As I began my career as a flack, I realised the real reason for why unassuming journo students are made to take this horrible course. Because when all news-spinning measures fail, surveys and studies are a quick and easy way to generate some ink. If you're a respectable hack, you'd want to question methodologies and mathematical errors of margin. Hence, it's necessary to read pie charts and percentage signs; however, one might feel, as I do, that it's much more important to know how to read past P.R. hoke and discern true news value.
Yesterday was a day full of statistics that more or less matter, as summertime weather took over the city for perhaps one last hurrah (we're supposed to be swirling in snow flurries this Thursday, wallowing in four-degree weather).
I ran the Bucktown 5K with Ursula and Ursula's friend Jonathan and Andrea and Andrea's friend Nina, bumping into LP and her crew along the way. The goal was to do better than last year, which I did -- chugging in at a time of 24:36. Now, I'm not making excuses or anything, but as I approached the final stretch, "Born to Run" kicked in on my iPod, as it was supposed to. But poor iScream had a meltdown, and shut down... at "stretched your legs 'cross my engines." I spent perhaps 30 seconds fiddling to turn her back on as I tried to sprint. Not knowing how far to the finish line (I didn't bother checking out the route), I had no idea when to kick for the final stretch after she started breathing again. All I knew was that I rounded the corner at Marshfield and Wabansia and boom, it was over.
Brunch at Riverside, bike ride home, softball. We scored 19 runs in the first inning, and went through the line-up two and one-third times before we retired the side. I had an 0-fer day. Brownstone was full, we went to the Grizzly Lodge. Beer and food were a long time coming, free pitcher.
King and I then visited the Bucktown Apple Pie Contest, where we were a little too late to sample all the competing pies, so ended up with just slabs of the fourth and fifth place ones. Pretty good, but not as good as the one at the Weits Cafe on Saturday.
We then made our way to Pilsen, where I bought six plums, a large bunch of grapes and two humongous onions for $4.25 off a pick-up truck. I would have paid at least $9.00 at Trader Joe's, which means that plastic boxes for fruit and netting for onions cost about $4.75. As well as bright smiles and music culture banter with the employees. We then had dinner at Los Comales #3, a bastardised tacqueria where burritos (uh-oh, gauche) were on the menu, as were tacos, gorditas, and Bistec a la Mexicana. In a break from the ritual of habit, I did not have the Bistec, as I am liable to do if it's on a menu. We ordered a plethora of tacos -- al pastor, flank steak, tripe, liver and tongue, gordita with nopales, and grilled onions on the side. These onions looked like they came from the ground to the table, with a pitstop on the griddle -- you popped it into your mouth with each bite of taco, bulb and stem and all. There was also a huge tub of pickled cauliflower, carrots and peppers to complement the food. King bit on something, and lost sensation in some taste buds for a few minutes.
There is one missing stat that would complete this story, and I'm a bad reporter for being remiss in including it. That would be how many calories were consumed in the day, from the early morning Luna Bar to bacon and empanadas at Riverside, from the Corona, alligator and fried calamari at the Grizzly to apple pie, and the deluge of heart-clogging Mexican and the chocolate ice cream I had for dessert at home.
Not forgetting Sara's pumpkin bread.
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