Love From Chicago.

This week we explored Chicago like a new breed of tourist--one without purpose but with a sense of direction. How silly to deprive myself of the best attractions my city has to offer because of my disdain towards those who adhere to the beaten path and its sickening commercialism.
In truth, I have found that it is also those whose goal it is to live "off the beaten path" who are deluded for they naively believe that path less traveled is not comparably commercial and restricting. Na'mean?

First stop: a water taxi to Navy Pier. The driver was fond of our Chucks (furry leopard print and classic black, respectively) and we were fond of his very important dreadlocks.The Museum of Modern Art is free on Tuesdays. This was in the shop--where I agonized for a good hour about which books I couldn't live without. I decided on The 1000 Journals Project, The Guerrilla Art Kit, and This Book Will Change Your Life (in a facetious sort of way).
We had the pleasure of seeing Cindy Sherman's work.MOMO also has free jazz concerts Tuesday nights --a swanky cashbar on the patio and couples picnicking on the lawn below.We fell in love with this place and its amazing gelato. It took a lot of staring and a few taste tests but we opted for Chocolate/Spumoni and Pistachio/White Chocolate.She wanted to show me the sunset over the city.
I pretended to be foreign.
So many beautiful accents and people.We had sat at this beach earlier.The fountain in front of L'Appetito at night.
We both have a thing for falling water--from both natural and human-made structures.
We seek out secret fountains and waterfalls. The only caveat was that we spent an unholy wad of cash on coffee at Starbucks and Ghiradelli and it was mere water dressed in brown. This is my disappointed face.Luckily dashing out of one's car and dancing randomly in subdivision parking lots and at railroad crossings can cure the bad coffee (and most) blues.
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I've been thinking a lot about decision making this week--and in just looking over this post it is evident that I have serious probs when it comes to making them. When you stare at an ice cream freezer in Jewel for forty minutes before deciding which two flavors to purchase, you need help. If I freak out about the most inconsequential of decisions--how can I decide which college to transfer to? How will I make the right decision about the the things that are important? Simple: stop agonizing about making the right decision in the first place, pooface.

- ♥ -

When was the last time you danced?

I firmly believe in the health benefits of dancing--I use health as an umbrella term for sanity, creativity, and vitality. Movement is almost always the answer for the blues and overall creative stagnation.
Dancing (in public especially) allows the spirits to lift by jettisoning all of the bullshit that weighs us down on a daily basis. I also recommend cleaning/organizing and getting a hair cut!

This past Friday the fam and I went dancing at one of our favorite joints where the crowd is older and a band we go way back with plays regularly. They play 60's to early 80's everything from "Great Balls Of Fire" to the "Boot Scootin' Boogie" and we love it. But more than their playlist I love how beautiful everyone looks when they're dancing. Older couples, women on their ladies' night out, seasoned ballroom dancers all cutting the same rug yet in their own worlds, as the collective spirit reaches near critical mass in the crowded venue. Wrinkles, cellulite, sags, bellies, boobs, and booties all gyrating to live music. I can't get enough. It's beautiful.

The lead singer dropped off some song request sheets at the table paired with the three page song list (in an 8 point font) at the table. I requested My Girl for Agent Pineapple putting Boobs as the occasion not thinking anything would come of it. I was delightfully wrong. He announced "A song dedicated to Kaitlin's boobs!?" and the whole band got into add-libbing "boobs" into the song. "My girl, my girl, my girl, talkin about my girl's boobs (boobs!)" ...."Talkin about my (boobs!) girl (boobs!). Needless to say we were dying of laughter on the dance floor as was our whole table. Other patrons, however, were not as amused :)

There was more dancing to be had at Chicago's Dyke March--the answer to the male dominated Pride Parade. The slogan this year was We Move. "We Move to create visibility, to honor our histories and identities, to disrupt oppression and dominance, to challenge silence and fear because we are everywhere, because we must survive. 1000 participants--the overwhelming majority of them moving together the largest dyke march in the past five years. Naturally, I positioned myself behind the drummers so that I could dance-march the twelve blocks along Pilsen's 18th street. I'm glad I participated this year, my first, as I've been yearning to be apart of a movement of women. Perhaps I should go for it and volunteer to help organize next year.

The song below is great for ze dancing yah and for ze maarch :)