“There is a really strong sense of self in Chicago: People aren’t defined by wealth or by work or accomplishments, but rather who they are,” said Alex Kotlowitz, an author who makes his home in Chicago because he believes it is a place to peer into America’s heart. “Obama seems so comfortable in his skin and with who he is. That’s so Chicago.”

1) I love the irony of that appearing in The New York Times.
2) I love that it's largely true.
3) I love Chicago.

I don't think I fully appreciated how amazing the Harold Washington Library is until this afternoon. I knew it was an interesting place, with a lovely indoor garden on the top floor and some cool art. But today I went in for the books and went into a mild ecstasy walking through the fiction shelves. There are just so many books out there, many of them good and brilliant and wonderful, too many to read in one lifetime. I wandered along the shelves in visual and performing arts, mesmerized by art criticism titles and chronicles of rock bands. The strangest thing is that I feel the interiors of most libraries are sort of...unappealing. But all those books...dear lord, books make life worth living. I would live in a library or a bookstore just to be surrounded by mountains of them all the time.

The Rent soundtrack popped up on my itunes shuffle last night. I knew plenty of people in college who were romanced by the idea of free spirits and artists living together and becoming family on the gritty streets of New York. It's a great vision when you ignore the whole AIDS and heroin addiction part, and it does still have a strong pull for me. I sometimes entertain the idea of quitting the working world, taking odd jobs where I could get them and just devote myself to writing. I wouldn't be able to afford distractions like tv, internet, or nice meals out, so I'd have to write to keep from going insane. But that's, as Maureen sings, a leap of faith. It's terrifying to think about trashing the lifestyle you've had for the past twenty-two years. How do you keep from getting evicted or contracting an STD? It would take real dedication to your art (or to something) to make that kind of decision. Besides, an important part of la vie boheme seems to be that you are a starving artists, unappreciated by the masses. But part of the drive to write, for me at least, is that you want people to read your work. That doesn't seem to fit in with the creedo.

I got my first look at the new upstairs neighbors on my way out to brunch today. They were smoking with a guy on the front steps. I only saw one of them face-on and she looks like a real chav. Blonde highlights and heavy eyeliner, the works. And I confess, I felt really indignant. What are they doing in my neighborhood? I don't think I'm entitled to this little self-righteous statement, but I think it will definitely be time to move after this year. Which is sad, because I love where this neighborhood is. I may not be able to commit to bohemia, but I dread being part of the new bourgeoisie. Speaking of which, I read David Brooks' book "Bobos in Paradise" a couple years ago; I think I'd read it with a very different eye today. Just like I want to be bohemian without being completely broke, I want to live someplace where I don't fear for my life without being a cookie-cutter ivory tower.

I've got to stop over-thinking these things.

Walking up Michigan Ave carrying my pillow, with down feathers stuck in my hair and all over my coat, ranks up as one of my favorite city moments. Participating in a mass pillow fight in front of the Art Institute tops it. Today was dubbed International Pillow Fight day. It was awesome. I did get whomped pretty good in the face a few times and it's a surprisingly good workout. There's still two and a half hours in the day, still time to celebrate!