CHICAGO SOUL

New permanent venue! Windy City Soul Club is BACK!

morning routine

kevin and i don't usually talk for a good 20-30 mins after waking up. we bustle around the kitchen. this morning i cut strawberries to throw on my cereal -- he poured a huge mug of coffee, shook a camel light out of the pack, and went to the porch to smoke it.

"our breakfasts are different," he said, after the first drag.

i just really wanted to use that as a line of dialogue.

bikram

So I've signed up for a month of bikram yoga classes. You know, the 26 poses in the 4,000 degree room with 9,000% humidity. Last night was my first class, and I actually really enjoyed it, especially the part when our instructor shouted "RYAN! Spread 'em further! SPREAD! SPREAD!" There's no talking in the yoga room, but Jenn and I enjoyed some deeply fulfilling and soul-inspiring internal laughter. I've signed up for the Sunday and Tuesday classes as well. I bet if I wrap myself in garbage bags I could lose a LOT of weight by the end of the month.

To complete my Friday evening of health and wellbeing, we all went to Greek Corner and had giant plates of meat slathered in tzatziki sauce and then drank PBR while watching Superbad.

Today I can barely move.

chicago nights

our living room!



Southside Irish Parade



Green river


survived my first "walk home alone at midnight" in my neighborhood. i was a little scared of rapists with guns and knives, but the only person i saw was a freakishly old haunted-house-esque lady with a tangled nest of white hair, whispering nonsense to a cat on her porch. i didn't see a single hooligan waving a knife with rape in his/her eyes, plus NOW i know that a witch lives in the neighborhood, a fact that i'm really rather proud of. "oh, the witch of wrightwood ave?" i'll say, offhandedly. "why? do you need any spells cast? because i said hi to her one night. i could probably get a discount."

really, though, my neighborhood pretty much has the atmosphere of north cap hill -- a bunch of stately old houses that used to be filled with the bourgeoisie and are now filled with puerto ricans and the hipsters who like the idea of living in a "diverse neighborhood." the traffic lights are hilarious -- a parade of pristine lowriders bumping that OOM PA PA music, battered corollas filled with children having tantrums in spanish, and then a gaggle of bearded and american apparel'd fixie riders, doing trak stands and staring into the distance in a manner which clearly suggests that they hope that everyone around them thinks they're composing a poem, or thinking about how small their carbon footprint was for that particular day, and how they're going to go home and eat chicken masala tikka and listen to mozart on a 78 before heading back out to drink pabst at the local mexican bar, where i happened to be spinning records last night.

i've been reading too much david sedaris lately. what this translates to in a concise blurb is: chicago is rad.

ok now i need to find a job.