Another pomegranate. There was ANOTHER broken pomegranate. This one was sitting in the middle of the quadrangle on campus, about 50 miles away from the one I say yesterday morning. What is with these decaying fruits? Is it a message of some kind?

I had a very enjoyable sojourn into the city yesterday. The sunny weather had me in an insanely good mood � I�m such a pushover for sunshine at this time of year. I finally remembered to bring my headphones so I got to groove to the Chemical Brothers, Sleater-Kinney, Joni Mitchell and Patsy Cline on the train while I worked on my dissertation.

I had a pleasant walk from Northwestern station to the Metra station at Randolph and Michigan. I hurried by my old building. The old Chicago Board of Trade building, which was our view in that place, is now torn down. I�ve seen it before but it stuns me every time. I�m glad I wasn�t there for that � I loved that view. Our condo was on the level of the tops of the capitals of the columns. Just above the columns, barely visible from the street, was a row of carved representations of the commodities once traded there � pigs, poultry, sheaves of wheat. It was a beautiful building. But the new things going up were equally arresting. I love the way the new bandshell looms into view at the end of Washington like some enormous and vaguely ominous creature.

I dove into the pedway at Daley Plaza instead of waiting for a light to turn green. I�ve always had a fondness for the pedway, a whole city underground. It seems particularly urban. And it always makes me think of Subway, that movie with Christophe Lambert before he turned into an English-speaking Tarzan. Plus, if I hadn�t been in the pedway, I would have missed the signs for Marshall Fields wig sale. I�ve always had a fascination with wig stores. They are so numerous in large cities, but noticeably absent in the suburbs. Do they not sell wigs in the suburbs? What�s so urban about a wig? Or is it just that suburbanites are unwilling to admit their wig-dependency? In any case, the Fields wig displays did not disappoint.

I used to consider myself a pedway connoisseur. I think I�ve walked just about every inch of it at one time or another, although I�m not sure I remember all its twists and turns now. When I was still living in Hyde Park and working downtown, I used to do regular runs from the Metra electric station at Randolph and Michigan to the building next to my office on the west side of LaSalle, across from City Hall.

I hopped on another train to the south side. Debarking at 59th street, I managed to get down the stairs without skidding on something wet and slimy, as is my usual modus operandi. I headed first to the library to return a recalled book and then headed to the bookstore to purchase my own copy of the book I had just returned. I was feeling very Zen about my book exchange, until I found another book that I also had to bring home. After the acquisition of two paperbacks and the resultant loss of $70 (goddamn academic book pricing), I stopped to say hi to my friend H. who works at the bookstore. She was about to get off work, so I waited upstairs in the dark listening to my former boss practicing the organ in the chapel. At least I assume it was he. I didn�t actually see him, as the chapel doors were locked, but I know his playing well and I also know he practices there regularly. Something about standing around a Gothic building in the dark with an organ playing was incredibly soothing. I�d been feeling unaccountably anxious all day. I was hoping to get a chance to say hello, but he was still playing when it was time to go.

H. and I walked to her spacious new apartment which in some ways looks like any other apartment in the neighborhood, but had an incredibly positive feeling. Definitely a good karma apartment. Her cat, Leonard the Excellent, greeted us vociferously and managed to be directly in front of us wherever we went until H. finally lured him away with the promise of a can-opener. We talked about many things � allergies, housecleaning, ex-boyfriends, singing, books � until it was time to head to book group. We hiked a couple of blocks and managed to arrive at the same time as everyone else � a very rare occurrence with our group, where people tend to drop in and out throughout the evening. There were eight of us, my favorite number for a meeting � enough for multiple opinions, not so many that we break into separate conversations. The book, Jhumpa Lahiri�s The Namesake was also perfect for discussing, as we all enjoyed reading it but also had a number of criticisms about it. I ended up leaving earlier than I had planned, as I hitched a ride downtown with B., who had to leave early. Present were myself, H., S., our hostess, the two Ls, one who works for a hospital, another owns her own business, K., an attorney, and M, whose career remains a bit mysterious to me. Also present was B is a science writer, who had just finished a piece on language acquisition. After hearing about her work we ended up having a really interesting discussion about language and language acquisition, how the brain works with patterns, and what chimpanzees talk about once they know sign language (tickling).. The food was well-seasoned, the wine was plentiful, the seemingly innocuous angel food cake for dessert was made with black pepper that left a wonderful heat on your tongue after you swallowed it.

B. gave me a lift to the train station. On the way there we talked about the relative virtues of suburban and urban living. She, like me, is an avid gardener and a writer wo likes some quie in her life. But we both also crave the stimulation of the city. It�s hard to reconcile. The city still looks incredible at night. Almost superstitiously, I feel like I have to keep looking, that I can�t look away until its lights are out of sight, lest it disappear altogether .

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