.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
