Impressions

My commute in so many words...sunshine in my eyes, pretty, not a trace of snow, rows of bikes, coworker's high-pitched, nervous talk, peasant blouse and shiny beads of peacock green, stomach growling, ready for dinner, blank spot on the ride, grimace and a seat by myself in back, Ian Fleming and Russian writers, line across the lake, clouds/smog, razor-thin and at horizon's edge, not much green seen as I'd have liked, mysteries and missteps, crowds milling and I'm looking at absolutely everybody, seeing everything, soaking it up like a sponge, receptive, El train droning roar, up the steps, fumbled feet, pleasant thighs and skinny jeans, on the platform, Chuck Taylors everywhere, train approaching, then on board again, minding the waning sunlight across downtown, the building shine, the mosaic waves on the river, northbound, no delays, not too crowded, tall gal with Jackie O hair and silver buckle shoes with black slacks, piercing blue-eyed gaze calls to mind a soul I know, her man's eyes ceramic blanks, they talk furtively, standing, another passenger ("customers" says the Transit Spokesman) has a serious hair-pouf, a regular brunette wave, another man wears a Tide detergent baseball cap, a seat by himself (drove the woman sitting next to him away), then lost time and space, I get distracted by the asses and then I'm off the train and on my way down and a hipster (looking like a young Shirley MacLaine) gives me a looking over in passing, makes me think my sideburns are probably getting too long, then I'm curbside and there are green beads a-flashing as barhoppers hop the bars and cars scoot by, I beat the light, past derelict saloon ("no time for Jameson, maybe in the morning") and I'm past dirty curb detritus, up brick-lined walk, long shadows, now, green lights strung specially for St. Patrick's Day at witchy home, broken brick walk fixed, girl-jogger thighs here and there in passing, then at another intersection, waiting, seeing "Bauknecht" thinking "Building Knight?" Right? German, "knecht" for "knight" and "Bau" for "Building?" Don't know, then past the smell of spilled beer and fresh leather (new shoes, mine, pewter-hued) and I'm home.

St. Oscar of Wilde

Seems right on St. Patrick's Day to honor another of my patron saints, another early one: Oscar Wilde. With him, it was so many things -- his writing, his wit, his style, his fashion, his aesthetics and profound sense of art (and the artist's role in society) -- I was always highly impressed by and influenced by him. I always felt like Victorian society was challenged by his sybaritic ways, and bit back at him savagely, seeking to destroy the man (and, sadly, largely succeeding, at least in the physical sense of radically shortening his life, although is sparkle continues to outlast his actual life). His understanding of beauty and art's centrality to life made a huge impression on me. "Dorian Gray" always stuck with me (so much that I even named a character that in a short story as a kid, "Dorian's Flowers").

He's a feast of wit, and one of his quotes I ran across in early college...

As long as war is regarded as wicked, it will always have its fascination. When it is looked upon as vulgar, it will cease to be popular.

...has always hung with me. I've pondered the meaning of it a great deal for over 20 years, and have tried to get at the vulgarity of war in a number of stories.

I will always be a Wilde Child. Anybody who knows me knows that my wit and charm are some key qualities I possess (a sharp tongue, yes, but silver, too). And I know that Wilde influenced me early on in that respect.

Different Perspectives

Heading north on Clark Street, I took this shot, because all of the perspective was catching my eye while I was walking -- the buildings in the foreground, the reflected buildings in the windows, and the ones in the background (and the sky overhead). With the afternoon light captivating me, I had to take the shot.

Erin Go Braghless

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

I enjoyed having the past couple of days off. Not used to not being at work on a weekday -- even the light seems different. The people, the city, all of it -- different on a weekday. I don't know if it's purely psychological, but it just seems different from a weekend (and it must be qualitatively different -- fewer people in general, more students, old people, bums, and crazies are out). I enjoyed the extra time with the boys. Always, always fun.

Made a kickass Shrimp Creole last night from scratch. Good eatin! Wanna see?

Mmmmmm! It was good! I had all of this great afternoon sunlight streaming into the apartment, so I had to play "food photographer" and snap a shot!