Where I Was From

The um, hostelling life.

First of all, I've got to say I did succeed to a small degree in persuading a few Chicagoans to dance, though I'm suspicious that they agreed to it solely to make me stop whining. In any case, our dancing attracted a sketchy Billy Idol lookalike who was two sheets to the wind and looking to hump some legs, so the moment didn't last. We'd been hanging out in a great
underground bar after seeing some improv in Wrigleyville and weaving through a stampede of Cubs fans. One of the two improv acts was done with Sesame Streetish puppets. Trust me, it was brilliant. Not for kids.

Thursday, I took a stroll through the conservatory and returned to the hostel to meet up with a little
group bound for a free jazz show in Millennium Park under the crazy Gehry bandshell. They didn't mind that I wasn't a real hosteller, and I met some pretty cool folks. Each of us was from a different country (England, Ireland via Hollan, Jordan, Japan, Australia, Italy, and Canada were all represented). I fancy them all creating a temporary Auberge
Espagnol back there at the hostel, and I get a tiny jealous twinge until I remember that I have my
own little room and a kitchen AND an excellent tour guide at my disposal. For free. Hah-cha-cha.






Anyway, the Fred
Anderson trio was stellar, as was the Art Institute (my favorites: Toulouse Lautrec, as
always, and for some reason, every painting they have from 1913 was amazing. In my ignorance, I didn't jot down the artists' names, and I want to call it abstract expressionism but honestly, I just like those angles and bright colors that fade out from them. That is the official term. 1913. Europe. Fadythings.)


This lovely lady is a Buddhist saint of sorts who men more or less worship sexually in order to attain enlightenment. I hadn't heard of such a thing before, either.

Labels: Chicago, travel

posted by Leah @ 1:18 PM