Prairie Landing
Monday, August 02, 2004
Weekend Roundup
Friday night we tried to go see Harry Potter finally and it was SOLD OUT! I couldn't believe it.
Originally we tried to get my sister to hang out. But she and her roommate* Scott O'Sheffield's are on the South Beach Diet™ and that means no drinking for 2 weeks. I pretty much forgot how to have fun without alcohol so that does it for me.
Saturday our job was to round up Mr. McFoolery's sister Lanassi from New York and -- the greater challenge -- Mr. McF himself, who had no inkling of our plans. At the crack of 3, no less. Luckily he'd gone to bed early the night before and was willing to meet up with us and our "friend from Sacramento," carefully described as female, attractive and cool but from a place that precluded any kind of relationship. When we showed up he was already there. I introduced L. as "my friend Aparna" and he actually held out his hand and started introducing himself before doing a complete double-take.
Saturday night we went out to one of the best parties I've been to. Maybe the best I've been to in Chicago. Pangaea was turning 35, as was the hostess, so it was a '70s themed party complete with disco ball. The apartment was a cavernous raw space in Ukrainian Village with a mirrored dance floor.
And that's about it. The rest of the time I was zonked out on Fioricet. I've taken to spending my headache time running errands (walking or chauffered by Colliculus) so local merchants bore the brunt of it. I cornered a bank teller for 20 or 30 minutes during the "chatty" phase many of you have come to know. I bet he wishes Bank One's "neighborhood banking" referred to somebody else's neighborhood.
*[Edited August 7 after I realized Google was getting too nosy.]
Originally we tried to get my sister to hang out. But she and her roommate* Scott O'Sheffield's are on the South Beach Diet™ and that means no drinking for 2 weeks. I pretty much forgot how to have fun without alcohol so that does it for me.
Saturday our job was to round up Mr. McFoolery's sister Lanassi from New York and -- the greater challenge -- Mr. McF himself, who had no inkling of our plans. At the crack of 3, no less. Luckily he'd gone to bed early the night before and was willing to meet up with us and our "friend from Sacramento," carefully described as female, attractive and cool but from a place that precluded any kind of relationship. When we showed up he was already there. I introduced L. as "my friend Aparna" and he actually held out his hand and started introducing himself before doing a complete double-take.
Saturday night we went out to one of the best parties I've been to. Maybe the best I've been to in Chicago. Pangaea was turning 35, as was the hostess, so it was a '70s themed party complete with disco ball. The apartment was a cavernous raw space in Ukrainian Village with a mirrored dance floor.
And that's about it. The rest of the time I was zonked out on Fioricet. I've taken to spending my headache time running errands (walking or chauffered by Colliculus) so local merchants bore the brunt of it. I cornered a bank teller for 20 or 30 minutes during the "chatty" phase many of you have come to know. I bet he wishes Bank One's "neighborhood banking" referred to somebody else's neighborhood.
*[Edited August 7 after I realized Google was getting too nosy.]
