Indie Darling Saturday

You know when you hit that point that your level of cuteness is post-club, post-hardcore, and inevitably indie? This for me usually happens at brunch on the West Side, when I look around at all the chambray shirts and Frye boots and start feigning for something that reminds me I am indenial about not being a hipster. I care so much I don't care. My only defense is to start eating my feelings of awkwardness, since I can no longer feel edgy by corporate dayjob standards.

Saturday I went to Treat out in Humboldt Park, and carb-overloaded (I don't have insurance so eating allows me to medicate when I'm not getting bought drinks by a guy). Seriously, my two loves combined: India and brunch. Really? Yes, it's that good. I don't know how they put masala and all those freaky spices without destroying the privileged perk of being a white hipster on the weekend.

The only way to counterbalance my feelings of anxiety about my place in the underground culture is to do something totally random with a boy of my dreams and remember that I'm on the path to greatness in other ways. In my researching, I found some abandoned hospital that sounded like a great place to impress someone with my creepiness; and then some Epcot-like themed restaurant that is actually authentically ethnic. Klas Restaurant used to be Al Capone's personal brothel and it has ghosts. Yeah, sure I'll drink from some giant steins staring into the eyes of a dreamboat while large cadavers of bears and medieval looking fish stare back at me. This is like a scene out of Blue Valentine before Ryan Gosling turns all crazy and Michelle turns into a total bitch. But we all know they just end up in that space hotel passed out drunk and totally into that hot douche we run into from college.

Too good to be true.

Daft Coke

Now that my department has permanently moved into the city, I get some of the insta-joys that come with living in the city: access to awesome things, encouraging randomness, lots of weirdos on the train. The last time I worked in the city it meant lots of bar trips. The entire block of Jeweler's Row is full of Pop-Up galleries right now, but that amusement can only last so long.

Drinking in the Loop

It's a disaster trying to get anything decent cocktail wise in the loop. Palmer House made a good attempt, but the food at Lockwood was a rip. I'm disappointed there's not a better option that doesn't involve Elephant & Castle. The Gage is always good, but you're likely to get your purse stolen than finding a seat there.

It's Chicago Restaurant Week-- and although it's an awesome idea and I realize the department of tourism is putting this together-- where are the cocktails? I don't need daily prixe fixe meals. This is Chicago! We attach upscale to words like "hot dog" or "pizza". I need to know where I can get my dream drink on.

The past few experiences I have had epicuranean wise have been disappointing to say the least. Bangers and Lace? Do you want to pay $20+ for a sausage? Yeah, I'll take the red hot please. Sable has got some amazing cocktails, but then you start with the dates and creme brulee corn and leave feeling like you dropped a salt shaker down your mouth.

I can't wait for the day I open up my own place and just have all the bottles look as cool as the ones Daft Punk designed for Coke. I should have known Colette was getting involved with this as well. Bring these to sale in Chicago!

Hermanos Iglesos

This video is helping my Mondays quite well. I am still in shock over the weekend. I never know if I reveal the actual stories of my life on here, or keep it private? Boundaries of the internet world I still don't understand. It's still creepy that my kids could find details of my life from my teenage time.

Ack!

This has been one of the worst weeks I have ever had at a job. My idealistic nature wants to say my boss will be nice, things will get better, and stay hopefully. But in reality I know office politics are an ongoing battle.

I need a drink.

I Can Read

Sometimes I forget I know how to read actual books. On my window still I have at least ten books with anywhere from 50-200 pages read, none of them finished. By the time I pick it up again I have no idea what the story is about other than "Oh yeah, there's this girl" or "Hey, yeah this is historical poverty stories". I decided this was a great weekend to read one of my Christmas presents from my brother, who did an interview with writer Trinie Dalton.

I finished this book in less than two hours which means it kept my interest long enough to pass ultimate test of not getting placed on the windowsill. Each of the stories focuses on a different theme but it's for the creative types nonetheless: werewolves, spirits, shitty apartments, Burgertime, and the moon. All of these seem to be coming up in my life lately.

Last week I went to Andy's Music Shop to help a friend buy a violin. I feel convincted that African spirits haunt the basement where they house instruments made out of teeth (human or animal not clear). True story.