Monthly Archives: August 2006

Bacheloretting and whatnot

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I went up to Chicago this past weekend for my first out-and-about bachelorette party. (My first experience ever was a sex-toy party at the bride-to-be’s house.) I had to work at the Chemistry Library in the afternoon on Saturday, and was all anxious about how I was going to get to the party before it got crazy without me.

Luckily, Librarian Kim was heading up to her south-suburb home to visit her momz, who just had foot surgery. I got to meet her mom, who is REALLY NICE AND SUPER CUTE. It made me really happy.

So then I took the Metra up into the city. It reminded me of my commute to Waukegan, and I kind of felt nauseous, but I pulled out The Diamond Age (or: A Young Lady’s Illustrated Primer) and commenced to reading.

I was pleased to find out that the party had not yet left the apartment (somehow, an apartment in the Gold Coast was rented, which was amazing) so I cabbed on up Lake Shore.

Let me just say that my expectations for a bachelorette party include some sort of phallic headdress, jello shots, and a lot of drunken-head-tiled-back “WOOOOOO!” Kate’s team of bachelorettes had managed to combine two of these things. Penis mold jello shots.

So the headdress was actually awesome feathers, which we all go to wear if we wanted. We sat around, toasting Kate, for enough time for me to get buzzed, then headed out.

Coming in from out of town, I did not have a hand in planning. That’s how I didn’t know that we had a contact at {swank place} and this person was going to try to get us in to {a popular and well-recieved hip-hop artist’s} VIP afterparty. After amassing at the place, we went to a waiting room where a few other folks were waiting to maybe get in. We had already missed the easy opportunity of sneaking up the back staircase, and our contact was trying her darnedest to get us in. Total in the room were 19 people. Our contact came in, and told us we’d have to come en-mass to a door, and she’d have to wrestle the stamper away from the doorman. (She was really, really trying here.) We all piled into the elevator, and …

… CA-CHUNK. Got stuck. We were stuck in the elevator. There was a count of heads, and some simple math, and we realized that we had overloaded the weight capacity. The walls of the elevator were mirrored, so it looked like a crowd of people that went on forever. I’m not claustrophobic, but I do enjoy oxygen. Those who were more claustrophobic-minded did an admirable job of not freaking the EFF out. After somewhere between 10 and 15 minutes, someone opened the door from the outside, and we stepped up into the lobby. (Totally busted.) We vacated as soon as possible, as to not further endanger our friend’s job.

So what do you do when you can’t go to the VIP afterparty you had planned? You go to Liar’s Club. Now, we were 11 people, so we split into three groups for cab purposes. My group couldn’t get a cab to save our lives. We started walking up to the next intersection. We walked across the Chicago river, which had sidewalk construction. There were were, five young beautiful dressed-up gals (I was the only one not in heels, natch.) trying to cross the barricade to get to the sidewalk on the other side. There was sparse traffic, because it was 11:30.

We’re waiting for a car to pass when it slows and the window rolls down. “You ladies need a ride?”

Yeah right. You may be a well-dressed guy in a Beemer, but I’ve seen American Psycho.

Except there were 5 of us, there were no cabs, and the guy explained that his guests had his parking spot, and he couldn’t park legally on Wacker until midnight, so he was just driving around anyway. (God, Mom, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry.)

So we all hop in. Turns out, he’s a day trader who’s hosting some clients at his place. He was out golfing in the suburbs, and couldn’t park on his street until after 12. I think I would have had more in common with him if he were a serial killer, but whatever. Kate’s sister talked him up about golfing, and we got to Liar’s Club in one piece. We offered to buy him a drink, (plus we wanted to prove our story to the other 2/3rds of our crew).

He asked which one was the bride, and we pointed out Kate. He congratulated her, and she asked him questions based on the thought that he was a cabbie. Whoops. Anyway, he was nice, kept to himself, didn’t ask for anyone’s number, didn’t dance-all-up on any of us, and then we thought he had left, since he wasn’t with us on the dance floor.

Turns out, he had gone up to the bar. He came back and said (well, shouted), “They don’t have any trays here, so you’ll have to come up to the bar.”

He had bought us ALL shots of a VERY smooth tequila. Wow. So we all did shots, WOOOOOed, thanked our knight-in-shining-auto, and he left.

Dance, dance, dance. Drink, drink, drink. We left Liar’s Club for Carroll’s, and found ourselves in the midst of a half old-guy, half hipster full house. There were a couple of people who looked ready to go home (too tired, too drunk, or both) so we took a cab back to the apartment. (I am a champion of cheesing out and going to sleep.) I got to sleep with Jen in a pullout bed.

Many hours later, it seemed like, the rest of the partiers came home. Kate and co. closed down Carrolls, which I think was her goal.

So that was my Saturday night adventure. I had planned to visit several different friends on Sunday, so I woke up at a fairly normal hour. Kate woke up too, so we had a nice talk at the kitchen table while Laura (her sister) had a Happy Birthday phone call with their other sister Martha. Somehow, the subject of early boyfriends came up, and I mentioned that I had an early-college ex from Cedar Rapids. I swear I had talked about this with Kate before, but apparently I hadn’t, because the guy WAS HER NEIGHBOR.

So then all of a sudden, Kate, Laura, and Martha (on the phone from DUBLIN) are all going, “EEEwww! Danny Redacted!?”

Yeah. Right. Well, that’s why it was early in my dating life. I didn’t get a chance to tell them about how when we broke up he drew a portrait of me, which he gave to my parents. They keep it behind the piano. We rediscover it every once in a while when a hamster gets loose or something.

Anyway, I was glad to have some quality time with Kate before I left. I had three other friends to see, and I haven’t seen any of them since I moved last August.

I went to brunch with my good friend Abbie. She suggested Heartland Cafe, which is the best restaurant in the city. I had the apple-raisin-mozzarella omelet and the cornbread. I was in heaven. We sat and talked, caught up, and Abbie told me some fabulous news about her getting to shortlist her goal of moving to London. I’m so freaking jealous happy for her.

We then surprised our friend Kandy, who lives in Rogers Park (where Heartland is). We hung out with her at her place (which I covet) and caught up more. It was fantastic.

I had one more person on my list to see, so Abbie drove me back down to Roscoe Village (in her sister’s truck – so awesome) and I met up with my Abbott friend Angela. She fed me a beer and guacamole (which reminds me why we’re so compatible) and caught up too. She had a HILARIOUS date story, which I keep thinking about.

My plan was to take the 8 pm Amtrak out of Union Station, and I left Angela’s around 5:30. I took the Damen bus down to Quimby’s, because I was aching for a Bag-o-Mags, and some new zines. They closed at 6, so I still had two hours to kill before the train left. Instead of going down really, really, painfully early, I decided to call my other Abbotteer, Steve. He was actually my boss, which is kind of hilarious, because I think we make much better friends than co-workers. Well, actually, he’s in the particular ring of hell I was in while I worked at Abbott (the one where you do about 20 hours worth of work during your 40-hour week, all while commuting from the city). I finally got to see his place, which I’d been hearing about when he was in the process of buying it. It’s super cool, which totally fits Steve. It’s not so much metrosexual as it is just an amazing space. Oh, except for the fabric samples on the couch.

Steve, I stand by my decision that the plush swatch looks too much like car upholstery – especially in grey.

Anyway, we went to Earwax for smoothies (I introduced him to my favorite – the chocolate/peanut butter one) and he drove me down to the station. I was worried about being late, but as it turns out, the train was delayed.

So I went to sit down and wait by the boarding area, and I saw a guy who’s in my program. We had a class together last semester, but I didn’t really get to know him that well. I think it was a product of him not being a chatterbox, and therefore not getting a word in edgewise.

So we sat together on the train, and talked the whole way home. It was really really fun, and I’m glad I figured out how cool he is (he studied Italian! he works with rare books! he’s liberal!) and I hope he can come to LNB next week.

So, all in all, my weekend was AMAZING. I celebrated Kate’s upcoming wedding without it being too … body shot-esque, saw way more friends than I thought I would, didn’t forget to call anybody, and was home in time to go to Bentley’s for a really well-made bloody mary. Woo. I only wonder what next weekend will hold.

Oh wait. Right! Charles and Silva are coming! YAAAAAY.

You may be surprised with the detail I have outlined my weekend. Growing up, when my parents asked me how my day was, they meant it. At least, I think they meant it. Oh well.

Do we?

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Dewey decimals

I just had my last cataloging class, and have completed about 1/2 of my take-home final. I think it was working on the final that made this cartoon so funny to me. Like, maniacal laughter that ends in gasps.

Today was the first day that we really got into the way cataloging is seen in the library science world. I didn’t want to take a cataloging class (sorry, Mom!) because I’m easily frustrated at systems that don’t work well. Between library catalogs not containing perfect data, and being esoteric and user-unfriendly, I find myself hating our stodgy systems that we’re clinging to. I use Amazon to find books that I know are in our catalog. That doesn’t make me want to learn about cataloging.

So now that I’ve completed the course (and looking to get an A! Hi Mom!) I can say that I like the eloquence of the system, and imperfections are due to natural human mistakes, so it’s kind of a cool system, as long as you’re well versed in it.

As a patron, I still loathe it.

I have a lot more thoughts about copy cataloging, outsourcing, Googlezon, and MARC spinning around in my head, and I can’t wait to have long conversations about it over drinks with other librarians. WoOt.

My first Critical Mass

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I went on my first Critical Mass ride this month, and I have to say, I did it up right. I was in Chicago for Pitchfork, and brought up my bike. Laurie drove, so the Princess of Pinkness (my bike) got a free ride. Laurie has ridden CM before, so I was happy to not only have the company, but also the expertise.

I was a bit nervous, because I’d never biked in Chicago before. I’m a farm girl, so 90% of my biking experience involves gravel roads that are straight and flat. I’ve been biking a lot in Champaign, and I’d like to think that I’m pretty good, but this is the Big City.

Sammich!

So, Laurie and I went down to Daly Plaza. We got convenience-store sammiches, which turned out to be DELICIOUS. I’ve decided that Laurie is my favorite adventure friend, because she always accounts for time to get food. As a wheezy hypoglycemic, I like this.

SO. There was a lot of hanging around Daly Plaza. Routes were voted on, but I missed it because I was talking to a kickball friend I hadn’t seen since last summer. I have a tendency towards socializing during democratic processes, so this wasn’t surprising.

We mounted up, and headed out – on a route that would take us south to the beach. The first portion was kind of painful, because we were going so slowly it was hard to balance with my feet on the pedals. I have some nice bruisy shins to prove that walking with a bike isn’t in my forte. (Plus I have a short-for-my-height inseam.)

(This will give you a sense of proportion. You can spot me midway back on the right side in this photo. I’m wearing a black tank top and a white and green skirt. My bike is pink and my helmet’s blue.)

Part of Critical Mass is ‘corking’ – blocking off the perpendicular route (even when the light is green for them) so the group can get through. When I first heard about this concept, I was wary. Anything that involves conflict and confrontation makes me want to hide. Because there are so many people riding, it’s the safest way. It’s like an impromptu parade.

CM riders shouted “Happy Friday!” to passersby/onlookers. If a frustrated vehicle honked, the crowd would whoop and shout. This made me smile a lot, because it’s a celebratory response to someone’s frustration. (I can understand – you get in your car to get to point B, and you’re held up an extra five minutes, and you start feeling anxious. But the point is to remind you that there are alternatives to driving everywhere.)

One observation I made was that when we were in white neighborhoods, people in their vehicles (often on cell phones) had furrowed brows and angry looks on their faces. They honked in anger, and would try to push out into the sea of bikers.

When we travelled through areas that were not white – mostly Latino and Asian – people in their vehicles were also honking, but they were smiling and waving, and shouting “Happy Friday” back to us.

You can see it as a parade, or you can see it as a roadblock, but either way it’s happening, so you kind of get to choose your perspective.

The path we took seemed to have a few problems – but I don’t know if it was the route, or if it was the bikers. We were completely stopped for about 10 minutes, and I couldn’t see far enough ahead to know what the problem was. There were police cars involved, but they left, and we continued on our way to Chinatown.

Back to corking, and general bike-rider/car-driver interactions. I witnessed one interaction where a biker got into a screaming match with an angry driver. It was overly aggressive on both their parts, but I was embarrassed for us collectively, because this douchebag biker was making us all look bad. Corking traffic isn’t a biker’s legal right, and the point is to raise awareness – not block traffic once a month to raise vehicle-driver’s blood pressure or pick fights.

Laurie and I decided to not finish the ride, because we were due at a gathering up-up-uptown and the route was taking up south. We rode about six miles with Critical Mass, but put 25 miles on our bikes that night.

Critical Mass is my preferred method of being enviropoliticactive. I like big events, where we actually DO something (even if it’s nothing more than piss off drivers and get sweaty). As a city biker, I NEED drivers to be aware of me. I want to bike everywhere I need to. I want to get rid of my car and never take the lazy way out.

The thing is, I can’t make this lifestyle choice alone. Sure, biking only takes one person, but because I’m part of traffic, it’s in my best interest to make sure people who do drive are aware of me and treat me like another set of wheels on the street. Champaign drivers aren’t used to a lot of bike traffic. There are a lot of people who bike on the sidewalk. They’re not used to me biking at their speed and maneuvering near me.

Champaign has started doing Critical Mass, and I can’t wait till the last Friday of the month to go out with them.