Taste of Chicago? More like "Waste of Chicago"

See what I did there? Clever title, right? right?

So last week I went to Chicago's annual display of "local cuisine" -- grease and meat. I was actually really looking forward to this, having never been before but having heard great things. And besides the sort of insane clouds and weather

Weird clouds above Buckingham Fountain

it's absolutely true that the coolest part of the event was the vibe of it -- thousands of people happily eating, chatting, walking around. All walks of life, all facets of the city eating pizza and ribs.

However, the one attraction that should be the most appealing -- food -- was absolutely lacking. Trying not to be overwhelmed by the more than 70 booths, I chose early that I was going to get $16 dollars worth of tickets, spend half on the Taste perennial favorite -- barbecue turkey leg from Manny's -- and corn on the cob (one of the few vegetable-like things I could find). What I got was largely vile. The corn had been steaming in  water for what seemed like hours, and was cloyingly sweet and buttery and generally bad. The turkey leg was overdone--the meat stringy and dry. I was hesitant about eating this kind of mass-produced meat at the Taste, but figured I might do it for the experience. Instead I got this gross massive thing of meat smothered in cheap barbecue sauce. I threw out almost all of it, which just made me feel worse about wasting all that horrible meat.

Figuring I'd just hit a bad string of shops, I bought more tickets to supplement the $4 I had left to try vietnamese egg rolls (almost entirely rice flour rolls with no filling. apparently they want you to ignore this by smothering it in duck sauce), poutine fries (think, soggy fries covered in watery gravy, the kind you make from a powder you buy at a grocery store), dried chilli chicken (good, but not as dry or as well-balanced in terms of spicy vs. other flavors as when you get in the purveyor's normal chinatown restaurant) and fudge (soft and artificial-tasting. like it had been made with nesquick powder. maybe not bad for some people, but I found it way too sweet). I mean, I guess I shouldn't be too surprised, because you're asking these shops to cook in make-shift kitchens outside for thousands of people, but seriously, this food was almost all bad! And yet people were walking around stuffing their faces.

Now that the Taste has closed, it seems as though the whole endeavor lost money, which is a real shame because the City of Chicago / the organizers had really done a fabulous with the logistics of the events. There were ample, well-maintained toilets with hand-washing facilities, plenty of areas to sit down and eat, really good promotional materials and maps, police presence, and overall a tame, organized vibe. It's frustrating that a well done city attraction like this can't bring in revenue

Parties and Socializing

Yesterday night I decided the first thing I would do upon waking today would be to put on my helmet and go for a bike ride. I spent most of yesterday wallowing in vacillation: should I go to the gym and watch tennis while plowing through a workout? Should I bike to the north side to get a hair cut or run an errand? Should I read at a coffee shop then go for a run? I wasted much of the morning and afternoon considering just what I should do with my day and in particular how to get in some kind of exercise so that the antsy yet lethargic feeling of inactivity would leave me. 

In the hope of not wasting today in much the same manner, I decided that a morning bike ride would be a good start to the day. Though of course today is the Fourth of July and so my bike ride included seeing families set up grills on the lake front (at 8 in the morning! dedication! though only the 31st street beach area seemed to be truly filled up) and a morning audio treat from NPR -- the Declaration of Independence read aloud. I have to say, I think that might have been the first time (or at least the first time since elementary school) that I've heard the whole Declaration, and parts of it gave me chills. Sometimes I forget that it's okay to be patriotic and liberal these days. July Fourth rhetoric can sometimes come across as over-the-top jingoism (for the record, this is the kind of stuff that, when it's uncovered on some internet archive when I want to run for office in 20 years is totally going to screw me over. I'm just going to say it now -- chill out, media). And indeed, it's not unusual for Fourth celebrations among my friends to devolve into ridiculous performances of who can be the best gun-tottin' Amurrrica-loving patriot. But hearing the Declaration of Independence read aloud, I remembered the mythology of our country, our founding, our goal, our history that is supposed to help guide us, more than 200 years later to be the Shinning City Upon the Hill. Even if such an idealistic America doesn't exist, it was nice to be reminded of it as I biked on the lake front this morning.

I spent the rest of the day reading (crappy mystery novel, "The Hypnotist", more on this later when I finish it or give up on it), cooking (two quiches), listening to a book on tape (Murakami's "What I talk about when I talk about running," which is incredible and which I will discuss later when I finish), and watching some TV ("Downton Abbey," a PBS Masterpiece Theatre show which is surprisingly good).

Quiches -- mushroom, beet greens, asiago and parmesan cheese 

Around 5 o'clock I made my way to a Fourth of July party/potluck a few blocks from my apartment with the quiches in tow. It turned out to be one of those gatherings where you know a few people kinda well and a lot of people not at all. It's the kind of party that lends itself to breaking of into the group you know and ignoring that there's a whole other party going on. This is simultaneously a very pleasant, safe response (phew, I can just hang out with my friends) and a frustratingly isolationist policy (there's this room full of interesting people and I want to meet them!). However, it seems to be the not-knowing-most-people (who all know each other) and kinda-knowing-a-few juxtaposition that seems to least lend itself to chit-chat and introductions.

By the end of the party, I feel a bit frustrated by the lack of connection I was feeling with some of my friends. It was not helpful to be reminded by the continuous laughter, easy conversation and almost gauntlet-like arrangement of the Other People that makes me have to pass through these lines of happy, talking people every time I want to go from my friend's little hide-out on the porch to the kitchen.

When most of the group (including those I know) break off to go to the Point and watch fireworks, I stayed behind to clean, seemingly more comfortable in the roll of overly-anxious-to-help guest rather than overly-anxious-to-be-good-friends friend. I figure I'll join up with people later after I drop my empty quiche pans off at my apartment. Instead it turns out I've missed the fireworks because they were an hour earlier than I expected, and now the part of my Fourth of July which involves social interaction is over at a mere 9pm. I'm both happy and sad about this. Happy that I can just stay home, and do what I want for the rest of the evening -- write this; read, listen or watch more of my respective cultural media. Happy that I don't have to make an excuse for turning in early and don't have to work so hard anymore to make conversation with people who I'm not quite great friends with yet.

On the other hand, there's a special kind of loneliness that comes with the knowledge that, not too far away, people you know are gathered together and having a great time while you are by yourself.

In the past few years I've gotten quite good at spending time on my own, but I wonder what's the point of all this free time and freedom if part of it isn't spent in the company of others. I worry that I spend time alone too easily -- particularly that I spend unproductive time alone.

In some ways I've been slipping in my goals for this summer already: I haven't been writing as much as I'd like (look for a backlog of posts with pictures to roll in sometime soon here, if I can get myself to sit down and focus), nor reading as much (particularly not of substantive, intellectual work). Murakami has this sort of rumination weighing heavily on my mind. What does it mean that I'm concerned enough to define just what is a productive day, but not disciplined enough to reach that goal? And what are these goals in the face of youth with its parties and friends and possibility to be out later than 9pm on the Fourth of July.

I can hear the pop and bang of fireworks from my apartment--they've been going pretty steadily throughout the day, though now that night has fallen, the far-off boom of professional firecrackers is particularly resonant. For each of those thunderous rumbles, hundres of people--indeed, hundreds of people who arrived together as groups of families and friends--are looking up and oooh-ing and ahhhh-ing, while I had instead ended up alone in my apartment, looking ahead at a fluorescent screen, writing.

"My Best Friend's Wedding" and Northerly Island

Thursday, June 30th: Watching "My Best Friend's Wedding," left me both frustrated at the whole comedic genre and antsy. First of all, why has modern comedy been reduced to this make-believe world where no character can see through thinly-veiled motives and obvious furtive glances? To create moments of comedy seems to involve more suspension of disbelief than the dubious Chicago filming which had Cameron Diaz swerve to exit the northbound on Lake Shore Drive by McCormick Place and end up on a southbound exit ramp in River North by the Drake Hotel. Nobody, NOBODY in real life would be fooled by the kind of stuff used in a movie like My Best Friend's Wedding to create laughs. Why do we tolerate it?

After this movie, I needed to get out of my apartment, so I headed north on the lake front path on my bike.  Around McCormick place, as it happens, I saw across the water a grassy, pleasant looking area that I've never been to before. I decided to go far enough north to where there was a bridge across the harbor and then try to make my way over. Turns out you have to go as far north as the planetarium, and the trick (which I almost didn't see) is get off the path right past the firemen/policemen memorials where the path dips down and you go through those small tunnels to end up at the aquarium. You want to be going over those tunnels instead and east to the planetarium. From there there are clear signs to Northerly Island, the park that I had seen.

Turns out, Northerly Island is fantastic! Incredible views of the city and the lake, a really great sculpture installation, and, frankly, not a lot of people. A space like that around, say, Oak Street Beach would be filled to capacity. But here there were just a few other cyclists and some kids running around with their parents. I'm absolutely make this a future picnic spot. Maybe even for 4th of July fireworks!

Mandatory Awkward First Post

For the next two months, until August 29th, I am effectively living the dream. I have a reasonable cash stipend, no job, no obligations and a whole city to explore. However, no great movie, nor great hidden urban gem, nor great book is worth much without a place to talk about it. Hence this blog. It's not necessarily meant to be read as much as exist and serve as a repository of thought and memory. The hope is that that in 2 month's and one day's time I don't look back and say "what have I been doing with my life?"