March 25, 2008
All That Is Splendid in America: Part 1
Recently, I found out that I have another cousin in Norway. Turns out, my grandmother and her great grandmother were sisters, which makes us... second cousins once removed, I believe. So we can totally get married.
Except that she’s a she. Which would be awkward. Is that legal in Norway? I’m going to assume that it is, since those wacky Norwegians -– and their neighbors -– are waaaaaaaaay ahead of us Puritan Americans on so many other levels of coolness.
Inga is studying to be an English translator. She wants to translate books and movies -– stuff like that. I tell ya, her written English is far better than any you’ll find on THIS blog, dat’s fer damn shure!
She’s from the small town of Spydeberg, Norway (45 min. south of Oslo). Which is not, much to my chagrin, pronounced “Spidey-berg.” Because how cool would that be?! No, it’s pronounced spee’-dih-behrg. Or something.
This semester, she’s going to school in New Jersey, for some exposure to the English language.
Now, people. Can you imagine? She has friends who went to England, Canada and Australia to learn English, and she’s gonna go home with a New Jersey accent. God help us. And until this week, New Jersey was the only part of America she had seen! Well, that and New York, which is basically Chicago-Wanna-Be, so that doesn’t really count.
But finally, on Wednesday, all of Inga’s dreams of the land of opportunity came true when Sue and I took her downtown Chicago to witness all that is pure and shining and splendid in America. That’s right, we went to Billy Goat for lunch.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Sue came with us because she was available (being a teacher and on spring break this week), and because she is more familiar with Chicago than I am. Which, admittedly, isn’t saying much, but thank God she was there to navigate. I drove, while she discussed our options from the map, we’d vote on it, and then I’d turn the wheel. Driving by committee. Recommended for all suburbanites who dare to leave the sanctity of their gated communities.
The three of us went to the Art Institute first. My two must-sees: the Thorne Rooms (little tiny opulent dollhouse rooms!!!!! squeeeeeee!) and the European wing, 1500s-1800s. There’s something about old religious art that fascinates me. (As a Scorpio, I am interested in both the holy and the profane.)
I’m all, “Look at the light on the folds of her sleeve!” and “I wonder what’s the significance of the caribou in this picture?” And I’m sure Inga was like, “You know, we do have art in Oslo. Can we go now?” Mind you, regardless of how I sound, I’m too ignorant to be pretentious. I’m merely retarded and easily distracted by pretty things.
(By the way, I have a six-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon kind of link with one of the guys who helped build the Thorne rooms, but I’m not telling you which one or how because I don’t want you weirdos stalking me. Unless you’re hott. Or bitterly sarcastic. Then please email me at piratewenchdotorg@yahoo.com, and I’ll email you directions to my house.)
(Oh, also? I’m pretty sure my grandfather has a piece or two displayed in the museum, too, but I’m not telling you what. See above parenthetical paragraph.)
Speaking of pretty things, we made Heather meet us at the Billy Goat
The original Billy Goat Tavern is a seedy dive underneath Michigan Ave. that’s famous because of... some curse? And a goat? And the Cubs? I don’t know. Someone told me once, but the explanation is almost as boring as the game of baseball itself, so I forgot. Still, Wrigley Field is pretty, and we’d all rather be there with a beer in hand than at work on a weekday, so we go, and we make supernatural excuses for what we all know to be true deep in our hearts -– the Cubbies suck.
Oh, it’s also famous because John Belushi immortalized the Billy Goat’s colorful atmosphere in an SNL skit some decades back. “Cheeseborger, cheeseborger, cheeseborger! No fries – chips! No Coke – Pepsi!” Classic, and yet not on YouTube. (I'm writing my congressman.)
Heather arrived first and tipped the toothless busboy five bucks to save a table for us while she got a burger. So when he arrived, he was all, "What can I get you to drink?" and pulling our chairs out for us. Five bucks can still buy you some serious bowing and scraping!
When we finally got there, that is. The Billy Goat is on Lower Michican, and when you're standing on normal Michigan, it can be kind of a challenge. It's like, "Okay, we want to be... directly below where we are right now. Anyone see any stairs?"
I had Sue and Inga sit down while I got burgers for everyone. Including Heather, who was still hungry after her first. And when I got back, there was beer waiting for me. Sometimes the world just works like that -- in perfect synchronicity.
I'm sure Inga now thinks that Chicago is populated entirely by white trash. Geez, even taking her to Ed Debevic's would have been classier! The Billy Goat never sees the light of day, which is fine because the windows are all boarded up anyway. The menu consists of about five things, and if you don't order the way the guy behind the counter wants you to order, he hassles you.
It was fun watching the tourists in front of me wrap their brains around the fact that the Billy Goat doesn't serve fries. Well, funny for a while. And then I wanted to punch them. "Man, I was really looking forward to some fries." "No fries -- chips! Don't make me call 911!"
Does Mr. Billy Goat call 911 on the stupid tourists? Find out tomorrow, when the adventures continue!
Comments
I love that you took her too billy goat, hon. it was great to meet y'all there, to PIG the hell out on burgers, and to invigorate the toothless economy.
it's a lot better than the strip mall food court, that's for sure!
no fries -Cheeps!!!!!
Posted by: heather at March 25, 2008 11:43 AM
to, not too. sheesh, I swear I know the difference.
Posted by: heather at March 26, 2008 10:04 AM