I met with the two Re's this afternoon for a lovely dinner at
Earwax Cafe. This meant that I had to take an hour and twenty minute trip from the Southside of Chicago to the Wicker Park area. For those not in the know, the Wicker Park area is full of hipsters.
Hipsters are interesting creatures; they tend to open shops with thrift store quality goods sold for ridiculously high prices. However, they also tend to work at delicious vegetarian restaurants.
My trip started with a bus and two
trains. This meant lots of standing, crowded areas (especially due to
Lollapalooza), and plenty of photo opportunities.
Once I arrived at Earwax Cafe, I was greeted by this (Re the gustatory scientist):
Eventually we were joined by the other Re, who is obviously not interesting enough to be as in focus as the lady behind her.
Our once exhilarating cups of water were now only slightly stimulating due to ice melting.
At an over-priced second hand items store, Re the gustatory scientist found her double!
This is a giant eyeball designed by artist
Tony Tasset. It is supposed to be a replica of his own eyeball. I personally think Tony Tasset desires the omniscience of Santa, but that is not my only qualm with the piece, it now sits on what used to be a perfectly self-sustainable pigeon park. Though it was admittedly less aesthetically pleasant, it required less upkeep and now the pigeons are left to protest in the outskirts, homeless, unheard.
Just past the eyeball was the train stop where I would wait for the train ride back home.
The waiting was made slightly more bearable by this view.
After the train arrived, I said goodbye to the view and headed back to the (mostly) hipster-less Southside of Chicago that I call home.
NOTE: that train is obviously not the one I got on, but you get the idea.
Image via WikipediaI'm jealous of people who seem to read books that just stay with them. The books become something to turn back to, rely on. It's hard for me to feel this way after reading a book. While I'm reading, I'm living inside someone else's world. I notice the details that only J.D. Salinger would point out, and the cold feels colder and the wet wetter in his eyes. Sure, I can think back at the books I've read and remember the worlds. They are always more sensational, full of senses, than my own. But once I've put the book down, I'm back in my world, with a bowl of cold pasta and a cat by my side. 
