Beauty and the Beast, Beast first
Jul. 26th, 2007 12:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maeve66I am still in Chicago. I changed my ticket so I could overlap with a friend who just arrived yesterday, and also to spend more time with my family, including my Oakland family, while they were out here. That seems silly, but it's very nice to have R&R with me and with their grandparents, too. We all went to Lake Geneva. I do not have any photos of Lake Geneva that express how wonderful it is. It is the best small lake in the United States, first of all. It is glacier-created, and thus deep and clear. It is sized perfectly, thus nice and warm to cool, never cold during the summer. It has perfect sandy beaches and a smooth bottom, and gets deep very quickly. The town itself is a kind of tourist mecca, but I spent part of every summer there when I was little, and back then it wasn't so chi-chi -- no spas, not many tchotchke shops, family style restaurants and dive bars rather than ethnic food and upscale bars. Okay, wait. Lake Geneva still doesn't really have ethnic restaurants except for a not bad Mexican storefront, and several Mexican groceries, since the current wave of growth is mostly Mexican. I wonder if I could get a job teaching English Language Learners in Lake Geneva? I wonder how little it would pay?
Anyway, no photo I took can conjure up how serene and comforting and home-y LG is to me, so I won't post any. Plus, there is the proscription on posting pix of my nieces, or I'd totally put up a picture of them. SO cute. But you are denied, O LJ friends.
So. On to Chicago.
The weather's been that kind of humid Chicago summer stuff where it gets unbearable and then there's a satisfyingly dramatic thunderstorm with lightning, like in the middle of last night. Here's what I was doing during it. This is the "Beast" part.
My father owns a Chevrolet Caprice Classic, circa 1988. He believes that it is a hotly desired make and model. It's been stolen (and recovered) twice, though not stolen by carjackers trying to fill orders for sheikhs from Qatar, which is who my father thinks wants to buy it. Just joyridden by local youth.
Here it is, in all its faded glory. Actually, I don't think there's any glory left.
Yesterday evening, I drove it down to West Town (aka East Ukrainian Village) to hang out with friends -- namecheck:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mudpriestess, notaboxer, winterhart534, whorlet -- and we went to a "tasting" of Glenfiddich single malt whisky. To be perfectly honest, I am not a whisky drinker. I don't revel in a wee dram. I much prefer good beer or frou-frou drinks, which are hell on diabetes. However -- this was too much indulgence to resist: hors d'oeuvres piled high; plush carpet and little seating groups; mixed scotch drinks beforehand, and a superb view of Chicago, the Beauty of this post.
God, what a view. We were on the 56th floor of the Chase Building, at 21 S. Clark Street. Wow. I love Chicago, in all its different aspects.
Then a man in a kilt with a strong Scots accent showed us a PowerPoint presentation about the history of Glenfiddich, with little time trips back 12, 15, 18, 21, and 30 years to taste the different ages of single malt. The best thing, for me, was that there was much discussion of barrels, casks, and general COOPERAGE, which has been a theme of this summer vacation. I got to visit a cooperage at the Mystic Sea Port historical village, in Mystic, Connecticut. And the Glenfiddich people are supposed to e-mail me a copy of the picture of their little distillery cooperage and their master Cooper. We shall see. If they do, I'll totally post it, along with a photo from Mystic. Maybe I'll throw in the completely intense ship's blacksmith dude as well, pulling on the bellows.
So. On to the thunderstorm last night. I experienced it while sitting in that Beast of a Chevy Caprice Classic, which wouldn't start, when I was on the way home from hanging out, around 1:45 AM. I sat there for an hour, waiting for Triple AAA. While I sat there, the thunder crashed and the lightning zapped and a teenager asked if he could buy the car. My father is vindicated. Of course, I don't know how much this youth wanted to pay. I told him the car was a piece of shit and he didn't want it. Someone else, around 2:30 AM, offered to pump my gas for me, but I'd already put $10 worth -- a few tablespoons of gas, apparently -- in that bottomless tank, before it died. Triple AAA hadn't gotten there by 2:40 AM, so finally, and glumly, considering my age and the fact that I am purportedly an adult, I called my father. Who came, and who had the magical powers to start that fucking car, but was kind enough not to rub my ineptitude in, at all, considering that we didn't get home until 3 AM. And then this morning I had a nauseated-style hangover. And that is all, here in Chicago.
ETAmudpriestess actually WORKS in that gorgeous old building next to the Unitrin tower, the one that's lit up and has a sort of cupola at the top. It's called the Jeweler Building, apparently. It's one of those old, classic office buildings that has an ornate entryway with lots of brass scrollwork and mirrors and dark paneling and fancy, fancy old-fashioned elevators.
Anyway, no photo I took can conjure up how serene and comforting and home-y LG is to me, so I won't post any. Plus, there is the proscription on posting pix of my nieces, or I'd totally put up a picture of them. SO cute. But you are denied, O LJ friends.
So. On to Chicago.
The weather's been that kind of humid Chicago summer stuff where it gets unbearable and then there's a satisfyingly dramatic thunderstorm with lightning, like in the middle of last night. Here's what I was doing during it. This is the "Beast" part.
My father owns a Chevrolet Caprice Classic, circa 1988. He believes that it is a hotly desired make and model. It's been stolen (and recovered) twice, though not stolen by carjackers trying to fill orders for sheikhs from Qatar, which is who my father thinks wants to buy it. Just joyridden by local youth.
Here it is, in all its faded glory. Actually, I don't think there's any glory left.
Yesterday evening, I drove it down to West Town (aka East Ukrainian Village) to hang out with friends -- namecheck:
mudpriestess, notaboxer, winterhart534, whorlet -- and we went to a "tasting" of Glenfiddich single malt whisky. To be perfectly honest, I am not a whisky drinker. I don't revel in a wee dram. I much prefer good beer or frou-frou drinks, which are hell on diabetes. However -- this was too much indulgence to resist: hors d'oeuvres piled high; plush carpet and little seating groups; mixed scotch drinks beforehand, and a superb view of Chicago, the Beauty of this post.God, what a view. We were on the 56th floor of the Chase Building, at 21 S. Clark Street. Wow. I love Chicago, in all its different aspects.
Then a man in a kilt with a strong Scots accent showed us a PowerPoint presentation about the history of Glenfiddich, with little time trips back 12, 15, 18, 21, and 30 years to taste the different ages of single malt. The best thing, for me, was that there was much discussion of barrels, casks, and general COOPERAGE, which has been a theme of this summer vacation. I got to visit a cooperage at the Mystic Sea Port historical village, in Mystic, Connecticut. And the Glenfiddich people are supposed to e-mail me a copy of the picture of their little distillery cooperage and their master Cooper. We shall see. If they do, I'll totally post it, along with a photo from Mystic. Maybe I'll throw in the completely intense ship's blacksmith dude as well, pulling on the bellows.
So. On to the thunderstorm last night. I experienced it while sitting in that Beast of a Chevy Caprice Classic, which wouldn't start, when I was on the way home from hanging out, around 1:45 AM. I sat there for an hour, waiting for Triple AAA. While I sat there, the thunder crashed and the lightning zapped and a teenager asked if he could buy the car. My father is vindicated. Of course, I don't know how much this youth wanted to pay. I told him the car was a piece of shit and he didn't want it. Someone else, around 2:30 AM, offered to pump my gas for me, but I'd already put $10 worth -- a few tablespoons of gas, apparently -- in that bottomless tank, before it died. Triple AAA hadn't gotten there by 2:40 AM, so finally, and glumly, considering my age and the fact that I am purportedly an adult, I called my father. Who came, and who had the magical powers to start that fucking car, but was kind enough not to rub my ineptitude in, at all, considering that we didn't get home until 3 AM. And then this morning I had a nauseated-style hangover. And that is all, here in Chicago.
ETA
mudpriestess actually WORKS in that gorgeous old building next to the Unitrin tower, the one that's lit up and has a sort of cupola at the top. It's called the Jeweler Building, apparently. It's one of those old, classic office buildings that has an ornate entryway with lots of brass scrollwork and mirrors and dark paneling and fancy, fancy old-fashioned elevators.