Fashion inspiration: Michelle Phillips

Today would have been Papa John Phillips' birthday, but I'm honoring Michelle's great style. No slight to Papa John, however -- I love him!

Drive-in Saturday

Last night I finally went to the Cascade Drive-in with a couple of girlfriends. I hadn't been to a drive-in movie since I was thirteen, in the final days of the one that was a staple of my childhood. I've been wanting to go pretty much as long as I've lived here, and now I regret not having gone sooner.

The Cascade is about an hour west of Chicago. We made great time so we stopped to grab a bite at a fairly empty Chinese place that was right next door to what seemed to be the most hopping place in town, the Schnitzel Platz, complete with German early-bird specials for seniors. They were making their way out as we were just sitting down to dinner, reminding me of the Seinfeld episode where Jerry tells his parents, "I'm not going to force feed myself a steak at 4 o'clock to save a few bucks!"

The Cascade was pretty great. Everything was just like the old days -- a person sitting in a little shack collecting money, the gravel lot with the speakers on poles, and an aluminum-faced concession building selling burgers, hot dogs, nachos, candy, and even Alka-Seltzer and mosquito repellent! It was $8.50 to get in, which seems to be about what a whole carload cost back in the day, but it's still a great deal for two movies, especially since the concessions were pretty cheap ($1 soft pretzels, anyone?).

We saw Shorts, the new Robert Rodriguez kiddie movie that terrifies me because it features Jon Cryer and James Spader playing parents, and The Final Destination, which is a lot like Final Destination, but with a "The".

Strange sights

Yesterday I was driving through the Uptown neighborhood on my way to work when I saw a pretty bizarre-looking dude. There are a lot of odd people in this city, but this guy really stood out. He was wearing sort of a women's "sexy police officer" costume with a badge, tight black miniskirt, and knee-high boots. He had a pretty slinky walk going on, but he also had a beard. I dunno, seems like maybe it would be worth shaving to get the full effect.

Antiquing

Did a little antiques shopping (mostly of the window variety!) yesterday. My one purchase was this Red Wing vase from the '50s. I love the '50s and I love the pink! Also saw some great vintage glasses at Mode here in Chicago, pink with gold gilding. The owner offered eight of them for $40, but I think I'll go back and see if I can get them cheaper. I am a klutz, so I hate to pay that much for glasses that I might well break when washing.

Vintage shopping is my favorite kind.

South Bronx photos

A really great slide show in the New York Times.

Friday Twiggy love!

Mad style, and those eyes!

Suboceana

I am really fascinated by deep-sea creatures, so I was happy to see this neat little story in the news today. Part of my interest stems from the fact that there are so many underwater species we know nothing about. It's exciting that there are totally mysterious and strange creatures right here on earth. Some of these creatures are really beautiful, too. Check these photos from a book published by the University of Chicago Press. It's definitely on my wish list! Here's a little something fun along the same lines.

Night swimmers

Today I became intrigued by the idea of night swimming after reading this article. It wasn't exactly the article that I found interesting, but the accompanying photos, some of the recollections of night swimming in the comments, and the old man's ominous warning, “The waves sneak up on you at night.” I've started working on a poem about it, which maybe I'll post.

Dolphin litigation

Another crazy lawsuit. I wonder if the dolphins will have to pay up.

So this is real life

Forced myself to go for a walk tonight, although at thirty minutes a short one, but it was all the time I could afford. Walking is great for clearing the old noggin, although I'm also trying to be diligent for reasons of physical health. One of the things I enjoy about walking late in the evening is the number of rabbits I come across. Rabbits, fireflies, crickets -- these are things that remind me of "real" life, outside the city. Funny how when I was younger I would have thought of "real" life as happening in the cities, and now I'm happy to glimpse things that remind me of life before Chicago.

I'm still basically happy here, I suppose. I certainly don't want to leave (in fact I'm looking to buy a place), but something is lacking lately. Partly I think I just need a vacation, which I've not had since February 2008. Traveling always brings some perspective to things. But also I realize I've taken a rather long break from writing, which I needed, but now I'm feeling like... what? Usually I would have some kind of short-term goal in place, maybe a vision for the next 3-5 years, but right now I'm just living and seeing where it takes me. Somewhere, I hope.

I guess I'm feeling nostalgic

Lovely lunch spot

Had to do some training across campus today so I stopped and had lunch on a park bench.

My sentiments exactly

Thursday evening's entertainment

Robert Irving III's Sketches of Brazil, a tribute (of sorts) to the 50th anniversary of Miles Davis' and Gil Evans' collaboration on Sketches of Spain. Another beautiful night at the Pritzker Pavilion in Millennium Park, with two friends, sandwiches from Caffe Baci, and a bottle of red wine.

Thursday inspiration

Cheetos: the breakfast of launderers

Going to the laundromat is one of my least favorite things to do. Back in Ann Arbor, I usually did laundry in my apartment building's coin laundry, and the rare trip to the laundromat was fairly civilized (driving to a clean, air-conditioned laundromat with a companion). Here, it is like Lord of the Flies.

My building actually has coin laundry, but I stopped using it after a number of unfortunate incidents: rarely being able to get one of just two machines that service two dozen apartment dwellers, a fight with a lunatic neighbor who was furious that I took her clothes out of the machine even though they'd been done for ages, grease in the dryer destroying one of my shirts, and general accumulation of filth. The laundromat is just as close as the laundry room, and I can get everything done at once.

Well, I can in theory. My laundromat, the trusty M&M Laundromat/Lavanderia, is, in the nicest possible terminology I can muster, a fucking dump. About half the washers are broken at any given time. They tore down a wall and left a pile of wood on the floor for months. I saw a roach there. But it's the people that really make it special. I will never understand why an entire family comes to the laundromat. Wouldn't it make more sense if, say, dad stayed home with the smaller kids while mom and the older kids did the laundry? Instead, it's a mob scene. And just because the parents bring the kids doesn't obligate them to, you know, supervise the kids or anything. I recognize that it's not easy to separate, load, drop coins, add bleach, fold, etc. and watch your children. However, the clientele of the M&M chronically manage to do the laundry while talking on cell phones and watching soap operas or talk shows. They just can't be bothered to add the child-watching into the mix.

The parents with foresight bring toys to entertain the kids. Not toys like a Barbie doll or a Matchbox car or anything logical and unobtrusive like that. No, we're talking roller skates and bicycles. In the laundromat. Please take a moment to develop a mental image.

Others leave the kids to their own devices. They get so bored (and who can fault them for that?) that they run in circles, press buttons on machines (nicely shrinking your tumble-dry-low delicates if you're not careful), and strike up conversations with strangers for entertainment. They also eat a lot of nasty vending machine food, which brings me to the Cheetos phenomenon. With their propensity for leaving neon orange dust on anything in their vicinity, Cheetos seem to be the worst possible food item you could sell in a laundromat, and yet they are oddly popular there. Worse yet are Flamin' Hot Cheetos, which leave neon red dust everywhere.

A week or two ago, I had the pleasure of witnessing the M&M's owner loading the Cheetos into the vending machine. What was really interesting to me was just how many bags of Cheetos she put in the machine. I was so intrigued that I took a photo, which I am sharing with you here. Go on, count the rows of Cheetos. Count them! If you counted ten rows of Cheetos, you are not, I repeat not, seeing things. It's almost as if the M&M is forcing Cheetos upon the launderers and their devil spawn.

Does anyone understand this? If so, I would love to hear your thoughts.

Strange days, indeed

Today on the way to the grocery store I saw a midget cab driver filling up his car at the gas station and a guy with a neck brace screaming at a hippie woman. I also saw a jogger get hit by a car on Thursday (he was not hurt). Something magical must be in the air...

My affair with clawfoot tubs has ended

I used to think Victorian tubs were the bee’s knees. Well-made and attractive, they represent a bygone era when craftsmanship was king and a house’s fixtures, furniture, and appliances were built to last. Lately, though, I’m feeling less in love with the clawfoot tub in my 1920s Chicago apartment.

My first clawfoot tub was in the very first apartment I had to myself, a charming and relatively spacious studio in Ann Arbor, Michigan. My first experience living alone and my first clawfoot tub also corresponded with my getting my first (and so far only) cat. It didn’t take long to see that one of the downsides of the gorgeous old tub was that it was impossible to clean under (heck, I couldn’t even see what was under there), which struck me as a bad combination with an energetic and curious kitten. Without fail, any time I left the bathroom door open, the cat would head straight underneath the tub into lord only knows what kind of filth. Before long, I decided to keep the bathroom door shut at all times.

I moved on to other apartments and eventually a new city. When I chose my current apartment six years ago, I viewed its clawfoot tub as a selling point. I didn’t count on a repeat of the problems in my Ann Arbor apartment because by then the cat had mellowed and the Swiffer had been invented. I even found a couple of faux-antique ceramic tiles with a Victorian tub motif, one clawfoot and one pedestal, to hang on the bathroom wall.

But now I’m having a change of heart. Wrapping two shower curtains around the tub while showering never quite works out, and I always end up with water on the wall and floor. Twice this week, as has happened many times before, an integral shower accessory (soap, razor) slipped from my hands and wedged itself into the filthy space between the tub, the wall, pipes, and the floor. The Swiffer can only keep a floor so clean, after all.

For the past couple months I’ve been condo hunting. The three places on which I’ve made offers have at least one thing in common: None of them has a clawfoot tub. A pedestal sink, a vessel sink, and that’s OK… but the tubs are modern, a little vanilla, and comfortingly practical.

Bizarre robbery

Cabbie bearhugs, teenage robbers in drag, vigilante Irishmen... a typical night in Chicago, I guess.

Terrifying Damen bus story #1

When I worked in downtown Chicago and took the bus or el to work daily, I had lotsa stories. Bad stories. Stories like this charmer:

It was the year 2000. I was a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed recent Chicago transplant (from Michigan) and was madly in love with my new city. I was working in a high-rise downtown and living in frou-frou Lakeview, mere blocks from the beach and in the middle of shops, restaurants, and tons of transit options. I didn’t know a lot yet.

Waiting at the bus stop the very first time I was to take the bus home from work, I saw a bus at the stop south of mine. It pulled over and stopped. And sat. And sat. And then a man came walking toward me from the direction of the bus. “If you’re waiting for that #36 bus up there,” he said, “it’s stopped and they’re waiting for the police because some passenger in the back was sniffing paint from a bag.”

There could not be a more proper introduction to Chicago transit, although frankly I preferred the time I came back from a fantastic trip to San Diego and got on the el at O’Hare airport only to discover I was sitting next to a steaming pile of vomit. Welcome home.

I don’t take the CTA much anymore because I drive to work, but on the random weekend jaunt it can be the easiest way to get somewhere. Last weekend I took the bus nearest my apartment, the #50 Damen Ave. and it was quite a treat. A couple boarded the bus carrying a big plastic bag and sat down across from me. The man began removing the items in the bag one by one. It was full of clothing, obviously from a Village Discount thrift shop — obvious because they staple the price tags on the clothes.

Out came a sports jersey. Off came the tag and on the floor it went. Out came a sports jersey. Off came the tag and on the floor it went. Out came a sports jersey. Off came the tag and on the floor it went. You get the picture, right? Something like 6 or more jerseys, representing all kinds of sports — football, basketball, soccer. And then, miraculously, two pairs of dress slacks, which didn’t seem quite the right type of pants for half a dozen or more sports jerseys. A couple of women’s items that couldn’t have been for the rather robust woman. Frighteningly, a bath towel (sorry, but I don’t buy used items that have touched someone else’s privates).

I had looked away when I heard the woman say something to me. “What?” I asked. “It’s cute, isn’t it?” she cooed. I looked up and saw the man holding a see-through floral nightie. “Uh, yeah, it’s cute,” I lied.

Then the man lifted up a pair of matching thong undies and snapped the side string with his mouth. That’s right — he put used underpants in his mouth. The horror! The horror! But it got worse. They started kissing.

Then someone got off the bus so they switched seats. And kissed more. Then they switched seats again, so they were seated two feet from my face. And kissed some more. Because nothing says romance like seeing your boyfriend bite a used see-through nightie that won’t fit you, I guess.

Here we go...

I used to blog quite a bit over at Diaryland, circa 2000-2006. I think I shut down my blog (and pretty much stopped the freelance music journalism I was doing) around the time I took a full-time writing gig at a university. I’ve moved on to a different, nonwriting, job and lately I’ve been wanting to start up again.

And so the new “delicut” was born. But I had no clue what I wanted to do with my blog this time around. The old Diaryland Deli-cut was basically me recounting my adventures in Chicago, whether personal or professional (OK, if going to concerts and interviewing lunatic rockers counts as “professional”). This time, I knew I didn’t want to get as personal but I didn’t know exactly what that left.

Today, driving home from work on Lake Shore Drive, it occurred to me what I should write about: my version of life in Chicago. It could be a tip on a great restaurant, an account of something crazy that happened on our transit system, the CTA (which was the subject of many a rant on D’land), links to crazy local stories, reviews of concerts, tales of debauchery with my peeps — the stuff that amuses me and makes me love this crazy-ass place.

So that’s what it’s gonna be, gosh darn it.