255: skanks for the memories

Wednesday. June 18. My day was very long. I skivved off the gym again, and got a ride home with Joe and Jacinda. It was raining. We talked shit about the same people we always talk shit about. And then we had dinner at the Melrose, where we had the nicest waitress ever. She was much much cooler than the old blue-haired chick who would curse out her customers. I had the “Pasta Pesto Pollo”, which was just an excuse to eat a half pound of chicken and ziti in the creamiest pesto I’ve ever seen. I don’t think it was a true pesto sauce – it seemed like the unholy lovechild of true pesto and mayonnaise, with a little somethin’ somethin’ from a nearby vat of tartar sauce. It was really good, though I know I should have been a good girl and had a salad or Jacinda’s “health plate” – bananas, strawberries, yogurt, granola, and possibly some raisins at the bottom of the dish.

There was a table of underweight teen girls sitting behind us, their trucker hats askew and French manicures flashing in the light. They were very pretty girls, but they chewed gum while they gossiped incessantly so it was hard to admire their shiny lip gloss with all that cud-chewing to get in the way. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted some old folks at a fourtop, with a baby in a highchair. The baby was not very cute, and not a very tidy eater. Of course, I needed to tuck my napkin into my shirt to make it through the meal with my t-shirt unsullied but there you go. At least I could tuck in my own bib, and not have somebody do it for me. Though it would be nice to have someone just for that purpose, or to hold an umbrella over me when it is raining or very sunny. Someone to whip out a huge mirror in a gilt frame when I need to check my lip gloss in the middle of Michigan Avenue. To buy me underpants and make sure my cuticles are trimmed. What I need is a personal assistant, a valet, a Jerome. And if you don’t know who Jerome is, then I suggest you go out and watch “Purple Rain” right this very second.

Wednesday night. We go to the video store after work so we can rent “Old School”. Jacinda asked some question about something, which turned into me telling her that the dog has been acting in pornos, which cracked up the guy working the register. Damn, I’m funny. I just wish I could remember what it was that got me started on the dog’s career in the adult film industry in the first place.

Thursday. June 19. A blustery day, and I’m late meeting Adrienne for Jazzin’ at The Shedd, the weekly jazz show/cocktail hour at the Shedd Aquarium. Sarah works at the Shedd, so she comped our admission and guided us through the exhibits. We got to check out the new Wild Reef (http://www.sheddnet.org/wildreef/index.cfm), complete with tide pool simulator and a big sign at the entrance which reads “Welcome to The Philippines!”. I, of course, had to act out and yelp “I’m home!” as we walked under the sign. I think that was worthy of a citation for reckless public clowning, but Adrienne did not reprimand me.

The shark tank curved over part of the gallery, so we could press our noses against the glass and wait for the sharks to swim over our heads. There was a tank underfoot where rays hid in the sand and squirted jets of water at each other. Right before the exhibit’s end, there was a replica of part of the village where Shedd staffers stayed while they were researching the project. Pictures of natives adorned the walls, and I thought it was all rather festive. Though I think it would have been more accurate if you could smell the ocean, the jungle, the patis (fish sauce) that I can remember from visits I made to the Philippines twenty years ago.

Sarah had to check on some stuff so Adrienne and I had a quick snack, then we visited the Oceanarium before it closed. Tall pine trees, wood decks as we scampered over to the sea otter tank. Oh. My. Goodness. The otters were freakin’ adorable, swimming and preening and playing in the water. I wanted to jummp in and take one of them home. The dolphins were somewhat dull in comparison, and no whales were out and I could only commune with the penguins for a second before we were kicked out. Back in the main gallery, we saw a volunteer in scuba gear feed the fish in the big saltwater tank. There was no giant sea turtle, as it died last week. It was 70. And it was missed, though the giant eel made an appearance and the stingrays were showboating, bugging the volunteer for food as she tried to swim around, talk to us spectators, and feed the other fish in the tank. After a walk through the older galleries with Sarah, gossiping and wigging out the small children, Adrienne and I walked past the huge creepy outdoor statue of a man hugging an oversize fish (Stephan Balkenhol’s “Man With Fish” in the background of http://www.sheddnet.org/watershedd/images/fountainT_040102.jpg) and went home.


“I appreciate the use of my hair as a discursive space.”

N*E*R*D – Rock Star; Laura Brannigan – Imagination; Handsome Boy Modeling School – The Truth; Justin Timberlake – Right for Me



~ by Jasmine on June 20, 2003.

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