1:37 p.m. - 2009-05-19
Today's Letter: P
Kia's been out of town for the last four days, but I've been holding it together. I have to. Paul Blart: Mall Cop comes out on DVD this week. I've been waiting too long for this to mess it up by going insane from isolation or getting in trouble with John Law because I've got no woman around to talk some sense into me. No, I won't be doing anything that will prevent me from renting Paul Blart: Mall Cop as soon as possible. There's too much at stake; I've waited too long. Eyes on the prize, man, eyes on the prize.
So. But it's been okay. I've been maintaining human contact and leaving the house with some frequency. Saturday I drove to Chicago to visit my brother and his wife, who were there over the weekend for the big food conference. The beginning of the Chicago drive always stresses me out, with my rodent brain going a hundred miles an hour. Should I check the oil I HAVEN'T CHECKED THE OIL, plus THE TIRES I got the one replaced but what about the others man it's sunny I don't like driving in the sun WHY ARE ALL THE DRIVERS TRYING TO KILL ME and OMIGOD THE IPASS DID I BRING THE FREAKING IPASS IF NOT I'M FUCKED, and so forth. Eventually the panic wears off and I fall into the quasi-nacotized but more or less alert state that lots of freeway driving brings on, then as the city looms ever closer, near the Ikea, the traffic picks up but by now I'm too burned out to be panicky, and then O'Hare, and then I-90 turns into a big, long parking lot. The fastest I got to go was twenty miles an hour. It took like forty minutes to cross the city, which fortunately isn't nearly as wide as it is long. The off ramp at Ohio Street was the fastest I got to go in the city. I parked in one of the Miracle Mile's many rip-off parking ramps, too sick of being in the car to care what a rip-off it would be.
Walking down Ohio Street felt liberating, both because I finally wasn't in the car and because the city, even the dumb part of the city, was a welcome change of scenery. (Yes, even an old homebody like me likes to get out now and again!) I found Pat and Pam's hotel. I was nearly an hour late, but they were understanding. It was good seeing them. I would only be staying a few hours, so there was no time to waste: we hit the hotel bar immediately. We had a couple drinks, caught up, talked about what to do while I was there. At the bar they had little bowls of wasabe peas. Pat didn't care to try the wasabe peas. Eventually it was decided that we would walk around for a while and then find a place to eat. Someone had suggested the House of Blues to Pat, because, see, it's not JUST a music venue, they totally have a restaurant. Also a gift shop. We agreed that we would dine there. Since we were in the neighborhood, I walked us past where I thought the Jazz Record Mart was. It turned out not to be there. Had the Jazz Record Mart closed? Or was this the wrong street? I pondered this as we walked around some more. Pat stopped to admire the gargoyles on the side of the Tribune building. Chicago is a wonderland of important and historic architecture.
Then, we walked a little more. We turned a corner onto Wabash Street and THERE WAS THE JAZZ RECORD MART!! Apparently it had moved. I asked the others if they would mind going inside while I tried to sniff out some bargains. Back in the old days, a visit to the Jazz Record Mart was very exciting because you could find recordings that might be unavailable elsewhere. That's not so much the case nowadays, what with your Amazons dot com and the like. But sometimes they'll have really cool sales, like this one time when they were overstocked on cds on the Hat Hut label, and they had a whole pile of them near the cash register for like ten bucks each where they're normally like sixteen and I was like, allRIGHT! and I think I got one that had lots of Cage and Wolpe and that kind of stuff. Also, they have the entire Delmark catalogue in stock always, since the same guy owns the store who owns Delmark (I think).
So we did a quick look-around. There were lots of Delmark cassettes for a buck apiece, but I didn't see any real must-haves so we left empty-handed. We decided we were hungry and headed for the House of Blues. After we were seated I headed for the men's room where they keep all the urinals and everything. There was a guy inside, a man who wasn't urinating, but working. I'm not used to men's room attendants and they make me a little uneasy. While at the urinal, I wondered how this whole thing would go down. Probably he'd hand me a towel after I washed up. There was a basket full of money, mostly ones, at his station so there was no doubt over the basic nature of this transaction SHIT, do I even have any ones? I did. Okay, I thought as the urinating wound down, okay, it's gonna be okay. Be cool. I walked to the sink to wash up and OMIGOD HE'S GOT A LITTLE SOAP DISPENSER AND IS GOING TO DISPENSE THE SOAP right onto my hands and I was not expecting that at all! Nicely played, good sir! While I washed, we exchanged a little chit-chat, not too much, polite but professional. Then I was ready for towels, which were immediately forthcoming. I was expecting clean, fluffy white cloth towels, but they were alas paper. Still, the attendant had dispatched his duties in a speedy, courteous and professional manner. I tipped him two dollars, one for the soap and one for the towels.
I joined the others at our booth. After not too long, we had all visited the bathrooms. I asked Pam if there had been a women's room attendantress and she said yes, there had been. Pat asked if I tipped before or after washing my hands. I said, after. He told me I should have tipped and then washed, because money is dirty and full of germs. We ordered drinks and food. The House of Blues is a little schlocky but the food is pretty good and, especially by Chicago standards, reasonably priced. Pat and I both got the pulled pork sandwich and Pam ordered the turkey wrap. Afterward, as I expected, Pat wouldn't let me pick up the tab or chip in.
By now it was getting to be around time for me to head back. Since I had had several beers plus two tall glasses of water to offset the beer, I needed to use the bathroom again, but I opted not to use the House of Blues bathroom because attendants still made me nervous. I proposed walking Pat and Pam back to their hotel, where I would use the hotel's non-attended bathroom and then say goodbye and head off. The hotel was only a few blocks away, but Pat and Pam aren't the fastest walkers. By the time we were two blocks away my bladder was ready to burst. Agony! Don't walk lights! Traffic! Crowds of people to avoid! Now I finally know what it was like for Odysseus! We were finally across the street from the hotel. Just...one...more...red.....light! I was about to explode! I couldn't stand still and reverted to Spastic Pacing Which Somehow Makes You Have To Pee Slightly Less Than If You're Standing Still. Finally the light turned green. I made it across the street and into the hotel lobby bathroom just in time. It was a very, very good pee.
Having resolved that, I said goodbye to Pat and Pam. It had been a nice visit, and now I would drive home. Driving home, I reflected on the past the way one does when memories are triggered by seeing family members. Then, I turned toward the immediate future. Getting home and seeing the cats. Playing the opera matinee the next day. Yid Vicious activities. Kia's eventual return. And yes, Paul Blart: Mall Cop.
NEXT: Paul Blart: Mall Cop: Worth the wait? Or REALLY worth the wait?
