I think I’ve been forgetting what I actually made this here blog thing for – jotting down all the stuff I do, people I hang out with, etc. So anyway…Chicago trip from Labor Day.
It was a 10-4 week, so I got the friday off “for free”. The only decent flight I could get was at 6:30am, though, which meant (besides no shampoo, toothpaste, or spermicidally lubricated condoms, because it’s just so easy to make a James Bond explosive in the lavvie) getting up at 4am to deal with the
man with the rubber glove expected security line. So rather than try to get all the way from my house to Logan before I was conscious, I crashed at J.R.’s place the night before.
On the way there, while walking to the T I ran into that guy*. Way-locals (GJM) might know the one I’m talking about. Sometime last year, someone had painted the text “WATCH OUT FOR THE MEDICATED MAN” on the sidewalk, with an arrow in the direction of Powderhouse Square. I wonder if this is what it was referring to. Anyway, there’s this older guy, definitely, shall we say, not all there, who’s always hanging around on that stretch of sidewalk between the bus stop and the next street. Usually he just sits on a bench shouting unintelligible things at people. This evening I guess he was more in a mood to talk–a lot–because he was standing and started following me, walking alongside and talking (/yelling) some stuff for the next several blocks. (This speech had the “tongue three sizes too big for face” quality, and I could only make out a few words. It seemed to be some kind of religious diatribe; there was something in there about angels of death etc., and ended with “peace, brother”.) I didn’t tell him to fuck off since I wasn’t sure how stable/unstable a person I was dealing with, but I also knew if I gave him any acknowledgement, I might never be rid of him, so I pretty much just tried not to make eye contact. Eventually the speil ended and he started walking back to his spot next to Powderhouse.
This would not be complete without a visit to Fry’s Electronics (of “I am retiring these pants” fame), where I picked up a sweet, actual real digital camera (of the non-hacked, non dispose-o-cam variety)…8MPx and 12x optical zoom. You can practically count the facets on a damselfly’s eye. My folks covered part of it as a birthday present :P (Why does holding a camera with a huge lens make one yearn to shoot amateur pornography?)
Spent a nice night hanging at Nando’s place in his jacuzzi…his little brothers were trying to score with some hoes they brought over; with a poorly-hidden case of Bud Light (blech!) in the bushes. Undoubtedly having nothing whatsoever to do with the sons + girls thing, Mr. Nando decides that 11pm is the perfect time to pull his car out within eyeshot of everything and start washing it. “Washing”, in this context, involving the notional fine-tipped toothbrush for those hard-to-reach spots up inside the muffler. You know, just being thorough and all. Once he’s reached the “risk of wearing holes in the paintjob” point, out comes vehicle #2 for a DEA-grade detailing. Finally “CINDI 71”, not-worth-washing-mobile, comes out for some suds. By now it was well after midnight and we were placing bets on whether he’d do the conversion van next. What instead happend was he went a-scouring around the outside perimeter of the house, found the kids’ case of Bud, and shooed everyone out. This included shutting down the hot tub on us fully grown adults and ordering Matt to come in for the night, so we snuck him out and did some drinking/movie/party stuff at our house.
(As an aside, sometimes I get the feeling that I’m the only person I know whose parents aren’t completely fucked in the head. And as for you Matt… high time to move out!)
Spent a night at the cabin, luckily not getting chased around by my little cousins** any more than usual. An aunt and uncle from my dad’s side and two aunts and uncle from my mom’s side were there – supposedly, my dad managed to get both uncles to come fishing with him together, on the same boat and everything. I took some pictures of mushrooms, had an apple off my tree (not bad, but kinda dry and wormy), and brought home one of the big puffballs I found in the woods for a snack (a lot like tofu; good with butter and onions). My brother and I hot tubbed, got a bunch of us together for a bonfire (s’mores, foil-onion-burger-balls, and meat on a stick!).
My bro and I went out to KRISTOFF’s new place in Elburn, IL… where the hell is that, you ask? Yeah, that’s what I said too. But found it anyway (even if it involved at one point being headed westbound on East North Street…I am not making this up), we got a little party together, rocked out to rad 80s tunes, and built a fort out of blankets, chairs and couch cushions :-P
Went over and hung out with J* and E* briefly… saw E* again the next day, and it branched into romantic territory. More into romantic territory than I expected. Leave it to me to feel more guilty than excited, heh. I like her, but (besides the part about living back in IL) she’s not the one. Ticktockticktock…
* Apparently he’s at least somewhat known; this Tufts student publication (everything The Rag could have been, if we didn’t have to sneak around at night posting them in bathroom stalls) makes reference to crazy Powderhouse guy on p22.
** speaking relatively here; since I remember them both at diaper age. I think both of them actually weigh more than me now, which is kinda sad.