Envy me not, fools!

I really hadn't planned to indulge my North Side Hipster Lifestyle® last night, but when I got home, there was a call from Movie Man/The Economist inviting me to dinner. Despite the fact that he's the only friend of mine who lives remotely near me, we never seem to do anything together, so I could hardly say no. Plus, he had invited along spookyfruit, whose recent birthday party I regret missing. Since I'm leaving for my sister's next week, this may have been my last chance to see them before the holidays.

Fortunately, I immediately decided that I was only along for the ride, so I could sit out the involved negotiations between the organiser and the man who earns his living negotiating. spookyfruit, of course, wanted meat with a capital M and so quashed talk of going to Davis St. Fish Market. A co-worker had been recommending Bistrot Margot in Old Town, so that's where we ended up. (Some of us were even on time, having figured out, y'know, the Chicago street address system and all.)

The Zagat review read over the phone made it sound reasonable, but I got sticker shocked at the bar. Still, I can't complain in the least, since MM generously treated me--and if he hadn't, Spooky most likely would have. I had the veau forestier, which was a stack of tender meat in tasty sauce, and--perversely--Mr. Meat got a stuffed chicken breast. (He gave me a bite; it sounded better on the menu than it ended up tasting.) spookyfruit ordered us a scrummy Grgich Hills Zinfandel and mocked the dessert wine selection.

My two companions plunged into further adventures in the démimonde, but I wanted plenty of sleep before seeing Bryn Terfel (*SIGH*) tonight. When I got back home, there was a message from mollpeartree (which means I can FINALLY record a new outgoing message). I called her back and we talked a lot about the trickiness of relationships. (It seems the pattern of Yellers ending up with Sulkers is a very widespread one!)

But the most positive tidbit to fall during the conversation was her resolution to escape the Vortex more often in the coming year. No longer will she envy my carefree existence, because she will become a part of it! That's the plan, at least, and I'll do what I can to support it.

Unfinished sympathy

I set off a little while ago with a stack of records for books in Africana my student couldn't find in my hand and a confident smirk on my face.

I returned just now, humbled, disgusted, and with increased sympathy for the poor girl.

The Africana collection is out of space. It has been for years now. Everyone laments this, no one has come up with a solution. Still, that's no excuse for the awful disorder of those stacks. Yes, I understand that, in the absence of sufficient shelving, they have to push book trucks into service. The book trucks don't have to be poorly-labelled and scattered about, however, and the books on them out of order. Among other things, I was looking for a brightly-coloured coffee table book that must've cost us a fortune. The attendant took me to the three places it could legitimately be and then concluded it must not be shelved in that collection after all. Gaaa!

I think the next time I receive notification of a problem piece from that collection, I'll save everyone a lot of time and preëmptively declare it "Missing".