It's fucking early.

Update via notebook:

On my way to the El I hocked a loogie through the chickenwire fence on the Kennedy overpass. The wind was blowing the other way, and when it caught on the fence, my loogie started stretching back the way it came, as if to flout my attempt to deposit it away from the sidewalk. It was beautiful; I watched it as I walked away.

Sitting on the El, across the aisle from me was a woman with the most pristine "casual" appearance I've seen. Manicured, pedicured, hair in just the right ponytail (she even checked it when she sat down to make sure everything was in place), eyes wide open and unblinking with that Botox-I-can't-move-my-eyebrows look. It's freaky. She looked like a plastic doll in jeans and lilac t-shirt and flip-flops.

The Botox face reminds me of Chris Milne. I watched her reflection in the glass for a kind of vicarious nostalgia.

Security wasn't that bad at O'Hare. I had an hour and a half to kill after I got here, and killed a good fifteen minutes of it looking for a Cinnabon. Successfully, I might add. I read Laura's interview with the Blackout Shoppers in Punk Planet, and realized that's the band we're seeing tonight. Looking forward to it.