Steve smiles and says, “we’re going to a falafel place in the back of a jewelry store.” On my look, he says, “I can’t explain it any more clearly.”

We head up Wabash from Madison, and lo, the jewelry store. Enter the jewelry store, and lo. A bustling falafel restaurant in the back. A great cheap lunch if you’re ever caught in the Loop and in need. I love this town.

Next door is the Tilted Kilt, which is a Scottish-themed Hooters. A Scottish-themed Hooters? A Scottish-themed Hooters. I can’t explain it any more clearly. So much was left unsaid by regular Hooters, they needed a Scottish-themed Hooters. Ach.

On Google Maps, the top keywords for the Tilted Kilt are “sexual harassment · fish & chips · ice cold beer.” I love this town.

Also posted to ericaricardo.com.

Looked for new bags the Village Market thrift store on Clark. Check out the sweet fuschia-black-silver bag. The silver part could be shinier, that is my only note to the makers of this bag, in all other ways it is perfect. Matches my hair, too. Saw the ninja Turtle bag, thought, “SWEET!!!” and then, “hm, but in reality is this Ninja Turtle bag something you want to integrate into your real life?” and I had almost talked myself out of getting it using mild yet potent shaming with respect to un/coolness and forced irony and being a poser until I spotted the price tag: $3.90. “Can’t afford NOT to!” Also recalled the Ninja Turtle bag I saw at the Dollar Store down the street from Open Produce months ago and which I still think about. How many times does the world need to offer me a delightful low-cost Ninja Turtle bag before I buy one? How many times do I need to learn that I will regret not doing so?

Once. I only had to learn once. May all of life’s lessons be so readily comprehended.

Also at Village Market, a young man said, “what’s with your stupid-looking hair?” He may have been developmentally disabled.

Waiting outside the Herdegen-Brieske Funeral Home in Lakeview for the Chicago’s Biggest Liar Contest, and this backpack looks like a drunk frog. “C’mon guy, don’t give up!” I was there solo to see my friend Becca perform but HAD to share the frog with the people behind me in line. They were receptive, and agreed.

Later at the registration table they gave out pre-written name badges with crazy fake names on them. Mine said “Dumbledore.” Joke No One Was Receptive To: when I came up to them very serious, very low affect, and said, “there’s been a mistake; my name badge isn’t a lie.”

Nobody liked that joke.

I still like that joke. I’m laughing right now.

The storytellers were all awesome (go Becca!). There were a weird mix of truths and lies surrounding the event. Like for instance I thought the first lie was that it was taking place at a funeral home, but no, no no, it was at a funeral home. Others:

The show was sold out: TRUTH

“Everyone settled? Ok turn your seats around, because we’re putting the performers at the other end of the room instead”: TRUTH, we dutifully turned around.

The creative flourishes of the MC: LIES

“Let’s be quiet for a second while a service nearby audibly recites the Lord’s Prayer”: LIE; they hired actors to pray. Becca told me so afterwards, which was good, because it freaked me out to the max that we were yukking it up next door to heartbroken people, grieving.

A guitar player with an ego so great as to be comical and who apparently has a new gig in Letterman’s band, but didn’t actually play all that well, but well enough so that it was like “oh … this isn’t a joke, is it … ” who came up, tuned a while, then sang about the pain once felt by his uncle, father, and himself: TRUTH?

From left to right: the jade, the potato, the garlic, the aeonium.

A couple months ago Jason’s mom bought us some plants for our apartment. We selected plants, much as evolution does, for those best adapted survive in adverse conditions: a jade, an air plant, a zebra plant, a ficus, and an aeonium. Scrabble players take note of that last.

Of the plants, the ficus and zebra plant under J’s care are doing very well, the jade is fine, and the aeonium and air plant are slowly dying. The aeonium needs more sunlight than our sills see, but the air plant? Really? Aren’t they supposed to thrive on water vapor alone?

But the plant that is currently THRIVING, just THROTTLING life with every fiber of its phloem and xylem, is: the potato we found sprouted in the cupboard. First I put some toothpicks in it and suspended it in a jar of water, second grade science fair project style. Now it’s earned its own pot of dirt and has since shot up a good two feet. So much so that I strapped it to a pink dowel so it doesn’t flop over under its own weight.

By its side is the garlic clove, similarly found green and sprouted. Ian Malcom was right: life finds a way.

Down in Pilsen with super-friends Nikki “Nikolai” E. and Kid Flash. It was the latter’s 30th birthday (adult birthday), but he will always be Kid Flash to me. His birthday barbecue ran from 4 - 2 but I dyslexified that into 2 - 4 (the same early and brief hours that a 2 - 4 year old’s birthday might run).

Thus we were a bit early, just in time for a walk around the block to get booze and groceries. Strongly preferred the cheaper grocery store for its shelves of shipping cartons conveniently perforated for display, its low-key atmosphere, and its wide aisle. 

Should you find yourself in Pilsen and in need of computer repair, allow me to recommend the services of this fellow on Cermak. Just look at his offer! He is no stranger to computer-related violence and is prepared for its aftermath! Is this an accidental punch? Was he recently blessed with super-heroic strength, hence the surprise?

I read his expression as both anger and regret: anger at a machine that ain’t behavin’, but remorse too, as this really only hurts himself. The computer doesn’t give a shit. The computer doesn’t feel bad that it has a virus, that it’s not performing. The computer doesn’t even care that it’s brutalized, hated. Which is both the computer’s greatest strength, and thus also its greatest weakness.

Grand & State Red Line stop. These two guys sing two part harmony on “My Girl.” Then they note the demographic on the train platform, switch to “The Wheels on the Bus,” kill it.

Clark and Argyle. Red hoodie vest with rib cage. Sunglasses with scarf. Welcome to the north side.

Argyle Red line platform. At top: happier, heatier times in January. Below: May 18th, 2011. 45 degrees Fahrenheit. Maybe a little warmer than that? Maybe.

Should you find yourself on an exposed El platform during the five-month season of Chicago winter, you can enter its semi-enclosed glass stall and hit that START button. Heat and light rain down on you. A primitive pleasure that makes you feel civilized again.

Go ahead and hit that START button now. I can tell you want happens, because I’ve done it many times. Nothing.

We’re in a cold late spring, friends. Stay warm.

:)

Bucktown. On Cortland St, avoiding the hustle of Armitage one block north. If this vehicle believes that it can hide its fun with a tarp, it is mistaken.

Clybourn Metra Station. Graffiti includes fake boobs and a monocle. Presented without further commentary.