people traveling around Spain gorging themselves on food and talking about it. The four people happen to be food writer Mark Bittman of the NYTimes (and the author of How to Cook Everything), chef Mario Batali, Gwyneth Paltrow, and a very beautiful Spanish actress, Claudia Bassols.

The show reminds me of a fantastic meal I had in Barcelona with three friends. We stumbled upon a tiny restaurant in the old part of the city, which was out of this world. We had fresh grilled calamari (the chef grilled the calamari in front of us) and these amazing potato tapas things with hot hot hot sauce. It was amazing. And the entire dinner cost like twenty bucks (this was before the dollar's decline.) I've never been able to get that meal out of my mind. But, now I can relive its essence every Sunday. How indulgent and utterly perfect it would be to travel around, primarily to eat. I can't help thinking, what an amazing gig, how the hell did they pitch this show?

a gate works both ways

As reported by Access Hollywood: Some of the rich people living in the Montecito, California mansions threatened by the most recent fire were stuck inside their gated compounds because their electric gates would not open.

exquisite city

Today I went to the "Exquisite City" art show at the Viaduct Theater. A bunch of artists were asked to dream up a city block... the creations were then put together to make a "city." The exhibit was mostly comprised of miniatures and dioramas made out of cardboard - it was quite lovely.

There's something so fantastic about little things. I used to collect miniature chairs. One of the finest presents ever given to me was a miniature 70s sofa, presumably from a doll house.

you're still beautiful

This was the scene in San Francisco when I arrived:

Hundreds of people were lounging in Dolores Park enjoying the sunshine. Bikes were strewn across the park, tossed aside by their riders who were laying in the grass laughing with friends. I walked through the mission and crowds of people were strolling through closed-off alleys taken over by music festivals, block parties, and really free markets. The air was clear, and electric, and full of possibility; as if the entire city was celebrating a secret holiday. It was like one of Mona Caron's murals.

I was amazed because everyone looked so damn happy. Giddiness, joyfulness, dreaminess, hung like ornaments in the air. I stood in Dolores Park laughing, because it seemed like a farce. A joke. A bad joke. That here in this city, was joyful life–like I had not seen in a long time–like out of a story book. Yet, I knew this was an aberration, and that often San Francisco is cold and foggy and things can feel hopeless here too, just like anywhere. But where I live now – in gray, sullen Chicago is such a stark contrast, that I had to laugh at the fates. And the realization of what I had walked away from. Beautiful San Francisco.