Summertime in the City (Chi-city)

Wow, Chicago group - we've knocked out six of the ten places on our original spots-to-hit list!

Recap and photos courtesy of one mlle.sunhee:

Eaten

1. Topo Gigio - Italian; Lincoln Park

2. The Noodle Shop - Pho; Chinatown

3. Tao Ran Ju - Soup dumplings & hot pot; Chinatown

4. Joy Yee's - Milk tea; Chinatown

5. Avec – Mediterranean Small Plates; West Loop

6. Purple Pig – Small Plates; River North

7. Xoco – Churros

8. Yolk – Brunch; River North

9. Sweet Maple Café – Brunch; Taylor

10. More – Cupcakes

11. Epic Sky/Rock Bottom

12. Market Bar

13. Chez Joel – French; Taylor

14. Beard Papa – Cream puffs

15. Phoenix – Dim sum; Chinatown

16. De Pesada - Mexican; Taylor

17. Woori Village - Korean BBQ Buffet; Niles

18. Epic Sky/Rock Bottom/Cedar Hotel/Hangge Uppe

19. Opart Thai

20. Swordfish - Sushi; Batavia

from a distance/disjointed perspectives

They couldn’t stop arguing, she thought, even an ocean away, the same old problems had followed them. Of course, back at home there hadn’t been this added problem of the motorcycle. It hadn’t been her fault that the travel agent had provided an old half-rusted scooter, and it definitely wasn’t her fault that it broke down in the middle of the street on a moonlit Sicilian night. She had wanted to stop and look for a place to stay, but he insisted that they keep going. And then when she tried to point out that they should have taken the other curving, almost identical, small road, he had started to ignore her and finally walked off.

Two pairs of eyes watched his back as he had walked away, soon there was only one. She stood there, where they had been arguing over directions – or was it something more? – and where he had left her with their broken down transport and she had refused to follow. She would go after him soon, she knew her sense of direction was awful, and even on an island she would be hopelessly lost, but let him wait awhile. Looking around the street, well-lit even at night, and taking in the narrow curving road that seemed barely wide enough to fit a car, but the Italians drove them in a mad-dash fashion anyway. A quick glance of light distracted her tourist’s gaze for a moment, the moon or some stray light reflecting off a piece of metal, off some everyday household object probably – but she stayed in the middle of the road, thinking about how her companion would have been frustrated by her daydreaming, he would have insisted they go quickly and straight to their destination. He was always in a rush, and everything was always about the job; if not the current one, then the next one, the elusive big one that would let them leave and finally go wherever they wanted, to see the sights of Italy, not like they were seeing it now. It was all such a lie, she thought, and he could never admit that it was. He was too prideful about his honesty; as she finally started moving, pushing the scooter along, she thought it was good for both of them that she never let a little thing like honesty hold her up.

As he made his way away from the train station, he knew he was being watched. Not by her – she would find her way to the church and he knew pushing her would just make the situation worse; better to just let her stand there and do what she wanted, think or sightsee or whatever she had been saying, as long as she was where she was supposed to be when they needed her – and so far, she had always shown up, at least when it mattered. When the job was as important as this one, it mattered. It was his fault, he kept thinking, that they had gotten involved. He didn’t want her to know how badly he had messed up this time, so he left her to think that the fight was because he didn’t trust her sense of direction. He didn’t, anyway.

Slowing around another corner, he tried to get a glimpse of whoever was watching him. Maybe it was just nerves, or that second cup of espresso on the train; they made it stronger here. Everything was more vibrant, the moon was rounder and even the storms were more ominous. Not that there were any clouds in the night sky now. He couldn’t catch any movement behind him, but he decided it didn’t matter even if there was someone. Any minor nuisances would be dealt with, and he shuddered at the implications. Better not to be a nuisance, at least not this night. He walked on faster, not giving a second glance back and so completely missing the quick glint of light that momentarily caught on metal and was hurriedly covered over again.

After a few more seconds of pretending to push the scooter, she had left it by the side of the road, taking care to act the part of the casual tourist, admiring the night view, and being particularly careful to remain just out of sight of the boy who, she considered musingly, was doing an admirable job of attempting to tail someone as well. It was careless of him, an amateur mistake, to keep such a tight hold of that piece of metal especially on a night with a moon this full. Too bad for him that she was the one they had decided would stay and follow; if she decided the boy was a threat, she wouldn’t hesitate to do what was necessary for the sake of the job. It’s always about the job, she sighed without noise, but that wouldn't stop her from enjoying it.

They would be at the church soon.

First seconds of second thoughts

I think I am the only one who will be consistently updating this thing, haha (minus the never-ending story). Oh well :)

Working at the intersection of the Daley Center and the Thompson Center, I get to see a lot of protests and picketing on the streets. Usually, the groups are amateurs, with hastily put together posters and horribly rhymed chants. Yesterday, though, my co-intern and I saw a big group clad in purple t-shirts. But something was different. The local Fox News station was there, and some policemen kept an eye on things. I mentioned how organized the group seemed to be, and then I saw the "SEIU" logos on their shirts. No wonder. Unions have their bone-headed moments, but when I saw the One Voice, One Vote logo, and the group shouting their demands in unison, I admit -- my heart skipped just a little.

I've noticed that you always get a good perspective on things when you chat with support staff or peripheral parties. A court reporter and I struck up a conversation today while waiting for a damages hearing to start. He'd been doing the work for 30 years, so he obviously had a lot of stories to share. He was one of those people who would be a great subject for a profile article. Chatty, yet authentic; takes liberties with small embellishments, but is faithful to the substantive story. He talked about how the job too often revealed the absurdities of life. In a patent case between two bicycle companies, he mused about how six-figure salaries depended on successfully litigating a case on this tiny screw in the Y-bar of a bicycle. Talk about banking on a screw. He declined to share the rest of their jokes, but you can imagine what they might have been. In another instance, he mentioned that he met Mr. Vitner of Vitner Chips, in a case that centered around Mr. Vitner's $2 million yacht. He apparently pays his captain a yearly salary to stay on the yacht year-round, steering it to various ports and generally caring for it. How cool would that be for a living. Unless you get sea sick. Then it wouldn't be so charming a livelihood, I guess. And then I think about how teachers get paid so little to teach the likes of us, and how they never get paid the worth of inspiring little kids to become great kids. Ah well.

It's amazing how you never notice the things that are right in front of your face. Today, I was walking out of my building and noticed this Poseidon-looking sign on the building across the street from us. It's like I'd never seen it before. I just stared at it in a type of trance, and wondered what other things I've been failing to notice.

I love walking down the street with the sun shining down on my face, and the silhouettes of the trees flitting behind my closed eyes like grainy film scenes. Sometimes I wish I had the courage to rely solely on my four senses and keep walking, but the fear of hitting a tree or a pole keeps me peeking every few seconds. Ah.

reminiscing on a blade's edge

He held the blade by its tip, tilting it and watching the moonlight glisten off it's edge. The ray of light reflected onto the wall across him and he moved the metal back and forth, watching the light dance. Flicking his wrist upward, he easily flipped the letter opener through the air and caught it, flat and cool, across the palm of his hand. Strange, he thought, staring intently into the small sliver of reflection in his hand, how the person staring back always seemed to change, shifting with each unannounced tick of the second hand of the clock on the wall.

He was shaken out of his reverie by a loud "pop" and the muffled sound of arguing. He sighed. There were moments, moments like this, that he wished he didn't live so close to the train station. There were always people arguing. People he would like nothing more than to throw kitchen utensils at.

But that was illegal.

He squinted out the window to see what had disturbed him. A woman stood, arms-crossed and annoyed, glaring at her companion who seemed to think something was much more amusing than she did.

Angela, are you happy now?

She hurriedly followed the sound of his footsteps as she stepped off the urine-smelling train. The train had been scheduled to arrive in Sicily forty-three minutes ago at 8:35pm, but the conductor had suddenly collapsed from extreme dehydration. It had been an unusually humid summer, and many an elderly couple found itself sitting in the canteen drinking late afternoon Spritz. Half an hour was spent looking for a substitute. No one knew what the hold-up was for the remaining thirteen minutes. They reached the edge of the station, eyes searching for the brand new motorcycle that their friendly travel agent had promised would be there.

THE RULES OF ENGAGEMENT

Hi kids - sorry for the delay, but let's get this show on the road!

So here are the rules for our awesome-fun-story-blog :]

1. The following is the order of people posting (ahem PAY ATTENTION PLEASE)

• Sunhee
• Angela
• Young
• Crystl
• Frank
• Anna
• Dlu
• Kathy
  
• Cchoi

2. Each person must post within 24 hours after the previous person on the list to post. Since this blog automatically emails new updates to everyone, no one has an excuse NOT to post xp.

3. If you cannot post, please email the next person on the list and give them a heads up. Otherwise, if after 24 hours has elapsed and the next person hasn't posted, then the next person has another 24 hours to post.

4. Please do not kill plot lines and characters arbitrarily unless you contribute something substantial that pushes the plot in another direction. It will be no fun if every other post is a "AND THEN A FREAK METEOR SHOWER KILLED BOB" or "AND THEN ANDREW GOT EATEN BY A BEAR." Don't be lame please.

...and I think that's it. If more comes up I will update this. In the meantime...post post post! :]

Letters to You

In ninth grade, one of my teachers gave us the typically corny assignment: to write a letter addressed to ourselves, to be opened at our high school graduation in three years. I found myself continuing the tradition, probably for sentimental (and egotistical) value, and have accumulated letters through college and work. I’m supposed to open the next letter to myself this August. Sifting through the old ones, I notice there’s always something that I was worrying about – in high school, boys, grades, and k-pop (it’s good to know some things will never change); grades, friendships, and faith in college; family relationships, work, and self-esteem post-college. In a few instances, it was a good way to motivate myself by seeing how far I’d come, but usually, I realized how ridiculously easy it was to let the trivial side streets lure me away from the main road. Not all detours are made the same after all.

During college, I used to write down so many thoughts on Xanga (aren’t you glad I stopped taking those side streets?). I miss pondering some of the questions I struggled with back then. I used to err on the side of too much introspection and not enough reality. Now, tapping into my thoughts is like opening up a rusty old chest of drawers, pulling and yanking, airing out each thought like wet laundry. Life has a way of spinning cobwebs around your mind, and your brain succumbs to the lull of each thread if you’re not careful. But then again, others will say such introspection is a luxury. Reality is not so generous to some, and often decisions on how to spend time, and thoughts, are made for us rather than by us. But insofar as it is a choice, I hope to make it deliberately.

With another year under my belt, I figure there will always be an endless supply of things that will take the place of previous worries if I let them. If it’s not grades anymore, it will be relationships, and if not relationships, it will be work. If not work, it will be kids. And so on. Then where’s the happiness in the journey? Is it hidden in the cracks, where the little things make a day just right? Is it found in the spontaneous, novel, or unexpected? I don’t know. But I’m feeling more and more that the peace I find in connecting with others makes me the happiest, rather than novelties, or traveling to exotic places, or even intellectual stimulation. A bad experience shared with the best of friends becomes a comical memory. Eating the best meal in town with a bunch of strangers probably wouldn’t even make the memory bank. This was most likely true before, too, but I was reluctant to accept it.

All this to say, I'm thankful for the gifts I've received in this life. I just hope I make fitting choices. It's always harder to be kind than clever.