Also, summer just slipped by once again, fall is here, and before you know it, we’re going to be buried under 3 feet of snow and a gloomy gray cloud cover for the next six months. If I’m going to survive yet another winter, I need to experience the joys of life beyond my normal winter pastimes of watching back to back episodes of NCIS in flannel pj’s from my couch. So, I made a bucket list of things to do this winter, including planning and dreaming of big-ticket items. I also made some sub-catagories for Chicago-specific stuff and stuff in the Midwest. (Mostly, because when I’m living in the south of France someday, I don’t want to be making small talk with the locals over a bouteille de vin and have to say, “What’s that? No, I never went to a jazz club, blues bar, Second City show, top of John Hancock, insertanyChicagothinghere.”)

In any case, here it is. I’ll keep adding to it as I think of things, obviously. And, I’ll mark them off as I do them, too.

Chickago’s Bucket List

Somehow I had thought that moving to the suburbs would equate to a quieter, slower style of life. How naive of me! It’s a constant to and fro, here and there, wake up and catch up. And, while I previously assumed life in the suburbs would mean I become a gas-guzzling, tv-watching, frozen-dinner-consuming American, I’ve found it’s in fact much easier here than in the city to jump on my bike and cycle to a cute restaurant for dinner. I can just glide out of my garage and travel a few blocks to our village’s downtown instead of hoisting my bike on my shoulder and navigating two flights of twisting stairs to the street. Not to mention, drivers in the suburbs seem substantially less inclined to offer the pleasant ultimatum of being flung into a curb or becomming one with the grill of a Landrover.

So, on Tuesday night, after a harried day at work for both Guyago and I, we did just that – cycled down to Salsa 17. Locked the bikes up (though, honestly, that’s sort of overdoing it out here) and enjoyed a hard-earned margarita while we split a salad and an enchilada. It was nice; it felt very urban; we felt like conscientious, community contributor citizens. And, thanks to the margarita, we were asleep by 9:30.

So, maybe this whole suburbia thing isn’t so bad. Maybe it’s even better than the city – at least in some ways. Maybe it’s time to take it to the next level. We bought a house. We got married. Maybe it’s time… to… Well, this morning, a nurse called me to tell me the results of my blood work. Last week, instead of cycling to a cute restaurant downtown we instead drove to a doctor’s office, where Guyago was perhaps the first-ever male to enter not only the waiting room of, but an exam room in, a doctor’s office called WomanCare.

In the waiting room, he picked the most uncomfortable seat available (choosing an old church pew set off to the side over one of many overstuffed chairs and love seats) and sat uncomfortably as he marveled at the real fireplace, the handwoven basket holding women’s magazines, the help-yourself coffee and tea station, and the handpainted “Live, Love, Laugh”-style decor surrounding us. 

Later, in the exam room, he sat on a woven seagrass occasional chair while I noisily wriggled around on the paper that inevitably covers all exam tables. A nurse reviewed my files, which felt really odd. I mean, yes, I married him. Yes, we sleep and change clothes and brush our teeth next to each other. I even pee in front of him (come on, who doesn’t?). But, to have a nurse read the details of your health history in front of your lifemate is just weird. Nervously, I sat there fearing she would casually reveal some horrible disease or ailment I had never had. 

When it came time to take my blood, Gayago held my hand. I have to look in the other direction from the needle, and Guyago tried to distract me with questions about what we should eat for dinner and errands we’ll run that weekend. All I could think about was the five vials of blood that were being filled and, afterward as I held a cotton ball against the tiny pinprick, how those five vials that used to be part of me were now sitting across the room on a counter. How strange – that’s me over there. I never feel that way about my poop, but I felt it about my blood. After I mentioned that, the nurse gave me an apple juice. Hm. She must have thought I was getting lightheaded and didn’t want me to pass out in her exam room.

Later, a doctor came in and discussed everything we need to know about diet and alcohol consumption and calendars and tests and family histories and over and over again reassured me not to stress out because that will do more harm than good. But, I could read her mind and what I read was, “Oh, you’ll have plenty to stress about later!”

So, today, the nurse called me and told me I’m immune to chicken pox and the measles. I’m A+ and there are no markers for systic fibrosis, my RPR (?!), HIV, and STD results are negative, no hepatits and my thyroid is normal. She finished the call by saying, “Well, ok! The ball’s in your court now!”

So, now, you know… we bought a house in the burbs. We got married, We have respectable jobs. And now, hopefully, we’ll create some matter and change two to three. Just think, soon Elyago and Laurago may be having sisterly battles of who gets to held the baby next!  

Aw….

Our house was a hundred years before I celebrated my sixteenth birthday. Here are some fascinating things that happened the year our house was built:

The “Music Hall in New York” – now known as Carnegie Hall – had its grand opening and first public performance, with *Tchaikovsky* as guest conductor.

The first ever long-distance transmission of alternating current happened in June near Telluride, CO.

France and Russia concluded a defensive alliance. France. And Russia.

Stanford University opened its doors.

Basketball was invented.

Some important and seemingly long time ago people were born that year: the Russian writer Mikhail Bulgakov, Zora Neale Hurston, Cole Porter, and Henry Miller.

Other important people died that year. William Tecumseh Sherman, Georges Seurat, P.T. Barnum, and Herman Melville.

I like to think about what an interesting time it must have been for the people who were building their new home that year. Building it on a quiet, leafy street where, six scores later, I would be sitting in their kitchen, streaming Pandora, typing away on my Mac book and updating my blog.

The house has its grace and its beauty and it has its pains in the ass. For instance, the front of the house was originally a porch. At some point, and I’m guessing that to be around 1920, one of the previous owners enclosed it and made it a gorgeous, large sun room, lined with windows on 3 sides and the front door on the fourth. I totally get why they did that… they took space you can’t claim on a real estate listing and turned it into prime square footage. But, I don’t think I’ll ever understand what could have prompted those folks to put the front door on the back side of the room, facing not the street but the back yard… That’s one of the pains in the ass. I’d like to put pumpkins out on my door steps on Halloween, or decorate my door with a cheery Christmas wreath at the holidays. But…. why? No one sees it. However, it is awesome when you get a fed ex delivery.

Another, more important pain in the ass is the 1,000,000 projects we have to do to update or to correct or to make sane various areas of the house. Don’t get me wrong – the house was move-in-ready when we bought it. There is structurally nothing wrong with it and it is a good looking house. However, little things. Like, the sliding glass door in the kitchen leads to… nothing. What begs for a deck is just a four foot drop to the patio. So, you add it to the check list. How about the absolutely disgusting 1960′s orange linoleum that lines the stairs to the cellar? Yep, add it to the list.

It’s Saturday night and guess what! Guyago’s in the basement cutting wood for the cabinet above the stove that we can’t yet use because it’s half filled with the range’s ventilation unit which is surrounded by gross pink insulation. So, at 8:15 on a perfectly good Saturday night, the poor sucker is downstairs, cutting wood to box it all in so I can put my spices on either side of it.

What am I doing? Well, I’m taking a small break between ripping old drawer lining out of all the kitchen drawers and replacing it with something that doesn’t include pale blue stripes and pink hearts. Later, I’m going to take photos of the weird room in the cellar just beneath the kitchen so we can determine what type of insulation we need to buy to replace whatever is down there now so our kitchen floor isn’t an ice sheet in the winter. And, I’m also about to go find the right drill bit to take the stair edging off the disgusting orange stairs so we can chip off the linoleum and replace it with faux wood stick on linoleum.

Did I mention we’re first time home owners? Sometimes, when we’re doing something like, oh, chipping away 75 year old plaster from the basement walls, I think, “We could be living in a condo in Bucktown…”  But, we’ve only been here a year and 4 months and we’ll be here for many more than that. I hope to use this blog, which chronicled my move to Chicago as a way to keep track of it all.

I leave you with some ugly orange linoleum:

We recently visited our pals back in Baltimore and my cousin (who just had the cutest baby in the world) invited us over and told us she’d make chili because it’s so cold out. It was 38. Hahaha. We didn’t even wear jackets.

So, I’ve been here for a year and a quarter now and I still have not 100% fallen in love with Chicago. I may never fall in love with it, but at least I am beginning to understand it more. For instance, I now know why I never have been able to find that “home town” feeling bar/pub. Because Chicago is a metropolis, not a small, home-town city like Baltimore or Annapolis. You’re really not ever going to run into the same people all the time in a bar somewhere in Lincoln Park. And I’m ok with that, now that I get it.

We did however make some acquaintances with the lovely bartending staff at RJ Grunts, the home of the best hamburgers in the Entire World. (Get the gruntburger… blue cheese, yum).

In any case, I’m entering my second winter in Chicagoland and since it’s been months since I’ve written (sorry!), I have lots to tell you. But not now. My company xmas party is tonight and I have to dash off and become fancily clad. Oh, what’s that you say? “Company xmas party”? Yep, that’s one thing that’s changed since last I wrote… Will fill you in later.

For now, go finish shoveling that driveway and make some hot chocolate and gaze at the xmas tree. Or bundle up and take the dog to the park. Or maybe you have to brace yourself against the crowds and finish that holiday shopping. Whatever you do, I hope you enjoy the coziness of the day. I’ll be back later to fill you in on all that’s happened in the past six months… XO!

So, okay, Loyal Fan (aka: FSIL)… here’s a post made just for you. And it’s called, I’m sure you’re happy to see, “Chicago Doesn’t Have to Suck.” (Thanks, in part, to you…)

Chicago doesn’t have to suck because eventually the sun comes out. Against it’s will, it seems… begrudgingly… like a teenager getting up for school at 6am, with a sour-attitude, a little late, a little unpredictable, a little grumpy… amusingly akin to an entry-level office assistant showing up for work at 8:40am… Shaky, downing gulps of coffee just to make it through the day, letting calls go to voice mail, taking a full hour’s lunch break, putting tennis shoes on at 4:55pm, ready to hit the ‘shut down’ button right at 5pm.

But I digress… Yes, that’s right, Chicago does not suck when the sun comes out. Three weeks ago, it was only 50 degrees Fahrenheit, but I put my bikini on and sprawled across our patio furniture to soak up the rays! Last week, after a particularly brutal job interview which lasted many hours too long, I mixed up a margarita (complete with a salt encrusted rim) and lounged outside, enjoying the sweaty-armpit-inducing 65 degree sunshine. Oh, did you not get the memo? 60 is the new 90!

But, enough about me, let’s get back to Chicago. Perhaps because it’s no longer a risk to go outside without tempting gangrene of the toes or possibly due to my personal impending doom of sitting in a fluorescent-lit office building for 9 hours a day, I’ve decided to Enjoy Chicago! Thus, I concocted a scheme to ride bikes along the lake shore to *downtown*… that elusive section of the city that dazes me with its one way and multi-level streets, soaring buildings, and expensive shops. And who do you think supported this plan? You know it… those same loving folks who joined us to our autumnal adventure to the Haunted House. That’s right: Bro and FSIL.

On Sunday, Guyago and I met them at the Fullerton red line (they having descended from the burbs) and, after adjusting helmets, applying sun block, cinching fanny packs, and pumping tires, we headed east to the lake. Somewhere around Lincoln Ave, my legs began to ache and it occurred to me that this was going to be a long ride. For the first time, I rejoiced that Illinois is flat. I also questioned my judgement … and realized that Bro and FSIL are seriously supportive of my midwestern whims.

However, reaching the lake front was completely rewarding and inspiring. It is beautiful, you know, the lake and all. As you approach it, the buildings around you start to melt away and you cross through the park… the Lilly Pond, the Zoo, and Nature Museum. Grass and trees and flowers make a fantastic lush belt of green before that, too, drops away and all you’re confronted with is the dazzling blue and white of the choppy lake and abundant sky. Incidentally, being from the east coast, I cannot stop referring to the lake as the ‘ocean.’ I’m sure it annoys or amuses Guyago, two emotions that I’m convinced must meld into one when engaged to moi.

After taking a break to gaze east (and in my mind I kept reminding myself that Detroit is out there, not Portugal), we headed south, with the city looming on our right and the lake sprawling on our left. The path stretches along the lake, I have been told, from Indiana to Wisconsin. Ok, that might be an exaggeration. Though, it might be true… I’m not sure because I just made it up. (I spent five minutes googling, was unsuccessful, and gave up).

So, we cycled down along the lake, passing through really pretty parks and along the beach where scores of people were playing volley ball, next to children splashing in the (icy) water, past boats, sometimes across some sand that had been blown onto the path… fellow cyclists, runners, and rollerbladers shared the path while cars glided by on Lake Shore Drive under buildings that grew in height as we ventured south.

Eventually, we left the path and continued south through Grant Park, and then heading west on excitingly busy streets with cars whirling by and the four of us in a neat little line. After locking up our bikes and making vain attempts to discourage helmet-hair, we arrived at a sailing-themed restaurant and had lunch. It was a good reward after all the peddling.

The trip home was, how should I say it… um, yes: Brutal. More than a tad breezy and freezing, effing cold. (Btw, I’m making an effort to swear less, please notice and praise me.) Just as we were about to embark onto the trail, a cyclist rode past audibly grumbling a drawn-out F word as he pumped his peddles and steered his bike directly into gale force winds. We joined him. I can’t tell you the last time I worked so hard in such a sustained fashion. The nice part about rock climbing is that you get to take breaks every time you select a piece of gear and work it into the rock. Cycling upwind for miles on end is like the old adage: one foot in front of the other, except in little mini circles, over and over and over and over again.

Eventually, we reached North Avenue and headed up Lincoln. In all, we had cycled 13.5 miles! At the red line on Fullerton, we said stiff goodbyes to Bro and FSIL, who had to then ride the el 30 minutes and bike *another five miles home!!!* Guyago and I peddled 8 blocks home, I flopped/fell/crashed onto the couch, and then mustered the strength to draw a nice, hot bath complete with epsom salts, my favorite book, and a glass of white wine. We must have stayed in there for at least an hour.

All in all, a terrific day. Chicago is a beautiful city, with gorgeous parks and promenades, awesome buildings towering over a sparkling lake that looks like an ocean. And, until the sun goes behind a cloud and gusts of wind that could toss a trailer hit you in the face, it doesn’t suck at all!

http://essentials.baltimoresun.com/micro_sun/homicides/

It’s an interactive map of the city (powered by google) tracking the city’s murders to date.

Each year as New Year’s approaches, the residents of Baltimore are nightly informed of how many murders have been committed in the city thus far. It always totals somewhere around 300, and I guess the nightly updates from news anchors serve to let us know whether or not we managed to squeak through a year without going over 300. (There are, technically, 650,000 residents of Baltimore, making that an approximate 1 murder for every 2,167 residents).

So, the Baltimore Sun, obviously needing to press into the digital age, has taken advantage of google maps to create an easy and interactive way to track homicides in Charm City. Charming, isn’t it?

You can filter by year, district, and zip code. You can also choose between genders if you want to just see the men who were killed, or just the women, or all. You can select by race and even hone it down by cause of death. Show results and you’ll see a friendly map of Baltimore – the same map you see when you google directions from the Inner Harbor to Charles Village – but this time it has little blue, green, red,  black and white pins scattered across it, one for each murder.

= Asphyxiation

= Blunt Force

= Shooting

= Stabbing

= Unknown

It’s like the pins are colorful little dead bodies sprinkled across the land. Nice. And, it’s highlighted in the local newspaper, so you can check in regularly and keep score till New Year’s.

Let me know if you’ve been to any of these places, and what your experience was like. In return, I swear that I’ll soon post more restaurant reviews. I’ve been to so many in the past 2 months, but have been slammed with some freelance work that finally ended.

Thanks!

De Cero, Mexican, W Randolph

Avec, West Loop

Big Jones, Andersonville

Veerasway, Indian, W Randolph

Bull a Dias, Tapas

and, just curious about bars, too:

The Tasting Room, W Randolph

Violet Hour, Wicker Park

Small Bar… ?

We went to Baltimore last weekend and had a really nice time. Saw lots of friends. Unfortunately, missed lots of friends, too. That’s the problem when you have a bazillion friends and only three days to see them all. However, we did manage to at least see most of everyone. I cannot believe I did not make it to the Brewer’s Art *once*, but we did eat a late night dinner at Tapas Teatro, a big dinner at the Helmand, and happy hour small foods at the Wine Market. And they were all fabulous.

A couple things I noticed this time around… Baltimore has great architecture. It is also a wonderful city in which to live, providing you have a lot of money. The weather over the weekend was fantastic; good enough that I was walking around Charles Village and Guilford in a pair of flip flops and a short sleeved shirt.

And, I have to say that while Chicago obviously has more to offer in the way of true city life, I couldn’t help but notice how nice it is to meander through Guilford, walking along streets lined with gardens, trees, spacious lawns, and stately 100-year-old, slate-roofed houses. Birds chirped. Dogs and their owners shuffled by. Flowers were beginning to bloom.

Driving around the areas that are less residential and more commercial, you notice the Federal style architecture that permeates the city. I always took it for granted, especially having been originally from Annapolis, but now it seemed not only more obvious but also more prevalent. Somewhere deep in my imagination, there was a little man in a colonial uniform about to pop out of the symmetrical front of some building.

I went with a good friend to the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra and listened to a performance of Mozart’s Requiem. It was deeply beautiful. It cost $12 to get a cab there from the other side of the city, about 2 minutes to get into the symphony hall, and a glass of wine at intermission (they did a Stravinsky piece first). The musicians were great and the performance was impressive

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is that Baltimore seemed quaint and cosmopolitan all at once.

Last night, we had dinner here in Chicago with some new friends who just moved from Manhattan. It was hard to describe Baltimore because I felt like a dolt defending it. I wanted to say, “right… right, it’s not New York. It’s not Chicago. I realize it’s largely considered in the realm of the Detroits and Clevelands of the world. But, really, it’s not.”

It’s not a perfect place, but I guess it’s simply the fact that it’s mine. I know the good restaurants. I like being able to drive across town in less than 30 minutes, even in *rush hour*. My friends are there. Maybe one day I’ll feel the same about Chicago, but for now I feel the rosy nostalgia of a place missed and loved.

And, by the way, before we returned the rental car and checked in at the airport, we met my family for lunch. Most of us had crab cakes at one of those old-school places that happily trade in fancy decor for enormous crab cakes and a salt-n-pepper shaker full of Old Bay. Yum!

I bought all of these ties the other day. I had to take the car, which we’ve named Henry by the way, in for an oil change. There was a mall next door. There was a sale. Yellow dot sale; 80% off sale price. Like I said, I bought all these ties. For the price of one normally priced tie. Actually, less than one. I spent $35.

It was like shoe shopping in Puerto Rico (I bought 8 pairs of shoes for $140… the only concern being how to fit them all in my suitcase.) When Guyago got home, I gave them to him one by one. It was like Mary Poppins’ handbag… ties just kept appearing, one after the other. I made him try them all on. I made him choose a favorite. (To my surprise, he picked the purple and the brown as a tie for first place… I almost didn’t even buy the purple, but when it’s $4 you take the plunge easily.)

It was a fun day. One of the few pleasures made available by The Current Economy.