Yesterday, my brother Andy pick-up trucked me to the commuter train station, and I headed for Chicago to join Thomas at his economic conference. Well, actually, I’m going nowhere near the conference itself. I’m just enjoying hotel life on the Magnificent Mile (some dress shopping is definitely in order).

David invited me to meet him at the opening of Art Chicago, where he drank whiskey like water (me: “Hey, isn’t drinking all that whiskey and mixing it with red wine going to make your stomach all sloshy?” Him: “Nope”) and broke the law. He introduced me to Olivia, Julie, and Rusty as his “second-oldest friend,” which is technically untrue. I think he met our mutual friend Becky first, at the record store where she and I worked from ages 16 to 18.

Art Chicago was a zoo. There were floors of art, but we were mostly directed by where we could find food. On the 12th floor, I saw photographs by Joel-Peter Witkin and asked, “Are we on the Important People floor?” David said yes, but that the 9th floor was more “Finger on the Pulse.” We mostly stayed on the 9th floor. But, beyond me choking on a drink upon seeing a certain painting, I couldn’t really absorb anything. Also, I felt kind of shy, because what if I said I liked something, and got an eye-roll from all the funky artist types? Though everyone was way too nice to give me the eye-roll, so I don’t really know what I was worried about.

I went back to the hotel early, and read in bed until I devoured the very end of the book, which is one of my favorite things in the world to do.