Chicago is so fucking hot this summer, oh my god, hot and still and sticky. I didn't get to go to Pride because the Red Line was packed (but I did see a group of fat and beautiful dykes ululate and shove their way onto an already-full car, which sort of made up for things), and I've been working a hell of a lot and have moved into a 2-bedroom with a girl who works at 3 different bars and has gotten me a gig at Lolla. Gonna be a beer wench.
Today I told a migrant worker the easiest way to get from Merch Mart to 95th. On my birthday two weekends ago, I was outside the mart smoking with the other cafe-monkeys and wannabe proles from the ad agencies upstairs and along comes a Good Humor truck at 6 in the evening in the middle of downtown Chicago, and suddenly there's ice cream being tossed to us.
I saw TDKR and was a little upset that you can tell it's shot in another city altogether. It's only 6 months in, but this city remains fucking magic. The shine of the glass, and the occasional breeze, and the scrub of North Ave at 3:35 in the morning when I'm hurrying to catch the first 72 to Sedgwick. The way my next-door neighbors (a 3-generation PR family) smile at me and have graduated from hi to hola when I get home in the evenings. Hurrying towards buses, bridges, restaurants, coffeeshops, parks, street art, trains, taxis, 4 am bars, and patches of shade.
I have a plus card pass for the CTA, a local bank account, a permanent address in Humboldt Park. I have the RedEye app on my phone. I have kind of a midwest accent when I don't catch myself. I bitch with coworkers about my company being a front for the mob. Rahm Emanuel is my fucking mayor. I'm a Chicagoan.