Thursday, December 20, 2012

Half popped collars

I often fantasize about moving to Chicago. I check the Craigslist ads for apartments in the neighborhoods I know I'd want to live in, I scour the want ads on various websites for jobs in my field, just for shits and giggles. I can't quite put my finger on what appeals to me so much about that city, but it is what it is. However, it is apparently snowing like, what the kids today would say, "a mofo" and I remember that one of the MAJOR things that would be a deterrent to me actually moving there would be the weather. I still remember the first grey day I had in Chicago, cruising down the Chicago river, hungover and ill equipped to deal with the mid-March wind. I was trying hard to focus on everything the tour guide was saying but all I kept thinking was cold, cold, cold. As I type this now, I get a chill. Still, there was that moment when I went back the second time in July during an after dinner walk with my friend Marianne through Millennium Park, being goofy and full that charmed me again. And again this past spring when I returned a third time. I just can't help it, Chicago. I love you.

In other news, I just emptied out some draft emails from my gmail drafts folder which has been building slowly up for at least five years. In it, I found some useless and broken links alongside some blurbs and beginnings of stories and poems that I just never get around to finishing or exploring. I found a stanza about somebody I used to know (I also just wanted to get that song in your head, again, for shits and giggles) and I share it here because I'm bored and this amuses me:

You wore that shirt
I hated, the loose hem's
jagged, elongated
orbit around
your pasty waist.
It came straight
from your closet
of thrift store
remainders, dopey articles,
collars half popped
and holes.
I watched you dress
that morning and
thought of shaky,
newborn giraffes.

I also found a recipe for deviled eggs that I utterly forgot about that I'm going to make tomorrow.
Why bother searching the internet when I can just search my own email accounts?  I realize this makes me a flip-flopper, considering my complete abstinence of, and subsequent liberating feeling from, email a scant two days ago but I often like to think I'm like Juliet(of the one hit wonder duo "Romeo and Juliet")'s moon: I am inconstant. I monthly change in my circled orb. Or some crap.


  1. I store recipes in my email account and then forget about them, too. Enjoy the deviled eggs!

  2. I think I"m going to make them for Christmas Eve!