Sunday, 18 March 2007

• One two tree

  I got a job at a local school that teaches Spanish to business people. It's just one night a week and I don't even know when I start, but I got a job! A jobby job job. Boj a togi. Boj bojyb boja! In addition to giving me an excuse to brush up on my grammar, this position will allow me to personally coach investment bankers on how to roll their r's. Tee.

  Yesterday was mayhem! My fourth St. Patrick's Day in Chicago, but my first time doing as the Romans do. Jordan is largely to thank and blame for this. It started with a gathering at Will's apartment around 10:30, where I had many...uh...conversations. Then we all headed down to the parade and naturally got separated. About 20 people crashed Macy's in order to use the bathroom, but I snuck away to a nearly deserted Old Navy. When I emerged I miraculously met up with Jordan and his friends, plus Caitlin and Kyla at La Strada. We caught, like, two boring seconds of the parade and proceeded onto Miller's Pub.

  After more conversations, we boarded the Brown line and headed up to Belmont, where I promptly visited a Subway and got a vegetarian sandwich to begin the process of detoxing my imitation vegetarian self from the rack of lamb that I ate the night before at the Arkadash while watching Angelina, the Turksish bellydancer with the face of Rosie Perez, balance a sparkly cane on her perm. But that's another story.
  
  We then headed to the Blarney Stone in Wrigleyville, where there were plenty of more conversations to be had. By now it was probably 2 p.m, and the place was packed solid. Shanna showed up and chewed corned beef with her mouth open.
  
  We emerged onto Clark Street in broad daylight, shielding our eyes and attempting to orient ourselves towards Wrigley Field. We caught the bus west on Addison to the Cork. During the ride I chatted up a guy with fine features and a green jacket who claimed to not be "into the whole St. Patrick's Day thing," which I found unbelievable because he was carrying a case of Red Stripe Beer. He was a leprechaun, and I could not be convinced otherwise.
  
  Once at the Cork, I was reunited with my roommate Kate, fresh from the Northwestern Irish Alumni Trolley with her Aunt Mary and other party animal relatives. The Cork ruled. I had so many conversations there, I can’t even remember them all. An Irish band played a combination of drinking tunes and John Mellencamp hits. As members of my entourage slowly trickled out or were swallowed up by that great swaying mass of a crowd, Kate and I danced with Aunt Mary until 8 p.m.
  
  Things started to wind down for me at the next place, Higgins I think it was. The MSU game had started so I was surrounded by more green, but it was confusing. I was also hungry so I split a dry corned beef sandwich with Kate after she fished it out of a bucket and spackled it with horseradish sauce. I got tired and desperately wanted to sit down, so I told Kate I was going outside. I found a bike rack with loops that were designed to cradle my bum, so I settled in there. I considered flirting with a young man in a wheelchair but he wheeled past before I could put a sentence together.

  Kate finally emerged and we headed back towards Roger’s Park, stopping for an ice cream cone on the way. It was all over by 9:30, and I was fast asleep by 10.
  

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