Bullets over January

• Depression: I'm still functionally depressed. Like I cook for myself, but then I don't clean anything up until the next time I cook, when I do the bare minimum to get the utensils I need. Or I get myself to work on time every day but then do the bare minimum to avoid getting called out. It's not ideal, and I might be doing better if I were medicated, but I'm going to try to tough it out for a while longer and home it gets better, as has happened before.
• Men: Are still dumb! A guy from Bear Coffee wanted to hook up with me but blew me off twice. I saw him again last weekend and he was warm at first but wasn't really receptive to my flirting so he's done. Meanwhile Pasillero's husband is grounded due to passport trouble which means no fun for a while. It's disappointing but those are the rules and I don't think I have the leverage to ask for amendments. Oh, and one of the squirreliest of my fuckboys is asking me for dickpics again, but I wouldn't put any money on that panning out again.
• Books: I'm still reading them! My Italian friend from the New Year's party succeeded in getting me onto Goodreads, which believe it or not is helping. I used to manually work out the percentages for my reading progress so having a site which calculates them for me is...actually helpful. I'm keeping my reviews extremely terse, though, due to their Facebookish licencing agreement.
• My bunghole: "Looks like a normal anus", to quote my doctor, so I guess I'm done seeing him for a while. Giving all the issues I was having, he actually though the procedure had failed so he was relieved how well everything checked. We'll see if everything still works as well once the Botox has worn off completely.

Wild Chicago

My depression may be ruining my house but at least it's not trapping me in it. As it compensating for last week's stay-at-homeness, I got out all three days.

Friday was a happy hour at the Anvil. It was small turnout but I was ready for some release after a long week back at work. Someone had loaded the jukebox with good dancy songs and I was on my feet a lot. I ended up playing two songs myself: "Just Like Honey" by the Jesus & Mary Chain and "Genius of Love" by Tom Tom Club. The latter came on just as everyone was leaving but a small coterie kept me company until the end.

I ended up having four drinks in a little over two hours which didn't really hit me until we were at the gringo taqueria across the street. The room was still spinning as I betook myself to bed a couple hours later. I thought I'd have a terrible hangover upon waking up (I'd unintentionally mixed alcohols due to a crystal skull shot from a friend and mystery shot from the bartender) but it wasn't so bad.

It's not like I had much planned that day, just coffee with the bears. It struck me this time how well-integrated I felt. I was the centre of attention a couple times and more people were calling me by name. Unfortunately, I couldn't interest anyone else in a stroll along the lakeshore so I headed out alone.

The wind was fierce and the snow particles were icy, but it was worth it for the waves and the solitude. Some woman was out on the beach feeding pigeons. I trekked up to Granville hoping to beard gop at home and watch the waves from glassed-in comfort, but I was foiled by his unexpected plans-having.

Sunday I met up with bunj, tyrannio, and innerdoggie to take in a show of contemporary Indian art in the soon-to-be renovated Hall of the American Indian. If I'd ever been there before, I don't recall it, which is just as well because it is dire. The exhibits are virtually unchanged from the 50s, just artifacts (original? reconstruction?) with next to nothing in the way of context.

Stumbling into the Pawnee Earth Lodge, we found out that one reason for this is that the cases are so old that some can't be opened without being completely dismantled. The Lodge is a good example of what American Indian exhibits should be: an interactive reconstruction of American Indian life with well-informed docents on hand to answer questions--and we posed some tough ones. ("Where did they poop?") The cuter of the two bears working that afternoon called it "the best conversation I've had all day", which made mine.

The Pacific Northwest gallery had a different problem: too much. It was like a Salishan Louvre, with just so many examples of every sort of object that it was difficult to appreciate any of them, let alone take in the reams of descriptive information on offer. I'd somehow forgotten Boas' association with the Field and just how much non-linguistic material he'd managed to amass. We all megoed quickly and made our escape right at sunset.