This weekend marks something as well. On Sunday, I will officially cash in my chips on the experiment that was 947 W. Newport Ave, Apt 2E. Hold on, the train's going by. But here's a look at my thoughts about the last twelve months, my first twelve months out from under the roof of my parents.
The Move:
It was exciting. The Cubs were in the playoffs. The city was buzzing. The weather was still nice. We had plenty of people helping, so it went fast. And for the first time I wasn't just moving into a dorm or furnished apartment. When we starting dragging stuff up those spiraling stairs, we were walking into an empty canvas for us. I mean, what's not exciting about your first place after college? Hold on, train again.
The First Months:
These were also exciting. We took every opportunity to explore the area, even if that meant going to the same bars over and over. We went out to dinner a lot. Sat on our roof a lot. Entertained often. Drank too much. But all we did was get comfortable. We hosted an unbelievably successful Thanksgiving dinner for our friends. We got to be regulars at two different bars. We never wasted weekends. And we found out how it would be living with each other. We had the summer to really hang out, but as everyone knows, just because you're friends doesn't always mean you can be roommates. Luckily in this situation, things pretty much worked out.
The Middle Months:
If the first months were when we got 'comfortable,' the middle months was where we found our groove. Just like a pitcher on the mound, you spend a few innings just getting your stride right, but it's those middle innings when you put it on cruise control and coast. This is what the middle months meant to me. This is when I decided to go grocery shopping on a regular basis. I started making my lunch every day and sticking with it. I made a lot more dinners, even if half those dinners were frozen meals. The weather kept us even closer to our place, so we really escalated to the 'regulars' status. Got to know owners, get free drinks, light tabs, etc... And these middle months were the same ones that really tested us as roommates. It's all fine and dandy when you're running around outside, making plans and having fun. But through the pits of winter in Chicago, your energy level and overall desire to leave your place drops considerably. If I was doubting whether or not we could comfortably live together, this stretch of time proved to me that we could. And we did. And we hosted more parties, played more beer pong, bought more beer, and hibernated with the rest of the Chicagoans.
The Last Months:
Just like the final innings of a complete game, these last months, the summer months, were an absolute bear, but offered enough excitement and drama to last a long time. Summer in Chicago should be experienced by everyone at least once in their life. I really extended myself. I can't even begin to list everything that occurred during the final months at our place. There were weeks in July, August, and September where I had plans every night of the week. I wanted to take every opportunity to go do something fun. I even started getting out of my neighborhood for chrissake. I experienced a little of the loop; a little of wicker park, of bucktown, of north center. We abused our rooftop. We abused our livers. We went on weekend vacations that required a vacation from our vacations. I sacrificed sleep for a stretch of time that I could look back on and be completely satisfied. You know, the whole 'I want to look back and say that I did I the best I could while I was stuck in this place. Had as much fun as I could while I was stuck in this place' type shit. I wanted to take nothing for granted. Call me on my 'night off' and invite me to do something, what the hell, why not? Even if the weather here never let us know that we even had a summer, I can definitely say that I did, since I characterize summer by a state of mind, not the height of the mercury. But through all of this, we still couldn't open our windows. Train's gone by 7 times since I last reported.
The Transition:
I pretty much figured that we wouldn't be keeping this place when our lease expired, but I never thought I would be this excited to get the fudge out of dodge. We decided to change gears, took an apartment in a different neighborhood, a quieter one, a nicer one. We 'sacrificed' a rooftop deck for a backyard and a garage. 'Sacrificed' drinking establishments for trees. 'Sacrificed' being in the middle of it all for quiet neighbors with free street parking. Big bedrooms for a decent night's sleep. Party palace for new floors. More square footage for an in unit washer/dryer. The point is, Aside from maybe the rooftop deck, I don't really see any of these as an actual sacrifice. While I'm still 23 (yes, I know. 24 in 2 weeks...), and I'm not saying that I've already given up the life I lead for the last twelve months, I'm really happy about this step. This step towards maturity and adulthood. This realization that 'sacrificing' a crazy party area with rooftop view of Wrigley Field for a place you can be honestly proud to show off was important for me. Again, we all know I'm still going to drink my face off once in a while, that's not the point. I guess what I'm saying is I was ready for this kind of change, and I'm excited to welcome the lifestyle effects it will have.
The Conclusion:
I would like to say I left my mark on Wrigleyville. For the people I've met in my first year here, for the bartenders that continued to take care of me, for the strangers that peed next to my car, whatever. I leave here with no regrets. Our place was... nice. The location was... nice. My experiences here... unforgettable (and at times unrememberable). So if you had the chance to be a part of 947 W. Newport Ave, thank you. Through it all, it treated us well. And a part of me will always miss the place, my first out-of-my-parents-house post-college apartment, but in every sense of the phrase, I am ready to move on. I'm ready to close the game, throw my last pitch, get the final out, knowing there's another game waiting just around the corner for me.
Well Tuesday night marked the end of my 2009 Cubs season. I had to keep mild interest in the weeks leading up to the tickets I purchased 6 months ago, but now that I have gone to my last game of the season, I can officially say that I am in the 'wait til next year' mode, as sad as it is to say. So here on my thoughts on the 2009 Cubs season, for all it was worth.
The expectations for this year were the highest that I can remember. Every year I'm alive, I get a little more of the Cubs history, and the feeling of what it means to be dedicated to a season. At the turn of high school, and the passing of college, and the beginning of my trek as an adult, sports become more and more of a crutch. And each year, I learn more, I research more, and I pay more attention. So besides the fact that we were two time defending National League Central Division Champions with supposed added artillery, I was also more aware of what the organization was doing. My investment began the day last season ended. The sting of what the Dodgers did to us got me even more involved than ever before.
If anyone who isn't a big baseball fan reads this, this is a hard notion to explain. Other sports fan, or 'American Idol' fans, or any other way that people find to spend their time, baseball has a whole different set of baggage. You're talking about a team that plays 162 times over a 6 month span, before playoffs even start. When basketball ends and hockey ends and football hasn't started yet, there's baseball. The time spent and emotional investment that goes into a season is truly grueling. Add games to sports center, around the horn, PTI, baseball tonight, and sports talk radio on the Score 670 and ESPN 1000, and baseball can consume someone more than Twitter consumed the world. So that's what I mean by investment.
So with all those expectations and investments, this season was the most disappointing I have come across. There was drama, but no excitement. Every two weeks someone got hurt. Egos flared. We had a coach tell a player 'you're not a ballplayer, you're a piece of shit.' Wrigley has never booed that loud. The fans have never cared that much. And I can't say the players have never played that poorly, but we all know the Cubs teams of the 90's were far worse. Hell the 2009 Cubs are still over .500 and in second place. But in the 90's, they weren't doing it with a $140 million payroll. They weren't coming off back to back division titles for the first time in decades. They were hungry. And they didn't have the weight of the city on their backs.
This is still a good team. I actually believe, with a few minor changes, that this will be a very competitive team next year. They should finish in the top 4 of the National League next year and challenge for a playoff spot, even with the pitiful attempt at this season. The reason I believe this isn't because I'm a helpless Cubs fan that calls into the score, claiming if the Cubbies go 15-5 during the remaining 20, and the Rockies go 7-10, they will tie for the Wild Card. I'm not that guy. And that actually happened. But the expectations of ALL Cubs fans, die hard or drunk, new or tourists, they ALL want the Cubs to win NOW.
But the truth is, 29 teams finish the year as failures. I don't need a World Series to brag about. I just want a team to play up to its expectations, to have fun when they do it, to be good teammates, to enjoy playing in Chicago, to respect the game and play it the way its supposed to be played. If they do that every year. If they forget how much money they make and just play ball, then I will always be a Cubs fan. I don't know how likely that is...
"Pearly lips and cherry wine
Moonshine in your hair
Just keep staring at the sun
Pray for summer's end"
Foo fighters. Find me someone that genuinely dislikes the foo Fighters and I'll show you someone that is angry for no reason. But this isn't about Foo. This is about a line in one of their songs from their most recent CD that used to bother me. I love the song, but the lyrics bothered me for so long. I once followed my brother's friend's band, at one point named Summer's End. I had a Summer's End patch clothes-pinned to my backpack. But I still disliked the idea of the end of summer. Summer's end evokes such a saddened and melancholy feeling that I reject the very notion of it. Summer is bliss. Summer is the little boy or girl in all of us. The season pool passes and bike rides and vacations. And no school. Even us working folk feel like school's out for the summer when June comes around. I can't think of one legitimate negative for the days between the summer and fall solstice. Except black leather cars. But seriously, this is one of the easiest sells. Summer: Buy in. Okay!! Yet after all of that, all the boat rides and long weekends, the short skirts and long nights, I can honestly say that I am ready for summer to end.
Now I don't believe that Dave Grohl's words really correspond to my place in the world. Mainly because I don't know what pearly lips look like. But after my recent trip to New York City, I also am praying for summer's end. This has been one of the more memorable summers in my life. Which doesn't say a whole lot, since none of my previous summers were really too memorable. But over the last 3 months, I feel like I've lived a year. My first summer on my own, in the city, with a rooftop deck. I can't even begin to round out a list of events and happenings that encompassed my summer. But I did achieve my goal: Don't waste it. I don't think I let two days go by without *something* to do. I forced plans when there weren't any. I booked my days weeks in advance. I did what i could to piggy back plans so i could cram more into one night. I met new people and went on new adventures. I didn't sleep enough and went out too often. I put summer into a juicer and squeezed it for every drop it had. And I loved about 98% of it (sans Black Wednesday). And after all of that being said, I can still honestly say that I am ready for summer to end.
Now I get to nestle into a time of cooler weather and relaxed mindsets. I will be in a new apartment in less than three weeks, and will have time to spend in my new place. I will have a new neighborhood to explore and enjoy. I will have writing time to increase. I will have a new bed that I will look forward to getting a chance to lay in. I will have an in-unit washer/dryer, so I might be doing laundry twice a week. Mainly, I get to slow down. It will soon be full blown recovery mode. I'll be taking a lesson from the bears. Not those bears. The ones that hibernate to restore the body and avoid the cold. But speaking of those bears, I get to have lazy Sundays of watching football. I get to give my wallet a break. Give my body a break. My mind a break. (I shouldn't be so self-centered, you all get to do this too, but stay with me). And so after all of this, I believe, even though we're still 10 days away from the summer officially being over, I'm ready to throw in the towel.
But after all THAT being said, I'm about 8 weeks away from wanting Old Navy flip flops and Bud Light Lime......
(Funny story: I listened to 'Summer's End by Foo Fighters the entire time I wrote this.)
So I just got back from three nights and four days in New York City. The city that never sleeps. Pretty close.
I'm not going to run down a list of events or even the sequence that things happened. Frankly because it would be hard to remember. But there are a few thoughts I can share about my first trip to the biggest city in our country.
First of all: Lots of cabs. Seriously, like 80-90% cabs. Crazy cabs. Everywhere. And they take credit cards. It's not even worth owning a car. You walk. Sometimes. Usually its cab, or sometimes subway. I guess it makes sense, when you lay it all out, but I was just a little shocked.
Second: Big. Manhattan covers more ground than I thought I could cross in one night. The traveling we did during the day, fine. Some sightseeing, some subway rides, a Mets game, whatever. But looking at the connect the dots between the few nights we went out, the place we stayed, sources of food, and everywhere else we touched... I was blown away.
And that wasn't the only way it was big. When you get ~5 miles north of the loop in Chicago, roaming around Wrigleyville, the tallest building is, well, Wrigley field (sans lakefront condos). But in Manhattan, specifically miles away from some of the hottest and busiest places in the city where my friend lived on the Upper West Side, you'd be hard-pressed to find a building less than 5 stories. The majority of them are twice the size. Everything goes up. Everything. You feel small everywhere you go.
Third: There was a notion of being slightly larger than life there. Now, bear with me. I didn't walk with any added importance, mainly because I was either too drunk to pay attention, or I was in a cab. But there was an aspect of New York that I only saw on TV, which was all of it. It seemed there were traces of fame at every turn. Like I was treading on notorious ground. There was a history. A nostalgia. Something palpable on the streets that I don't feel in Chicago. I hate describing non-real things, but that's all I can really say.
Lastly: It's fast. I came from the suburbs to the city. The city of Chicago is fast compared to the burbs. New York = faster. In every way.
And with all that, give me Chicago every day of the week and twice on Sunday. This weekend was one of the most fun and memorable weekends I've ever had. Top 5 all time. Seriously. But it felt great to be home.
I seem to know a lot of quotes in relation to this topic. But my goal isn't to give you those. Look them up yourself. But after another bout with restlessness amounting in a horrid night of lack of sleep, I realized that is it time for a change.
While my last month begins along side the rattling, screeching tracks of the EL, I am choosing not to choose public transportation as a source for my nightmares and gappy sleep. I may be proven wrong come October, but we'll see about that.
And with the turn of a new lease bringing an early birthday gift from my parents, I am also choosing not to blame my less than comfortable, squeaking, sagging bed. It may very well change my sleeping patterns, but that isn't what I want to focus on. (I realize that the combination of a new bed and no train eliminates the 'control' for the ensuing experiment. But this isn't science class. This is my life. So any success will be welcomed.)
So ignoring the train (ha) and bed, I addressed something that has been a relative constant in my life, thus a problem that will not change with my residence or nightly resting place. I have an active mind. It's fast paced. It's a product of our generation. It's a product of high speed internet and immediate text messages. My generation has an attention span that can only be measured in nanoseconds. And all that training keeps my thoughts rolling through more often than the locomotives at Belmont Station. When I lay awake, and I've said this before, my thoughts plague me. Things I wanted to say but didn't. Situations that get played out in my head. Scary influences from TV shows or movies (Side note, I'm sick of watching True Blood before bed. Messed up 'dreams.') Blasts from the past. Jarring conversations. Extreme heat. Everything. These things follow one after another. a high turnover rate procession of jagged images and upsetting thoughts that do their best to keep me awake. My brain is too active for my body to rest. This past Sunday was the worst. And so it lead me to try and fix this. Here's what I came up with.
I have been reduced to laying on my back, repeating long inhales through my nose followed by slow exhales through my mouth, trying to, and I quote, 'find my breath.' It's Always Sunny fans, rejoice. This is what I found on the 'internet' and was the closest mixture of yoga, meditation, zen, and humorous TV show references that I could scrounge up. My way of doing this was to actually imagine air particles as something of color that you can see. And I imagined these little green particles entering my nasal cavity, flowing down the back of my esophagus, and circulating into my lungs. Then I watched those particles calmly exit my body and disperse in front of my face. I felt better. I felt relaxed. And I slept better. I still had a long, complicated dream involving old friends, upcoming events, and people still on my mind, but at least I wasn't too tired when I woke up. And it wasn't a nightmare that startled me awake. I guess that's a good start. Maybe in October, I'll finally be able to enjoy a full night's sleep.
