I doubt anyone even read that hideously long Chicago recap, but hey! I'll need it to remember all the fine details someday. And now I shall continue.

Sunday, July 20, 2008

Bright and early, Sarah and I set off for Northwestern, which, though only 14 miles away, takes quite a while to get to. We were one of the only ones on the train, except for a couple (and I use that term solely numerically), who, as soon as they got on the train with their cart full of the same, neon-coloured shopping bags and their ragged jeans and bad accents, epitomized the words, "white trash." And that comes from Sarah, because I don't really know what "white trash" looks like. The girl was extremely skinny and extremely pale, with a shirt that kept riding up above her belly button and a tattoo on her neck. The guy was dressed in holey flannel and looked distinctly in need of a bath and a shave. They spent the entire time arguing, and the man kept addressing the woman in a completely patronizing tone, such as when she told him something, he would always YELL, "WELL WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE?" and "WELL I WAS DOING IT, WOMAN!"
I thought, listening to them (and it's not eavesdropping if they're so loud you can't help hearing them), "Wow... that must be the world's most unhappy marriage," until after they got off the train and Sarah, the expert people watcher, informed me that she guessed they were siblings. I hate watching people. They start to annoy me after a while, which is probably a bad thing if I want to be a writer. But she observed that their relationship wasn't "chosen," and when they got off the train arguing about money, and he said, "FINE. Then I'LL PAY FOR IT, DAMN IT!" they couldn't have been married. Apparently, I wouldn't understand because I don't have a big brother.

Anyway, we finally got to Northwestern, or thought we did. At least, we got to Evanston. Walking out of the station, we saw a guy talking into a nearby pay phone, and as we approached, I froze.
"Je suis allé à la bibliothèque," and other things he said, but that was enough. I couldn't move. I had to stand there and listen to his glorious conversation!! Sarah had to DRAG me and KICK me to get me to keep walking. We turned right, as our directions said, and we were supposed to walk three blocks and see it. We walked three blocks, and I started to doubt where we were, but we saw a busy intersection ahead. But being the genius that I am, we turned around and walked the other way, and ended up going 2.54 miles around (thanks to Sarah's IPhone GPS) to that busy intersection ahead.... Smart. At least we walked by the French guy again.

By the time we found the campus, we were in love. It was BEAUTIFUL. Gorgeous architecture, trees and flowers galore. I know it doesn't look like that in the winter when students are actually there and suffering the snow, but for a lot of that visit, I felt like regretting my decision not to go there. But that's okay! The University of Chicago banished that the next day. I loved NU for all the hidden little places to sit, surrounded by flowers and foliage, in the shadow of some great edifice of knowledge. We visited Medill, o glorious school, and sat outside the building on a little bench shaded by little trees for quite some time. The curious thing about NU is that out of the five miles we walked, we never once saw any place for food, even though I did get a Slurpee. :) I also wanted to see the lake, so we followed the sound of seagulls and the crashing of the waves to the sand, where people were taking sailing class! It was ridiculous. It didn't look like a school. For a moment, what my life could have been flashed before my eyes--rooming with Danielle, going to a huge school with lots of football games and crazy frats, possibly writing for the best college newspaper in the country... but I'm sure it'll be amazing at Amherst too. :)

We met up with my mother and walked to Due, the restaurant famous for its deep-dish pizza. And it was DELICIOUS!! While we were waiting to get a seat, we sat outside of the restaurant, facing the street, and who does my mom see across the street, holding hands with yet another Asian woman? One of her ex-boyfriends. The mean one who made me miss piano lesson once. After a few brief words with him, my mom sat back down again, and the first thing she said to us was, "Pfft. Look how ugly she is."
I was flabbergasted and berated my mother, but Sarah laughed so hard and said between giggles, "Wow. That is CLASSIC woman. 'I'm prettier than her.' Look who's missing out."
After the delicious pizza served by the dorkily cute waiter who my mom mistakenly thought looked like Jude Law (EW. Do not insult Jude Law), we strolled casually back down Michigan Avenue, window shopping at the ridiculously priced designer clothing, all the way back to.. you guessed it.. Millennium Park! That night they had a tribute to Buddy Guy, a jazz musician I'd never heard of, and I totally thought of Mr. Sawaya. However, the highlight of the concert was all the drunk people dancing. There was this one lady who I thought looked like Ms. Lambert, dressed in a purple tanktop and shorts, who was just letting loose. She looked like she'd had some training though, because all her steps were measured and looked somewhat professional. But she basically wandered from person to person, looking for a partner or just dancing on her own, until she finally met... him. An old, corpulent man with an extremely red face whose feet she stepped on. It was hilarious watching them. Then there was the couple that didn't seem to realize that they were in public. They were dancing like it was foreplay (but not freak dancing) and started making out and touching each other before thousands of eyes, completely oblivious. And then the guy started twitching his arm and doing all these crazy moves that looked utterly ridiculous as the woman made sounds that I can only guess were of approval.
But my favourite pair was the skinny, at the least metro guy with his tight-fitting clothes and his beer in one hand. His friend was sitting in front of where he was standing dancing (Sarah insists they were gay), paying attention to the concert, so he was lonely. Yet he danced with his beer for quite some time, swaying to the alcohol, until the largest black woman I have ever seen in my life--I'm not being mean, but she had to be 400 pounds, a woman who could have eaten that guy in one bite, came along and started dancing with him. He eagerly accepted, and they made the oddest, but somehow grotesquely cutest couple ever. And they even hugged when the song ended!!!
Sarah and I sat there SHRIEKING with laughter and taking pictures of all of them. Sadly, most of them didn't come out well because it was so dark. Moral of the story: NEVER GET DRUNK IN PUBLIC and then start DANCING.

Ahh! Two more days to go. Alright. I can do this. Sleepy time though!