.
I had another childhood flashback today: the Manha Manha video from the Muppets.
Oddly enough, the song debuted in 'Italian' in 1968 on the soundtrack for a movie called Svezia, Inferno e Paradiso (Sweden: Heaven and Hell), a documentary about wild sexual activity and other behavior in Sweden. Shortly after it was debuted in 'English' on the Ed Sullivan Show and on the Muppet Show. Seems like a natural progression...
The first video posted below is the version I remember, the second is the original version and the third is a promo for The Office. There have been a ton of other spin-offs spawned over the years, including a cover by Cake and commercial for Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper.
My thoughts: 1 point Hipsters; 0 points Squares
Good luck getting the song out of your head.
MANHA MANHA
manha manha - the early years
Manha Manha meets The Office
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12.01.2008
11.19.2008
RANDOM CHILDHOOD MEMORY
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I ran across this today, and it made me smile. Love the animation; one of my fondest Sesame Street memories...
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I ran across this today, and it made me smile. Love the animation; one of my fondest Sesame Street memories...
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11.16.2008
I AIN'T SINGIN' CAUSE I'M HAPPY - PART II
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This is the last week for my first writing class in Chicago. I feel happiness/sadness at the same time. Happy to have a little more time to myself and to update my blog; sad because I genuinely enjoyed it. School apparently isn't all that bad when you love what you are studying. My next class will hopefully be in the summer of 2009, if/when I am admitted into the program. For now, look for more frequent blog updates...starting with my last assignment for the class.
ASSIGNMENT: to expand my character sketch assignment into a partial/full work of memoir or essay. If you read my character sketch a while back, keep reading, it goes on much further.
I AIN'T SINGIN' CAUSE I'M HAPPY
I wrote this on my way to work. It is my one and only love story.
It’s late Saturday evening and he sits perched on a stool out front of the old tavern, as he does most every night. His arms, half covered in a maroon button-up shirt rolled just below the elbows, are crossed, resting on his stomach inside his dark denim overalls, making his already broad, thick frame appear even bulkier. His kinked, frizzy, shoulder-length black hair is pulled back at the nape of his neck, held in place by an elastic rubber band. His eyes are masked by a pair of dark, round sunglasses that never leave his face.
He is a quiet man, approaching 60 years-old. He chooses his words and conversations sparingly, but he has seen things and has stories to tell. It is apparent by the deep creases on his face and roughness of his hands, but also by the way he grins to himself, on occasion, when he thinks no one is watching. His laugh is robust and genuine, but to make him laugh is a rarity. Achieve such accomplishment, however, and it resonates with you for hours.
"SERG, telephone!" someone yells from inside.
He tosses his cigarette butt to the ground, shifts his weight off the stool and stamps at the orange glow on the sidewalk with his heavy black boot. He shakes some imaginary embers off his overalls, which are worn and faded at the seat. He makes his way inside, letting out a deep, low sigh as he goes. His walk is heavy, almost forced, as if he is bothered by each step that no one has figured out a more suitable way to get from here to there.
Pulling the phone to his ear, he lets out a gruff "Yeah?" A series of affirmative grunts follow, and he slams the receiver down shortly after.
"You drove tonight, yes?" He says to me, with just a hint of a Mexican accent.
"Uh...yes, I did," I respond, not sure where this is leading.
"How about you throw me out at the Old Ale House? It's just a half mile down the road."
"Of course, no problem."
After we close the bar down, we drive down the street, in silence at first. Much to my surprise, he hands me a cd and says "Put this on number 19." I hit play and immediately recognize the voice that fills the car, which now smells of stale cigarette smoke, to be his. As he pulls himself out of my car, he nods in recognition to the bouncer outside the Ale House. He leans his head back into the car and says, "You keep that cd, ok?" Then, even though I can’t see beyond his sunglasses, I’m sure he winks at me.
And it stays with me for hours.
It’s Saturday again; my fondness for this day grows with each passing week. I walk up the sidewalk to the bar and feel a twinge of happiness to see Serge get out of the passenger side of an old, slightly rusted car. He wasn’t at work last week, and things felt bland without his presence.
It is a particularly slow-starting evening, and he is talkative. He leans on the bar, his attire almost identical to every other Saturday for the last few months. It could be considered his uniform, I suppose, although it seems more like an extension of him. Tonight, his dark denim overalls cover a deep orange, plaid collared shirt, rolled again to the elbows. One arm boasts a generous hole, the fabric frayed at the edges, through which I can see some dark material underneath. I stare curiously at the hole and wonder how long it took to spread so widely across his arm.
“You are gonna play me in pool” he says, suddenly.
“But I don’t really know how” I respond.
“Perfect, I’ll teach you, and then I’ll beat you,” he says with a chuckle and makes his way toward the table, whistling as he goes.
He is patient in his teaching, in a fatherly sort of way. He doesn’t belittle my inexperience and instead refers to me as ‘the future of pool.’ He provides commentary, playfully, as I sink the final shot for the win and almost convinces me that I deserve it. We play one more game, he wins easily, then we sit at the bar, waiting for the people. He flips a Cary Grant special on the television, and we are both engrossed. I almost fail to notice that a few customers trickle through the door. They know Serg, of course. I serve them drinks, two Pabst Blue Ribbons on tap and a Jameson on the rocks and ask if they would like me to put on some music. No, they tell me. They watch, too.
Sometimes Saturday is open mic night. When the first and only band takes stage, there are about twenty-five people in the bar. The band is dreadful, but their sheer enthusiasm outweighs the mistakes, and we applaud them, like proud parents, for being so fearless. During a break, Serg grabs a guitar and takes the mic. I am delighted at the impromptu performance; it is my first chance to hear him play.
He is a comedian, in his own right, and begins every song with “I wrote this song on my way to work. It is my one and only love song,” even though most are not. His voice fills the room, sweeter and more sentimental than one would ever predict by looking at him. A large group in the corner, they know Sergio. I watch as they sway and sing along with his words:
I ain’t singin cause I’m happy. But then again, I’m not too sad.
It’s a funny sort of feeling, not feeling good and not feeling bad.
Don’t you know I heard it said, that’s the way it should be.
Never tied down, always loose, to do as you please.
That’s the way, I heard it said, it should be.
No ties or bonds, to hold us down, we’re so free.
At the end of the night, Serg asks me, as he does every week, “Whatcha doing, girl? You coming out for a drink?” I begin to deny his invitation, as I do every week, “Just gonna go home, it’s been a long week…,” my voice trails off. He insists, “C’mon, first drink is on me. Come see some city.”
Curiosity trumps sleep; I go with him for a drink.
We walk into the Ale House, and I am reminded instantly of his most redeeming quality. Everyone knows Serg, and if they don’t, they want to and certainly have the chance by the end of an evening. As he introduces me to a myriad of people, I notice the whole room is festooned with portraits, painted by the owner of the tavern, of celebrities, local legends, politicians and other persons of note that have paid visit to the establishment. The air is filled with the snaking sounds of a saxophone. Coltrane, I think. As my senses struggle with overload, my eyes rest on a picture of him singing in a band, which covers a respectable chunk of a back wall. I comment, and he points out another right behind me. This does not surprise me.
Serg and I sit at the bar, shots in front of us, tequila and Jameson respectively. He asks, “What are you really doing here, girl? What’s so bad about St. Louis?”
I try to sum up, in a short time, the reasons behind my move. I tell him of feelings of stagnancy and wanderlust; a constant, insatiable, nagging urge to sprint away, far away, from the place I have always called home. I tell him of questions of belonging, often followed by answers of alienation. I tell him stories of opening a bar with friends and about the beginnings of relationships. I tell him about the slow death of our creation, and subsequently, relationships. I tell him that there was nothing keeping me there anymore, and that I felt abandoned, in many ways, by the only things that held me in one place for so long. I tell him about the ultimate realization that nothing is ever as sacred as I hope, despite grandiose efforts, many that surprised even me. I tell him, behind blurred vision, that I could not spend one more year in that place, for fear of watching myself dry up, crumble to pieces and blow away forever.
Maybe it is the Jameson or the imploring eyes of a hundred paintings or the impending arrival of early Sunday morning sun, but I tell him everything, and he listens.
“Ahh…such is life,” he tells me. “Just when you think you have it figured out, something, or someone, comes along and throws you right off track. You just have to try to remember one thing: always look out for yourself. Welcome people into your life, but realize that they are just here, running around this Earth, doing the same exact thing. This may sound like a negative, selfish thing, but it’s not. People come in and out of your life for a reason – a purpose – and all of these experiences we have, they teach us lessons that we must be open to learning. They change us, ya know, but they don’t stay forever. Nothing does. Just ask one of my ex-wives."
He laughs.
"But in all seriousness, that doesn’t mean they don’t make an impact that you will carry with you forever. You just have to accept it and move forward.”
He shoots his tequila, and looks at me. “You’re never gonna leave Chicago, ya know. Welcome home, girl,” he tells me.
Another Saturday, and I am in St. Louis, the place I used to call home. No windy city, no work, no Serg. I think about his words as I spend time with friends. All of these relationships, which once powered my days and shaped my character, are revisited. Things are different now; I am different now. Old feelings of antipathy and resentment, which I battled after my move, slowly melt away. I gratefully usher in realizations, awakenings and disbandments of old demons. I listen to what my friends say with new understanding. I can feel that they care, often more than can be expressed aloud. I silently thank them for giving what they can and wish them well - honestly and without reservation - and I hope my benevolence transcends all that has happened. I feel at peace, a sentiment that seemed completely insurmountable just a few months before. I move forward.
A week passes, and I am driving the streets of Chicago. I scribble some notes on the pad of paper I keep in my console; as I often do during the short waits at six-way intersections. I am singing loudly, gregariously even. Not because I am particularly happy, but not because I am sad either. I am singing because it’s Saturday, and I am on my way to work.
This is the last week for my first writing class in Chicago. I feel happiness/sadness at the same time. Happy to have a little more time to myself and to update my blog; sad because I genuinely enjoyed it. School apparently isn't all that bad when you love what you are studying. My next class will hopefully be in the summer of 2009, if/when I am admitted into the program. For now, look for more frequent blog updates...starting with my last assignment for the class.
ASSIGNMENT: to expand my character sketch assignment into a partial/full work of memoir or essay. If you read my character sketch a while back, keep reading, it goes on much further.
I AIN'T SINGIN' CAUSE I'M HAPPY
I wrote this on my way to work. It is my one and only love story.
It’s late Saturday evening and he sits perched on a stool out front of the old tavern, as he does most every night. His arms, half covered in a maroon button-up shirt rolled just below the elbows, are crossed, resting on his stomach inside his dark denim overalls, making his already broad, thick frame appear even bulkier. His kinked, frizzy, shoulder-length black hair is pulled back at the nape of his neck, held in place by an elastic rubber band. His eyes are masked by a pair of dark, round sunglasses that never leave his face.
He is a quiet man, approaching 60 years-old. He chooses his words and conversations sparingly, but he has seen things and has stories to tell. It is apparent by the deep creases on his face and roughness of his hands, but also by the way he grins to himself, on occasion, when he thinks no one is watching. His laugh is robust and genuine, but to make him laugh is a rarity. Achieve such accomplishment, however, and it resonates with you for hours.
"SERG, telephone!" someone yells from inside.
He tosses his cigarette butt to the ground, shifts his weight off the stool and stamps at the orange glow on the sidewalk with his heavy black boot. He shakes some imaginary embers off his overalls, which are worn and faded at the seat. He makes his way inside, letting out a deep, low sigh as he goes. His walk is heavy, almost forced, as if he is bothered by each step that no one has figured out a more suitable way to get from here to there.
Pulling the phone to his ear, he lets out a gruff "Yeah?" A series of affirmative grunts follow, and he slams the receiver down shortly after.
"You drove tonight, yes?" He says to me, with just a hint of a Mexican accent.
"Uh...yes, I did," I respond, not sure where this is leading.
"How about you throw me out at the Old Ale House? It's just a half mile down the road."
"Of course, no problem."
After we close the bar down, we drive down the street, in silence at first. Much to my surprise, he hands me a cd and says "Put this on number 19." I hit play and immediately recognize the voice that fills the car, which now smells of stale cigarette smoke, to be his. As he pulls himself out of my car, he nods in recognition to the bouncer outside the Ale House. He leans his head back into the car and says, "You keep that cd, ok?" Then, even though I can’t see beyond his sunglasses, I’m sure he winks at me.
And it stays with me for hours.
It’s Saturday again; my fondness for this day grows with each passing week. I walk up the sidewalk to the bar and feel a twinge of happiness to see Serge get out of the passenger side of an old, slightly rusted car. He wasn’t at work last week, and things felt bland without his presence.
It is a particularly slow-starting evening, and he is talkative. He leans on the bar, his attire almost identical to every other Saturday for the last few months. It could be considered his uniform, I suppose, although it seems more like an extension of him. Tonight, his dark denim overalls cover a deep orange, plaid collared shirt, rolled again to the elbows. One arm boasts a generous hole, the fabric frayed at the edges, through which I can see some dark material underneath. I stare curiously at the hole and wonder how long it took to spread so widely across his arm.
“You are gonna play me in pool” he says, suddenly.
“But I don’t really know how” I respond.
“Perfect, I’ll teach you, and then I’ll beat you,” he says with a chuckle and makes his way toward the table, whistling as he goes.
He is patient in his teaching, in a fatherly sort of way. He doesn’t belittle my inexperience and instead refers to me as ‘the future of pool.’ He provides commentary, playfully, as I sink the final shot for the win and almost convinces me that I deserve it. We play one more game, he wins easily, then we sit at the bar, waiting for the people. He flips a Cary Grant special on the television, and we are both engrossed. I almost fail to notice that a few customers trickle through the door. They know Serg, of course. I serve them drinks, two Pabst Blue Ribbons on tap and a Jameson on the rocks and ask if they would like me to put on some music. No, they tell me. They watch, too.
Sometimes Saturday is open mic night. When the first and only band takes stage, there are about twenty-five people in the bar. The band is dreadful, but their sheer enthusiasm outweighs the mistakes, and we applaud them, like proud parents, for being so fearless. During a break, Serg grabs a guitar and takes the mic. I am delighted at the impromptu performance; it is my first chance to hear him play.
He is a comedian, in his own right, and begins every song with “I wrote this song on my way to work. It is my one and only love song,” even though most are not. His voice fills the room, sweeter and more sentimental than one would ever predict by looking at him. A large group in the corner, they know Sergio. I watch as they sway and sing along with his words:
I ain’t singin cause I’m happy. But then again, I’m not too sad.
It’s a funny sort of feeling, not feeling good and not feeling bad.
Don’t you know I heard it said, that’s the way it should be.
Never tied down, always loose, to do as you please.
That’s the way, I heard it said, it should be.
No ties or bonds, to hold us down, we’re so free.
At the end of the night, Serg asks me, as he does every week, “Whatcha doing, girl? You coming out for a drink?” I begin to deny his invitation, as I do every week, “Just gonna go home, it’s been a long week…,” my voice trails off. He insists, “C’mon, first drink is on me. Come see some city.”
Curiosity trumps sleep; I go with him for a drink.
We walk into the Ale House, and I am reminded instantly of his most redeeming quality. Everyone knows Serg, and if they don’t, they want to and certainly have the chance by the end of an evening. As he introduces me to a myriad of people, I notice the whole room is festooned with portraits, painted by the owner of the tavern, of celebrities, local legends, politicians and other persons of note that have paid visit to the establishment. The air is filled with the snaking sounds of a saxophone. Coltrane, I think. As my senses struggle with overload, my eyes rest on a picture of him singing in a band, which covers a respectable chunk of a back wall. I comment, and he points out another right behind me. This does not surprise me.
Serg and I sit at the bar, shots in front of us, tequila and Jameson respectively. He asks, “What are you really doing here, girl? What’s so bad about St. Louis?”
I try to sum up, in a short time, the reasons behind my move. I tell him of feelings of stagnancy and wanderlust; a constant, insatiable, nagging urge to sprint away, far away, from the place I have always called home. I tell him of questions of belonging, often followed by answers of alienation. I tell him stories of opening a bar with friends and about the beginnings of relationships. I tell him about the slow death of our creation, and subsequently, relationships. I tell him that there was nothing keeping me there anymore, and that I felt abandoned, in many ways, by the only things that held me in one place for so long. I tell him about the ultimate realization that nothing is ever as sacred as I hope, despite grandiose efforts, many that surprised even me. I tell him, behind blurred vision, that I could not spend one more year in that place, for fear of watching myself dry up, crumble to pieces and blow away forever.
Maybe it is the Jameson or the imploring eyes of a hundred paintings or the impending arrival of early Sunday morning sun, but I tell him everything, and he listens.
“Ahh…such is life,” he tells me. “Just when you think you have it figured out, something, or someone, comes along and throws you right off track. You just have to try to remember one thing: always look out for yourself. Welcome people into your life, but realize that they are just here, running around this Earth, doing the same exact thing. This may sound like a negative, selfish thing, but it’s not. People come in and out of your life for a reason – a purpose – and all of these experiences we have, they teach us lessons that we must be open to learning. They change us, ya know, but they don’t stay forever. Nothing does. Just ask one of my ex-wives."
He laughs.
"But in all seriousness, that doesn’t mean they don’t make an impact that you will carry with you forever. You just have to accept it and move forward.”
He shoots his tequila, and looks at me. “You’re never gonna leave Chicago, ya know. Welcome home, girl,” he tells me.
Another Saturday, and I am in St. Louis, the place I used to call home. No windy city, no work, no Serg. I think about his words as I spend time with friends. All of these relationships, which once powered my days and shaped my character, are revisited. Things are different now; I am different now. Old feelings of antipathy and resentment, which I battled after my move, slowly melt away. I gratefully usher in realizations, awakenings and disbandments of old demons. I listen to what my friends say with new understanding. I can feel that they care, often more than can be expressed aloud. I silently thank them for giving what they can and wish them well - honestly and without reservation - and I hope my benevolence transcends all that has happened. I feel at peace, a sentiment that seemed completely insurmountable just a few months before. I move forward.
A week passes, and I am driving the streets of Chicago. I scribble some notes on the pad of paper I keep in my console; as I often do during the short waits at six-way intersections. I am singing loudly, gregariously even. Not because I am particularly happy, but not because I am sad either. I am singing because it’s Saturday, and I am on my way to work.
11.03.2008
BEWARE OF DARK ALLEYWAYS
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Alleyways + Big City + Darkness usually equals trouble, right?
I've learned one very, very important lesson when walking through alleys in Chicago: Always keep your eyes open and constantly survey the surroundings. If not, you could be making a grave mistake.
Yes, you could be missing out on prime opportunity to score some brand new stuff. Well, not exactly brand new, but certainly new to you and most importantly, FREE.
It's extremely common practice in this city to set all your unwanted 'junk' out next to the dumpster so that others can have a go at it. A practice I am certainly growing fond of thus far, and trust me, I'm not just talking cat-pee stained recliners here.
As my roommate and I were walking her dog a couple evenings ago, I spotted some fantastic vintage luggage sitting beside a neighboring dumpster. The designer dates back to the 1920's-1970's, and it's in surprisingly good shape. We also scored a beautiful ($%#*ing heavy) mirror that should take care of some of our empty wall space.
You know the saying, "One person's trash is another's reason to plan a vacation."
Au Revoir!
.
Alleyways + Big City + Darkness usually equals trouble, right?
I've learned one very, very important lesson when walking through alleys in Chicago: Always keep your eyes open and constantly survey the surroundings. If not, you could be making a grave mistake.
Yes, you could be missing out on prime opportunity to score some brand new stuff. Well, not exactly brand new, but certainly new to you and most importantly, FREE.
It's extremely common practice in this city to set all your unwanted 'junk' out next to the dumpster so that others can have a go at it. A practice I am certainly growing fond of thus far, and trust me, I'm not just talking cat-pee stained recliners here.
As my roommate and I were walking her dog a couple evenings ago, I spotted some fantastic vintage luggage sitting beside a neighboring dumpster. The designer dates back to the 1920's-1970's, and it's in surprisingly good shape. We also scored a beautiful ($%#*ing heavy) mirror that should take care of some of our empty wall space.
You know the saying, "One person's trash is another's reason to plan a vacation."
Au Revoir!
.
10.31.2008
ON THE MORROW HE WILL LEAVE ME, AS MY HOPES HAVE FLOWN BEFORE
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Just a little rendition of Edgar Allen Poe's 'The Raven' in the spirit of Halloween.
Read by Christopher Walken; Illustrated by Gustave Dore.
Enjoy...
AND a bit of a different take on it...:
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor shall be lifted nevermore.
.
Just a little rendition of Edgar Allen Poe's 'The Raven' in the spirit of Halloween.
Read by Christopher Walken; Illustrated by Gustave Dore.
Enjoy...
AND a bit of a different take on it...:
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor shall be lifted nevermore.
.
10.28.2008
IT'S ALWAYS SUNNIER IN SOMEONE ELSE'S PARKING LOT...
Ok, so I pretty much suck. It's been far too long since I have updated, and I honestly feel bad about it, as people who start blogs and never write in them is actually in my Top 100 most annoying things on the planet. But in my defense, I have been insanely busy with work, school and the revolving door of visitors I've been hosting since moving up here.
I've seen, done, and consumed some really amazing/interesting/unbelievable things in the last couple weeks, and I promise to include more on all that soon. In short, I love this city more with each passing day and hope that this feeling stays with me for years to come.
In the meantime, here is my latest writing assignment, for anyone interested in pickin up what I've been puttin down. If not, look for more in depth updates on life in the WINDY CITY (ya I can really say that after today) very soon.
A Sunnier Disposition
I suppose I used to like sunflowers. Perhaps in a way that you enjoy anything beautiful and unassuming that never captures too much of your attention at any one time. It’s remarkable, though, how a situation can completely alter your perception of an inanimate object, taking something perfectly ordinary and giving it a new meaning.
After my Father’s unexpected passing during the summer of 2001, the sunflower became one of those things, eerily rearing its head at unexpected times, linking together a string of unrelated events in a matter of weeks that could have easily been deemed coincidental until they just couldn't anymore, with the help of an otherwise hopeless afternoon late in the summer, when I was served brunch on a patio with an undeniable side of hope.
The sun was bright, but more forgiving than weeks prior. I stood hunched over in a bank parking lot with my hands on my knees, hoping to soon regain my bearings, not to mention my dignity which was now mixed in somewhere on the cement with the rest of last night's dinner. I stood up and opened one eye very slowly in attempt to fool my insistent, pulsating headache. I wiped the sides of my mouth and caught a glimpse of myself in the window. I silently scolded my reflection; it almost tricked me into believing I was this composed, attractive young woman dressed in summer white, instead of some unrecognizable, roving pile of hungover, emotional wreckage.
I rounded the corner back toward the car, where my Mom and sisters waited for me to finish getting sick in a public parking lot in the middle of the afternoon. The car ride was hushed and resembled a bus sparsely littered with strangers rather than a family on route to Sunday brunch. We meandered through the quiet neighborhood before stopping in front of one of the perfectly manicured homes. From the moment the car door opened and my aunt and cousin climbed in, my aunt’s incessant chatter filled the air. For once, it wasn’t met with averted glances and exasperated sighs. In fact, the noise was a welcome alternative to the deafening silence that blanketed our world for the few weeks before.
Brunch was a blur, interspersed with gourmet omelets, salmon croquettes and frequent rushes of nausea that sent me scurrying to the restroom through the well-to-do crowd on the café patio. Toward the end of the meal, my cell phone jingled on the table and the ‘unavailable’ number sent my stomach lurching in a whole different direction. It was my boyfriend, and thanks to several weeks of isolation in basic training at the Air Force Academy, it was the first time we spoke after my Father passed away. He received the news, however, nearly two weeks before by a hand-written letter.
I barely made it to a nearby bench before tears, the first since the funeral, began streaming relentlessly down my cheeks. As I watched them disintegrate on the steaming pavement below, something stepped between the sun and my bench. I looked up to see the sunlit outline of a young, Mexican busboy standing over me. He held out his hand and extended a small vase, half-filled with water and boasting a solitary sunflower.
I stared at him for a moment, confused, before looking to my family for some clarity. I was convinced they had sent him over, but the collective look of shock on their faces proved otherwise. As the boy handed me the flower, he told me to stop crying and promised me, in broken English and with a crooked smile, that everything would be okay. For some reason, despite the doubt that encased the endless waves of assurance from those closest to me, I believed him.
I can never be sure what compelled him to come over that day or why he chose that flower as his offering. He couldn’t have possibly known the significance of his gesture or that it may have lifted a complete stranger out of something deep. Deeper than uncomfortable car rides, unwelcome chatter and untouched croquettes. Deeper than fathers and funerals and long-awaited phone calls. Deeper than most anything on any given day, except the unadorned offering of hope on a sunny July Sunday.
.
I've seen, done, and consumed some really amazing/interesting/unbelievable things in the last couple weeks, and I promise to include more on all that soon. In short, I love this city more with each passing day and hope that this feeling stays with me for years to come.
In the meantime, here is my latest writing assignment, for anyone interested in pickin up what I've been puttin down. If not, look for more in depth updates on life in the WINDY CITY (ya I can really say that after today) very soon.
A Sunnier Disposition
I suppose I used to like sunflowers. Perhaps in a way that you enjoy anything beautiful and unassuming that never captures too much of your attention at any one time. It’s remarkable, though, how a situation can completely alter your perception of an inanimate object, taking something perfectly ordinary and giving it a new meaning.
After my Father’s unexpected passing during the summer of 2001, the sunflower became one of those things, eerily rearing its head at unexpected times, linking together a string of unrelated events in a matter of weeks that could have easily been deemed coincidental until they just couldn't anymore, with the help of an otherwise hopeless afternoon late in the summer, when I was served brunch on a patio with an undeniable side of hope.
The sun was bright, but more forgiving than weeks prior. I stood hunched over in a bank parking lot with my hands on my knees, hoping to soon regain my bearings, not to mention my dignity which was now mixed in somewhere on the cement with the rest of last night's dinner. I stood up and opened one eye very slowly in attempt to fool my insistent, pulsating headache. I wiped the sides of my mouth and caught a glimpse of myself in the window. I silently scolded my reflection; it almost tricked me into believing I was this composed, attractive young woman dressed in summer white, instead of some unrecognizable, roving pile of hungover, emotional wreckage.
I rounded the corner back toward the car, where my Mom and sisters waited for me to finish getting sick in a public parking lot in the middle of the afternoon. The car ride was hushed and resembled a bus sparsely littered with strangers rather than a family on route to Sunday brunch. We meandered through the quiet neighborhood before stopping in front of one of the perfectly manicured homes. From the moment the car door opened and my aunt and cousin climbed in, my aunt’s incessant chatter filled the air. For once, it wasn’t met with averted glances and exasperated sighs. In fact, the noise was a welcome alternative to the deafening silence that blanketed our world for the few weeks before.
Brunch was a blur, interspersed with gourmet omelets, salmon croquettes and frequent rushes of nausea that sent me scurrying to the restroom through the well-to-do crowd on the café patio. Toward the end of the meal, my cell phone jingled on the table and the ‘unavailable’ number sent my stomach lurching in a whole different direction. It was my boyfriend, and thanks to several weeks of isolation in basic training at the Air Force Academy, it was the first time we spoke after my Father passed away. He received the news, however, nearly two weeks before by a hand-written letter.
I barely made it to a nearby bench before tears, the first since the funeral, began streaming relentlessly down my cheeks. As I watched them disintegrate on the steaming pavement below, something stepped between the sun and my bench. I looked up to see the sunlit outline of a young, Mexican busboy standing over me. He held out his hand and extended a small vase, half-filled with water and boasting a solitary sunflower.
I stared at him for a moment, confused, before looking to my family for some clarity. I was convinced they had sent him over, but the collective look of shock on their faces proved otherwise. As the boy handed me the flower, he told me to stop crying and promised me, in broken English and with a crooked smile, that everything would be okay. For some reason, despite the doubt that encased the endless waves of assurance from those closest to me, I believed him.
I can never be sure what compelled him to come over that day or why he chose that flower as his offering. He couldn’t have possibly known the significance of his gesture or that it may have lifted a complete stranger out of something deep. Deeper than uncomfortable car rides, unwelcome chatter and untouched croquettes. Deeper than fathers and funerals and long-awaited phone calls. Deeper than most anything on any given day, except the unadorned offering of hope on a sunny July Sunday.
.
10.09.2008
MY IDEA...UP IN FLAMES
.
So, I was complaining to a friend the other day about my strong distaste for the Affliction/Ed Hardy/etc craze that is occurring in our backwards society and that I basically want to punch every guy proudly sporting these $100 pieces of crap t-shirts in the face. I mentioned that I had this idea to throw a big bonfire in which somehow you figure out a way to get a large amount of EH/Affliction merch and just torch the hell out of it. Or maybe you trick people into wearing their prized apparel to the party, only to let them know that they have to throw it to the flames if they want to stay. Then, upon cooperation, you provide them with a free 'How not to be a flaming douchebag' lesson and hand them a PBR tallboy.
Unsure of how to logistically make this happen, I put the idea out of my head.
Meanwhile, as I was poking around on Myspace today, I found a flyer for a NOT-Ed-Hardy Party. It is to promote the opening of a store on Ashland selling Novem gear (local designers) and basically will be blackballing anyone wearing anything resembling the Ed Hardy brands.
Glad to know there are people out there on the same page. I will be checking out the Evil Olive for sure next Friday to show my love. Or is it hate?
.
So, I was complaining to a friend the other day about my strong distaste for the Affliction/Ed Hardy/etc craze that is occurring in our backwards society and that I basically want to punch every guy proudly sporting these $100 pieces of crap t-shirts in the face. I mentioned that I had this idea to throw a big bonfire in which somehow you figure out a way to get a large amount of EH/Affliction merch and just torch the hell out of it. Or maybe you trick people into wearing their prized apparel to the party, only to let them know that they have to throw it to the flames if they want to stay. Then, upon cooperation, you provide them with a free 'How not to be a flaming douchebag' lesson and hand them a PBR tallboy.
Unsure of how to logistically make this happen, I put the idea out of my head.
Meanwhile, as I was poking around on Myspace today, I found a flyer for a NOT-Ed-Hardy Party. It is to promote the opening of a store on Ashland selling Novem gear (local designers) and basically will be blackballing anyone wearing anything resembling the Ed Hardy brands.
Glad to know there are people out there on the same page. I will be checking out the Evil Olive for sure next Friday to show my love. Or is it hate?
.
10.06.2008
SKETCHY CHARACTER?
.
...or just a character sketch?
One of my first assignments:
I AIN'T SINGIN CAUSE I'M HAPPY
He sits perched on a stool out front of the old tavern, as he does most every night. His arms, half covered in a maroon button-up shirt rolled just below the elbows, are crossed, resting on his stomach inside his dark denim overalls, making his already broad, thick frame appear even bulkier. His kinked, frizzy, shoulder-length black hair is pulled back at the nape of his neck, held in place by an elastic rubber band. His eyes are masked by a pair of dark, round sunglasses that never leave his face.
He is a quiet man, approaching 60 years old. He chooses his words and conversations sparingly, but he has seen things and has stories to tell. It is apparent by the deep creases on his face and roughness of his hands, but also by the way he grins to himself, on occasion, when he thinks no one is watching. His laugh is robust and genuine, but to make him laugh is a rarity. Achieve such accomplishment, however, and it resonates with you for hours.
"SERG, telephone!" someone yells from inside.
He tosses his cigarette butt to the ground, shifts his weight off the stool and stamps at the orange glow on the sidewalk with his heavy black boot. He shakes some imaginary embers off his overalls, which are worn and faded at the seat. He makes his way inside, letting out a deep, low sigh as he goes. His walk is heavy, almost forced, as if he is bothered by each step that no one has figured out a more suitable way to get from here to there.
Pulling the phone to his ear, he lets out a gruff "Yeah?" A series of affirmative grunts follow, and he slams the receiver down shortly after.
"You drove tonight, yes?" He says to me, with just a hint of a Mexican accent.
"Uh...yes, I did," I respond, not sure where this is leading.
"How about you throw me out at the Old Ale House? It's just a half mile down the road."
"Of course, no problem," I say.
After we close the bar down, we drive down the street, in silence at first. Much to my surprise, he hands me a cd and says "Put this on number 19." I hit play and immediately recognize the voice that fills the car, which now smells of stale cigarette smoke, to be his. As he pulls himself out of my car, he nods in recognition to the bouncer outside the Ale House. He leans his head back into the car and says, "You keep that cd, ok?" Then, even though I can’t see beyond his sunglasses, I’m sure he winks at me.
And it stays with me for hours.
.
...or just a character sketch?
One of my first assignments:
I AIN'T SINGIN CAUSE I'M HAPPY
He sits perched on a stool out front of the old tavern, as he does most every night. His arms, half covered in a maroon button-up shirt rolled just below the elbows, are crossed, resting on his stomach inside his dark denim overalls, making his already broad, thick frame appear even bulkier. His kinked, frizzy, shoulder-length black hair is pulled back at the nape of his neck, held in place by an elastic rubber band. His eyes are masked by a pair of dark, round sunglasses that never leave his face.
He is a quiet man, approaching 60 years old. He chooses his words and conversations sparingly, but he has seen things and has stories to tell. It is apparent by the deep creases on his face and roughness of his hands, but also by the way he grins to himself, on occasion, when he thinks no one is watching. His laugh is robust and genuine, but to make him laugh is a rarity. Achieve such accomplishment, however, and it resonates with you for hours.
"SERG, telephone!" someone yells from inside.
He tosses his cigarette butt to the ground, shifts his weight off the stool and stamps at the orange glow on the sidewalk with his heavy black boot. He shakes some imaginary embers off his overalls, which are worn and faded at the seat. He makes his way inside, letting out a deep, low sigh as he goes. His walk is heavy, almost forced, as if he is bothered by each step that no one has figured out a more suitable way to get from here to there.
Pulling the phone to his ear, he lets out a gruff "Yeah?" A series of affirmative grunts follow, and he slams the receiver down shortly after.
"You drove tonight, yes?" He says to me, with just a hint of a Mexican accent.
"Uh...yes, I did," I respond, not sure where this is leading.
"How about you throw me out at the Old Ale House? It's just a half mile down the road."
"Of course, no problem," I say.
After we close the bar down, we drive down the street, in silence at first. Much to my surprise, he hands me a cd and says "Put this on number 19." I hit play and immediately recognize the voice that fills the car, which now smells of stale cigarette smoke, to be his. As he pulls himself out of my car, he nods in recognition to the bouncer outside the Ale House. He leans his head back into the car and says, "You keep that cd, ok?" Then, even though I can’t see beyond his sunglasses, I’m sure he winks at me.
And it stays with me for hours.
.
10.05.2008
THE WORLD KEEPS GOING ROUND
.
Somewhere after midnight last night, I watched as one gentleman's whole night (and probably month, year, world, whatever) was ruined as the Cubbies fell to the Dodgers in just three games. He looked absolutely destroyed. His friends tried to cheer him, even bought him a shot, slapped him on the back and said "There's always next year." And if not next year, the year after that. And so on. It will be okay, the world keeps going round, my friend.
I woke around 11am today to see that it looked like rain. I was sure a good portion of the city was in a major sports-induced depression, but that wasn't going to ruin my day. Rain is a-ok, especially when I don't have to be running around in it. It's even better when I find a good enough reason to run around in it anyway.
Around 12:30pm, as my roommates and I were drinking our morning coffee, I got an e-mail about the free art on Sundays that I mentioned before. One of the pieces was placed right around the corner from our apartment, and since the paintings usually disappear within 15 minutes, we literally ran out of the house in our pajamas. You would have thought we were racing for a $5 million lottery ticket. The painting was already gone by the time we got there, and it was now sprinkling. So we headed home, wet and empty handed. No big deal, the world keeps going round.
It's now 7:45pm on Sunday evening. After a day filled with grocery shopping, cleaning, yoga and homework, I declined an offer to go grab a drink. I claimed to be tired, but really I just wanted to spend that $$$ on two books I want to read instead. So I ordered the books and realized what a different life I am leading up here. I sat and reflected on things, as I like to do.
This past weekend was the grand re-opening of my old bar. It has a new, more time-conscious name and new faces, interspersed with some old familiar ones. I have seen the new place and looked at the pictures, but it is an entirely foreign land to me. It is strange to watch your old world move forward without you and to watch people evolve with it, in ways you couldn't have predicted. I am still invested in the business, but I don't think much about that. Mostly I just hope it has all unfolded the way they envisioned and that it brings happiness to their world. A happiness I knew I would not have found.
It would be impossible for me to explain to most people why I no longer had a place within those walls or why I moved or how I ended up here. I learned so much there, not just about running a business, but about people...and life...and the different ways we all deal with it. Mostly I learned that nothing ever winds up as sacred as you imagined, and if you are no longer satisfied within the walls you have created, then walk through the door and see what else is out there. Because the world keeps going round...with or without you...and its up to you to keep up with it. Not the other way around.
I'll leave off with the painting I would have liked to find today and some lyrics to a tune (orignal by the Kinks, covered by Of Montreal).
You worry 'bout the sun
What's the use of worrying
'bout the big ol' sun
You worry 'bout the rain
The rain keeps falling just the same
You worry when the one you need
has found somebody new
But the world keeps going round
The world keeps going round
You just can't stop it
The world keeps going round
You worry 'bout yourself
What's the use of worrying now
you're almost grown
You worry 'bout your home
What's the use of worrying
'cause you'll die alone
Times will be hard, rain will fall
And you'll feel mighty low
But the world keeps going round
The world keeps going round
You just can't stop it
The world keeps going round
Times will be hard, rain will fall
And you'll feel mighty low
But the world keeps going round
The world keeps going round
The world keeps going round
The world keeps going round
You just can't stop it
.
Somewhere after midnight last night, I watched as one gentleman's whole night (and probably month, year, world, whatever) was ruined as the Cubbies fell to the Dodgers in just three games. He looked absolutely destroyed. His friends tried to cheer him, even bought him a shot, slapped him on the back and said "There's always next year." And if not next year, the year after that. And so on. It will be okay, the world keeps going round, my friend.
I woke around 11am today to see that it looked like rain. I was sure a good portion of the city was in a major sports-induced depression, but that wasn't going to ruin my day. Rain is a-ok, especially when I don't have to be running around in it. It's even better when I find a good enough reason to run around in it anyway.
Around 12:30pm, as my roommates and I were drinking our morning coffee, I got an e-mail about the free art on Sundays that I mentioned before. One of the pieces was placed right around the corner from our apartment, and since the paintings usually disappear within 15 minutes, we literally ran out of the house in our pajamas. You would have thought we were racing for a $5 million lottery ticket. The painting was already gone by the time we got there, and it was now sprinkling. So we headed home, wet and empty handed. No big deal, the world keeps going round.
It's now 7:45pm on Sunday evening. After a day filled with grocery shopping, cleaning, yoga and homework, I declined an offer to go grab a drink. I claimed to be tired, but really I just wanted to spend that $$$ on two books I want to read instead. So I ordered the books and realized what a different life I am leading up here. I sat and reflected on things, as I like to do.
This past weekend was the grand re-opening of my old bar. It has a new, more time-conscious name and new faces, interspersed with some old familiar ones. I have seen the new place and looked at the pictures, but it is an entirely foreign land to me. It is strange to watch your old world move forward without you and to watch people evolve with it, in ways you couldn't have predicted. I am still invested in the business, but I don't think much about that. Mostly I just hope it has all unfolded the way they envisioned and that it brings happiness to their world. A happiness I knew I would not have found.
It would be impossible for me to explain to most people why I no longer had a place within those walls or why I moved or how I ended up here. I learned so much there, not just about running a business, but about people...and life...and the different ways we all deal with it. Mostly I learned that nothing ever winds up as sacred as you imagined, and if you are no longer satisfied within the walls you have created, then walk through the door and see what else is out there. Because the world keeps going round...with or without you...and its up to you to keep up with it. Not the other way around.
I'll leave off with the painting I would have liked to find today and some lyrics to a tune (orignal by the Kinks, covered by Of Montreal).
You worry 'bout the sunWhat's the use of worrying
'bout the big ol' sun
You worry 'bout the rain
The rain keeps falling just the same
You worry when the one you need
has found somebody new
But the world keeps going round
The world keeps going round
You just can't stop it
The world keeps going round
You worry 'bout yourself
What's the use of worrying now
you're almost grown
You worry 'bout your home
What's the use of worrying
'cause you'll die alone
Times will be hard, rain will fall
And you'll feel mighty low
But the world keeps going round
The world keeps going round
You just can't stop it
The world keeps going round
Times will be hard, rain will fall
And you'll feel mighty low
But the world keeps going round
The world keeps going round
The world keeps going round
The world keeps going round
You just can't stop it
.
10.04.2008
LONE WARRIOR, NO MAS?
.
My horoscope for today:
"You tend to think of yourself as kind of lone warrior, Elle. But today your efforts over the last twenty days have paid off. You have found your place in a group of people; you may even call it a family. You now have a place to come home to, whether it's to celebrate your victories or to lick your wounds. If you could just open up to other people, you'll soon find that have more than one safe-haven."
A small, dysfunctional, unlikely family it is, but it feels like family nonetheless. We may not be related, but we can certainly relate to the trials and tribulations of the unfamiliar that we are each going through. We have vowed to support each other, in whatever way needed, to make this adjustment as rewarding and smooth as possible. All the while keeping up with our assigned household responsibilities.
Vanna B:
Household duties: Close all cabinet doors, turn off all lights and blow out all candles. Also good for riding bike indoors and finding useful things next to the dumpster.
Know-It-Elle:
Household duties: Technology/Music Wizard and Human Thesaurus, Dictionary and Spell-checker. Occasionally sells herself for software.
HouseHead Hendo:
Household duties: Teach downward facing dog and other such practices. Keep steady supply of background house muzik going.
My horoscope for today:
"You tend to think of yourself as kind of lone warrior, Elle. But today your efforts over the last twenty days have paid off. You have found your place in a group of people; you may even call it a family. You now have a place to come home to, whether it's to celebrate your victories or to lick your wounds. If you could just open up to other people, you'll soon find that have more than one safe-haven."
A small, dysfunctional, unlikely family it is, but it feels like family nonetheless. We may not be related, but we can certainly relate to the trials and tribulations of the unfamiliar that we are each going through. We have vowed to support each other, in whatever way needed, to make this adjustment as rewarding and smooth as possible. All the while keeping up with our assigned household responsibilities.
Vanna B:
Household duties: Close all cabinet doors, turn off all lights and blow out all candles. Also good for riding bike indoors and finding useful things next to the dumpster.
Know-It-Elle:
Household duties: Technology/Music Wizard and Human Thesaurus, Dictionary and Spell-checker. Occasionally sells herself for software.
HouseHead Hendo:
Household duties: Teach downward facing dog and other such practices. Keep steady supply of background house muzik going.
HOME: It's not necessarily where the heart is, but it is where you drink water out of old wine bottles and can always hear solid house music playing.
.
.
T-PAIN VS. THE VOCODER
.
This video is in honor of the 40 T-Pain songs I had to listen to one guy play on the juke box last night.
This video is in honor of the 40 T-Pain songs I had to listen to one guy play on the juke box last night.
10.02.2008
SIGNS OF HOPE & CHANGE
.
I hope that everyone has registered and is ready to VOTE next month. It is exciting to see so many young people getting involved, I guess maybe that's what happens in the face of an economic emergency. And the economy doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of the problems facing the country (energy/infrastructure/war/climate/etc.) It kind of hits you in the face and let's you know that inaction is quite possibly the biggest mistake you can make. Look where it has landed us thus far.
Next to the Palin/Couric super uncomfortable and ridiculous interview, this is still my most favorite thing I've seen in support of Obama. Especially since I can rock my 'Fake Empire' t-shirt around Chicago, and people actually know what it means.
Just for shits&giggles, here is the real video for The National's 'Fake Empire.' Mostly because iloveit, and it still has a super strong political message. Their show at Duck Room is still high on my list of favorite shows ever. Things have changed so much since then...and I am slowly learning to 'not try to figure out everything at once.'
Lastly, a video of Skoff (aforementioned artist that hides free art around the city of Chicago) painting Barack in front of Buckingham Fountain. The best part is the video right around 1:20....I hope he found the girl in the white hat.
I hope that everyone has registered and is ready to VOTE next month. It is exciting to see so many young people getting involved, I guess maybe that's what happens in the face of an economic emergency. And the economy doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of the problems facing the country (energy/infrastructure/war/climate/etc.) It kind of hits you in the face and let's you know that inaction is quite possibly the biggest mistake you can make. Look where it has landed us thus far.
Next to the Palin/Couric super uncomfortable and ridiculous interview, this is still my most favorite thing I've seen in support of Obama. Especially since I can rock my 'Fake Empire' t-shirt around Chicago, and people actually know what it means.
Just for shits&giggles, here is the real video for The National's 'Fake Empire.' Mostly because iloveit, and it still has a super strong political message. Their show at Duck Room is still high on my list of favorite shows ever. Things have changed so much since then...and I am slowly learning to 'not try to figure out everything at once.'
Lastly, a video of Skoff (aforementioned artist that hides free art around the city of Chicago) painting Barack in front of Buckingham Fountain. The best part is the video right around 1:20....I hope he found the girl in the white hat.
9.28.2008
SUNDAY AFTERNOON, THERE'S SOMETHING SPECIAL
.
Among things I love at the moment:
THIS GUY
His name? Skoff
His Modus Operandi? FREE ART - to perfect the art of giving.
Basically, he is a Chicago artist who hides copious amounts of art around the city on random days, then gives hints on how to find them. If you are lucky enough to locate one, you keep it.
He also posts e-mails and pictures sent in from people who now own his artwork thanks to his local 'scavenger hunts.'
I am currently reading the book "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron (highly rec'd for anyone with a more creative career path in mind), and she encourages you to take two hours every week for an 'artist date.' These dates can include ANYTHING you want, so long as your 'inner artist' approves.
I think I just found my new favorite 'date' with myself. I've got a sick amount of wall space to cover in my new place.
Here are a few of my faves:
Among things I love at the moment:
THIS GUY
His name? Skoff
His Modus Operandi? FREE ART - to perfect the art of giving.
Basically, he is a Chicago artist who hides copious amounts of art around the city on random days, then gives hints on how to find them. If you are lucky enough to locate one, you keep it.He also posts e-mails and pictures sent in from people who now own his artwork thanks to his local 'scavenger hunts.'
I am currently reading the book "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron (highly rec'd for anyone with a more creative career path in mind), and she encourages you to take two hours every week for an 'artist date.' These dates can include ANYTHING you want, so long as your 'inner artist' approves.
I think I just found my new favorite 'date' with myself. I've got a sick amount of wall space to cover in my new place.
Here are a few of my faves:
9.27.2008
PICTURE IT...CHICAGO...SEPTEMBER 2008...
.
My my my, how much difference a week can make in a gal's life.
For those of you who have never moved away from home (aside from going to college), it is a process I cannot possibly explain. With the way everything worked out back in St. Louis, I had a very small window to get my stuff together, find a place and get on up here. Therefore, I pretty much took a blind leap of faith that I would be able to find work quickly and everything would work itself out.
Well, the days kept passing me by, and all I was doing was looking, looking, looking, without much promise. While I had secured one part-time bartending gig, I was going to need quite a bit more to make ends meet (and pay for my expensive-ass car that I don't even need).
When you can't even get hired for positions you are completely overqualified for, it can be a real test. I think my breaking point may have been last Thursday, when I walked into an interview to serve food at a shitty Mexican chain restaurant and had the Manager tell me to "act peppy and spit my gum out" as he went to grab the General Manager for my SECOND interview for a SERVING position. It took EVERY ounce of willpower not to look at him and say "Are you fucking kidding me with this?"
Oh yes, this move has been a test. A test of my decisions, my self-worth, my patience, my everything. I started thinking, "Oh my god, what have I done?" for several days straight as the bills began piling up. I looked around my apartment and wondered when on Earth I would again be able to afford the little pleasures in life, like a kitchen trash can, ice cube trays and clothes hangers. A realization suddenly overwhelmed me:
I had either just done something really fucking stupid or really fucking brave.
So which one was it?? It probably all depends on who you ask. Personally, I have settled on the latter, as many positive things are finally happening, and I feel more at peace and happier than I have in a while.
And now for a mini-update:
1) CLASS IS IN SESSION! I am enrolled in Intro to Creative Nonfiction, and we had our first class last Tuesday. Class is located in the Gleacher Center (adjacent to the Sheraton & NBC towers) and it overlooks the Chicago River. Lots of different folks in the class, from all walks of life. Very refreshing. There are a couple other newcomers to Chicago, so I don't feel awkward +/or out of place. My teacher is a published author who has written several memoirs, essays, etc. After doing some research on her, I discovered she is an HIV+ mother and most of her work is about living and dealing with her condition. We already had to write an in class exercise, and I was one of the peeps who shared with the class. It felt good, and I even got a little chuckle out of the room (where humor was intended, thank God). It's exciting to be in a learning environment again....strange, I know.
2) I SECURED J-O-B #2! I never thought I would be so excited to serve Italian food and fill catering orders in my entire life, but I will be working ~35 hours/week doing just that. My boss is great, as is the staff I work with, and I've already developed a dirty little secret crush on one of the delivery drivers. He walked in (late apparently) with his hippie sunglasses, giant coffee, long wavy brown hair, black skinny jeans and hightops...and I was super intrigued. I SO wonder what his story is....
Anyway, back on subject....the whole job search is humbling and eye-opening, and I have definitely left that little comfort zone where I used to reside. I think maybe this is called 'character building' or some shit like that. I will continue to look for something more permanent that may actually use my college degree/talents/abilities, but this will do just fine in the meantime. Plus, I get a free tasty meal everyday. Sayonara ramen noodles and tuna fish.
3)OLD FRIENDS, NEW FRIENDS, ROOMMATES & EVERYTHING ELSE! So last weekend was the time when everyone I know decided to come up to the city. My girlfriends from college, my guy friends from highschool and my good buddy Phil were all milling about, and it was so great to see some familiar faces. I got to dance to some shitty DJ with my ladies on Friday night after work, and then on Sunday, Phil and I played Paper Boy and Mario Bros. on a Nintendo big screen and listened to an indie hip-hop group sing about sandwiches and perform a remix of The Golden Girls theme song. Estelle Getty would have been so pleased. I also ran into my favorite DJ from Austin, TX - Chicken George - and he gave me his new Chicken Soup cd. HELL to the YES.
I've befriended a girl from Louisville, KY that I bartend with on the weekends. Somehow I managed to find another semi-cynical, no bullshit, single twenty-something girl who recently relocated to Chicago for school and can't find a job. She is way into music and let's me drag her to shows, while also introducing me to some stuff I've never heard. At the least, we always seem to have an adventure when we go out. She tends to attract random, stray guys who won't leave her alone, so I just follow behind and shoo them away. Hehe. Last night we ended up dancing until 4am....there may or may not have been glowsticks and Elvis sunglasses involved. ((ick!))
Lastly, my second (and final) roommate arrives on Monday. WELCOME TO CHICAGO MEGHANN! You are gonna love this place.
Since I usually sign off with a visual, I won't break tradition. Back home I used to have recurring dreams I was falling from really tall buildings (and the occasional tree). The other night I had a dream I was flying from them. It was a lovely change.
My my my, how much difference a week can make in a gal's life.
For those of you who have never moved away from home (aside from going to college), it is a process I cannot possibly explain. With the way everything worked out back in St. Louis, I had a very small window to get my stuff together, find a place and get on up here. Therefore, I pretty much took a blind leap of faith that I would be able to find work quickly and everything would work itself out.
Well, the days kept passing me by, and all I was doing was looking, looking, looking, without much promise. While I had secured one part-time bartending gig, I was going to need quite a bit more to make ends meet (and pay for my expensive-ass car that I don't even need).
When you can't even get hired for positions you are completely overqualified for, it can be a real test. I think my breaking point may have been last Thursday, when I walked into an interview to serve food at a shitty Mexican chain restaurant and had the Manager tell me to "act peppy and spit my gum out" as he went to grab the General Manager for my SECOND interview for a SERVING position. It took EVERY ounce of willpower not to look at him and say "Are you fucking kidding me with this?"
Oh yes, this move has been a test. A test of my decisions, my self-worth, my patience, my everything. I started thinking, "Oh my god, what have I done?" for several days straight as the bills began piling up. I looked around my apartment and wondered when on Earth I would again be able to afford the little pleasures in life, like a kitchen trash can, ice cube trays and clothes hangers. A realization suddenly overwhelmed me:
I had either just done something really fucking stupid or really fucking brave.
So which one was it?? It probably all depends on who you ask. Personally, I have settled on the latter, as many positive things are finally happening, and I feel more at peace and happier than I have in a while.
And now for a mini-update:
1) CLASS IS IN SESSION! I am enrolled in Intro to Creative Nonfiction, and we had our first class last Tuesday. Class is located in the Gleacher Center (adjacent to the Sheraton & NBC towers) and it overlooks the Chicago River. Lots of different folks in the class, from all walks of life. Very refreshing. There are a couple other newcomers to Chicago, so I don't feel awkward +/or out of place. My teacher is a published author who has written several memoirs, essays, etc. After doing some research on her, I discovered she is an HIV+ mother and most of her work is about living and dealing with her condition. We already had to write an in class exercise, and I was one of the peeps who shared with the class. It felt good, and I even got a little chuckle out of the room (where humor was intended, thank God). It's exciting to be in a learning environment again....strange, I know.
2) I SECURED J-O-B #2! I never thought I would be so excited to serve Italian food and fill catering orders in my entire life, but I will be working ~35 hours/week doing just that. My boss is great, as is the staff I work with, and I've already developed a dirty little secret crush on one of the delivery drivers. He walked in (late apparently) with his hippie sunglasses, giant coffee, long wavy brown hair, black skinny jeans and hightops...and I was super intrigued. I SO wonder what his story is....
Anyway, back on subject....the whole job search is humbling and eye-opening, and I have definitely left that little comfort zone where I used to reside. I think maybe this is called 'character building' or some shit like that. I will continue to look for something more permanent that may actually use my college degree/talents/abilities, but this will do just fine in the meantime. Plus, I get a free tasty meal everyday. Sayonara ramen noodles and tuna fish.
3)OLD FRIENDS, NEW FRIENDS, ROOMMATES & EVERYTHING ELSE! So last weekend was the time when everyone I know decided to come up to the city. My girlfriends from college, my guy friends from highschool and my good buddy Phil were all milling about, and it was so great to see some familiar faces. I got to dance to some shitty DJ with my ladies on Friday night after work, and then on Sunday, Phil and I played Paper Boy and Mario Bros. on a Nintendo big screen and listened to an indie hip-hop group sing about sandwiches and perform a remix of The Golden Girls theme song. Estelle Getty would have been so pleased. I also ran into my favorite DJ from Austin, TX - Chicken George - and he gave me his new Chicken Soup cd. HELL to the YES.
I've befriended a girl from Louisville, KY that I bartend with on the weekends. Somehow I managed to find another semi-cynical, no bullshit, single twenty-something girl who recently relocated to Chicago for school and can't find a job. She is way into music and let's me drag her to shows, while also introducing me to some stuff I've never heard. At the least, we always seem to have an adventure when we go out. She tends to attract random, stray guys who won't leave her alone, so I just follow behind and shoo them away. Hehe. Last night we ended up dancing until 4am....there may or may not have been glowsticks and Elvis sunglasses involved. ((ick!))
Lastly, my second (and final) roommate arrives on Monday. WELCOME TO CHICAGO MEGHANN! You are gonna love this place.
Since I usually sign off with a visual, I won't break tradition. Back home I used to have recurring dreams I was falling from really tall buildings (and the occasional tree). The other night I had a dream I was flying from them. It was a lovely change.
9.26.2008
PHUN WITH FOTOSHOP
.
After befriending a guy up here with some seasoned Photoshop skills (and DJ skills might I add), I've decided to accept his offer to share his knowledge. He has given me two lessons now, and I am still millions of pixels away from getting it down, but I sure am having fun messing around with it.
Just some stuff I put together using a few photos I took around town a few days ago.
[flutterby]
[yes,trees]
[booduh]
After befriending a guy up here with some seasoned Photoshop skills (and DJ skills might I add), I've decided to accept his offer to share his knowledge. He has given me two lessons now, and I am still millions of pixels away from getting it down, but I sure am having fun messing around with it.
Just some stuff I put together using a few photos I took around town a few days ago.
[flutterby]
[yes,trees]
[booduh]
9.17.2008
MOON RIVER (not wider than a mile)
.
I jogged through downtown Chicago tonight. Running usually lifts my spirits, releases any stress and brings immediate piece of mind. On this particular evening, however, I just felt discouraged. Lonely. Confused. Restless. All emotions I expected to settle in eventually after my move, but none of which I felt like sifting through yet.
So I slowed down, eventually to just a walk. I wandered the city and began to question, for the first time, my decision to move to this place. The little fish/big pond was getting to me, at least professionally. All I do all day long is search for work, and it isn't clear if I will have enough money to pay for my class that begins next week, which is a giant piece of this whole scattered puzzle. I walked and walked and walked, hoping the more unfamiliar territory I covered, the more it would feel like I belong here.
I brought a camera with me to catch dusk on a Chicago September evening, so as I neared home, I stopped on the bridge to take some pictures of the city. I leaned over the rail and stared at the river. I wondered, naively perhaps, if the river connects to the Mississippi in some capacity or another.
I watched the reflection of the buildings on the water. I thought about the Mississippi, and the way it reflects the Arch. I thought about home and my family. I thought about the old bar, and my former 'family' there. I thought about my dog and Crazy Bowls & Wraps. I thought about my favorite counter guy at Jimmy John's. I thought about the Royale and how the randomness of the menus always seemed to match the random music playing. I thought about the voice in my old elevator, Ellie as I called her, and the cheerful way she used to say "Gewing Up!" as the doors closed. I thought about my friends, and the way we used to see each other, before life and a multitude of other things clouded everything up.
I stared down at the water, searching for my own reflection...instead I just watched the images of the buildings wave and ripple in the wind. I thought about the way things are now, the way I am now. Everything is so different. I wondered if I had changed or if everyone else did. Or if we had all just adapted and reacted as best we could to circumstance, and this is just the way life goes...in waves and ripples.
[some of my city seconds on camera]
I jogged through downtown Chicago tonight. Running usually lifts my spirits, releases any stress and brings immediate piece of mind. On this particular evening, however, I just felt discouraged. Lonely. Confused. Restless. All emotions I expected to settle in eventually after my move, but none of which I felt like sifting through yet.
So I slowed down, eventually to just a walk. I wandered the city and began to question, for the first time, my decision to move to this place. The little fish/big pond was getting to me, at least professionally. All I do all day long is search for work, and it isn't clear if I will have enough money to pay for my class that begins next week, which is a giant piece of this whole scattered puzzle. I walked and walked and walked, hoping the more unfamiliar territory I covered, the more it would feel like I belong here.
I brought a camera with me to catch dusk on a Chicago September evening, so as I neared home, I stopped on the bridge to take some pictures of the city. I leaned over the rail and stared at the river. I wondered, naively perhaps, if the river connects to the Mississippi in some capacity or another.
I watched the reflection of the buildings on the water. I thought about the Mississippi, and the way it reflects the Arch. I thought about home and my family. I thought about the old bar, and my former 'family' there. I thought about my dog and Crazy Bowls & Wraps. I thought about my favorite counter guy at Jimmy John's. I thought about the Royale and how the randomness of the menus always seemed to match the random music playing. I thought about the voice in my old elevator, Ellie as I called her, and the cheerful way she used to say "Gewing Up!" as the doors closed. I thought about my friends, and the way we used to see each other, before life and a multitude of other things clouded everything up.
I stared down at the water, searching for my own reflection...instead I just watched the images of the buildings wave and ripple in the wind. I thought about the way things are now, the way I am now. Everything is so different. I wondered if I had changed or if everyone else did. Or if we had all just adapted and reacted as best we could to circumstance, and this is just the way life goes...in waves and ripples.
[some of my city seconds on camera]
LIST O' CRAIG
after all the apartment/job hunting, i hope 2009 brings many, many days SANS craigslist.
until then, at least i can have a good giggle every now & again.
my comments are below in [brkts].
______________________________________________________________
Date: 2008-09-08, 2:58PM CDT
I am looking for someone who wants to open a haunted house with me (not this year). I don think I need to write much more. If you have the haunt bug (you know who you are!!) lets talk and see if it will work. Thankx
Pete
[the haunt bug? you're probably gonna wanna get that checked out, pete. maybe there is a medical study posted somewhere on craigslist you can reply to instead of reading through the thousands of responses that will soon be flooding your inbox.]
__________________________________________________________________
just looking for a quick hj tonight $80
Reply to: gigs-843917434@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-09-17, 1:02AM CDT
just looking for a quick hand job from a female. no massage or anything else just about 10 minutes of your time. i am near irving park and central if that helps. $80 send a pic. thanks
[$80 for 10 minutes?? i'm going to pretend i didn't think twice about this one.]
____________________________________________________________________
Reply to: gigs-842316989@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-09-15, 8:17PM CDT
Seeking hot female to shave me. I think you know where. Please be skilled and experienced in this area. Contact me if you think you might be who I'm looking for.
[Females only....DON'T SHAVE ME, BRO!]
______________________________________________________________
Date: 2008-09-04, 3:27PM CDT
Crabbby Kim's is seeking energetic and personable female bartenders to work our bar. We are known for our great food and hot bartenders who wear bikinis. Ladies who feel great in a bikini need to apply!
In Person:
Crabbby Kim's Bikini Sports Bar
3655 N Western Ave
Chicago, IL 60618
**Stop in between 2pm and 1am M-F ask for Paul and please bring a bikini**
[Answer: Bikini, Food and Crabby; Question: What are three words that should never be included in one craigslist post?]
___________________________________________________________________
Cute hipster kid eating a veggie taco - m4m
Reply to: pers-843926804@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-09-17, 1:25AM CDT
You were riding your metallic blue, red, and yellow bike and eating a veggie taco. We talked about how you almost got ran over by a bus.
I should have asked you out.
[sounds like the lyrics to the next Black Kids song to me]
____________________________________________________________________
Date: 2008-09-16, 10:12PM CDT
hope u passed your test. would like to meet u for coffee or drinks.
[if you didn't, heroin behind a dumpster later?]
___________________________________________________________________
AAAHHHH...GOODNIGHT LIST 'O CRAIG...I'LL SEE YA IN THE MORNING.
until then, at least i can have a good giggle every now & again.
my comments are below in [brkts].
______________________________________________________________
haunted house partner?
Reply to: gigs-832831832@craigslist.org [?]Date: 2008-09-08, 2:58PM CDT
I am looking for someone who wants to open a haunted house with me (not this year). I don think I need to write much more. If you have the haunt bug (you know who you are!!) lets talk and see if it will work. Thankx
Pete
[the haunt bug? you're probably gonna wanna get that checked out, pete. maybe there is a medical study posted somewhere on craigslist you can reply to instead of reading through the thousands of responses that will soon be flooding your inbox.]
__________________________________________________________________
just looking for a quick hj tonight $80
Reply to: gigs-843917434@craigslist.org [?]Date: 2008-09-17, 1:02AM CDT
just looking for a quick hand job from a female. no massage or anything else just about 10 minutes of your time. i am near irving park and central if that helps. $80 send a pic. thanks
[$80 for 10 minutes?? i'm going to pretend i didn't think twice about this one.]
____________________________________________________________________
SHAVE ME (North Side) |
Date: 2008-09-15, 8:17PM CDT
Seeking hot female to shave me. I think you know where. Please be skilled and experienced in this area. Contact me if you think you might be who I'm looking for.
[Females only....DON'T SHAVE ME, BRO!]
______________________________________________________________
Bartender Wanted for Busy Chicago Bar
Reply to: job-827377016@craigslist.org [?]Date: 2008-09-04, 3:27PM CDT
Crabbby Kim's is seeking energetic and personable female bartenders to work our bar. We are known for our great food and hot bartenders who wear bikinis. Ladies who feel great in a bikini need to apply!
In Person:
Crabbby Kim's Bikini Sports Bar
3655 N Western Ave
Chicago, IL 60618
**Stop in between 2pm and 1am M-F ask for Paul and please bring a bikini**
[Answer: Bikini, Food and Crabby; Question: What are three words that should never be included in one craigslist post?]
___________________________________________________________________
Cute hipster kid eating a veggie taco - m4m
Reply to: pers-843926804@craigslist.org [?]Date: 2008-09-17, 1:25AM CDT
You were riding your metallic blue, red, and yellow bike and eating a veggie taco. We talked about how you almost got ran over by a bus.
I should have asked you out.
[sounds like the lyrics to the next Black Kids song to me]
____________________________________________________________________
drug screening at chicago and ogden - m4w 29
Reply to: pers-843652459@craigslist.org [?]Date: 2008-09-16, 10:12PM CDT
hope u passed your test. would like to meet u for coffee or drinks.
[if you didn't, heroin behind a dumpster later?]
___________________________________________________________________
AAAHHHH...GOODNIGHT LIST 'O CRAIG...I'LL SEE YA IN THE MORNING.
9.14.2008
A SUPPOSEDLY FUN THING I SUPPOSE I'LL DO AGAIN SOMEDAY
.
after working in the nightlife industry for a few years, today is what is usually considered SUNday FUNday. however, it seemed to be lacking two very vital ingredients when i woke up:
SUN/FUN
‘’I've just never liked it,'’ one of his characters says of poetry. ‘’It beats around bushes. Even when I like it, it’s nothing more than a really oblique way of saying the obvious.'’ To which her friend replies, "But consider how very, very few of us have the equipment to deal with the obvious."
reading this left me feeling strangely helpless. especially since all i can imagine lately is finding a life where everyone deals with the obvious and not the falsehoods we spout on a daily basis convincing each other that if life looks fantastic to those on the outside looking in, then certainly it must be.
as i put away my computer, i decided since there was zero opportunity left for sun in the day, maybe fun wasn't entirely out of the question. a few days ago, i agreed to have dinner [spanish tapas] with the guy who took me to the dj afterhours on friday night. we met my first night out in chicago, after he commented that i should take off my hat. when i asked why, he said he was curious what my hair was like underneath. i made sure to go hat-less on this particular evening.
as the night drew on, i was happy to have obliged. the food was outstanding, as was the sangria, and the conversation was never strained or uncomfortable. he was complimentary and accommodating, smart and interesting. he asked more personal questions of me in one night then had been asked in my entire last relationship. go figure.
alas, the more he inquired, the more i realized why i moved here in the first place. for the time being, i like my anonymity. i have a lot of self-exploration to do...a lot of unanswered questions. i want to learn to deal with the obvious, but i'm not quite sure what that means yet. other than i cannot begin answering questions to someone else when i was still drawing blanks to myself.
as he dropped me back home, i accepted his kiss on the cheek and thanked him for the lovely evening. as i walked toward the door to my apartment, i made peace with the obvious. i was no more ready date again as i was ready to endure another rainy, dreary chicago day. i glanced at the sky as the door slammed shut, and thankfully, noticed there were no rain clouds in sight.
i will date again soon, and i suppose it will be fun. until then, i'll just be the girl, in the hat, with the curious hair.
after working in the nightlife industry for a few years, today is what is usually considered SUNday FUNday. however, it seemed to be lacking two very vital ingredients when i woke up:
SUN/FUN
it's been pouring for days straight, and the weather was not only depressing, but it sliced the beer garden crowd/my tips in half last night. i lay in bed and watched the rain out my window for what seemed like an eternity. eventually, i made some coffee, opened my computer and began reading about the damage hurricane ike caused this weekend. i immediately felt remorse for my selfishness. nothing like a side of guilt with my morning coffee.
i hoped for something randomly uplifting as i poked aimlessly around the internet and instead sunk even lower. i get the NY Times book updates delivered to my inbox, and today it informed me that David Foster Wallace was found dead at age 46 in his california home. cause of death - suicide.
DFW is a postmodern writer who is known for his satiric, brutally honest and darkly humorous fiction novels, short stories and personal essays. i've read several of his essays out of "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again," and, ironically, very recently added his 1996 novel, "Infinite Jest" to my long list of books i must read if i ever want to really make a go of this writing thing.
my curiosity raced...how could someone so intelligent and ahead of so much and so many feel that he had no more to share? were there really no more truths to tell when he had so many here to listen? it didn't make sense. not today...not any day. i spent the next couple hours reading more about him...his work...his fans...his life. i eventually found this pulled from one of his short stories:
i hoped for something randomly uplifting as i poked aimlessly around the internet and instead sunk even lower. i get the NY Times book updates delivered to my inbox, and today it informed me that David Foster Wallace was found dead at age 46 in his california home. cause of death - suicide.
DFW is a postmodern writer who is known for his satiric, brutally honest and darkly humorous fiction novels, short stories and personal essays. i've read several of his essays out of "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again," and, ironically, very recently added his 1996 novel, "Infinite Jest" to my long list of books i must read if i ever want to really make a go of this writing thing.
my curiosity raced...how could someone so intelligent and ahead of so much and so many feel that he had no more to share? were there really no more truths to tell when he had so many here to listen? it didn't make sense. not today...not any day. i spent the next couple hours reading more about him...his work...his fans...his life. i eventually found this pulled from one of his short stories:
‘’I've just never liked it,'’ one of his characters says of poetry. ‘’It beats around bushes. Even when I like it, it’s nothing more than a really oblique way of saying the obvious.'’ To which her friend replies, "But consider how very, very few of us have the equipment to deal with the obvious."
reading this left me feeling strangely helpless. especially since all i can imagine lately is finding a life where everyone deals with the obvious and not the falsehoods we spout on a daily basis convincing each other that if life looks fantastic to those on the outside looking in, then certainly it must be.
as i put away my computer, i decided since there was zero opportunity left for sun in the day, maybe fun wasn't entirely out of the question. a few days ago, i agreed to have dinner [spanish tapas] with the guy who took me to the dj afterhours on friday night. we met my first night out in chicago, after he commented that i should take off my hat. when i asked why, he said he was curious what my hair was like underneath. i made sure to go hat-less on this particular evening.
as the night drew on, i was happy to have obliged. the food was outstanding, as was the sangria, and the conversation was never strained or uncomfortable. he was complimentary and accommodating, smart and interesting. he asked more personal questions of me in one night then had been asked in my entire last relationship. go figure.
alas, the more he inquired, the more i realized why i moved here in the first place. for the time being, i like my anonymity. i have a lot of self-exploration to do...a lot of unanswered questions. i want to learn to deal with the obvious, but i'm not quite sure what that means yet. other than i cannot begin answering questions to someone else when i was still drawing blanks to myself.
as he dropped me back home, i accepted his kiss on the cheek and thanked him for the lovely evening. as i walked toward the door to my apartment, i made peace with the obvious. i was no more ready date again as i was ready to endure another rainy, dreary chicago day. i glanced at the sky as the door slammed shut, and thankfully, noticed there were no rain clouds in sight.
i will date again soon, and i suppose it will be fun. until then, i'll just be the girl, in the hat, with the curious hair.
9.13.2008
HOLY FUCK
.
a proper name for this entry, no doubt.
i was awakened out of a groggy sleep around noon today with a phonecall from my girlfriend who is out in las vegas for the weekend. she said, "you are never going to believe my night last night." i responded with, "neither are you."
i would be lying if i said that when i moved up to chicago, i wasn't hoping to stumble into some people that would show me the city. like REALLY show me the city. not all of the touristy, Gino's East-type crap...i've done all of that over the years. i wanted the random stuff, the underground stuff. the stuff that makes people move here and never look back.
i somehow managed to picture myself living through last night....before i ever even moved out of st. louis.
since i arrived, i've been lucky to run into some cool people and have some interesting occurrences in a short amount of time. last night was no exception and may have created some new rules for which to live by.
i began my day hungover from 10+ beers the night before at a few random hole in the walls with an old college friend. by the time i showered and got to work at 3:30pm, i was feeling better but still fighting off a headache. my co-worker, recently relocated from louisville, convinced me to head out after we got off around 9pm.
we walked down the street, in the pouring rain, to split a slice of chicago pizza. then we headed to subterranean for some raggae/dub/dancehall. subterranean is my new/first favorite hangout spot in chicago. it doubles as a live music venue up and bar/club down below. after grabbing a complimentary red stripe, i asked the guy at the door who was playing upstairs, and he mentioned Poison Arrows and Holy Fuck.
ummmm...Holy Fuck.
I forgot Holy Fuck was tonight. HOLY FUCK.
My co-worker had never heard of them before, and rather than drag her up there blind (and drag her back out half-deaf), i explained that they were 'noisy' and 'experimental' to say the least and probably not for every ear. i remembered that my iPod was in my purse, so i let her have a quick listen to their album, and she was sold.
so we went upstairs, grabbed a couple PBR tallboys and found a perfect spot by the wall in the front row (right next to the camera man).
what happened after that is unable to be relayed properly in words. unless i could somehow attach my eardrums/retinas to this blog. i have never quite seen so much energy in one room, both on stage and in the crowd. i couldn't take my eyes off the stage for a second, except for the occasional glance around to make sure everyone else was catching all of this. and boy, were they. the crowd was an unlikely mix of mass chaos and utter syncronization, as there wasn't a single person in the room that wasn't moving/bobbing/jumping to the music.
while i enjoyed their first self-titled LP enough, this was an act needed to be witnessed firsthand. walking out of that show, i have a complete new appreciation for butter knives, casio keyboards and creating electronic music using anything and everything but computers. including that little antique film/tape thing...whatever that thing was.
after the show, we caught last call downstairs at The Cold Sweat, and i got a text from this guy i met the week before about an afterhours set at a loft building. complete with 'password' entry, no less. we were up for anything since we were both foreign to the idea of a 2am closing time.
we followed them downtown and walked through some random alley, still in the pouring rain, until we were greeted by a large gentleman outside a door marked "Z." my new friend shook his hand, threw out the password and we wandered upstairs toward the thumping music.
the next hour and a half felt like something out of a movie. everyone in the building looked as if they just stepped out of the pages of NYLON Magazine and the night was littered with breakdancers, dj's, impromptu hip-hop performances and $2 PBR's.
after chatting with the owner of the space, i learned they do this kinda deal rather frequently. the whole building is mostly used for commercial purposes, so the noise isn't a problem. and on days when they aren't throwing parties, they use the space for recording/practicing/etc.
i left the building around 3:45am with a strange smile on my face. this was the kind of shit i moved up here for.
ya...this was home now, and, holy fuck, i couldn't be happier.
a proper name for this entry, no doubt.
i was awakened out of a groggy sleep around noon today with a phonecall from my girlfriend who is out in las vegas for the weekend. she said, "you are never going to believe my night last night." i responded with, "neither are you."
i would be lying if i said that when i moved up to chicago, i wasn't hoping to stumble into some people that would show me the city. like REALLY show me the city. not all of the touristy, Gino's East-type crap...i've done all of that over the years. i wanted the random stuff, the underground stuff. the stuff that makes people move here and never look back.
i somehow managed to picture myself living through last night....before i ever even moved out of st. louis.
since i arrived, i've been lucky to run into some cool people and have some interesting occurrences in a short amount of time. last night was no exception and may have created some new rules for which to live by.
i began my day hungover from 10+ beers the night before at a few random hole in the walls with an old college friend. by the time i showered and got to work at 3:30pm, i was feeling better but still fighting off a headache. my co-worker, recently relocated from louisville, convinced me to head out after we got off around 9pm.
we walked down the street, in the pouring rain, to split a slice of chicago pizza. then we headed to subterranean for some raggae/dub/dancehall. subterranean is my new/first favorite hangout spot in chicago. it doubles as a live music venue up and bar/club down below. after grabbing a complimentary red stripe, i asked the guy at the door who was playing upstairs, and he mentioned Poison Arrows and Holy Fuck.
ummmm...Holy Fuck.
I forgot Holy Fuck was tonight. HOLY FUCK.
My co-worker had never heard of them before, and rather than drag her up there blind (and drag her back out half-deaf), i explained that they were 'noisy' and 'experimental' to say the least and probably not for every ear. i remembered that my iPod was in my purse, so i let her have a quick listen to their album, and she was sold.
so we went upstairs, grabbed a couple PBR tallboys and found a perfect spot by the wall in the front row (right next to the camera man).
what happened after that is unable to be relayed properly in words. unless i could somehow attach my eardrums/retinas to this blog. i have never quite seen so much energy in one room, both on stage and in the crowd. i couldn't take my eyes off the stage for a second, except for the occasional glance around to make sure everyone else was catching all of this. and boy, were they. the crowd was an unlikely mix of mass chaos and utter syncronization, as there wasn't a single person in the room that wasn't moving/bobbing/jumping to the music.
while i enjoyed their first self-titled LP enough, this was an act needed to be witnessed firsthand. walking out of that show, i have a complete new appreciation for butter knives, casio keyboards and creating electronic music using anything and everything but computers. including that little antique film/tape thing...whatever that thing was.
after the show, we caught last call downstairs at The Cold Sweat, and i got a text from this guy i met the week before about an afterhours set at a loft building. complete with 'password' entry, no less. we were up for anything since we were both foreign to the idea of a 2am closing time.
we followed them downtown and walked through some random alley, still in the pouring rain, until we were greeted by a large gentleman outside a door marked "Z." my new friend shook his hand, threw out the password and we wandered upstairs toward the thumping music.
the next hour and a half felt like something out of a movie. everyone in the building looked as if they just stepped out of the pages of NYLON Magazine and the night was littered with breakdancers, dj's, impromptu hip-hop performances and $2 PBR's.
after chatting with the owner of the space, i learned they do this kinda deal rather frequently. the whole building is mostly used for commercial purposes, so the noise isn't a problem. and on days when they aren't throwing parties, they use the space for recording/practicing/etc.
i left the building around 3:45am with a strange smile on my face. this was the kind of shit i moved up here for.
ya...this was home now, and, holy fuck, i couldn't be happier.
9.04.2008
NO LONGER IN BETWEEN TWO STATES
.
greetings. and welcome to my head.
i invite you to come in and take a look around. if you like what you see, make yourself at home and stay a while. it may seem a little cluttered and scattered at times, but sift through, and maybe you find something worth taking with you when you leave.
i don't mind. in fact, i encourage it.
my story (in its simplest mathematical form):
+ career change/wanderlust
- home/relationship/citylove
_______________________________________
= relocation to CHICAGO
so here i am.
what follows is the rest of my story...in anything but its simplest mathematical form.
.
greetings. and welcome to my head.
i invite you to come in and take a look around. if you like what you see, make yourself at home and stay a while. it may seem a little cluttered and scattered at times, but sift through, and maybe you find something worth taking with you when you leave.
i don't mind. in fact, i encourage it.
my story (in its simplest mathematical form):
+ career change/wanderlust
- home/relationship/citylove
_______________________________________
= relocation to CHICAGO
so here i am.
what follows is the rest of my story...in anything but its simplest mathematical form.
.
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