Ketchup 7: From Uptown to Edgewater.

DIARY

So then we went back to Sean's and started in on the Millers that had
arrived from Milwaukee c/o Mr. Judd Belstock. We basically spent the next
several hours talking about art and politics, politics and art. It's frustrating, because I remember having these brilliant and engaging conversations, but I can rarely remember the exact substance of the discussion (unless there was drama) besides the general topic. Well, that's not entirely true. Derrida came up, and so did Bush, and interestingly enough, Carter. At one point, Aleja got home, and we talked about possible Democratic Presidential nominees. We bantered about music and drugs and their impact on each other. At one point, Metalman arrived, and we talked about gears and sprockets and sawblades and how to best cut one or the other, and how to wield them against a foe. Pretty soon, there wasn't much Miller left, and it was time to go. So Jess and I gave out hugs and set about our way.

Instead of taking the Red Line we walked up Broadway to Foster, then zigged and zagged through Lakewood and Balmoral until we got to Gemma's an hour or so before sundown. It was all but raining now, and the wind was blowing. The sky was cloudy and it had gotten quite chilly. We met her bunny (whose name I'm always forgetting "in the moment" -- Dustin I thik) and then we watched Gilmore Girls, which I have now seen about six times total. We also had plans to meet up and stay with Reinhardt that evening, so we agreed to meet him at a fancy brew pub/restaurant: the Hop Leaf, I think it was. Once again, back in Uptown. When we got there we waited a little while and were seated upstairs, and I ate mussels for the first time. They're good mussels. I'm a fan. This time the talk revolved also around art and People We Knew, and the inevitable New York vs. Chicago, and the CTA. But I've also realized that Politics are the "so, how's the weather?" among People I Know, so of course, that came up to. Gemma talked some (albeit vaguely) of her plans for the next year, and I was particularly thirsty for that.

We walked with Gemma back to her apartment, and spent a moment saying hi to Gaby before heading over to Reinhardt's a few blocks away. Even if the whole trip was a wake-up call for how much we're getting ripped off in Chicago, Reinhardt's apartment was so huge and well-positioned, it would have been a reasonable deal in Flint. It's just at the edge of Andersonville, and it is a sprawling three bedroom with giant sized living and dining rooms. Also, Reinhardt only has one roommate who happens to be gone during the week. There's also a bar on rollers. If I were him, I'd take all the money I was saving on the insanely insanely cheap rent, and pour it into massive parties that would make me the most popular guy for miles around.

We made popcorn and watched Adaptation on a TV too big for me to wrap my arms around. I liked the movie a lot, and haven't been able to stop thinking about it, actually. Jess and I went to sleep on the futon. The next morning, Reinhardt woke us to say goodbye, but he was gone when we left. We cleaned everything pretty thoroughly before leaving.

I actually feel kind of bad: this was the only place we stayed where we cleaned all that thoroughly before leaving.

Poo-tee-weet.

We put the futon up, bundled out things together, and zoom-sploosh. Toward the Bryn Mawr stop to head down and meet Lisa and Patrick at the Garfield Park conservatory.

END OF POST.