Ze Cure

Madly working on other stuff distracts me from the things that are truly important. So, a few more things about Chicago while I have a chance here...

When you live in a place like One Great City!, where it only takes half an hour to get anywhere from the city centre, you need to remember to plan ahead for a trip to the end of the train line in a big city. Otherwise you will be late to see the show that served as the catalyst for the entire trip to said big city in the first place. Not only did we not allow enough time to get there on time, and not only were we late to leave, but service ended that night at the stop before the one at which we were to get off, so we had to catch a shuttle bus, just to add another step to drag the journey out that little bit longer. The shuttle took us to another bus which would take us to the stadium itself, but this particular bus only went by the stadium, not to the stadium, so we were dropped off at the top of a road leading into the parking lot. It was dark. It was raining. There was no sidewalk.

I hate suburbia.

Had it only been B and me, I would have been cursing like crazy, but since we were with friends, I kept my mood in check and really had no hard time at all being positive, albeit with an anxious tinge. We finally got to the actual entrance doors and I could hear 'Love Song' and by the time everyone had gone to the bathroom and got a beer and we had found our seats (which of course someone had occupied) they were on to 'Pictures of You'.

I loved it. I really was just the happiest clam ever. Yes, it was a big arena and no, we weren't close, but it was such a treat to get to sit there and watch them live, something I'd long given up on - but there I was! And they were good! They sounded good and looked good - from where I was, anyway! - even without a synthesiser.

They played for almost three hours, a fact I know only because I read that in the paper. Let's say it was a quick three hours for me. When I think about it, they did go through all sorts of stuff, some of which I didn't recognise because I hadn't heard it in such a long time (I love that. 'Hey, I forgot about this song!'). Robert Smith was different than I'd expected, chattier and more lively. He also did a lot of swearing; not as in 'Fuck off!' but as in 'I'm sorry my fucking voice is fucking crap tonight' (he had a sore throat, apparently) but English people always speak like that, don't they?

:)

Looking around, the crowd was mostly people my age or older, and seeing how excited everyone got over the pop hits, it dawned on me that maybe a lot of people see them as one of those nostalgia bands. I know the '80s are back but some of the get-up was a bit too authentic. I began to realise that perhaps some of these fans do not take them as seriously as I do. Are they to The Cure what I am to Duran Duran? And if so, what difference does it make? Everyone there was just having a good time. I guess I generally take most things too seriously.

The way home was equally silly, but we did get to chatting to a very friendly couple on the train who had seen The Cure twenty years previous and were going to see them again on the same tour in California. They hadn't heard of One Great City! but they had been to Niagara Falls, which is funny because most people I know have never been to Niagara Falls.

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Chicago is all about the revolving door. That is because the buildings are so tall. You knew that. I knew that too but it was pretty exciting to be in a place where you really had to use that door, where it wasn't just a quaint little option.

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Obviously I wrote this ages ago and I'm finally posting it today, Sunday.

Sweet home...

Car trip to Chicago with three others was a success. In numbers:

Fights amongst all: zero
Inane arguments with boyfriend only: three (must work on that)
Tense moments for no reason in particular: a few, but rather than experiencing them directly, I was told about them
Laughs: uncountable

Day One: In car - k's. Arrived in Chicago, via a loop round O'Hare 'just for fun', at 11:30pm. Dined on pizza before bed. Hostel was noisy and bed very uncomfortable - you know when you lie down and put a sheet over yourself and no one would know there's a person in the bed? That kind of uncomfortable.

Day Two: Being A Tourist, Part I. Coffee. Breakfast. Bus ride. Sears Tower. Walking. Lunch. Self-guided sculpture tour. More walking. Navy Pier. Ferris Wheel. Dinner. Swings. Stained glass museum. Walking. Nasty bus lady. Hostel. 'Blues' bar. Bed. Noise. Too tired to notice, so had to be told about that, too.



This sculpture is called the flamingo and is "just an example of the laughs we have around here"

Day Three: Being A Shopper. Ate crepes down the street from the hostel: this is probably how all successful people start their days. Walked to Bucktown. Much as I hate shopping, I love to browse around a place like this, full of odd shops and one-off bars and cafes; so much so that I wasn't disappointed to be the only one to come home with no bag. Eventually we got back to the hostel to change into our Cure Fan costumes (ummm, jeans and a black t-shirt for me!) and took the train to some arena in oblivionland.

And it was there that I finally saw my all-time favourite band. More on that later.

Day Four: Being A Tourist, Part II. Coffee. Walk to Lincoln Park. Lincoln Park Zoo. Old Town. Cabrini-Green. Coffee. Prada Shop. Failed rendezvous with companions. Magnificent mile. Pay phone fiasco. Lunch outside John Hancock centre. Successful call from pay phone, leading to successful rendezvous with companions. Art Institute. Millennium Park. Giant Jelly Bean thingie. Pizzeria Due. Best pizza of my life. Noisy Texans. Bus ride. Pint. Noisy hostel-goers. Poor sleep.

How cute is this little gaffer? His nose twitched while he dreamt.

Day Five: In car. Half quiet and dull, half joke-laden and hilarious. In bed of comfortable silence by 1:45am.

Fun time! This was a whirlwind of a trip, but I could wander around there for months. There's such a diversity of things to see.

One Great City! is often, wrongly, referred to as the Chicago of the North. This is mainly because there is a smattering of buildings downtown which resemble those in Chicago. And maybe because of the shitty winters. I don't really know why, actually. I think we hang on to it because, as I allude to from time to time, One Great City! has low self-esteem, so to compare itself to Chicago is like highlighting the really good bits - there are some, but it's not the same. A few years ago, I went to a lecture by a local historian who wanted to dispel the myths about One Great City! and this moniker was one he thought we should shake off, mainly because it's inaccurate. Chicago is huge, millions of people live there - it has even burnt to the ground and been built back up. It's just misleading to compare the two; I'd say it extracts more confidence than it injects.

Instead, we called Chicago the One Great City! of the South.

I sign off with a tune by a great artist who runs a club on the Near South Side. If I ever get to go back, I will go there.

Style section

Whenever someone comes to visit, I buy the Globe & Mail so there's something to pick up and flip through during any lulls. Really, though, I just like to take advantage of the opportunity to do this myself, but I don't want to do it every weekend because it feels like too much extra reading.

I love the Style section. If not for the occasional visitor, I may well have no idea what is going on in the world of contemporary fashion (panic!). I like looking at the pictures and reading the captions underneath with the introductory pun, followed by required information like the name of the elite shop in which said item can be purchased (always in Toronto; never, ever in One Great City!) and the price (always outrageous. This isn't The Sun, people.). This weekend there were stools and chairs on the design page whose prices are listed as available only by request. If a chair costing $3700 can have its price listed, I really wonder what price warrants being left out. Perhaps I should put in a request?

If I were to list a few things Globe-style that I've recently acquired, my Style section would look a little like this:

Don't just talk the talk in these earthen-toned hiking boots by Dr Marten.
Brown leather hiking boots, $0 at The Laundry Room.






Darling leave a light on for me
Brighten things up with this Japanese-inspired lampshade, available in ivory only.
Paper lampshade, $0 at The Laundry Room.




Okay, I know I am coming across as very cheap; too cheap to even pay a nickel for my own stuff. And while I am not fond of shopping, these were lucky finds that I stumbled upon, abandoned in the thrift store that a corner of the laundry room has become, items I actually had in mind to look for.

Do you think that having money and rarely spending it is like wasting youth on the young, or happiness on perpetual complainers? Maybe actively avoiding spending money when you have it is as obnoxious as spending it for the sake of spending it.

I know a few genuinely cheap people and they drive me crazy. For a while, I am carried along with their frugality, resourcefulness and commitment to minimising waste, but when my offer of going out for a drink is never taken up because it's cheaper to drink at home, I start to wonder if the line has been crossed from admirable asceticism to miserable existence.

When to spend is a dilemma for me, truly. I have no interest in shopping and I don't like to buy things that aren't edible because I don't want to accumulate all that junk. More deeply, I am uncomfortable with materialism; it's something you can really hide behind, you know? But at the same time, there is stuff out there that I like and it wouldn't kill me to make some effort to keep up with the times, fashion-wise. Also, appropriated poverty? Slumming it is pretty loathsome. I guess I am aiming for some balance between enjoying the tangible parts of life and not being wasteful, and it need not matter whether it comes from the alley or the mall, but I don't feel like I'm there yet. I'm tipped too far in one direction - obviously not towards the Globe's Style section!

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I haven't been writing much lately because it's taking me forever to churn anything out. That's because I don't write often enough. And so it goes.

That said, I won't be writing for a few days because I am going to Chicago tomorrow.

I. Am. Excited.

I might buy something nice.

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The visitor, by the way, was Dad!










Can you see us? B took this photo.

I draw a blank

I have nothing to say right now but it's been a while since I've written, and Best Friend may be tired of that picture, so I will just write whatever comes to mind.

I had one of those hour-long conversations on a street corner this morning. You know the kind, where the group of four breaks up to go back to the office or wherever, but just before you leave, you quickly exchange a few words with one of those four, the one with whom you are working on something else, and for some reason the word exchange takes an hour? I do always enjoy those, though.

Normally, it is chocolate and cookies that I crave, but this week, I am all over dried fruit. Peaches are the best, but they are also the most difficult to dig out of the bulk bin, especially with that silly scoop - great for rice, terrible for anything actually bulky.

Watched Michael Clayton on the weekend. Tilda Swinton was great.

Reading The Omnivore's Dilemma at the moment. All food is corn. Who knew? Excited to finish it and start The God Interviews. Thanks, Lolabola!

Back to running these days, but only a few times a week, otherwise I feel like I'm avoiding the thesis. The river banks are mucky, adding plenty of weight to my shoes and sending mud flying in all directions. Passers by, beware.

C'est tout.