Travelogue: Chicago, pt. 4

​Sunday morning, Evanston

Walked the dog to the lake and back. Streets and houses here are reminiscent of Lake Geneva.

I have the urge to challenge this barista to a latte art throw down. I’m not even that good at latte art.

Afternoon, The Art Institute of Chicago:

There isn’t much time before you have to get to the train. You can’t see everything. It’s okay. Don’t rush. Prioritize. Be present.

I’m not looking for inspiration. I’m looking for permission.

I first fell in love with surrealism more for what I heard from it than what it was saying.

Folk art smells good.

I don’t get overwhelmed, but this has been too much.

A foolish thought crosses my mind: you haven’t experienced any magic this weekend. That’s not right. I haven’t been the protagonist of a movie, but I have experienced plenty of magic.

This train conductor is all over the place with his announcements. Is it his first day, or is Amtrak just super casual?

Overheard on the train: us.

I feel like I need a final thought to conclude the weekend, to tie a bow on it. Why?

Travelogue: Chicago, pt. 3

​Saturday Afternoon

One difference between Chicago and St. Louis that I haven’t considered before: In STL, rivers are borders; in Chicago they are not.

I wound up trying a Divvy. It’s a bicycle. I’m a tourist.

I need to stop writing and start writing.

I don’t want to get all racial, but I randomly wandered into what seems to be a very Mexican-American bar in a Mexican-American neighborhood. Everyone is friendly and warm. The establishment seems well-run.  A lot of locals and regulars. I’m comfortable here.

I have a beer, and now I’m writing.

The bartender is from Jalisco, and the patron next to me might have family there.

I have a margarita, and I’m no longer writing.

I don’t have sloppy handwriting, it just has a lot of character. Also, as a writer, I think not being able to read parts of my draft is essential to the editing process; it requires me to think of something better.

TV at the bar:

This film is rated PG-13 for sexual innuendo, drug content, and partying. Parties are inappropriate for twelve-year-olds.

A scene where people are playing racquetball. I really want to play racquetball again.

This heart disease prevention medication commercial is really dramatic, but in a real, connective way, not a silly way. The pill does have a silly name, though.

Bridesmaids was written by women, but directed by a man.

My friends drive a gray Mazda CX-5. These good and crazy people, my married friends.

Visiting an art museum often stirs personal conflict. This is magnified by recently seeing Hamilton. Each gallery demonstrates examples of post-life legacy. Philosophically I reject pursuing personal legacy, but as a creative, how can I avoid the practical application?

Art: does it persist because it is good, or is it good because it perists? And am I clever because I can orchestrate a turn of phrase?

Some things, particularly attitudes and philosophies are surprisingly old, or surprisingly new.

Viewing a large scale piece of art. In the signature, the artist also credits his assistants. Unheard of.

At dinner, old friends (and mostly me) talk about regrets we don’t have.

Read on: Travelogue: Chicago, pt. 4

Travelogue: Chicago, pt. 2

​Saturday Morning

Mission: Ipsento 606 in Wicker Park for coffee.

Got on the right train, thought I was wrong and got off. Ten minutes later I got back on the right train.

Train voice just said, “Your attention, please,” and then nothing.

Signs boast, “Building a new Chicago.” Why give up on the original now?

A mural on the side of a brick building opposite a vacant lot. It includes the words, “You deserve to be happy.” My typical response to this notion is a resounding, “no.” But the figure of a brown child on the shoulders of a brown man have me leaning toward…yes.

I order a coffee and an espresso. I also order a half-dollar sized donut. It costs one dollar.

Are all the women in Chicago tall and confident?

Wasabi is one of those words that can only be stylized a limited number of ways.

Hiking up Milwaukee from Wicker Park to Logan Square is kind of like parts of Manchester in the city, and a bit of Cherokee street, and south Grand, and elements of the Embarcadero in San Francisco. Wait, nevermind, it’s its own thing.

Something about fixed-gear bicycles per capita.

Maybe I should rent a Divvy. But it’s a little cold, fine for walking, potentially iffy for biking. Plus I don’t have a helmet. Although no one here seems to wear them anyway. But I did buy a transit day pass and I want to feel I got my money’s worth. But I’m meeting friends with a car later, so I probably won’t anyway. But I’m standing on the platform now, so train it is.

My plan is to ride the elevated train through downtown to see the sights, but I have to use the bathroom. One of Anthony Bourdain’s travel tips when searching for a restroom is to go to a bar. You will have to order a beer to be allowed to use it, but hey, now you have a beer. It’s ten-thirty in the morning. I’ll try that tactic with a donut.

The donut shop is too small to have a bathroom. I decide to be a bad citizen and use the one at McDonald’s without buying anything. But I’ll be back for that donut.

The orange juice is small and expensive, but I want it.

Is downtown the buildings or the people or the public art?

The city doesn’t look much different from the train versus the street.

Read on: Travelogue: Chicago, pt. 3