Better Late Than Never

Sometimes it's only 5 minutes. Usually it's at least 10. Okay, more like 15. And then there are the times - and I'm not proud of this - that it's half an hour or so. Hi, my name is Kari and I'm Chronically Late.

This little habit of mine drives my friends INSANE. Michelle has coined a phrase for it. It goes a little like this: "DAMN THE REDS! Damn damn damn them TO HELL. " Because, you see, the lateness is genetic. Wendi also has it. And we are late for everything.

Part of it is because we live much farther from downtown than most of our friends. It takes longer to get home and longer to come back. And when you're at the mercy of public transportation, everything is up for grabs. 20, 25 minutes waiting for a bus. 15 minutes waiting for a train. The train crawls along slightly faster than a granny with a walker and one leg, or else just sits on the tracks for long stretches of time for no visible reason. Really, it's a wonder we get anywhere at all.

But you can only blame the CTA for so much. Many a Friday night Wendi and I have gotten sucked into a certain television show (shut up) only to glance at the clock and realize that we are supposed meet people at a bar in approximately four minutes. I look at her. She looks at me. "You think we should start getting ready now?" "After this is over." "Sounds good."

I don't know what happened. I used to be a slave to punctuality. I was actually early most of the time, if you can imagine such a thing. I was the one who would wait for the Laties. I was the one who built 15 extra minutes into the schedule just in case I couldn't find parking. I liked being the first one there. You get the pleasure of rolling your eyes and sighing and looking pointedly at your watch when the other person rushes in out of breath and looking sheepish. You see opening bands and movie previews. You get a seat at the bar. I love to sit. Sitting rules.

But no matter how hard I try, I just cannot be on time anymore. This morning? 45 minutes late for work.

It was totally the CTA's fault, though.


I'm late! I'm late! For a very important date!
Or, you know, all of them.
•   •   •   •   •   •
Second date with Concert Josh tonight - dinner and then we're going to the Empty Bottle to see the latest pinup boys of indie, The Hold Steady. I adore this band. They're odd and unexpected and hilarious, and their live sets are a raucous, rawking good time. Craig Finn doesn't so much sing as spew the songs out, and his writing is so crisp and clever and profuse that the whole spectacle is almost overwhelming. But in a good way. Kind of like an ice cream headache. Mmmm, ice cream.

"Your Little Hoodrat Friend"
"The Swish"