And after such a lovely, if blustery, night it makes perfect sense that I would find my car in the above state. It precipitated occasionally throughout Sunday and some of Monday. Now it is fixed, some dudes came and fixed it this morning, but the slight rage I have lingers. Lingers in a lovely way that leads me to want to write an essay about Veronica Mars and the ass hole who threw a bottle through my car's window and didn't even have the decency to steal anything to make it worthwhile/understandable.
As I mentioned in an earlier post, it snowed on Saturday. I didn't know it was going to snow because I had dug a deep deep hole in my bed and filled it in with myself. A little ways away from the nice, comfy hole was my computer complete with as much of the third season of Veronica Mars as currently exists. At some point I came out of the hole and realized that, with the exception of Tonguethruster, I hadn't seen anybody in two days ... I got a little stir-crazy. My stir-craziness was alleviated by a nice visit at She-Who's house. Though getting there was a bit of a challenge, what with the snow ice falling and the wind winding.
We ordered pizza and played Trivial Pursuit while drinking whisky. It was nice, even if I couldn't completely take my brain away from Veronica.
The roads, as I walked home, were muoy icy.
Another meal eaten at home ... Eggplant and tomato sauteed with a bit of garlic over three cheese raviolis.
On Thursday She-Who-Has-No-Blog and M.Lady came over, as they often do, to watch Grey's Anatomy. We decided to order food. Perusing the Chinese delivery options c/o GrubHub, we found Miss Eggroll. M. Lady ordered veggie lo mein with fried tofu, She-Who ordered orange chicken, I ordered potstickers and fried tofu with broccoli in brown sauce. The delivery didn't take that long, a little over half an hour but the problem was that my tofu dish wasn't in the bag. I called the restaurant and twenty, or so, minutes later the delivery dude came back with the missing entree. The potstickers weren't all that great and the tofu/broccoli dish was not what I was looking for (why is it so hard to make what I want?). She-Who was impressed by her chicken however.
Later on I took this photograph from the Michigan SAIC building.
Somebody threw a bottle through my car. It's Sunday and no auto shop is open. If I was Veronica Mars I'd take the bottle and bring it around to all the local convenience stores and ask a) do they carry this beverage, b) do they remember selling this beverage to any person or c) do they have surveillance cameras. Then I would get a description of the person who bought the beverage and I'd get a sample of their DNA (or maybe just a finger print) and compare it to the DNA (fingerprint) on the bottle and then I would taser them and bring them to the police station. Then Logan and I would have a fight but then I'd realize I couldn't live without him and he'd realize that I had made him a better person and he couldn't go back to his bum fighting/hard drinking/married woman sexing ways.
An excerpt from an email the boyfriend wrote me about his preparations for a stupendous garden:
So for the last little while I've been trying to upload a certain photograph...but blogger was very insistent about that not being a possibility. And yet blogger didn't think twice about these three photographs. Fickle, fickle and strange blogger. These are badly photoshopped pictures from the dinner I had at Santorini's, thanks to the pageant friend's parents. We started out with the flaming cheese, an eggplant spread and a chicken salad...and oysters. The cheese, as always, was flamalicious until it got cold and kind of rubbery. I didn't try the chicken salad and the oysters didn't make me sick but weren't all that great in the true world of oysters.
For my entree I had the lamb artichokes. In person they looked a little more appealing than this photograph. Lamb, tender and on the bone, with fresh artichokes and vegetables in a butter lemon sauce. I think I would have liked it much better without the sauce. The lamb truly was amazing but overall it wasn't quite it. I went to Santorini's once before and was overwhelmed by their selection (though in my post I say I wasn't...who's to be believed?) and then a little let down by the actual quality of the food.
I thank the friend's parents for a wonderful meal...there was orange sorbet served in an orange and that was nice and refreshing.
On Sunday a friend participated in a pageant. The pageant was an opportunity for a lot of Irish American ladies between the ages of 17 and 28 to compete to be the St. Patrick's Day Parade Queen. Before going to the event I met up with Player of Words...but only after spending about two hours in a very frustrating and absolutely tedious mess up of CTA slowness and cc dumbness. Eventually I arrived (only half an hour late, ugh I hate being late) at Ina's for breakfast. Of course I was late enough that Player had to order for me, so a bloody Mary and Brie, asparagus and sausage omelet were waiting for me when, finally, I arrived. The food was pretty good, though I was rather suprised by the piddling number of potatoes. After breakfast/being kicked out of the closed restaurant, Player and I walked around the completely dead West Loop. This will probably be as close to Oprah as I will ever get.
On Saturday Tonguthrust and I hosted a get together for She-Who's birthday. I made fried chicken, waffles, broccoli, salad, a weird onion thing, chocolate souffle and cake. Many of the prepared food items were not what I wanted them to be but most people left unhungry.
I wanted my fried chicken to look like KFC fried chicken. That didn't happen. And I still don't know much about how to ice a cake.
It was a good time though.
So I'm making a cake for She Who Has No Blog. Or, rather, I've made the cake but have not put icing on it. It made me think about the difference between making a cake out of a box and actually doing it yourself. At least for a cake as simple as the one I've made I think it adds, erm, meaning? Sifting flour, beating sugar into butter and then eggs into both. I remember one year that I wanted my mother to bake me a carrot cake. I can't remember if I vocalized this desire to her, or not but I didn't get the cake. I'm not sure how long I was home for, I think it may have been a quick Thanksgiving weekend. I ended up going to Vermont with friends. I was turning eighteen. I bought a pack of cigarettes and a lottery ticket at a gas station in Vermont. Did I? I may have bought a playboy too ... but I'm not sure about that. The friend who lived in Vermont knew of my desire for a carrot cake and one was waiting when we arrived at her house. One, maybe two, of the Vermonter's friends from home came over. We ate the cake. I assume happy birthday was sung ... but I'm not sure about that. And then the boy Vermonter friend proceeded to eat the rest of the birthday cake. Maybe he wasn't there for the singing, maybe he came later. Point is, I was saddened by the eating of the cake. I hadn't wanted to eat the rest of it by myself but I had wanted to have another piece, perhaps for breakfast.
I have already eaten an apple, a fair amount of the cherries and two truffles. It's dangerous this basket. It's dangerous in a brilliant, wonderful way. Thank you to Bear and Mackey's owner for such a thoughtful and sunshiney spot of my day.
This is the view of the 55 Monroe building from the ninth floor of the SAIC Michigan building. You can't tell, but it's snowing...I blame the dirty window.
This was my carbohydrate heavy breakfast: Dunkin Donuts everything bagel with smoked salmon cream cheese.
The snow let up a little after class. Though it was enough for my grad advisor to reschedule our noon meeting.
Our ashtray got lost in the snow and I got obsessed with it.
I decided I needed photographs of myself in the snow. But I was home alone, so this was the best I could do. I think the snow is more of an assumed atmosphere than a presence.
Looking through a chink in the new snow wall at night.
Oh yes, and it's still snowing...in a flurry fat flake kind of way. It makes it very unlikely that I will go to the grocery store for any thing I might need.
Bypassing dim sum, I got together with M. Lady and She Who Has No Blog for breakfast at the Lincoln Restaurant. She-Who drove and we were lucky to find that the restaurant has its own parking lot. This place, because it's also a comedy club/bar, still has a smoking section. We didn't sit in the smoking section but I felt strangely comforted just knowing it was there. I believe I ordered the "Hood Omelette", a four cheese egg creation served with hash browns. I also ordered sausage links. My omelette tasted a bit like a pancake. I think this was probably because the surface it was cooked on had housed, however briefly, a pancake before it. The potatoes were good, same with the sausage. M. Lady had eggs benedict and She-Who had an omelette, the name of which I forget. I would go back here.
The omelette was well-constructed and large enough that I took half of it home for a meal later on.
She Who Has No Blog made lasagna on Saturday night. I ate it. Others ate it. We also ate marinated mozzarella and jalapeno stuffed olives...and bread, lots of bread.
It was quite lovely.
For lunch on Saturday I had some more of the lovely frozen potstickers from Golden Pacific Market. Satisfying again.
The morning after the Innertown and Double Door, ie Friday, I started my day with two eggs fried in olive oil, tomatoes and half an avocado. The eggs were splendid and the veggie/fruits were juicy/tasty.
When I first got to the second location I started regretting leaving the first. At the first there was noise but not so much that you couldn't have a conversation with those around you. Of course the entire point of the event was live music, so really I'm just a curmudgeon. But I stuck it out, partially because if I left Double Door I'd no longer be on the list (they won't let you go outside...once you're out you're out or something) and I wasn't actually sure anyone was left at the other locale. The music, as I mentioned, was loud. Loud but good. I have no idea which band I took a photograph of. When I got home (relatively early...kind of) my ears continued to ringggg ringggg ringgg.
But it was fun. Chicagoist writers are funny and nice.
