So awhile ago, I told you guys that I’d tell you more about the neighborhood I live in, and after what happened the other night, it feels like the right time to dish.
I live in Lakeview, on the north side of Chicago, slightly northwest of Wrigley Field, on a street called Southport. Southport is the kind of place where most people, of my age and financial status, often grow to hate: it’s full of pricey boutiques and upscale coffee shops. A lot of families live here, and you’ll see the young, fit moms pushing a baby jogger with one hand and holding a specialty coffee in the other. There are two—TWO—stores where you can buy unique treats and clothes and toys for your dog. (And the dogs, oh my goodness. They’re all fluffy, well-behaved, purebred, adorable little animals, and I don’t even LIKE dogs.)
A lot of people hate this kind of stuff because it’s pricey and pretentious and whatnot, and it’s not like I have too much excess money to spend, but Southport really is nice as a result.
So Friday night, I decided to take the long walk home from the Southport stop on the brown line because I felt like I needed the exercise, and this turned out to be a very happy accident. It was the night of the Southport Holiday Stroll. Most of the stores had live music and big sales going on. There were Christmas lights and Christmas carols. I couldn’t even get inside one of the boutiques because there was a group of old people in there, singing the Hallelujah Chorus. And did they ever have a screechy soprano.
I stopped in this little clothing and jewelry boutique with a girl in a strapless black dress singing Christmas carols and strumming a guitar, who sounded faintly like Dolly Parton, and I felt like a little kid, exploring all the weird necklaces and hippy dresses and listening to county/western Christmas tunes. (Actually, I had to leave after two and a half songs because the singer’s voice kind of got to me.)
No, but seriously, the whole street was adorable. I love my pretentious little boutique neighborhood with all its unaffordable kitsch. I love the passersby with their North Face coats and their café mochas. And I love all the restaurants with the dog bowls sitting out for the puppies passing by. The world may be a miserable place, but you can forget that for a brief moment in my little neighborhood.
On a halfway unrelated note, we decorated our apartment for Christmas. Our decorations consist of the following:
WOO! Aren’t we festive??? (That tree, in case you can't tell, is about two feet tall. Including the stand.)
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