this happened last weekend...
Chicagos been pissing down downpours from 8 til 12 every night for a week. On Thursday I got stuck in it on my bike to the caf but kept on riding because there was nothing at home anyway, just a lazy computer, blank page, empty days. When I got to the caf my shirt was stuck to me like latex rubber and my pant legs had soaked up half of lake Michigan between them. I sat at the bar, plugged in, ordered a pint of Flying Dog and surfed the web, looking for comments, looking for admirers.
On Friday went to the ballet, was meant to go to a party after but when we got out it was pissing down and I couldnt turn down a ride home.
L and I went to a play on Saturday about Gone with the Wind. It wasnt much; something my mother would have liked a lot, tradition, tradition, laughs, a political agenda-lite. It was raining when we got out but only a little. We scampered to the train and rode to Belmont. It was just after wed left the liquor store with a fifth of Smirnoff and some orange juice that sky really opened, and we took up in a cove of an apartment building under the el tracks. I spiked the orange juice and Lauren lit a cigarette. We watched cars get valeted, the young Mexicans with their orange sticks run back to the restaurant for another job. I was getting antsy and wed killed the screwdriver so we walked to the club. The spot. Whatever. Adam Lee was spinning. Adam Lee is a dorky boy who looks like Kevin Smith or like someone who would wait for ten hours for a Star Wars ticket dressed up as Obi Wan Kenobi, but people seem to like him and I guess hes nice enough; I mean, I dont have anything against the kid. Lauren bought me a vodka coke and I sipped it and then refilled it to the brim from our fifth. We danced but the beat was kind of slow. Julia told me there was jungle downstairs but there was hardly anybody down there and no one was dancing. I went down anyway and it turned out the DJ was the one kid Id thought was a biscuit all night. There were seven or ten people down there but she was right, no one was dancing. Ive learned not to give a shit about these things. I danced by myself and then I started to get worried about Lauren and about my bag and my coat that Id left under a table upstairs so I started to head but ran into Lauren on my way up and she followed me even though I said I was coming back down.
I grabbed my bag but forgot my coat, went back upstairs and got it, came down and started dancing. Kept thinking to myself what I wouldnt give for some glowstickshow 1994 am I?and what do you know but a boy showed up and started playing not with glowsticks but with those zappy laser-pointer type things, one blue and one red, which isnt quite the same. I like it basic but I danced with him anyway.
You know how to dance to this music, he said.
Yeah.
So youre into jungle? he asked.
Yeah.
Where you from?
Here.
It got kind of boring after that and shit I was drunk, had had well more than my half of the bottle and there wasnt any left. I said good-bye to the boy. His name was Daniel and he DJed under the name Dank. To Wicker Park, someone declared and we piled out like elastic.
Where are we going? I asked.
To my car, C told me.
Oh. Wheres your car?
That way.
Hang up, someone yelled. It was Dank. Hey, Clare, you smoke?
What, schwag?
Not schwag. This is, like, the anti-schwag.
Oh. Okay. Sure.
So whats your deal? You look all, upscale.
I laughed. Hardly, I said. I walk dogs twelve hours a week and write poetry. My mom is a schoolteacher and my dads a schitzo. I pay 350 in rent and dont eat. Im not upscale.
Oh. Well you look good.
Thanks.
Chicagos been pissing down downpours from 8 til 12 every night for a week. On Thursday I got stuck in it on my bike to the caf but kept on riding because there was nothing at home anyway, just a lazy computer, blank page, empty days. When I got to the caf my shirt was stuck to me like latex rubber and my pant legs had soaked up half of lake Michigan between them. I sat at the bar, plugged in, ordered a pint of Flying Dog and surfed the web, looking for comments, looking for admirers.
On Friday went to the ballet, was meant to go to a party after but when we got out it was pissing down and I couldnt turn down a ride home.
L and I went to a play on Saturday about Gone with the Wind. It wasnt much; something my mother would have liked a lot, tradition, tradition, laughs, a political agenda-lite. It was raining when we got out but only a little. We scampered to the train and rode to Belmont. It was just after wed left the liquor store with a fifth of Smirnoff and some orange juice that sky really opened, and we took up in a cove of an apartment building under the el tracks. I spiked the orange juice and Lauren lit a cigarette. We watched cars get valeted, the young Mexicans with their orange sticks run back to the restaurant for another job. I was getting antsy and wed killed the screwdriver so we walked to the club. The spot. Whatever. Adam Lee was spinning. Adam Lee is a dorky boy who looks like Kevin Smith or like someone who would wait for ten hours for a Star Wars ticket dressed up as Obi Wan Kenobi, but people seem to like him and I guess hes nice enough; I mean, I dont have anything against the kid. Lauren bought me a vodka coke and I sipped it and then refilled it to the brim from our fifth. We danced but the beat was kind of slow. Julia told me there was jungle downstairs but there was hardly anybody down there and no one was dancing. I went down anyway and it turned out the DJ was the one kid Id thought was a biscuit all night. There were seven or ten people down there but she was right, no one was dancing. Ive learned not to give a shit about these things. I danced by myself and then I started to get worried about Lauren and about my bag and my coat that Id left under a table upstairs so I started to head but ran into Lauren on my way up and she followed me even though I said I was coming back down.
I grabbed my bag but forgot my coat, went back upstairs and got it, came down and started dancing. Kept thinking to myself what I wouldnt give for some glowstickshow 1994 am I?and what do you know but a boy showed up and started playing not with glowsticks but with those zappy laser-pointer type things, one blue and one red, which isnt quite the same. I like it basic but I danced with him anyway.
You know how to dance to this music, he said.
Yeah.
So youre into jungle? he asked.
Yeah.
Where you from?
Here.
It got kind of boring after that and shit I was drunk, had had well more than my half of the bottle and there wasnt any left. I said good-bye to the boy. His name was Daniel and he DJed under the name Dank. To Wicker Park, someone declared and we piled out like elastic.
Where are we going? I asked.
To my car, C told me.
Oh. Wheres your car?
That way.
Hang up, someone yelled. It was Dank. Hey, Clare, you smoke?
What, schwag?
Not schwag. This is, like, the anti-schwag.
Oh. Okay. Sure.
So whats your deal? You look all, upscale.
I laughed. Hardly, I said. I walk dogs twelve hours a week and write poetry. My mom is a schoolteacher and my dads a schitzo. I pay 350 in rent and dont eat. Im not upscale.
Oh. Well you look good.
Thanks.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
Ill send you an email sometime about your trouble. I do have some opinions and insights on the subject, but as a man, I must admit that I have no standing in expounding upon them. Anyway. Thanks for the comment/group-joining/note. All were much appreciated.
Also, check out my current post on creepiness. Id love to know what you think.