Back to work tomorrow teaching the kids! Noooooo! Chicago was SO FUN and RELAXING. I didn’t want to come home. Highlights:

**Going up the escalator from the Chicago Red line stop and having this huge guy in front of me turn around and sneeze at me. A lot of shit flew out of his mouth. Not snot, spit. But damn, a drop of it hit me above my lip. I laughed my ass off. Then this woman who was walking down the stairs said “I *saw* that!” while shaking her head. I kept laughing. “I know,” I replied, “Did he even *see* me?”

Of course some other guy was walking down the street yelling about religion into thin air. Ah, so great, being back in the city.

**Seeing my friend Irie after over five years. He is super nice, squeezable like a teddy, knows the best progressive hip hop (we met him at a lounge where the DJ mixed some rap song with Cory Hart‘s “Sunglasses at Night“ eighties song!), always knows what’s going on, and works at a porn shop that sells pussy molds where he has to fight with crack heads and the last time he did the fucker grabbed his arm, pulled the scab off his new tattoo and fucked it up!

**Later realizing that I probably traumatized my good friend’s girlfriend who dislikes vulgarity and reality by screaming about men who like to fuck women so hard they bleed and what chick likes that I mean I get that some chicks like pain but really to bleed I don’t know about that but whatever it’s cool I just am not into it….She thinks swearing makes one “sound uneducated.” No, lady. Swearing inappropriately makes you seem uneducated. Belting out a good what the fucking fuck amongst friends, or, shit, family, is alll gooood! It relieves stress, damnit!

*Going to the Museum of Contemporary Art for the first time in years. There is a great photography exhibit right now. There were a lot of standouts. They even had some of Larry Clark’s (maker of shocker films like Kids) early stuff. Cool video by this Iranian woman. All good stuff.

*Seeing the Dials finally at the Hideout. Their set was preceded by a Thax Douglas reading. He is an older, chubby gay poet who writes poems inspired by indie bands. Yeah, I know. The one about the Dials had something to do with a snail and was really short. The bitch checking Ids pissed me off, but she was the only person in Chicago during a three-day visit to do! Miraculous!

*Eating pierogis at this new place on Belmont. Spinach and meat are GOOD.

*Getting a pair of Diesel jeans and a cute, short schoolgirl skirt for a total of $12.

*Getting a free button that was supposed to be $2 because the bored, indie rocker cashier was too lazy to ring it up. I threw it on my pile while he was dealing with the clothes and he didn’t notice it until after I paid him. It’s cool to get shit free, but how lazy can someone be? Ha!

*Being on a bus with a take no shit bus driver who totally fucked with a stupid cab driver and watching a bus totally cut off a stupid prick in a purple truck who was turning where he wasn’t supposed.

*Seeing all of my friends, obviously.

*Deciding to cut out drinking for awhile unless I really have a taste for it because it doesn’t make me feel fun at all and doing so will save me money and help me lose those fucking five-to-seven pounds I‘ve been wanting to lose for way too long.

*Eating well, except for my Friday night Jimmy Johns. Seriously. Miso soup and two maki rolls for $6; pierogis; homemade fish tacos with spicy Mexican style polenta and lettuce with cilantro vinaigrette dressing; veggie chorizo with scramble tofu, black beans, tortillas and guac. Yahoo!

*Being around lots of people of varying races and classes, although of course I saw a lot of hipsters and yuppies. None of them really irked me though. People in Chicago seemed so approachable and friendly this trip!

*Listening to my friend totally cuss out some telemarketers on his cell phone.

*Bowling at the recently remodeled Fireside Bowl. I should’ve taken notes. It’s still ugly as hell in there. They could’ve chosen a shade of paint that wasn’t grey or beige. They didn’t change the bar and the beer is still cheap. The bathrooms is the same. But it is not the same. The vibe was so strange. Still crappy but with Depaul kids and yuppies and just normal folks around. Some punkers, a few, bowling. Everyone bowling. No one watching a punk band and posturing. Goddamnit I saw Assuck there. I moved to Chicago ten years ago! So punk! So political! Boy Sets Fire after our house was broken into. Braid a lot. Man. So many bands. There’s still shows there but it’s not often and again, it’s not the same. I don’t like commas tonight.

*Sitting around at Virgin Megastore and people watching. They had a Chuck D doll for sale!

Things that sort of sucked:

+Not being able to see the skull made of melted AC/DC cassettes at the Museum of Surgical whatever due to technology failing and getting a late start.

+Having to run back and forth from J’s to J’s to get my stuff and shower.

+Getting all stupid about a Fendi bag at Neiman Marcus and buying shit at Filene’s Basement that I didn’t need because I was delirious from lack of sustenance.

+Waiting for a half hour to get through the second toll on the way home. Really, how can they tell who has an Ipass or not?

+Coming home to the same old shit.

ATTIDUDE ADJUSTMENT< COMMENCE!

I was reading Chicago’s Lumpen magazine tonight and was very interested in the article about Chicago perhaps becoming the site of the 2016 Summer Olympics. The woman who wrote it, Burke Bindbeutel, did not mention where she procured her information, but I assume it‘s from just living in Chicago, reading The Tribune, watching the news, etc.

Clearly, it takes shitloads of cash ($2 billion) to ready a city for something like the Olympics, but I never really thought about how it could permanently disrupt a city and displace residents. Chicago becomes more and more gentrified as the years pass, so I don’t doubt that, as Bindbeutel claims, the city and a lot of its residents will be really fucked afterwards.
Apparently, Mayor Daley is going to create an “Olympic Village” on 37 acres on the near south side now, even though he won’t know for a few more years whether or not the city will host the games. This will give real estate companies the ability to convert even more housing into blasé looking condominiums that are ridiculously priced, and doing so will push out a lot of the people living on the south side, which Bindbeutel says is one of the last “affordable” areas (yet not super dangerous, I’m assuming) left. I don’t doubt that, either. I saw Division St and other parts of Wicker Park transform into a yuppie playground within two-three years. Driving along Ashland Ave, you pass dozens of cookie cutter condos. There are still some parts of Chicago left that emit a vibe, but they are quickly disappearing, and it’s just very sad.

I yahoo-searched this “Olympic Village” to confirm Bindbeutel’s report and to get a little more information. According to a January 23rd article on the CBS Chicago web site, an 80,000 seat oval-shaped stadium would be built specifically for the games and then taken down. Also according to the article, the area “would serve as athlete housing for the Olympics, and then become a whole new Chicago neighborhood, with homes, apartments, hotels and businesses when the games are over.” A pricey new neighborhood, certainly.

The city also wants to spend about a billion dollars on revamping Loop transportation. However, the Loop is NOT the area where the transit needs to be improved in Chicago, so to me it’s a waste of money. But, like Bindbeutel notes, housing the games is a prime “public relations opportunity.” The city can be marketed to the visitors from all of the nations.

It seems sort of doubtful that Chicago would be chosen over LA, Tokyo, and Rio de Janeiro. It will be CRAZY down there if is, though. Part of me would be disgusted and want to avoid it at all costs, but part of me would be curious, too.

As a sidebar, Bindbeutel included some comments from a sportswriter named Dave Zirin in which he details some of the nasty asides related to the Olympics. He mentions a 1968 massacre of students in Mexico City that happened because “Mexican security forces” wanted “to make their city ‘hospitable’ for an international audience.”

When I read that quote, I felt shocked. I’ve never heard of governmental police forces gunning down people because of the Olympics, so I decided to research the occurrence.

It was called the Tlatelolco Massacre. It happened after weeks of student protests, on October 2. (The site I looked at, www.bookrags.com, didn’t describe what the students were protesting, but people being pissed off at their government is not uncommon, especially in huge international cities). About 5,000 people had gathered for a “peace rally” that evening, and, apparently, “army and police forces-equipped with armored cars and tanks — surrounded the square and began firing live rounds into the crowd, hitting not only the protestors, but also other people who were present for reasons unrelated to the demonstration.” The goon squads said that the protestors were armed and firing at them, but the site says a 1997 investigation found that they were not armed. The average death estimate hovers around a few hundred, but the government only reported 4 dead at the time. Sounds like how the media reports 5,000 people at an anti-Iraq war protest when it was triple that.

As grotesque as this massacre was, it doesn’t sound like it necessarily happened because the Olympics were happening in Mexico City, although the site does say that the protestors wanted “to exploit” the Olympics due to all the media present. So I guess maybe there might have been more pressure to “subdue” the protests. In either case, I am appalled. It bums me out that things that should just be fun are always tainted by selfish, capitalist and often brutal governments.

Driving down Farwell towards the nearest ATM I could use that wouldn’t entail incurring a fee. How could I forget? St. Patrick’s Day. Lots of guys crossing the street wherever they pleased. Coatless even though the temperature’s hovering around forty degrees and adorned with at least one green clothing item. I wonder how many fools drunk at 1pm will get hit by cars today. It’s the same at Oakland and North. That bar on the corner was packed with undergrads. I sped past to go get my $11 hair cut ($16 with tip). The same woman who gave me the super short boy cut a few months ago evens out my still very short hair. As she begins, a very loud, very self-entitled man walks in. How long is the wait? he booms, even though there is no one else sitting in the waiting area. There is no wait, the owner of place, a man so old it’s amazing he’s not dead, replies. Well I need someone very experienced to cut my hair! he says offensively. One of the more hagged looking stylists takes him on. I have been cutting hair for thirty years, she tells him defensively.

His name is Miko and he is Serbian, not Russian as I thought at first. He is studying in the MIS program at UWM and he needs a good haircut because he is on his way to Miami. The stylist is handling him well, asking him a lot of questions. She is trying to gain a new customer, because he told her that Cost Cutters sent him to this place but if she does a good job, he might become a regular.

Thankfully, my trim takes all of ten minutes and I get to leave. My stylist is a working class lady that let all of my loose hair fall all over my face and into my eyes. She blew it out with the hair dryer, though. Classy.

Then it’s into the car and out to Stallis. On Locust, some very un-Riverwest looking co-eds traipse about, again with no coats. I think of my friend bartending down the street and how he will have to endure these drunken St Patty’s folks all afternoon and mentally sympathize with him.

When I reach the thrift store I don’t have high hopes. I peruse the shoes, idly thumb through the dusty record bins (so many bins--so much shit! I once came across a huge stack of eighties alternative records someone’s dumped there. A score. But not today). An eight year old boy (estimated) asks his mother about using the bathroom. It’s over there, she points. Oh, good, I thought, I have to go too! A minute later, I hear him tinkling. He must not shut the door at home, because he sure didn’t in the store.

Two loud retarded (literally) male voices keep ringing out atop of the din. One keeps accusing the other of being mean to him, gets mad because he doesn’t know where his companion is in the store. I realize I am more interested in the bric a brac than the hipster purse. I feel weird because my style is changing so much. I am passing over things I would have liked three or four years ago. It constantly amazes me that I am thirtyfuckingthree. It’s a lot different, even, from twentyfuckingnine. I wish my transition would complete itself soon. This limbo process sucks.

I am happy to find some little flying birds to attach to my walls. I also buy a Cheap Trick Dream Police eight track because it’s in pristine condition. I do not know what I will do with it? Sell it to a freak Cheap Trick collector on Ebay? Ha.

I look through the clothes just in case. I am feeling patient, and it pays off. I score an A-Line red stretch skirt from Zara, a store in NYC (and elsewhere) that knocks off designer stuff and charges usually under $100, a lot of items hover around $40. That was $3.99. Even nicer is the $1.99 Banana Republic blue dress shirt with the blazing white collar and cuffs.

Yay.

I head south on 76th street through Stallis. I am scoping out a new ‘hood to move to. I have friends on 60th and Oklahoma, but when I get there I am not very impressed. I don’t get the vibe I need to live somewhere. There’s a lot of amenities nearby, though. I feel disappointed. I continue eastward. I like the area right around 35th and Oklahoma a lot. I feel like I should live further west than that, but the idea is becoming a bit unsettling. The west side feels so foreign. I guess that could be good though. That’s what I told my friend who lives on 15th and Oklahoma. She drove around with me for a bit and pointed out some different little hoods. I still have lots of places to pass through, through. One thing is certain: it will be nice to visit the East Side instead of live there.

At the café, my parents call and want to know if I want to meet them for a St. Patrick’s Day drink. I really, really don’t. I am not opposed to being festive, but I don’t want to be around a lot of people who have been drinking for ten hours. Besides, my leftover rotisserie chicken awaits me. I need to eat it. I am getting hungry cranky, and I have just learned that the cousin of the man I obsessed over during graduate school read at the Schwartz in Bayview last night and I didn’t know. I know I have to let it go, but that feeling when you’ve missed something and can’t get it back is so unsettling. Coupled with that is the feeling of Why couldn’t that fucker just email me and give me a heads up? Promote his cousin. But I am that scary to him. But fuck him, really. Can’t keep going back to the past…which is exactly why I need to move. Badly.

My friend and I were driving east on North. We were going to do that American thing where you sit your ass on a stool and drink beverages that make you feel sleepy and also make you pudgy. Pudgy Americans, no less. I ordered a fucking Miller product unknowingly and enjoyed it, even (chocolate lager, yum yum).

For dinner I scarfed down a plate full of carbs. Seriously. I had a "jerk" chicken SALAD sandwich. There was about 2 tablespoons of chicken salad on obscenely thick bread. Carbs! For sides, we got friend plantains and fried sweet potato chips. Um, really? Does anyone need TWO friends salty chip sides? Ever hear of a salad, people? I guess they thought the little watermelon wedges offset all of the carbs and salt. SO AMERICAN.

Ahem. Yes. So. Two weekends ago I was really fucked up depressed. Anxious. Couldn't focus. Driving in fucking blizzard conditions on the goddamn highway headed east. One lane. Cars that had hit each other off to each side. Squeezing in close to the car beside me so the fire truck could get through. Just way too surreal. I decided I must exit on Highway 100, which is also conveniently the exit for bullshit Mayfair. I go and I spend somefuckingsixtyfuckingdollars on make-up and body lotion and gel at Sephora. If I spend $36 more I will get a FREE GIFT! Then I went into Boston Store. And I tried on probably 15 items of clothing, possibly twenty. I was having a slight panic attack. My phone rang and that only exacerbated it, due to the name on the caller ID. All of these clothes were so cheap, half off, $7, whatever. I bought three things I think. Then I went home. Then the next day I spend another fifty dollars or so at the other mall on the south side. I went with my mom. Then I went to the big department stores in Oak Creek and spent more money. Yep stayed in one store trying things on for over an hour. Fifty or forty here, seventy there, but the seventy was on stuff I needed, like products and shit. Then I spent $7 on a chicken goat cheese apple walnut salad from Panera. Yeah, healthy, lookit that dressing. Goddamn, the bagel is NEVER going to rescind!

And the day after that I spent $70 on the I-Trip. Fuck!

At dinner, my friend told me how last week he'd gone out to dinner then to a strip club, and his friend convinced the strippers to come back to his house. Then they all did coke together, dude. Partied it up! But it didn't get any sleazier. No strippers stripping in the house. A lot of money spent.

So in the car on North Avenue I started laughing, talking about my shopping. "I get depressed and I shop!" I exclaimed. "I get depressed and do coke with strippers!" he chimed in. "We're such Americans. We're such pussies!" I laughed. He laughed too, and then we said should try to meet up once a week and do something not in the bar.

Oh, the high hopes of Americans!

Hilarious and Honest, Forthright and Sad Celebrity Profiles

A month or so ago, I read an interview with Lindsay Lohan that was so surprisingly entertaining that I must mention it here.

Andrew Goldman interviewed and scribed the Lohan piece for Elle magazine. The reason why it's a delightful read is because Goldman is unafraid to let Lohan represent herself as a naïve, ditzy, self-absorbed yet very aware young woman. She's a decent actress, from what I could tell from only watching Mean Girls, that is, but wow...it's quite curious how someone can come off like a bubblehead and somewhat savvy simultaneously.

Lohan makes Goldman chase her all over NYC before he finally meets her at a restaurant. He comments, "I was taking a trip through Lohanland, and if I had to pen a travel article on my stay there, it would be one-word short, and in the diction of its indigenous people: 'Whatever.'" Here, he does a marvelous job of conveying that she's an inconsiderate wench while remaining rather polite about it.

When describing her appearance, Goldman states that Lohan is "badly in need of a manicure." My immediate thought was that he *must* be gay. What hetero man would notice a woman's fingernails and actually COMMENT on them? However, a few lines down he remarks upon her "fabled chest." Gay? Straight? Who cares! He said Lindsay Lohan had funky cubicles in print. All I have to say is: Ha!

During the interview, it is clear that Goldman was being condescending towards Lohan AND that he was controlling the interview (or at least that is what he wants his readers to believe). For instance, after she claims that Garrison Keillor said he would write her a sequel to the film Prairie Home Companion, Goldman merely murmurs, "Neat" and continues on with his line of questioning. He makes a similar move after she dumbly states, "I just feel like people need to think more before they act. Even me sometimes." He quickly asks "Could you give me an example?" She takes the bait and proceeds to talk about how she ran into Paris Hilton, with whom she was (is?) feuding, and Paris swore at her because Lohan had called her man Starvros, and blah lala lala la! Finally, after she prattles on about how she doesn't want men she's sleeping with to be with anyone but her, but that SHE herself should be able to fuck others, he responds, "Huh. Interesting…." It sounds like he's being pretty disdainful, and I finding it really, really funny! I really have not laughed so loudly at any other celebrity interview.

Here's a few other instances when he lets her blabber away about her surreal Hollywood life:

1. When she admits, "Well. [I] say things that aren't true a lot, just because it's fun."

2. When she asks, "But you know, it's actually weird when the paparazzo's not there and things aren't being written, because you kind of wonder, Do people not care anymore?"

3. When she talks about Paris Hilton and that Brandon Davis guy PRANK CALLING her…..Yeah.

4. When she says, "People say I got Botox in my armpits! No!" (Goldman hilariously asks "Why would you get Botox in your armpits?" Apparently, it stops one from sweating. Ah, Hollowwood….)

5. Last but not least, when she gets defensive about being seen partying with her mother at the NYC club Bungalow. Goldman: "You never long for a more traditional relationship with your mother?" Lohan: "Mischa Barton was there with her mom!" You can just *hear* a whiney, protesting tone!

Oh, hell, no. I mean, hell, yes! I seriously recommend reading the entire interview if you are ever in a waiting room somewhere and you see the September, 2006 issue of Elle (and yes, she's on the cover).

In attempts to move away from my latest self-pitying, emotional, and redundant postings, I will start with the trivial: namely, the bullshit line Proenza Schouler produced for everyone's favorite thrifty store, Target.

I am a skeptic voyeur when it comes to high end fashion. I've said this repeatedly. I see its value but I also see its ridiculousness. However, if I won the mothafuckinlottery, I sure would purchase a Fendi and a Gucci bag, and buy one for my girl SassyJ to boot! So, I've always taken interest in the very low end lines big name designers have produced for stores like Target and H & M (I still treasure my Karl Lagerfeld (Chanel) designed silver bracelet that was less than twenty dollars even though it's slowly turning from silver to copper. I think I missed Stella McCartney's line, and I really can't recall who came after her (can anyone help me out?) My memory is shit right now, because I can't remember the last Go! designer for Target, either. Sigh.

Anyway, Proenza Schouler is a two-man team based in NYC. The average price for their high end shirts, skirts, pants, etc is right around $1000. I thought that they would come up with something cool for Target. I waited impatiently. I even thought of going to Target the first day or weekend their line arrived--I really thought the clothes would be fantastic and worth their $35 average price.

Holy shit--I was so disappointed when I saw the ads in my Lucky and Vogue magazines. I saw one, maybe two things I *might* try on. Here they are:

1. Okay, there's no longer an image for the "silk bustier top" but you can see it in the "looks" section. It was a teal combined with navy type color, silk, of course, sleaveless, padded looking boob section reminiscent of Madonna somehow. Pretty fashionable. But still, *not that great.*

2.
I liked the color of this shirt, but it's so shapeless and boyish. Only the rare, rail-thin, waify yet tomboyish yet still sexy girlie can wear something like this and look hot.

I thought that I might see something else I liked when I finally viewed the collection in the store.

There were some pants:



and



(ew! what was i thinking)

With a flourish, I grabbed these two pairs of pants and headed towards the fitting rooms. Then I stopped. I asked myself, "Woud you REALLY pay $35.00 for either of these pairs of pants? They might be PS, but the quality is SO poor. All of the shirts look shabbier than the vintage stuff you used to be able to find in thrift stores....you have so many pairs of pants...put them back. Put.Them.Back."

And so they went, back on the rack. The whole line is so incredibly lame. Striped tops, conservative cardigans, shapeless dresses, boring colors and cuts. I have to wonder: did they run out of time? Were they on a very strict budget? I suppose I could research these questions. In any case, it took me a few weeks, but in the end, I'm glad I could finally just admit to myself that the Proenza Schouler line at Target is complete shit.

Now, their regular line...I would totally sport this:



or this



(that would look cuter on me, sans the hat).