Non sequiturs. They're fun: tiny morsels of nonsense that were once in context, but once taken from that safe haven, become examples of Silly, although they are representative of actual conversations.
The title of this post was spoken by Valerae while describing her stay at Indy House. The events behind that statement, well, I am not at liberty to reveal. Val is small, but she will hit me, because she told me so.
Anyway. I heard this quote, and many others, on Friday afternoon, in the grand, muggy, smudged,
city of Chicago. A selection of Vox friends had gathered there for "Squee 2009".
Squee. Not a noun. Occasionally an adjective. Quite often a verb. Always an exclamation. Its origins come from http://www.cuteoverload.com. When a person is overloaded by The Cute (KITTENS!!!)…squee is the type of nonsensical yelp one will exclaim. Try it: look at a kitten and see what happens.
"That's the Chicago way."
Chicago weather all this past week had been rather aggressive. Arbed, AmyH, Laurie, Cap'n – all their flights had to be diverted or delayed, poor children. My flight was a 4.5 hr. non-stop (bless you Southwest!) flight from Los Angeles. LAX was surprisingly calm at 9AM, and the only thing of interest I saw was a rabbi standing at the window, reading his prayers, and bowing to the cloudy sky.
Still, as I later told Arbed, I hope never to travel with myself again. My worrying was a revelation – I don't think there was a single thing that escaped my anxiety. All quite for nothing.
Arbed, through threats of violence I think, got us into the poshest hotel (Ambassador East):
in the poshest part of the city (The Gold Coast – a name that made me expect to see either Andrew Carnagie or Blueboard walking through our neighborhood).
Valerae and I had The Frank Sinatra Suite. Oh. Hell Yes. How deluxe was this place? our extra roll of toilet paper was gift wrapped.
By the early afternoon, Valerae, Michelle, Mariser, Milord, Peg o' T. (is the magneta cap finished?), Arbed and my good self had gathered in our suite to talk, discuss, converse. We are, of course, an abundantly witty group. We were concerned about the thunderstoms that kept BrownA, AmyH, Laurie and the Cap'n grounded. But then we also had our concerns about where we should have our dinner.
We ate at Carmine's – a good, Mafiatastic name. We couldn't decide on the nationality of our waiter – certainly not Italian, though he put on a good show ("Yes ladies, you have a good conversation?"). We were later joined by the charming and devastating Brown Amazon. Our group was slowly becoming a complete one.
Afters, we stopped to buy a few nibbly bits, for our late-night talkiness:
This, plus a glass of merlot at dinner, and many refills of peach-apricot chardonney, courtesy of Valerae, led to a tiny bout of queasiness on Saturday morning. I staggered into our living room for a handful of pretzals to sop up all that naughty liquor.
(end of Part One)