To give you an update on my life, Thanksgiving was fantabulous.
I don’t even want to go into details about how amazing it was because it was
more of a “you had to be there” kinda thing and if I try to poorly describe
just how great it was, I would be doing an injustice to myself and my family.
Later that weekend, we had our ten-year high school reunion,
which was mediocre, to say the least [or most]. I pretty much spent $50 to hang
out with my own friends that I can hang out with for free for run-of-the-mill
food, an awful DJ with an even more awful music selection, and subpar company
(minus my friends, of course). And I’m not a hater, I swear. It was just that
everyone stuck to talking to their own friends, there was really no mixing with
different groups of people (which may be partly my own fault as well as that of
my peers) and close to zero dancing (strongly correlated to the DJ). This is in
no way a reflection of the hard work people put into planning it and I feel bad
for giving it such a negative review, but sometimes it’s just a function of the
group of people that end up showing up [myself included].
So last weekend, I went to Chicago to visit Jaime. Upon
arrival (and after an inevitable flight delay, which cancelled our plans for
the night; FYI - I really am not a fan of United, this is the second
consecutive inconvenient delay I’ve experienced with them for non-weather
related issues), we went straight to Pequods for some deep dish pizza. I know
all Northeast Coasters are super annoying about pizza like “Ughh, gross, I hate
Chicago deep dish pizza! I only eat New
York pizza. That’s the real thing.” However, as a fellow Northeast Coaster, I admit
that I actually really like Chicago deep dish pizza; it doesn’t really fulfill
my pizza craving like New York pizza does, but the thick, buttery, breadiness coated
with mozzarella, smothered in tomato sauce and dusted off with my favorite
toppings just resonates comfort with me. So needless to say, after a miserable
flying experience, my dinner made the night a lot better.
We woke up the next morning to run a 5K Santa Run, which was
pretty awesome. The weather was beautiful, sunny and in the 50-60s, and the run
was at Soldier Field along the lake with 9,000 other people; Oh, and the best
part was that we wore Santa outfits while running. The beard was very
suffocating to run in, but the rest of the costume was relatively comfortable,
albeit a little too warm. We decided to keep the Santa costumes on while doing
some Chicago sightseeing. We found a back window to the aquarium to try and see
the dolphins and beluga whales from outside without having to pay admission,
but little did we know that the window was facing everyone who was watching
the dolphin show. So before we knew it, everyone in the audience
was pointing at us and waving (not only because we had our faces smashed up to
the window like little kids, but also because all four of us had full-on Santa
costumes on). And so, we ran away. Our adventures continued onwards to the Bean
and a Christmas market before we stopped at a bar with a special of “Buy one
drink, get a Jameson shot for free.” And then it was noon. And I was wasted.
We went to dinner, to the infamous Second City comedy club
(where I almost punched some lady behind me for her excessive and
uncontrollable hyena-like laugh) and then to a bar. And then I was wasted
again.
So I absolutely LOVED Chicago, and can totally see myself
living there one day. But the one thing I can’t handle is how often strangers
talk to you when you’re walking down the street. The friendliness of Midwesterners
is baffling, while unnerving. I think
about thirty-eight people talked to us in a span of three hours to ask about
the race, or where we were from, and what we were doing. If I
lived there, I’d probably have to leave half an hour before I planned to go anywhere
in order to make up the time from unanticipated, in-transit conversations. So
while I might not have an East Coast perspective about New York pizza, I
definitely have one about public interactions. Don’t talk to me unless you know
me or unless we need something specific from each other – i.e. a lighter, a
dollar or directions. The buck stops there. Keep it moving. Thanks.
