I went to Chicago over the weekend. The most noteworthy bit was when I got to see the White Sox beat Tampa Bay in game 3 of their ALDS matchup. Well OK, I had to leave before the actual win to catch my flight home, but when I left they were ahead and they didn't score more after I was gone, so I'm counting it as seeing the win. Our seats were right above the Sox bullpen (thanks to the fact that a sister of the friend I visited works for the White Sox). See, I got pictures:
My friend Jackie and I did lots of other stuff in Chicago and I'll post photos on Flickr. Maybe. Sooner or later.
But the thing currently sticking in my memory is that I was pulled aside for a pat-down while going through security at Midway. It wasn't random, either--apparently the three layers of shirts I was wearing (hey, I was at a ball game in Chicago in October--I could have frozen my ass off) made me look suspicious, because the guy yelled out "Female. Bulky. Pat-down." Yes, dude called me bulky. Loudly. And then I caught him checking out my ass while I was waiting for a woman TSA worker to show up and pat me down. I wanted to say something like "yeah, my ass is so hot it'll make the plane explode, baby!" But it's not a good idea to mess with TSA workers because you're never sure which one is going to be stupid, easily threatened and on a power trip. So I kept my mouth shut and eventually got a quick, cursory pat-down by a woman who was way bulkier than I am. She was very nice, almost apologetic, and I was on my way very quickly. So it wasn't such a big deal, just my chance to play a role in TSA's theater of the absurd