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Hello, leftovers: fried chicken made into a sandwich and beans and rice that are even tastier the next day.
I feel most like a Chicagoan when I am not here. When I go to Los Angeles, I try to represent the wonderfulness of this city as best I can, but even then, my heart isn't exactly in it the way I think it would feel if it was home. Which doesn't mean I don't love the city, I just don't have a certain passion for it, I don't have the conviction of permanent residence or plans of dying here. (Which doesn't mean those two things won't happen.) But lately I've been thinking more about how perhaps I will always have a duel existence in many things, so it suits me.
I've only lived on the western side of the city (as opposed to "the west side") for about 2 1/2 years and prior to that I always lived very close to the lake, even if I didn't really partake of it as much as I could have. I don't realize the effect it has on the weather until I travel between the two sides of town, especially on days of changeable weather, like most of spring. On the warm days of riding my bike, I will get east and the temperature will be ten degrees lower.
Yesterday I watched The Saddest Music in the World and during it, the saddest weather in the world suddenly changed over to being sunny and somewhat lovely. Just in time for the sun to go down, of course, but I enjoyed it while walking to the bus to go to Andersonville. I stood in the rays at the stop, I stared out the window along the ride, making do, and then this strange thing happened when the bus crossed Broadway. On my left was sunny and blue, on the right was this huge thick cloud seemed to be sitting directly on top of every building, the high rise buildings emerged intermittently through the grey and it wasn't really ominous or scary or sad, just sort of awe-inspiring, this division between blocks by weather, as a result of lake effects. My second thought was that it was like emerging to visit Lando Calrissian at the Cloud City. My third thought was "I'm a dork". (My first thought while typing this out is also "I'm a dork" because I correctly spelled Lando Calrissian without needing to google it.)
I don't want to do this data entry for these damn copies but I need to get it over with. I would rather listen to music and burn incense and lie on the couch and read a book and think about robot love. And write dozens of more entries here, about dancing and liquid smoke and gulf coast reconstruction and short story ideas and fried chicken and "bad habits" and baking cookies and how I wrote an e-mail to my mother yesterday because I couldn't handle calling and told her I loved her and wrote that I thought she was a good mother and I meant it and then I cried.
I feel most like a Chicagoan when I am not here. When I go to Los Angeles, I try to represent the wonderfulness of this city as best I can, but even then, my heart isn't exactly in it the way I think it would feel if it was home. Which doesn't mean I don't love the city, I just don't have a certain passion for it, I don't have the conviction of permanent residence or plans of dying here. (Which doesn't mean those two things won't happen.) But lately I've been thinking more about how perhaps I will always have a duel existence in many things, so it suits me.
I've only lived on the western side of the city (as opposed to "the west side") for about 2 1/2 years and prior to that I always lived very close to the lake, even if I didn't really partake of it as much as I could have. I don't realize the effect it has on the weather until I travel between the two sides of town, especially on days of changeable weather, like most of spring. On the warm days of riding my bike, I will get east and the temperature will be ten degrees lower.
Yesterday I watched The Saddest Music in the World and during it, the saddest weather in the world suddenly changed over to being sunny and somewhat lovely. Just in time for the sun to go down, of course, but I enjoyed it while walking to the bus to go to Andersonville. I stood in the rays at the stop, I stared out the window along the ride, making do, and then this strange thing happened when the bus crossed Broadway. On my left was sunny and blue, on the right was this huge thick cloud seemed to be sitting directly on top of every building, the high rise buildings emerged intermittently through the grey and it wasn't really ominous or scary or sad, just sort of awe-inspiring, this division between blocks by weather, as a result of lake effects. My second thought was that it was like emerging to visit Lando Calrissian at the Cloud City. My third thought was "I'm a dork". (My first thought while typing this out is also "I'm a dork" because I correctly spelled Lando Calrissian without needing to google it.)
I don't want to do this data entry for these damn copies but I need to get it over with. I would rather listen to music and burn incense and lie on the couch and read a book and think about robot love. And write dozens of more entries here, about dancing and liquid smoke and gulf coast reconstruction and short story ideas and fried chicken and "bad habits" and baking cookies and how I wrote an e-mail to my mother yesterday because I couldn't handle calling and told her I loved her and wrote that I thought she was a good mother and I meant it and then I cried.
