Chicago 2, or Days and Knights in Gotham

I once commented on this blog that I don't write much when I'm having a good time. I hope you all remembered this, and have subsequently rejoiced at the lack of updates. Tonight, I'm heading out towards Madison with the slam team from the Ozarks, who are driving up from Arkansas today, and swinging through Chicago tonight. But before that, my sister is taking me to an American Tribal Style bellydance class, which should be excellent (my teacher, Donna Mejia, has great respect for ATS, therefore, it must be awesome).

My sister lives in a dorm that's more like a pseudo studio. The ceilings are very high, which is neat, and the place is divided into two sections. One section contains just two beds and three desks, for Liora and her roomate. Then, the second section, which is divided off from the first, contains a galley kitchen, a bathroom right across from it, and a loft bed above the bathroom, where I'm sleeping. Quite luxurious for someone who was prepared to sleep on the floor!

Liora's been a most excellent host - far better than I ever did in Prague or Northampton, I'm sure. She got me free entrance to the Chicago History Museum, where she works, and I spent the better part of a day happily entranced by their exhibits. I especially enjoyed their attention the riots in '68, and the Haymarket riot. I realized Chicago has been really groundbreaking in terms of radical politics. I also stared at a four-paneled painting titled "Leather Night at the Gold Coast" for at least half an hour.

The picture, which depicts five youngish men outside a 70s gay bar, was mounted on the outside walls of the actual Gold Coast club in Chicago, and painted by the boyfriend of the owner of the club. After the club was raided, a police officer suggested to the owner that having a woman in the picture would deter future raids. The artist did add a woman, who now hovers between two of the men. Her legs are hidden behind a motorcycle, giving her the impression of a ghost. It's a fantastic piece of queer history, and seeing it mounted on the wall of such a mainstream museum (whose focus, while queer-friendly, is not queer-specific) felt triumphant.

Then, Liora took me to see Dark Knight, which I initially protested, but I'm glad we went. I'm not an action movie person, but I enjoyed Heath Ledger's performance as much as the next guy. But the best part was walking out of the movie towards the big touristy Navy Pier, and realizing that Chicago IS Gotham, Batman's fictional home. I'd always been told it was New York, but I think that might be the New York ego at work, rather than a reflection of the city's vibe.

In the middle of it all, I miss her. C haphazardly sauntered into my life back in June, and despite knowing how soon I was leaving, we decided to let ourselves fall in love anyway. There are no promises, no vows, no future. But I love her as much as I did last week, and I miss her from the forefront of my thoughts to the pit of my stomach. We talk almost every day. She tells me what she remembers from her trips to Chicago: vegan cafes and youth activism and street art, and I wish she were here. It's always easier to be brave and adventurous with someone like her around.

And then there was the food. Oych, have we eaten well. From fancy, creative sushi to Chicago's famous deep dish pizza, I've eaten like I'm preparing for hibernation. I'd write more about the food, but there's so much more to talk about...

...like photos. I had asked Liora if she would be willing to take some pictures of me to put on a new, professional website I'm working on. She happily obliged, and we took pictures in the art studio on the 17th floor of her building, and in Millennium Park just a few blocks away.

Finally, I'd like to talk about the poetry. Last night, I went to the Green Mill, the home and beginnings of the slam, where Marc Smith, the construction worker that invented the slam format, still hosts the show. I did horribly in the slam because of a few doozy judges, but I was in the company of several excellent poets who scored badly, so I didn't mind at all. The crowd is a tough one in Chicago - they heckle the performers as though they were at a dog fight instead of a poetry reading. But I know that the poets with the roughest exteriors are usually the sweetest ones underneath, so it didn't faze me much. Additionally, I met and found several poets I already knew who are heading to Madison tomorrow, and they were as kind as anything.

See you in Madison!