Thanks, it's BEAN a wonderful time!

Before you even start, I know. I've been lax in posting. Thanks to all the readers--OK, reader--who reminded me that my audience awaits a Chicago post. Crazy Cat Lady, here ya go.

As an aside, I just have to say that the only thing that could make the new downtown library better is if it served beer. OK, and was open till midnight or so. But then I guess I'd be sitting right now in a bar with books, and not the library.

Anywhich, they gots Herman Miller chairs and I think I could work here if I weren't afraid someone would steal my laptop every time I got up to pee. I just picked up a book called "Dead Dog." that promises to be "a riotous road trip from an Arizona trailer park to hell." I love this place.

Chicago, as it turns out, was just what the doctor ordered for the post-holiday funk. I've had bloggers' block on what to say about it, and I just can't think of one damn thing negative to say, which means I'm just gonna post some pictures and tell you I had a really, really good time.

Here, of course, is the main feature of our trip. Behold, the bean: (cue angels singing)

How cool is that? On a snowy-but-not-frigid day? Are you kidding? It was like buttah. Here's C and I geeking out (and her brother with his girlfriend, who were slightly taken aback by our geekiness) over our reflections:

And what I can only say must be the bean's butt, as seen from the underside:

That is one awesome piece of polished stainless steel, lemme tell ya.

Eventually, we were able to tear ourselves away to go have a snack and a drink at the nearest bar, conveniently located underneath the Bean in Millennium Park and adjacent to the skating rink, all the better to watch people bursting their arses.

Then we went to the Art Institute. Fabulous. Masterpieces by every Famous Dead Artist you can think of, all up close and personal. My favorite thing? The dolphin ride:

I don't remember what it's really called or who did it, but when I get rich I'm going to have an artist make me one of these for my yard. It was all I could do to not jump on it. (In my defense, it has been a while since I've ridden anything. I mean anything.)

From the Art Institute, we went to another bar and had some more drinks and an appetizer. We picked up my good friend from his Printer's Row condo (ooh la la) and headed to Chinatown for dinner.

I do not have a picture of this, but trust me when I say the restaurant served deep-fried pigeon. There was a picture on the menu. I am about 90 percent certain that they went out on the sidewalk, kicked a pigeon in the head, plucked it, took it inside and dropped it in the Fry-Grandaddy, beak and all, fresh to order. I did not order that, nor did I order the duck tongue entree. The spicy green beans were delicious.

Sunday, we had a fabulous breakfast of Chinese leftovers with eggs (sans whole pigeon or parts of duck) and went shopping. Of course, we started with a brief repast at Quartino (where wine is cheaper than water), then hit the stores where dresses came sized conveniently in 0-8 and cost more than my first car.

After shopping, we were thirsty again. We found a friendly looking and clean-smelling place called Mike's near our parking lot, and had a cool refreshing beverage. Apparently it's the kind of place that wants to make sure their patrons can always wash their hands. Or dishes, or whatever:

Annnd, there you have it. That was Chicago. We'll return shortly to our regular bitter, sardonic posting schedule.

Well, duh!

For a month or more, I have done absolutely nothing very exciting or out of the ordinary (Bob Sanders was a little more than a month ago, and believe me, THAT was out of the ordinary). (Oh, and I drank myself to the point one Thursday night that when Deputy Joe called, I forgot why I hate him, so he stopped by the house to say hello for a couple of hours at 2 a.m.)


OK, for the past 3 weeks, I have done absolutely nothing very exciting or out of the ordinary. As someone who hadn't seen me for a few weeks told me in the friendly neighborhood tavern, "You've been like a nun! You're either a nun or a whore!" I think that's a little extreme, but the point is well-taken.


To recap, Christmas -- nice. I wasn't much in the mood to do shots of Wild Turkey with my nephews, I didn't take many pictures, just kind of sat around.


The week between Christmas and New Year's: I tested the theory that the company I work for wouldn't even notice if I was there or not. They didn't. I just flat out didn't show up for 2-1/2 days, and no one called, no one e-mailed. I slept. A lot.


New Year's Eve: Couldn't even muster up the energy in a bar full of people, with a kickass party band onstage, to go find a guy to kiss at midnight. Or 12:30. Or 1 a.m. Sure, I was wearing a feather boa, but I wasn't really feeling it...I wasn't being the boa. I went to Steak n Shake with Nora and told her sob stories she's probably already heard some other night when I was drunk.


Brand-new 2008: Bleh. In the depths of a full-blown funk. What the hell is wrong with me? Sure, things suck, but no more than usual. And yeah, the stable is empty, doors clanging in the cold bitter wind, tumbleweeds blowing through and piling up in the corner, but really, it's fine, because boys have been getting on my damn nerves anyway lately.


Finally, last night over coffee (that's right. Coffee. Because I'm not drinking, so that I won't be tempted to smoke, both of which I really, really, really love to do) with a friend, it came to me: I am, quite literally, bored to tears. Being good is boring! And makes me cranky and depressed! Fuck this!


So, in a couple of weeks, I am going to Chicago. I have not taken a road trip anywhere besides southern Indiana (Kentucky doesn't count) in more than a year. No fucking wonder I'm bored! Have you been to this state?


Just like that, presto! Funk begone! Today I boughts me some new shoes to trek all over Chi-town in:



Ooooh, yeah, they kick ass!


Crazy Cat Lady and Elizabeth asked me today where we were going on the road trip, and if they were invited. I said, "Sure, if you think you can keep up with me." I don't know for sure what I'm doing, but it will involve art, and the Giant Bean, and lots of walking and public transportation, and CB2, and Goose Island, and great pubs with boys with cute accents.

sweet as sorghum

Friday night, on my way out of town, my neighbor down the street said to me, "You're a special kind of crazy. I like that."

He said that as I was parked outside of his house, 1/2 block away from my own, sitting in my rather distinctive vehicle (not too many on this street have a "Dog is my copilot" bumper sticker) watching the thugs. They kept looking at me like, "what is this crazy bitch doing?" I actually saw a real live drug deal!

Anyway, then I left town, which probably wasn't the worst idea ever.

I headed south to meet up with my sister and a couple of her friends. After some great directions, we found the Hancock County Fairgrounds just outside Hawesville, Kentucky, which calls itself the Sorghum Capital of the World.

There we sampled a lot of sorghum (yummy) and learned much about this plant, which comes in somewhere far behind tobacco and marijuana on the list of Kentucky's largest cash crops.

At the sorghum festival, a mule named Molly walked around in a circle to squish the sorghum juice out of the cane:

That is, until my sister and her friend told Molly she was a pretty girl, at which point the whole operation ground to a halt. Molly is such a slut.

The Kentucky Department of Ag trotted out Kentucky Kate for the event. Here you can see some young men developing their teat know-how by pulling the hell out of them and trying to squirt each other. Someday, some poor girl is going to have to spend hours un-learning that behavior.

And although I haven't milked a cow (R.I.P., Girly) since I was about 4, I found it's kinda like riding a bike, only ickier. For the record, Ky. Kate was giving only water, not milk.

Because I have more work to do than is humanly possible, I procrastinated by taking the scenic route home to Indy, which effectively stretched a 2-1/2 hour trip into 4 hours. Bought some mums, though, and wandered Indiana. It really is a lovely state.

Got home and used the rest of the daylight to work in the yard. The trip must have done some good--one of the thugs made fun of my car and I just laughed. But seriously, is "I don't know who would drive that thing" supposed to scare me? I scoff at you, thugs!