To the Journey!!

When An Doof Ass was last in the Chi-city we had what might have been the classiest and most enjoyable evening of social drinking ever experienced in human history. After that evening was over I felt refreshed and ready to go out into the world to seek my stake my claim. Such however was not the case this weekend past. For that I blame the fabulous wealth we accrued early in the evening. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Al/l/a/e/n arrived on a flight from his tree lined Georgetown streets around 3:30. We met up for Champagne and escargot at the Sky Line Tap on Van Buren and LaSalle. Surprisingly, the Sky Line was fresh out of both. So we settled for Miller Lights and dry, crumbly cigarettes. After a few rounds of backgammon and mancala we retrieved our jackets from the coat check and left to catch our bus. The bus however was filled with crying infants and a man systematically eating a handful of candy. Our nerves unbearable frazzled by this unpleasantness our only recourse was screwdrivers before dinner. After networking with neighborhood artists on the way to the Skylark, we enjoy the Friday fish fry and a raspberry reduction with homade pecan ice cream for dessert. With elegant sufficiency’s in place, we returned to bustling south Halsted street to enjoy cheap wine and finger food while we awaited our ride up to Wicker Park for the Silver Jews show.

Throwing empty wine encrusted plastic cups from the car’s open windows as we sipped lukewarm vodka from a thoughtful birthday present, we arrived at the venue in time to meet none other than An Doof Ass’s old, old Jewish flame. After unsuccessfully trying to buy a ticket for Al/l/a/e/n we sold our tickets to his very friendly acquaintance and devoted the rest of the evening to spending our newly acquired wealth.

Drunk of benjamins and now warmer than lukewarm vodka, we bought two packs of gourmet cigarettes and a couple of rounds of drinks at a neighborhood lounge. After closing that place down we went across the street, bought some tacos and watched the Jews encore through the backdoor. At this point, Al/l/a/en and Peter snuck into the show and were rudely turned out soon after. Peter then decided to give it another go but quickly rejoined us after encountering some unpleasantness.

With our elegant sufficiency’s replenished on outstandingly bad tacos, we found ourselves at Rodan. After checking the status of funds, we decided on hard liquors and cigarettes. While Peter enjoyed a bit of cat nap in the booth, A/l/l/a/en and I retired to the out of doors to score hookers and blow. Seeing both in their natural element, we decided instead to engage in what, in sober hindsight, was an entirely too revealing conversation. Heather and Peter then joined us and we attempted an ill-advised and unsuccessful liquor run.

Sulking home to lick our wounds and refresh ourselves with clean, cool vodka, we enjoyed impassioned conversation and general excitement and commotion not always common at 4 in the morning.

In the morning we had omelets, as prophesied.