The quiet of the past few days on the blog is partly due to my Internet turning all Mr. Uncooperative on me, but mostly because of why it got the chance to be uncooperative in the first place…I moved!
Yes, this is the first post coming to you from Mr. Rostan's new epicenter for thinking Thoughts About Things: The University of Chicago (with a capital T, just like The Ohio State University.)
The more faithful readers know where I live, while the rest of you…I'm not telling. Suffice to say that on this, my third day in residence, I am in possession of the nicest apartment I've ever owned, and the cheapest. Right now (the night before this goes up due to my necessary arrangements) I'm sitting at a massive desk which holds all my folders and pens and notebooks in its drawers, all my books and DVDs on its shelves, and my grandfather's cross tacked to the bulletin board. The kitchen is roomy, the living room massive (and empty due to a prohibition on applying adhesives or tacking devices to the walls), and the landlords and maintenance men the best in the business.
It also took only three hours to get everything put where it needed to be, thanks to one, my efficient packing, and two, my parents being here to help me out. We toasted the new establishment with the drink of champions, Pabst Blue Ribbon.
Did I melt down? Once, minorly, when I realized how alone I was and how much I still needed…I also for the last time this year missed a meal, lunch, which probably didn't help…but Mom talked me through it. Though God forgive me, I made her cry…not because of any of my lingering bad behaviors, but because she missed me already, though she knows (as she herself said) I am living the dream.
Otherwise, I already have a full week ahead of people to meet, things to do, papers on Johnson to write, bookstores and free art museums to visit, etc., thanks to laying sufficient ground work the past two days.
We got into town Wednesday night and I took the family to Medici on 57 for dinner, where I had the most chocolate-drenched milkshake ever. Thursday, I signed the lease, paid the rent, got the keys, and with a little help from Jose Guzman, janitor of janitors, we established the new residence, turning two previously empty rooms into the finest kitchen and bedroom in the city.
Friday, or today from the narration perspective, I made my first visit to the Ratner Center (yeah!) and then, after the last Frappucino of my foreseeable future, took the Metra downtown for a very successful interview with some people I hope to do business with in the future. (All readers with cash to spare, donate to the Chicago Humanities Festival!) Fate happened to lead me straight to the Jazz Record Mart, so of course I lingered for a while and picked up some Cannonball Adderley and Weather Report.
Then, Trader Joe's on Ontario. Lisa Huberman, the other great Illinoise-maker I know apart from the Blessed Carlee Tressel, filled me in on a little secret. You go to Trader Joe's and bring a large suitcase, buy enough groceries to last a month or so, then take a taxi back to your home on whatever outskirts you're currently at. I filled up my largest suitcase, plus three grocery bags on top of that, and paid $250….I thought it would be at least $300!
Still ended up topping that amount thanks to Treasure Island, or "The Land Without Sales." I spent proportionately more on soup, tuna fish, bananas, bread, and cheese. Going to check out more options in the future.
But apart from a visit to the Art Institute and church on Sunday, the rest of this week will be devoted to the great principle of W-O-R-K, now that the groundwork has been laid (and also to getting my damn wireless working)! I have a shelf full of Trollope, a vision of pioneering research in my mind, and all the more determination to keep it going.
Dad shook a little when we said our last goodbye (after desserting on sinful goodies from the Medici Bakery, a first-meal-in-the-apartment without typicality). That and Mommy today were enough to fire up the belly. With a little help from my friends, old and new, I am ready for…whatever comes next.
And whoever has Marc's iTouch…you'd better not show your face in the Windy City or I'll go Paper Lace on your ass.
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