100

I have achieved significance--if only to myself--for this is my 100th post.

I'm having a typical hobo-boho weekend in Chicago, staying at Darick's to watch his cat, Archie. I pulled in Friday afternoon after submitting my application for a new passport (you can't renew an expired passport when you can't find it; I blame moving for its loss) and, apparently, was too hasty in moving my things into the apartment. After realizing that I couldn't get in through the back door due to construction, I tried the front. Never having gone through the front door, I was dubious of the key. Turns out it doesn't work. Called Darick, got ahold of his neighbor, got another set of keys that works better but barely. I go back outside and find my car radio lying on the pavement by my driver's side door. Confusion on top of a steadily brewing flustering. Was someone trying to steal it? Did I drop it? Where's its case?

Found the case nearby. Must have dropped it. Then sat around for a couple hours waiting for Leslie, aka pirate girl, to come by to hang out before Mass. Hours go by, I take a nap. She shows up with just enough time to make it to Mass, saying it would be fun to ride through Wrigleyville because a Cubs game just let out--me saying the lakefront would be better, easier. We go down Clark anyway and start running into throngs of elated Cubs fans. She, of course, knows all the pedicab drivers, having done it for years, and so wants to stop and chat with all of them. It was a pretty typical way to spend time "with" Leslie. After she crashes into me trying to pass a bus, I tell her it's time to head to the lakefront and start to. She disagrees, apparently, and keeps going down Clark. Many minutes later--and several phone calls--we almost re-intersect but don't until Daley Plaza. The good news is that she knows people I could join if I wanted to go to Burning Man this year. Mass ensues; I have more pictures on FB.

There are a lot of similarities between Critical Mass and Resonate, but I feel like the lack of structure in Mass gets in the way of any meaningful experience beyond a fun bike ride with 1000 people. I probably would enjoy it drunk. But just as it's hard to be neutral on a moving train, it's hard to feel totally comfortable at a moving party on wheels.

Then, Nicole made dinner for me and some of her Persian friends, ending with chocolate and Scotch (Macallan 12) and then more Scotch (Bowmore Darkest Sherry cask, a new favorite) at the Duke of Perth--a Scottish bar on Clark, which I would have passed had I followed Leslie.

At some point, Nicole's Persian friend wanted to put makeup on me--I'm not sure why, and I can't come up with any clear, rational reason why I acquiesced. It didn't look so much bad as it made me look evil. I'm all set for when I become an post-emo-goth-rocker-slash-alt-classical-techno-rave-composer.

If you haven't checked out my ChicagoNOW blog this week, there are some interesting musings (I can hardly call them "thoughts") on the state of music today.

And now, the subject of the film "You Can't Be Neutral on a Moving Train", Howard Zinn:

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