347: sacre du printemps

Kim’s decided to go to Cornell vet school. I’ve never visited Ithaca, but I suppose I will soon enough. I’ve decided that I must make up for the fact that I never visited her when we were in college, so I will do my best to visit every month or so while she spends her time sticking her hands up the bottoms of various animals.

Kim sent also sent me my birthday present early — a few new, cool buttons for my bulletin board, a makeup case in the shape of a pair of underpants. Stuffed in the case were pages ripped from Quest, a magazine for and about those elite folks on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. People for whom the word “summer” is both a noun and a verb. Anyhoo, Kim thought the pages would be of interest as they featured the picture-perfect weddings of two former classmates. This is the sort of stuff that I find appalling but cannot stop myself from reading. Call it a consequence of going to one of the “right” girls’ schools, but I find the social movements of these upper crusties enthralling. I wrote Kim the following e-mail to thank her:

Date: Tue, 15 Mar 2005 20:26:18 -0800 (PST)
From: Jasmine
To: kim

Jose and Arline Davila
cordially invite you to celebrate
the painfully prolonged spinsterhood of their
(overwrought and underloved) daughter,
as she flips through pages torn from a magazine
(which is only read by the folks who live
in doorman buildings on the Upper East Side, anyway)
where all you need to appear in its pages
is a rich father, a HS diploma from
[insert name of snooty girls’ school here]
and no personality whatsoever.

My love affairs with “America’s Next Top Model” and “Fat Actress” continue. To Brandy getting eliminated on ANTM this week, I have no response but shock (and a little dismay). Brandy had a gorgeous picture, but her crappy attitude hasn’t changed after three weeks and besides, Lluvy is still fabulous (even if she sometimes looks like a blurred photocopy of Cher). I’d absolutely love it if the judges let Brandy came back next season, in effect pulling a Tiffany, but I don’t think it’s gonna happen. It’s too bad, though, as her picture this week was fierce.

Patrick and Anna came to visit last weekend. We had a lot a fun. I took Friday off, we ran around the city, saw icky gross corpses at the Museum of Science and Industry, ate a lot of food, and even had a drink or two. I’m feeling very lazy, so I won’t recap it in too too much detail. Instead, I’ll rattle off a list of moments and direct you guys to the photoset to accompany it.

*Anna & Patrick Do Chicago: An Illustrated Story*
(pictures at http://www.flickr.com/photos/jasmine/sets/170718/)

3/17: Patrick and Anna arr. ORD 22:27. Inaugural issue of my New Yorker subscription in hand, I wait and read inside the terminal, as I have cigarettes but no lighter so I can’t go outside and smoke. We take the el home, sharing the train car with weary travellers and suburban drinkers heading into town for some St. Patrick’s Day mayhem.

3/18: Anna and Patrick shower, check e-mail, and check out my books while I cooked eggs and ponder what to do. We decided to head to the Lincoln Park Zoo and the Conservatory to play tourist. The animals were engaged and engaging, ranging from some red squirrels who seemed on the verge of crawling into our pants to a frantic puffin in the penguin house. The conservatory was humid and lush, full of orchids and roses and ferns. Patrick’s glasses fogged after a few minutes, so we headed downtown to illennium Park. Cloud Gate was hidden under a tarp, so we cavorted by the band shell, in front of the fountain, took silly photographs and enjoyed the fine weather. We returned to my neighborhood, stopping at Kevin’s so we could get into his jeep and have lunch at Hot Doug’s. Doug himself took our order, which consisted of four Ace Patricks, two cheese fries, two Don Rickles, and one fries fried in rendered in duck fat. Un-fucking-believably good. I was about to burst, but somehow we made it up to The Penguin for gelato. Kevin deposited us at home a few hours later so we could lie on the floor and moan from sheer pleasure. Later that night, Jacinda and Joe came over so we could talk shit — literally. Ever play the ‘anus’ game? You come up with movie titles, replacing a key word with ‘anus’. It’s hilarious — My Big Fat Greek Anus. One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Anus. 12 Angry Anuses. It’s A Wonderful Anus. When we weren’t being immature, we had dinner at Margie’s Candies where they serve crap diner food along with delicious hot fudge sundaes.

3/19: MSI with Kathy and Adrienne. I’d forgotten how much fun making fun of children could be, as there were drooling rugrats everywhere. Smearing jelly on the John Deere combine in “The Farm”. Mouth-breathing all over the chick incubators. Playing hide-and-seek in the ventricles of the oversized heart just as we tried to walk through it. “There is no room for children in my heart,” Kathy said half-jokingly as we glared our way through. We sprung for admission to Body Worlds, which was awesome and totally yucky. An exploded corpse, all sinew and bone and smoker’s lung, rides a horse corpse over an unseen fence. A woman pregnant with an eight month old fetus lounges insouciantly. A family of three is stripped down to their arteries. I felt sick at times, which is probably why we got through the whole thing in an hour. Well, that and the joint was crowded so we didn’t see everything. Evening was dinner at the Giordano’s on 53rd and Blackstone, then home for a bit, then drinks at the Charleston. A jazz combo featuring a, *shudder*, vibraphone made it a little hard to talk, but we managed to outyell it anyway. I introduced Anna to the joy that is the vodka gimlet, and took pictures of Patrick posing with a huge plaster head.

3/20: Brunch at Tre Kronor. Oh man, was this delicious. Hot meatball sandwiches. Limpa toast and generous omelettes stuffed with gravlax, cream cheese, and dill. Veal sausage and Swedish pancakes with lingonberries. Across the street, a shop sold clogs. I took Patrick and Anna around Wicker Park afterwards so we could walk off part of our meal. Also, Anna wanted to see the storefront used in “High Fidelity”. No John Cusack in sight (does he even live in Chicago anymore?), but she did score some cute boots at the Brown Elephant down the street. We made our way home and barely had time to make ourselves some mango lassi before the aunts descended upon us and took us to the Hong Kong Buffet on McCormick. The restaurant was chaos — efficient staff bused tables, deposited dishes of food on steam tables, dispensed chopsticks and fortune cookies to hyperactive children. The aunts interrogated us about school and work and church, then took us back to their house so we could spend a couple of hours singing karaoke in their basement. Patrick cavorted as he screeched “Like A Virgin”, much to Anna’s embarrassment. I tried to do my best Tom Jones impression, swaggering though “I (Who Have Nothing)” as best I could. The aunts wept through a few Tagalog love ballads before driving us home, our pockets stuffed with packages of pan de sal and folded palm leaves from Palm Sunday services.


“Do we have to do those splits? I’m a Christian.” (Mary Cherry)

Madonna – I Want You; The Doves – Cedar Room; Massive Attack – Better Things; Pavement – Killing Moon; Foo Fighters – Times Like These; U2 – Bullet The Blue Sky; David Gray – Say Hello Wave Goodbye; Rod Stewart – Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?; Outkast – Prototype



~ by Jasmine on March 24, 2005.

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