Let me begin with the ladybugs. I have always considered myself an advocate for peace where creatures are concerned, but have since changed my views with regard to ladybugs. Turns out that fall in the midwest is ladybug season, and they are vicious. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. They divebomb, swoop, cling, hide, and bite. Ladybugs bite, did you know that? They loiter around doorways and sneak into vehicles, they land in hair and stick to the back of jeans. They chatter and click their wings and gnash their teeth and crawl..... I literally saw grown men and women ducking for cover from torpedo-like ladybug attacks. I am starting a new awareness program and support group, Sane People Again Ladybugs. SPAL. Has a nice ring to it.
Small but mean, like penguins. Trust me on this one. Don't let 'em fool you.
Ladybugs aside, Chicago was cool. And I mean cool: 60 degrees and windy as hell. But the sun was shining, and fall was in the air. Chicago is a city full of culture and sights, and the red leaves and old brick buildings provide a perfect backdrop. I can see why people love the place. The University of Chicago is one monstrously impressive thing, ivied walls and spires that are at once imposing and impressive. Traffic delayed my day and I ended up missing the scheduled tour of the campus, but wandered around on my own anyway just to get a feel.
And I felt.... overwhelmed. And underdressed. The busy academics hustling past me in blazers and tweeds did not look like they were having a good time. At all. The air stank of knowledge and scholarly pursuit, of silver spoons and Good 'Ol Boys. About midway through a self-guided tour I had a vision of myself attempting to go to school there, and laughed out loud at the thought of me spazzing out and jumping from statue to statue going ape-shit on sport jackets and loafers. Impressive and important and wonderful as a niche place in the world of higher education, yes, but the right place for me? Uh, no.
My day in Chicago did prove to be a pivotal point in my travels, however: the downtown traffic and massive sprawl of the windy city finally convinced me to order a talking GPS navigation system on my cell phone. As I sat in my car trying to figure out what direction I was facing, I realized I was about to either cave to technology or freak out and start doing that ape-shit thing on an unsuspecting midwestern city. So as the nice lady at Verizon talked me down, I sucked it up and paid the $9.99 data connection fee in the hopes of instant gratification via hand-held guidance. And that decision, folks, probably saved my life (or my sanity). As I crawled through miles of backed-up traffic over snow-riddled bumpy roads on the 90 Expressway toward a Spanish tapas bar in Lincoln Park, the GPS soothingly told me to "Exit right in 500 feet", and I thought to myself, now this is living.
Traffic in Chicago, as in most cities, is rough. And loud. The infamous Elevated Train system roars overhead, while potholes send cars careening wildly through narrow lines of spiraling freeways that seem unending. My sources tell me that there is decent public transportation to be had, but in my short voyage I learned the pure kernel of truth at the heart of American industry and expansion: the car is king. And of all of the bi-products of the automobile, I'm not sure which is more deadly, the air pollution or the feeling of absolute crabbiness that takes hold while sitting in line for twenty minutes for an exit that is a mere 500 feet away.
But alas, I did make it to my dinner appointment on time, which was tapas in a Lincoln Park restaurant called Cafe Ba Ba Reeba, with a woman I'd never met, Mary, who is actually my cousin and proved to be very cool. She gave me hope and inspiration, and the conversation, hospitality, and warm comfort of little Spanish sausages more than made up for the traffic. But all good things end: after dinner I stopped into the Marquee Lounge for a local brew (as this has been a dedicated part of the research along this investigative national tour), and as I swatted vicious ladybugs out of my way while trying to duck into the doorway, the bartender yelled, "Watch out, they bite!" Tell me about it.
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