the other night ck and i decided it had been far too long since we'd done something fun together and made a swimming date. we had it all planned - it was a perfect hot morning, and ck was going to call me as work was wrapping up and we'd meet out at the point, hyde park's answer to "what is there to do in hyde park, anyway?" mb got excited at the prospect of company for swimming in lake michigan, and ck recruited msbikemyers to join us, and it would have been a regular swimming party just like we were kids... and we pinky-swore not to tell bikemyers that it was a party, who had agreed unknowingly to stay home in charge of littlebikemyers...
except that the perfect hot day turned into a grey hot day which turned into a grey cold windy day. mb, ck, msbikemyers and i all arrived at the point, and some of us decided we were more interested in sitting along the rocky shore admiring the chicago skyline than in actual exercise. mb, of course, was not in that group of "some of us," and off he went. mb is a good swimmer, but it was so choppy out there that for us on shore it was like dolphin watching: "where is he?" "i don't see him." "wait, there he is! look, he just shot up into the air!" "ooooh! oh, wait.. where is he now?"
as mb got out of the water, we all packed up, grateful to not be caught in a rainstorm, since the sky was almost black by this point... and were promptly deluged not by storm water, but by a throng of pre-teen boys charging toward the water and stomping on our things in that innocently oblivious way that only pre-teen boys can do. behind them was a group of adults, one of whom, carrying a bible, announced to us, "we're having a baptism!"
it is almost sundown, it is windy, the waves are high, the water is deep, and the bottom of the lake is rocky. there is NO amount of adult supervision that would have made me feel comfortable with those kids at that baptism. undeterred, the ringleader was staking out his place on a flat slippery rock not two feet from the lake. the boys, delighted, were rushing out to be near him. msbikemyers, ck, mb and i left. i just didn't want to know.
as i told bikemyers later (who i think was secretly amused that our secret swimming party had been stymied), i believe that jesus saves as much as anyone. but i am not interested in testing salvation with idiocy.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
karma's a bitch
on my way out to run errands yesterday, i stopped at the ups store to deliver a package to jz up in thiensville. as i pulled up to the ups store, an suv blocked the loading zone, leaving me with nowhere to park; i was in a hurry, and the only spot i could see was right in front of the fire hydrant at the end of the block. "i'll only be here 2 minutes," i thought to myself, "and if there's an actual fire while i'm here, i will notice and move the car. i am not a bad citizen."
so i parked in front of the hydrant, delivered my package successfully, strolled back to the car, and was just putting the car in drive, when -- i'm not kidding -- two big fire trucks were barrelling down on me from either side of taylor street.
"%$#@!!!" i thought. "they want my fire hydrant! i'm not a bad citizen! i'm not a bad citizen!" thinking as quickly as i could, i veered around the corner into the side alley near the hydrant to clear the way for the fire rescue team...
...only to discover that what they wanted was actually *not* my hydrant, but the alley that i'd just entered. at the end of the alley was another fire truck. i pulled into a driveway to turn around, and realized that i was now pinned in between two fire trucks, and the fire was in an apartment building on that street. i think the fire truck actually moved out of the way a little so i could sheepishly sneak my car out of the way.
i feel small sitting in a sports coupe in chicago in general, what with being surrounded by suv's all the time... but that's nothing compared to being pinned in by 3 big fire trucks.
so i parked in front of the hydrant, delivered my package successfully, strolled back to the car, and was just putting the car in drive, when -- i'm not kidding -- two big fire trucks were barrelling down on me from either side of taylor street.
"%$#@!!!" i thought. "they want my fire hydrant! i'm not a bad citizen! i'm not a bad citizen!" thinking as quickly as i could, i veered around the corner into the side alley near the hydrant to clear the way for the fire rescue team...
...only to discover that what they wanted was actually *not* my hydrant, but the alley that i'd just entered. at the end of the alley was another fire truck. i pulled into a driveway to turn around, and realized that i was now pinned in between two fire trucks, and the fire was in an apartment building on that street. i think the fire truck actually moved out of the way a little so i could sheepishly sneak my car out of the way.
i feel small sitting in a sports coupe in chicago in general, what with being surrounded by suv's all the time... but that's nothing compared to being pinned in by 3 big fire trucks.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
swim, bike, run, repeat
i spend a lot of time stating the obvious.
for example, over the last couple days i've come to the conclusion that it's really nice having such awesome friends.
i say this after a recent night of boy-chasing during which i was reminded that there's just no substitute for a good wingman, and there's absolutely nothing like having two good wingpeople at once. more on that story later when, um, there's more of a story to tell.
meanwhile, my friends continue to manifest their awesomeness in other ways.
ck continues to drag herself out of bed very early on sunday mornings to join me at ohio street for swimming and pep talk. she's an excellent swim coach, good company, and, like me, has at least one near wipe-out per bike ride because she's distracted by some incredibly hot guy on the lakeshore path.
[as an aside, i feel compelled to confess that i'm having alot of trouble keeping my thoughts to myself on the lakeshore path. as my blogmate has already explained, you can't exactly cuss and holler on your bike at the various idiots in the way that you can when you're in your car with the windows rolled up. people just don't respond so well to "get your *^% ($#C@ head out of your $#% you stupid %$#@^ &*%$#@!!!" i do wonder though, how they'd respond to more positive feedback. there are a lot of really beautiful people on the lakeshore path, and part of me really wants to tell people how fantastic i think they are. i'd like to think that i'd respond really well to comments like, "wow pretty skinny blond girl, you're running really fast!" or, "please don 't think that i'm trying to take you home, sir, but you and your six-pack are smokin' hot and i really respect that." i do know that as one of very few women cyclists out on the path at 6AM, i have absolutely no problem with the amount of staring that happens by a small subset of the very many male cyclists (the women runners couldn't possibly stop and stare or say anything encouraging... because they're running way too fast for that).]
and the collective triathlon coach comprised of my blogmate, mb, ck, and bikemyers have been very nice in their pointing out that it's probably time to start tapering already. they successfully executed a very slick, multi-phase plan of attack. i paraphrase as follows:
ck:"you know you're going to have to start tapering soon, right?"
jo-na: "you don't have to listen to me, but bikemyers is going to tell you that it's time to start tapering and you should probably listen to him."
bikemyers: "you are super-well prepared, and you're going to do great, but please start the taper, it's the right thing to do."
mb: "have you started tapering yet?"
so thank you, lovely friends, for summoning boys to bars for me, for showing up to be emergency wingmen at said bar with 8 minutes of notice, for coaching me to triathlon, even when i have no idea what's good for me, and for listening to my long boring stories about boys and triathlons. it hasn't gone unnoticed. i owe you one.
for example, over the last couple days i've come to the conclusion that it's really nice having such awesome friends.
i say this after a recent night of boy-chasing during which i was reminded that there's just no substitute for a good wingman, and there's absolutely nothing like having two good wingpeople at once. more on that story later when, um, there's more of a story to tell.
meanwhile, my friends continue to manifest their awesomeness in other ways.
ck continues to drag herself out of bed very early on sunday mornings to join me at ohio street for swimming and pep talk. she's an excellent swim coach, good company, and, like me, has at least one near wipe-out per bike ride because she's distracted by some incredibly hot guy on the lakeshore path.
[as an aside, i feel compelled to confess that i'm having alot of trouble keeping my thoughts to myself on the lakeshore path. as my blogmate has already explained, you can't exactly cuss and holler on your bike at the various idiots in the way that you can when you're in your car with the windows rolled up. people just don't respond so well to "get your *^% ($#C@ head out of your $#% you stupid %$#@^ &*%$#@!!!" i do wonder though, how they'd respond to more positive feedback. there are a lot of really beautiful people on the lakeshore path, and part of me really wants to tell people how fantastic i think they are. i'd like to think that i'd respond really well to comments like, "wow pretty skinny blond girl, you're running really fast!" or, "please don 't think that i'm trying to take you home, sir, but you and your six-pack are smokin' hot and i really respect that." i do know that as one of very few women cyclists out on the path at 6AM, i have absolutely no problem with the amount of staring that happens by a small subset of the very many male cyclists (the women runners couldn't possibly stop and stare or say anything encouraging... because they're running way too fast for that).]
and the collective triathlon coach comprised of my blogmate, mb, ck, and bikemyers have been very nice in their pointing out that it's probably time to start tapering already. they successfully executed a very slick, multi-phase plan of attack. i paraphrase as follows:
ck:"you know you're going to have to start tapering soon, right?"
jo-na: "you don't have to listen to me, but bikemyers is going to tell you that it's time to start tapering and you should probably listen to him."
bikemyers: "you are super-well prepared, and you're going to do great, but please start the taper, it's the right thing to do."
mb: "have you started tapering yet?"
so thank you, lovely friends, for summoning boys to bars for me, for showing up to be emergency wingmen at said bar with 8 minutes of notice, for coaching me to triathlon, even when i have no idea what's good for me, and for listening to my long boring stories about boys and triathlons. it hasn't gone unnoticed. i owe you one.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
all's fair in love and war
or is it?
being single isn't without its advantages. life is simple, unhindered by the complex negotiations of cohabitation, and as the token single girl among your circle of friends, your stories make for the best bar talk. no more of those disapproving looks you used to get when you do something slutty - now it's the collective gaze of admiration to the tune of "your life is so much more exciting than mine" (or at least that's what i think would happen if i ever actually did anything slutty). but really, being the last boy-less girl standing means your personal life is actually interesting to your friends... and if it's not they'll find ways to liven things up.
it's not that i don't appreciate the help. clearly i need it. but, my friends, colleagues, and potentials, lets set some ground rules. i 'm sure i speak for girls unspoken for everywhere...
before setting us up with "oh my god he would be perfect for you" guy, try to confirm that he's actually single. we may be tough, but nobody really needs, "i'm sure you're nice but i'm seeing someone." unhelpful, really.
and ladies, a little coaching of "he's totally cute, i really think you'd like him" guy goes a long way, especially if he thinks the right way to make contact is to make us the 145th person on the evite to the $140 rooftop cubs party. it might be blind, but it should still be a date.
and maybe all you're looking for is a nice jewish girl, but a little finesse never hurt anyone. j-date exists for a reason, people. one of those reasons is to obviate the need for unwelcome messages in our myspace mailboxes to the tune of, "hello, i see you are jewish, we should hang out." i suppose that might work for displaced members of very small, homogeneous minority groups ("hello, i see that you are a basque revolutionary and that you enjoy playing raquetball. i too am a basque revolutionary and i am looking for a raquetball partner!"), but especially when everything about us is neatly laid out on our website you might work on finding a better in.
more credit goes out to nm, who managed to remain tactful and discreet as she did my stalking for me, and even laid out a perfectly conceived drinking and flirting opportunity at my feet. i couldn't take her up on it, mostly because i would have had a hard time explaining to my good blogmate that i couldn't rearrange my schedule to go to her wedding shower, but that i could reschedule to chase a boy around ukrainian village. as it is she's being an awfully good sport about my non-commitment to fried ravioli and plastic-cup chianti in little italy this sunday (until i know what's happening with aforementioned boy-chasing).
if you've got a main squeeze hold on tight folks, you don't want to know how the other half lives.
being single isn't without its advantages. life is simple, unhindered by the complex negotiations of cohabitation, and as the token single girl among your circle of friends, your stories make for the best bar talk. no more of those disapproving looks you used to get when you do something slutty - now it's the collective gaze of admiration to the tune of "your life is so much more exciting than mine" (or at least that's what i think would happen if i ever actually did anything slutty). but really, being the last boy-less girl standing means your personal life is actually interesting to your friends... and if it's not they'll find ways to liven things up.
it's not that i don't appreciate the help. clearly i need it. but, my friends, colleagues, and potentials, lets set some ground rules. i 'm sure i speak for girls unspoken for everywhere...
before setting us up with "oh my god he would be perfect for you" guy, try to confirm that he's actually single. we may be tough, but nobody really needs, "i'm sure you're nice but i'm seeing someone." unhelpful, really.
and ladies, a little coaching of "he's totally cute, i really think you'd like him" guy goes a long way, especially if he thinks the right way to make contact is to make us the 145th person on the evite to the $140 rooftop cubs party. it might be blind, but it should still be a date.
and maybe all you're looking for is a nice jewish girl, but a little finesse never hurt anyone. j-date exists for a reason, people. one of those reasons is to obviate the need for unwelcome messages in our myspace mailboxes to the tune of, "hello, i see you are jewish, we should hang out." i suppose that might work for displaced members of very small, homogeneous minority groups ("hello, i see that you are a basque revolutionary and that you enjoy playing raquetball. i too am a basque revolutionary and i am looking for a raquetball partner!"), but especially when everything about us is neatly laid out on our website you might work on finding a better in.
more credit goes out to nm, who managed to remain tactful and discreet as she did my stalking for me, and even laid out a perfectly conceived drinking and flirting opportunity at my feet. i couldn't take her up on it, mostly because i would have had a hard time explaining to my good blogmate that i couldn't rearrange my schedule to go to her wedding shower, but that i could reschedule to chase a boy around ukrainian village. as it is she's being an awfully good sport about my non-commitment to fried ravioli and plastic-cup chianti in little italy this sunday (until i know what's happening with aforementioned boy-chasing).
if you've got a main squeeze hold on tight folks, you don't want to know how the other half lives.
Monday, August 06, 2007
one city block, one million hipsters
as far as i can gather, summer in chicago is about two things: triathlon training and outdoor festivals.
to appease n, my second favorite wicker park hipster (after m, of course), i'll lay off the tri-training-talk for a bit and focus my attention on the many shades of chi-town music fest (sorry n, you make fun of my blog, i make fun of indie rock).
put on your best pair of vans and stretchy black jeans, folks. comb your hair over your eyes, don your best scowl, and head out for the cosmic center of the super-edgy: there's just no better people watching anywhere in town than at the milwaukee/damen/north intersection.
the wicker park festival was everything i'd imagined it would be. even the babies were dressed better than i was. of course, even the hipsters are subject to the occasionally fashion glitch - as n so aptly put it, "what's with all the guys in the weird short pants?" apparently nobody told him about man-capris, once the haute-couture staple of boys town, now plaguing ukrainian village and beyond.
don't get me wrong - i had fun and the music was good, even if kk and i were the only ones spazzing out like freaks at the dirty dozen brass band.
lets move on to lollapalooza. it's hard to follow up my blogmate's clever intro, but i'll do my best.
there was a lot of controversy about lolla this year. at $195 for a 3-day pass the line-up left much to be desired, especially following the previous two years of indie rock heaven. we all pretended like we were above it, but in the end we couldn't stand to let it go on without us.
though i fully backed my good blogmate's description of the alternateens in their festival best, and her prediction of their down-trodden and sunburned demise, the weather skewed the results. don't get me wrong, by friday night there was enough heat stroke and stumbling drunk for everyone to get their fair share, but saturday was so rainy and miserable that on sunday everyone was back out in their finest micro-minis and bikini tops. so much sunburn, such nasty port-o-potties. in case you were wondering, the hipsters all stayed home, having opted for the much more respectable pitchfork, leaving me alone with an army of uber-frat (thanks, nm, for my new favorite adjective).
i don't even know what to say about the music. even weirder than pearl jam as the headliner were throngs of adolescent girls who broke down the doors at 11AM so they could be in the very front row. how people who were still in diapers during the glory days of 10 and the original lolla are the new pearl jam fan base is mysterious to me, but then again, so was the entirety of the teenage cohort (apparently regina spektor is this year's angsty high-school girl icon - think tori amos... or maybe ani difranco).
there were some nice surprises, including paolo nutini and the aforementioned regina spektor both of whom were so charming and adorable that i had quite the internal debate about which one i wanted to take home and stuff in my closet. i was unabashed in my love of snow patrol (they're cooler when you realize they're irish), even though i knew full well i was losing lots of hipster stock by picking them over yeah yeah yeahs. i'd like to think i got some of it back at interpol, where i not only enjoyed the show, but almost managed to keep a straight face. great music, but seriously? so much three-piece suit and scowling. how broody can one band be?
so there it is. n, i hope you're happy, because i've got lots more to say about how much my knees hurt and my evolving close personal relationship with my bottle of ibuprofen.
to appease n, my second favorite wicker park hipster (after m, of course), i'll lay off the tri-training-talk for a bit and focus my attention on the many shades of chi-town music fest (sorry n, you make fun of my blog, i make fun of indie rock).
put on your best pair of vans and stretchy black jeans, folks. comb your hair over your eyes, don your best scowl, and head out for the cosmic center of the super-edgy: there's just no better people watching anywhere in town than at the milwaukee/damen/north intersection.
the wicker park festival was everything i'd imagined it would be. even the babies were dressed better than i was. of course, even the hipsters are subject to the occasionally fashion glitch - as n so aptly put it, "what's with all the guys in the weird short pants?" apparently nobody told him about man-capris, once the haute-couture staple of boys town, now plaguing ukrainian village and beyond.
don't get me wrong - i had fun and the music was good, even if kk and i were the only ones spazzing out like freaks at the dirty dozen brass band.
lets move on to lollapalooza. it's hard to follow up my blogmate's clever intro, but i'll do my best.
there was a lot of controversy about lolla this year. at $195 for a 3-day pass the line-up left much to be desired, especially following the previous two years of indie rock heaven. we all pretended like we were above it, but in the end we couldn't stand to let it go on without us.
though i fully backed my good blogmate's description of the alternateens in their festival best, and her prediction of their down-trodden and sunburned demise, the weather skewed the results. don't get me wrong, by friday night there was enough heat stroke and stumbling drunk for everyone to get their fair share, but saturday was so rainy and miserable that on sunday everyone was back out in their finest micro-minis and bikini tops. so much sunburn, such nasty port-o-potties. in case you were wondering, the hipsters all stayed home, having opted for the much more respectable pitchfork, leaving me alone with an army of uber-frat (thanks, nm, for my new favorite adjective).
i don't even know what to say about the music. even weirder than pearl jam as the headliner were throngs of adolescent girls who broke down the doors at 11AM so they could be in the very front row. how people who were still in diapers during the glory days of 10 and the original lolla are the new pearl jam fan base is mysterious to me, but then again, so was the entirety of the teenage cohort (apparently regina spektor is this year's angsty high-school girl icon - think tori amos... or maybe ani difranco).
there were some nice surprises, including paolo nutini and the aforementioned regina spektor both of whom were so charming and adorable that i had quite the internal debate about which one i wanted to take home and stuff in my closet. i was unabashed in my love of snow patrol (they're cooler when you realize they're irish), even though i knew full well i was losing lots of hipster stock by picking them over yeah yeah yeahs. i'd like to think i got some of it back at interpol, where i not only enjoyed the show, but almost managed to keep a straight face. great music, but seriously? so much three-piece suit and scowling. how broody can one band be?
so there it is. n, i hope you're happy, because i've got lots more to say about how much my knees hurt and my evolving close personal relationship with my bottle of ibuprofen.
Friday, August 03, 2007
the new triathlon: run bike ouch
anyone want to feel a few pounds lighter instantly? try running outside in chicago at noon in august. i got back an hour ago and i still feel down about a gallon of water. but my almost-brother-in-law says planning exercise around off-peak times of day is for sissies, so off i went. in the winter i try to claim that i burn more calories running outside because i have to heat myself up, but now that the city is a great big ez-bake oven, i'm going to claim that i burn more calories running outside because... umm, i don't know, because that was hard? i met my blogmate in her neighborhood for an early breakfast, ran some errands, and then thought it would be smart to run home to conserve fuel and give myself a destination or something. thanks, blogmate, for the phone message ensuring that i was not collapsed somewhere downtown... :)
i might have been collapsed somewhere downtown, but it was only with laughter at the descending alterna-teens in town for lollapalooza this weekend. this pattern is familiar from last year: on friday, everyone's in their alterna-best- little tank tops, short shorts, etc. by sunday, everyone's a sunburned ragged mess. i look forward to the full report from blogmate and friends. for now, i'll content myself with the nice conversation i had with some dreadlocked white guy with an obviously-faked british-sci-fi-accent (seriously, does he think i never watched red dwarf?) we were engaged together in stand-off against one of the charmingly useless corner-traffic police, who had erected a barricade at roosevelt and columbus preventing us from crossing the street. when traffic woman told us we weren't allowed to cross the barricade, despite the total lack of traffic or other pedestrians or concert happenings, we double teamed her: me: "oh, honey, i can't walk that far to cross the bridge. i've been running in this heat for six miles and i still have to get home!" rimmer (making jazz hands) : "looks like SOMEbody has a conTROOOOOOLLL issue!" traffic woman told us that instead of crossing at the nice controlled intersection, because there was a camera where her boss would catch her letting us through and then she'd get in trouble, the right thing for us to do was walk 100 yards north to a gap in the fence, and dart across six lanes of traffic in front of a police car. safety first.
if this is the state of chicago safety for non-motorists, i'm just glad our own bikemyers wasn't any more seriously hurt this past weekend. turns out it's a bad thing when teenage girls on bikes decide to pull their overweight boyfriends behind them on rollerblades, and roll out of control head-on into a pair of very expensive race wheels driven by our friend. ten stitches, one black eye, one fewer pair of eyeglasses, and a pretty hoarse voice later (her helmet got acquainted with his trachea), i guess it could have been worse. hey, if my favorite traffic director were there, she would have sent all three of them straight into lake shore drive to meet an oncoming semi truck. but now bikemyers is... umm, just _myers, until he can replace his totalled ride?
have a safe weekend, friends.
and sm, are you really doing a virtual-san francisco half-marathon? do you get the bag of goodies? that sounds awesome!
i might have been collapsed somewhere downtown, but it was only with laughter at the descending alterna-teens in town for lollapalooza this weekend. this pattern is familiar from last year: on friday, everyone's in their alterna-best- little tank tops, short shorts, etc. by sunday, everyone's a sunburned ragged mess. i look forward to the full report from blogmate and friends. for now, i'll content myself with the nice conversation i had with some dreadlocked white guy with an obviously-faked british-sci-fi-accent (seriously, does he think i never watched red dwarf?) we were engaged together in stand-off against one of the charmingly useless corner-traffic police, who had erected a barricade at roosevelt and columbus preventing us from crossing the street. when traffic woman told us we weren't allowed to cross the barricade, despite the total lack of traffic or other pedestrians or concert happenings, we double teamed her: me: "oh, honey, i can't walk that far to cross the bridge. i've been running in this heat for six miles and i still have to get home!" rimmer (making jazz hands) : "looks like SOMEbody has a conTROOOOOOLLL issue!" traffic woman told us that instead of crossing at the nice controlled intersection, because there was a camera where her boss would catch her letting us through and then she'd get in trouble, the right thing for us to do was walk 100 yards north to a gap in the fence, and dart across six lanes of traffic in front of a police car. safety first.
if this is the state of chicago safety for non-motorists, i'm just glad our own bikemyers wasn't any more seriously hurt this past weekend. turns out it's a bad thing when teenage girls on bikes decide to pull their overweight boyfriends behind them on rollerblades, and roll out of control head-on into a pair of very expensive race wheels driven by our friend. ten stitches, one black eye, one fewer pair of eyeglasses, and a pretty hoarse voice later (her helmet got acquainted with his trachea), i guess it could have been worse. hey, if my favorite traffic director were there, she would have sent all three of them straight into lake shore drive to meet an oncoming semi truck. but now bikemyers is... umm, just _myers, until he can replace his totalled ride?
have a safe weekend, friends.
and sm, are you really doing a virtual-san francisco half-marathon? do you get the bag of goodies? that sounds awesome!
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