My gills got clogged. Moving on to different waters.

It has been some time since I've written in this here blog o' mine. 

That is because it has been some time since I've been in Chicago.  

I left, the end of February, for what was supposed to be a quick LA visit, but ended up staying more than a month, for various reasons. 

I'm now back in Chicago, but only,  and unfortunately, to pack up my things, close down my apartment, and get caught in as many tourist traps as possible. My reasons for leaving are many. I just wish I could have stayed longer, to see spring, summer, fall--to get past the weight of winter. But the city isn't going anywhere. I will come back, just under different circumstances. 

If anyone has any suggestions for my last minute tour--hit me with'em.

Finally. I finally had my first weekend gadding about, at night. And, with friends.

As much as I'd like to, I have yet to try and go out by myself, for many reasons. For one, there is that unfortunate reality that as much "freedom" we purport to have in this country, I, as a woman, still do not have the "freedom" to walk about at night, on my own. I can, and am able to, but must run the risk of being attacked on my way to/from a poetry reading, a show, from visiting someone. I must maintain an "orange alert" status at all times. Or so I'm told. But this past weekend was not color coded for me. Well it was if you want to code each day-or hour-by the color of drink I had. (chuckle chuckle).

From Wednesday to Saturday, Chicago played host for this year's AWP conference. Think of it as a literary Lollapalooza where us writerly and readerly types get to run from show to show, listening to the well-established and the up-and-comers. And we get to play. 

Wednesday was not just arrival day, it was also Karin's birthday. We began our night by having martinis and tapas at Mercat a la Planxa, the very chic and sexy restaurant/bar of the Blackstone Hotel where Karin was staying (www.mercatchicago.com). We changed hats and made our way over to Bucktown, to The Map Room, one of the must-sees of Chicago. The Map Room is a Mecca for the beer-minded. They are a beer school people! And a coffee house that serves great local coffee (Intelligentsia), and it has free Wi-Fi, and it allows for tamales to happen. It was just perfect--I heard a faint and familiar call come through the crowd--"tamales. tamales. tamales." There was no thinking twice in calling the man over, then quickly covering our table with corn husks and wadded up napkins. Tamales and beer. Two of my favorite things.

Thursday was a Chocolate & Beer Tasting featuring Dogfish Head Ales at a place called In Fine Spirits in Andersonville where we tried Midas Touch Golden Elixir, a beer whose recipe came from studying the ingredients in the drinking vessels of Midas's tomb. How dorky cool is that? That night I met a man named Brierley who told me that he likes to chase rabbits at his parents' house, catch 'em, then eat 'em. Not joking. And from the size of his belly, don't think he was either. Friday was pizza, being late to a poetry reading, then the Hilton bar, then a dance party. Saturday, the Mercat again, being on time to a poetry reading but the reading was late, and then an Irish pub where we got to see a drunken Scot and his wife work the room. Sunday, Karin and Reed left. Today, Monday, I'm still tired. And happy for it. Thanks, you two, for a wonderful time!!

Hunger pains

There isn't much snow left on the ground, not after a day of 57 degrees and bright, strong sun! It was absolutely beautiful today, the warmest Chicago day I've had so far. I made sure I was out in it. And so did everyone else. I took a sweater with me, just to be prepared, but I didn't need it. I was thrilled to be without my usual bulk and without having my eyes constantly looking where I walked for fear of falling on my ass from one misstep.

I took the bus into the city and got off at a stop farther from it than I normally do so I can walk, in no kind of rush, and soak up this kind of day in Chicago; the bottom of my jeans soaked up the melt halfway to my knees.

The Art Institute of Chicago opens its doors in February for free. Very nice of them...and for me too. They currently have a Yousuf Karsh exhibit which I thoroughly enjoyed. His portraits are austere, yet dramatic and demonstrative. I also saw their Impressionism and Postimpressionism collection then quickly ran back out to be in the sun. 

I'll see the rest for free on a day not so hospitable.

If today was a morsel of spring, I'm ready to gorge.

It only took five minutes to walk to the lake from my apartment yesterday morning. Another minute to walk in knee-deep snow to reach the water, and three minutes of blinking incessantly to say, pretty, muy pretty, got it, I'm done. It isn't quite picnic season yet so I wasn't ready to lay out a blanket, set up my snacks, and write, have a quiet morning by myself at the lake. But it has been sunny lately, and from what everyone tells me, that won't last. I'm trying to enjoy it as much as I can while I can.

In some way, living in Santa Monica helped. We had many grey, foggy days with ample cloud coverage while the rest of the city was blasted with sun sun sun. I wore an extra layer. I'm wearing many extra layers, and not a day goes by when I don't have feathers on and sticking out of my clothes, thanks to my comfy down jacket, and layers of caking lotion that really does nothing to help save my skin from looking like a Podling whose essence has been taken (geek check). 

Exhibit A, see photo below. (I did say it was early morning right?)

Address me as #816

I am a Chicago resident. More so than I was before because now, I have my very own address, my own domestic sphere--a furnished studio apartment on the eighth floor of a "vintage" building. 

It feels oh so good to have my own tiny place in this world (again)!

I'm not smack in the middle of a bustling downtown area where the constant squawk of the four-door yellow bird kills the quiet; I don't have that kind of money. And if I did, it still wouldn't be for me. I'm on the southside of the city with windows looking north. I love love love the view. I can see a sliver of the lake and the Sears tower. I see rooftops covered in snow, balconies, and city lights that register life in the distance. 

Last night was my first night, today my first full day. And what a day it is. Obama is now our President, and his call for change will now have to be a daily chant that echoes from the white house to the streets where soon enough I too will be asking for change, but on street corners and highway exits. This girl needs a job and quick. 

I won't tell you about how hard it is looking for work in a new city (I just did). Nor will I go on and on about how I much it slows me down having to walk on sidewalks that are buried under ice, snow, and frozen dog pissshit (I'll just mention it).

I won't even talk about how I moved my stuff out of my friend's house in -10 degree weather, huffing and puffing, feeling my breath and sweat cover my face in ice, while thinking that I had some serious mocos the whole time when it was only the hairs all the way up in my nose that had frozen stiff. If I talked about any of those things, it would seem like I was complaining about the cold and living in this city. Honestly, I've  yet to have a day where I've said "why the f did I leave LA?" I'm still naively enchanted. 

hawo. wiw you hiwah me?

I walked into this swanky looking restaurant/jazz bar today, ready to hand over my resume with a smile that was neither flirty nor fake, and with just enough personality that showed professionalism and pazazz. I was ready, but my face wasn't: it hadn't finished thawing.  I sounded- and must have looked- like I just had a truck load's worth of botox.

But that is what happens to a slightly exposed face when walking around in 5 degree weather I guess. Too bad this cold won't freeze and break off fat and wrinkles like it will my fingers and nose.

Changing Channels

Going back to LA after having left it only forty days before seemed a bit antithetical to my "big move."  I wasn't gone long enough to miss LA. The people in it most definitely yes, but not the city, my apartment, driving, the weather. Chicago still has its novelty; there is so much I haven't seen or done. But the holidays being what they are--expensive, stressful, full of calories and those  awkward few moments of holding a pose while waiting for the timer on a camera --should be spent with family. I am lucky enough to have a very smart (and handsome) boyfriend who knew it would do me some good to go home (thank you again my love!!!). I didn't have a white christmas in the  snow-packed midwest where temperatures reached -30 whenever wind whipped around. But I did manage, quite easily, to have a wonderful Christmas and New Year's Eve in a surprisingly chilly LA.

I left on December 17th dragging my suitcase through a half foot of snow and returned on the first to just a hint of snow. Whatever is left has been pushed off onto the base of trees and the edge of sidewalks and buildings. The pushing aside and against things has formed mini, grimy icebergs all around the city. (note the bottle of Bacardi Gold, Corona, and cigarette butts) Snow not so pretty anymore. With the sky being gray, no leaves on trees, and the dirt

 conquering grass, snow will be welcomed. And then after a few weeks (months) of snow....aaaah the cycles of life, passage of time, and the ability to adapt! One cannot, rather, should not, be too resistant to change. It's gonna happen whether you want it or not. Be prepared. Carry an umbrella. Or your stunna shades.