Where Have You Gone, PVC Nova?
I haven't posted anything since Thursday, and even that was just a mini-rant. I apologize to those of you looking to me for entertainment over the weekend. A breakdown of the weekend, then:
Friday, I made a half-assed attempt at gathering signatures for a guy who's decided to try to get on the gubernatorial ballot at the very last second. I got a whopping total of four signatures all afternoon. My friends were completely non-committal when I asked them to sign, as they are pretty much all Republicans to the core. To be honest, I didn't even know this guy was a Democrat until I saw a news story about him after I signed on to help, and now I feel like a jerk for not looking into it before agreeing. But, hey, this is Chicago, and there's not really such a thing as a Chicago Republican, excluding my family and close friends.
My sister also signed up to help. Her efforts were limited to walking around Lincoln Park for a couple hours Saturday afternoon. After gathering barely a handful of signatures, she gave up and retired to Kincaid's. Really, who can blame her? The response she got was less than lukewarm. Even admitted Democrats told her, "He doesn't have a chance." No kidding. When I told her that I was not too geared up to help this guy because he's a Democrat, she said, "Well, I'm not a Republican anyway." Then I remembered: when she went to law school, she finally made a non-white, non-Christian friend for the first time in her 25th year, and suddenly became a head-fake communist, $800 Burberry coat and $300 Brooks Brothers suit and all.
So, back to me, I gave up seeking signatures after about an hour, and focused my attention on setting up my brother's birthday party. One of his friends--the Wej--and I drove up to Seamus's house, where we set up the keg, then hurried back downtown for dinner. Seamus and Bill were already at my place drinking beers and waiting for dinner. This was all done without my brother's knowledge; since we were trying to pull off a surprise party, we figured it'd be best to be as shady as possible until the very last minute. I left them and headed up to my brother's at quarter to eight.
On the walk up Dearborn, I ran into Sheehan and Johnny the Red. It was an extremely awkward meeting. They were going to see "Walk the Line," and seeing as they know how much I love Johnny Cash, I was pretty pissed that they didn't even call me. Who knows? Johnny the Red was like, "That's so weird, Pat. I was just saying, 'What's up with Pat?'" I wanted to say, "And what reason did Sheehan give for blowing me off? I invited him to this party I'm putting together, but he didn't respond." But I held my tongue. Sheehan can be a really weird guy, and I feel like he's tried to make a group of friends without me. So I reminded them about the party, but I knew they wouldn't show up, because apparently I wasn't on the cool guy list that night. Hold on a second while I recover from the disappointment.
I met Proehl in front of my brother's and we went upstairs. Murton had a buddy in from Boston, and my brother finally came downstairs after making us wait for a half hour. Then the five of us walked over to Orso's, and the other three guys who were in my apartment showed up a few minutes after us--those three being Seamus, Bill and the Wej. Not surprisingly, we got really trashed and insulted most of the people in the small restaurant. I kept waving my arms around my head, shouting, "Hey! We're in public, not at my house!" No one seemed to care, though, and midway through dinner I gave up trying to impose an edit-button function. My brother forgot to get a smoking table, so we had to get up to go outside to smoke. They have an outdoor bar out back that's enclosed with a tent-like covering in the winter. It sure beat going outside, or standing in the small bar area.
After dinner, Bill and I ran out to a cab and unlocked Seamus' house. When the rest of them arrived, we were like, "Surprise!" And my brother was like, "Surprise what?" And I was like, "Surprise, we got you a keg!" It wasn't much of a surprise, to be honest, but that's okay. At least we tried.
A few more people showed up, but I don't even remember who was at the party. Proehl started doing kegstands the second he got there. Then someone began floating rumors that he had an eating disorder, something I refused to take part in. Maybe he just stopped eating like crap, or got off the couch more than once a month. For example, old Proehl would have never walked the six blocks from my brother's to the restaurant, but new Proehl laughed when I asked if we should hail cabs. Who knows? He has disappeared over the last few months, because he got a girl. Well, whatever. It's bound to happen. Who, I ask, who has ever gotten a girlfriend without pissing off his buddies? It's just not possible to invent extra time. It's funny how you don't realize how much your friends need you around until you're not around anymore.
At one point, most of the party disappeared, off to some bar. I missed that train, however, because I was deeply engaged with someone I don't know about the war in Iraq. I wasn't sure why they needed to go to the bar, but I know my brother was behind the push. He's always behind the "let's go anywhere but here" push, and it never really goes anywhere. I'm sure he goes into the bar intending to hit on girls, but he mostly just ends up getting really piss-drunk and screaming instead. Ah, genes.
At quarter to six, the keg finally kicked. Seamus, House, and Katie Belfour were still conscious, and said they were going to House's to drink more. I got in a cab with them, but stayed on after we dropped them off at House's. I had the cabbie drop me off at McDonald's on Chicago and got me some grease. When I was walking past my Starbucks, I looked up at them and saw that they were laughing at what a mess I was. I was completely stumbling, but whatever. It was my brother's birthday party, so screw them. Make me an espresso, and shut up.
I got home, ate, and typed up a blog post. I thankfully passed out before I could publish it, because it turned out to be an incomprehensible rant about nothing in particular, riddled with drunken cursing and illogical trains of thought.
I woke up at one the next afternoon with a screaming headache, and rolled over again until five. I was in bad shape. At six, I rallied, showered, and went out for a walk. That's when I called my sister and got the report on her attempted signature-gathering endeavor. She wanted me to go out with her and her friends, but I was in no condition to go bar hopping. Also, Seamus called and said he wanted to get dinner and see the new Harry Potter movie, but he ended up blowing me off. It was just as well, because I was in the mood to spend the night alone.
Michigan Avenue was jammed with people, because of the Christmas season kick off parade. I'm not kidding--there must have been a million people out there. The stores were open late, and the restaurants were totally jammed. I was happy that south Michigan was mostly empty. I wandered around the area of the Loop near the Art Institute, to do some location spotting for Pruitt. I made a bunch of notes about details I'd gotten wrong when writing from memory, came up with a few character names, and had a couple cigs on the steps of the A.I. Then I walked through Millenium Park, back up Michigan, and over toward my house.
I stopped by McDonald's for the second time that day, because I decided that my arteries aren't quite clogged enough. I also ran over to the grocery store and loaded up for the week. I love going into stores just before they close. I can't deal with lines. After unolading my groceries, I reclined on my couch and flipped around the t.v. for the rest of the night. I read some Sherlock Holmes before passing out.
This morning, I woke up at 10 and thought about going out for some signatures at the churches near my house, but thought better of it. I watched the Bears pre-game shows and the game. I can't believe they beat Carolina! Holy cow! Maybe they're actually better than everybody thought. At what point will people consider them a legitimate threat, and not the beneficiaries of a weak schedule? Maybe if they win a playoff game, but probably never. All I know is, the Bears defense is ridiculously scary.
Mom called at halftime and said she was coming down to pick up my sister, because my brother took the car up to the 'burbs yesterday and stayed overnight. She got back from Florida yesterday afternoon and brought my grandpa home with her. This is the first time in years he's been in Chicago during the winter. He's developed some mysterious liver problem, which is amazing on several levels. On one hand, though he was in the liquor business for forty years, he never, ever drinks. On the other, he's 87 years old, and it's remarkable that this is the first medical crisis of his life. I can't remember him ever staying overnight in a hospital before last week, so it must be pretty serious. He'll be okay, but if not, he's lead a good, long life. That seems to be his take on it, which is much better than my paternal grandma's situation, as she is depressed and praying to die, but will probably live to be 120.
So that's that. I'm going to shower, walk for a little bit, and take the El the rest of the way home once I get sick of walking. Not too exciting, but not exactly nothing either.
Friday, I made a half-assed attempt at gathering signatures for a guy who's decided to try to get on the gubernatorial ballot at the very last second. I got a whopping total of four signatures all afternoon. My friends were completely non-committal when I asked them to sign, as they are pretty much all Republicans to the core. To be honest, I didn't even know this guy was a Democrat until I saw a news story about him after I signed on to help, and now I feel like a jerk for not looking into it before agreeing. But, hey, this is Chicago, and there's not really such a thing as a Chicago Republican, excluding my family and close friends.
My sister also signed up to help. Her efforts were limited to walking around Lincoln Park for a couple hours Saturday afternoon. After gathering barely a handful of signatures, she gave up and retired to Kincaid's. Really, who can blame her? The response she got was less than lukewarm. Even admitted Democrats told her, "He doesn't have a chance." No kidding. When I told her that I was not too geared up to help this guy because he's a Democrat, she said, "Well, I'm not a Republican anyway." Then I remembered: when she went to law school, she finally made a non-white, non-Christian friend for the first time in her 25th year, and suddenly became a head-fake communist, $800 Burberry coat and $300 Brooks Brothers suit and all.
So, back to me, I gave up seeking signatures after about an hour, and focused my attention on setting up my brother's birthday party. One of his friends--the Wej--and I drove up to Seamus's house, where we set up the keg, then hurried back downtown for dinner. Seamus and Bill were already at my place drinking beers and waiting for dinner. This was all done without my brother's knowledge; since we were trying to pull off a surprise party, we figured it'd be best to be as shady as possible until the very last minute. I left them and headed up to my brother's at quarter to eight.
On the walk up Dearborn, I ran into Sheehan and Johnny the Red. It was an extremely awkward meeting. They were going to see "Walk the Line," and seeing as they know how much I love Johnny Cash, I was pretty pissed that they didn't even call me. Who knows? Johnny the Red was like, "That's so weird, Pat. I was just saying, 'What's up with Pat?'" I wanted to say, "And what reason did Sheehan give for blowing me off? I invited him to this party I'm putting together, but he didn't respond." But I held my tongue. Sheehan can be a really weird guy, and I feel like he's tried to make a group of friends without me. So I reminded them about the party, but I knew they wouldn't show up, because apparently I wasn't on the cool guy list that night. Hold on a second while I recover from the disappointment.
I met Proehl in front of my brother's and we went upstairs. Murton had a buddy in from Boston, and my brother finally came downstairs after making us wait for a half hour. Then the five of us walked over to Orso's, and the other three guys who were in my apartment showed up a few minutes after us--those three being Seamus, Bill and the Wej. Not surprisingly, we got really trashed and insulted most of the people in the small restaurant. I kept waving my arms around my head, shouting, "Hey! We're in public, not at my house!" No one seemed to care, though, and midway through dinner I gave up trying to impose an edit-button function. My brother forgot to get a smoking table, so we had to get up to go outside to smoke. They have an outdoor bar out back that's enclosed with a tent-like covering in the winter. It sure beat going outside, or standing in the small bar area.
After dinner, Bill and I ran out to a cab and unlocked Seamus' house. When the rest of them arrived, we were like, "Surprise!" And my brother was like, "Surprise what?" And I was like, "Surprise, we got you a keg!" It wasn't much of a surprise, to be honest, but that's okay. At least we tried.
A few more people showed up, but I don't even remember who was at the party. Proehl started doing kegstands the second he got there. Then someone began floating rumors that he had an eating disorder, something I refused to take part in. Maybe he just stopped eating like crap, or got off the couch more than once a month. For example, old Proehl would have never walked the six blocks from my brother's to the restaurant, but new Proehl laughed when I asked if we should hail cabs. Who knows? He has disappeared over the last few months, because he got a girl. Well, whatever. It's bound to happen. Who, I ask, who has ever gotten a girlfriend without pissing off his buddies? It's just not possible to invent extra time. It's funny how you don't realize how much your friends need you around until you're not around anymore.
At one point, most of the party disappeared, off to some bar. I missed that train, however, because I was deeply engaged with someone I don't know about the war in Iraq. I wasn't sure why they needed to go to the bar, but I know my brother was behind the push. He's always behind the "let's go anywhere but here" push, and it never really goes anywhere. I'm sure he goes into the bar intending to hit on girls, but he mostly just ends up getting really piss-drunk and screaming instead. Ah, genes.
At quarter to six, the keg finally kicked. Seamus, House, and Katie Belfour were still conscious, and said they were going to House's to drink more. I got in a cab with them, but stayed on after we dropped them off at House's. I had the cabbie drop me off at McDonald's on Chicago and got me some grease. When I was walking past my Starbucks, I looked up at them and saw that they were laughing at what a mess I was. I was completely stumbling, but whatever. It was my brother's birthday party, so screw them. Make me an espresso, and shut up.
I got home, ate, and typed up a blog post. I thankfully passed out before I could publish it, because it turned out to be an incomprehensible rant about nothing in particular, riddled with drunken cursing and illogical trains of thought.
I woke up at one the next afternoon with a screaming headache, and rolled over again until five. I was in bad shape. At six, I rallied, showered, and went out for a walk. That's when I called my sister and got the report on her attempted signature-gathering endeavor. She wanted me to go out with her and her friends, but I was in no condition to go bar hopping. Also, Seamus called and said he wanted to get dinner and see the new Harry Potter movie, but he ended up blowing me off. It was just as well, because I was in the mood to spend the night alone.
Michigan Avenue was jammed with people, because of the Christmas season kick off parade. I'm not kidding--there must have been a million people out there. The stores were open late, and the restaurants were totally jammed. I was happy that south Michigan was mostly empty. I wandered around the area of the Loop near the Art Institute, to do some location spotting for Pruitt. I made a bunch of notes about details I'd gotten wrong when writing from memory, came up with a few character names, and had a couple cigs on the steps of the A.I. Then I walked through Millenium Park, back up Michigan, and over toward my house.
I stopped by McDonald's for the second time that day, because I decided that my arteries aren't quite clogged enough. I also ran over to the grocery store and loaded up for the week. I love going into stores just before they close. I can't deal with lines. After unolading my groceries, I reclined on my couch and flipped around the t.v. for the rest of the night. I read some Sherlock Holmes before passing out.
This morning, I woke up at 10 and thought about going out for some signatures at the churches near my house, but thought better of it. I watched the Bears pre-game shows and the game. I can't believe they beat Carolina! Holy cow! Maybe they're actually better than everybody thought. At what point will people consider them a legitimate threat, and not the beneficiaries of a weak schedule? Maybe if they win a playoff game, but probably never. All I know is, the Bears defense is ridiculously scary.
Mom called at halftime and said she was coming down to pick up my sister, because my brother took the car up to the 'burbs yesterday and stayed overnight. She got back from Florida yesterday afternoon and brought my grandpa home with her. This is the first time in years he's been in Chicago during the winter. He's developed some mysterious liver problem, which is amazing on several levels. On one hand, though he was in the liquor business for forty years, he never, ever drinks. On the other, he's 87 years old, and it's remarkable that this is the first medical crisis of his life. I can't remember him ever staying overnight in a hospital before last week, so it must be pretty serious. He'll be okay, but if not, he's lead a good, long life. That seems to be his take on it, which is much better than my paternal grandma's situation, as she is depressed and praying to die, but will probably live to be 120.
So that's that. I'm going to shower, walk for a little bit, and take the El the rest of the way home once I get sick of walking. Not too exciting, but not exactly nothing either.
posted by Pat at 3:33 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home