So, I've been meaning to write about this for a couple of weeks. I am just getting to it now. I was inundated with the wave of money making, and family tasks. So, here it is. This is my recollection of my trip to Chicago to see my best friend. Take this as a sort of travel magazine article, but with my own bend of course. It is also a play by play about how I made small talk with a burlesque dancer, and it proved awkward.
I had been planning on visiting Chicago for a couple of months. I had no real desire to see Chicago. The only reason I was going was to visit my best friend I hadn't seen in a year plus. We were home boys in New York City. We lived in shitty apartments all throughout Bed Stuy, Brooklyn. John left New York as I did in order to escape the money pit that is the city. He couldn't stand the idea of going back to his home town which was right outside the windy city. John traveled all of Australia and South East Asia. I envied the little fucker. I couldn't stand going back to my neck of the woods either, but didn't have much choice in the matter. I had bought property, and I needed to tend to it. John's visa was running out, and he needed to go back to Arlington Heights (at least for a short while).
I booked a ticket to go to Chi Town. I was excited to see my best friend. John understood me better than most. We had spent our twenties climbing the socio-economic ladder in New York (to no avail). We had seen each other at low points and high. We had served at the great spots, and low spots of the metropolis. We were seasoned, disgruntled, mature men-children. We earned it. We put in our time picking up dirty plates, getting dirty looks, and doing dirty things. So, it was well worth the trip to see my brother from another mother.
The flight from Boston to Chicago is fast. I rarely travel much, and felt like a rube in the line in TSA. The flight was enjoyable. I had a single serving friend on my right hand side in the middle seat. He was a sixty year old man traveling back from Boston. He was an artist, professional violinist, divorced grandfather, and supremely happy. He also happened to be more conservative minded, and we gabbed the whole flight.
I waited for John to pick me up in his mom's Subaru. He arrived promptly. My old buddy was here! I was thrilled. I climbed into the car, and we hit the road. John looked like an Aussie now. He was in a surfing brand tank top, short shorts, flip-flops, and sunglasses on a string. He was a chameleon like that. Wherever he went he adapted. When in Rome was his way of life. We stopped by a guitar center so he could pick up some tool I was unfamiliar with. Chicago was big. The roads are big. The land is flat. I lived along both coasts in my thirty one years, but had never been in the middle. It was strange. Here it was. Here, it had been. Now, it proved real. Before it was just an idea. Now, Chicago was presented before me in all of it's salt of the Earth glory. I know I had fought it my whole life, but I was a North Eastern elitist. Nothing topped that part of the country for me (even though I hadn't seen too much of the country). It was in my veins. The elitism runs deep in our cold hearts. I did my best to keep an open mind about the large flat lands.
John took me back to his house in Arlington Heights after popping into Guitar Center. It was great seeing his folks, brother, sister in law, and niece. We drank many bottles of red wine, and talked conservative politics! I was warming up to Chicago. It was a pleasure to relate to freedom loving, small government minded, haters of PC culture folks in a beautiful backyard on a perfect Summer day (and drunk no less). Did I mention that I love America? I made negroni cocktails for me, and the men. We had pasta for dinner.
John's parents drove us to get ice cream after. We ran into a girl John knew in high school. She used to make out with him by the lockers before fifth period. Now she was a mother of three. She was quite attractive. Her husband seemed like a polite midwestern gentleman. John was a vagabond who found love along the road. This girl stopped along the main road of Arlington Heights, found herself a man, and produced some cute little ankle biters. It's always a funny thing seeing your peers reproduce. You can't help but ask yourself, am I wasting time?
Later on in the evening, John and I drank tequila in the basement. It wasn't a New England basement. It was a fully functioning basement. It housed a gym, bar, arcade, and min golf setup. It was like being in an episode of MTV's cribs. For those of you who may be reading this, under 25, look up that reference.
John and I began to drunkenly bicker. It was just like old times. We crashed, and woke up with hangovers. It was just like old times. And just like old times, a workout was in order. We hit the park by his house. It was a large Chicago style deep dish park. It was sprawling. We hit the jungle gym to get that good money in. It was hot, and we paced ourselves. The energy was different here. It felt more laid back. It seemed less agro.
We got back to the house, and cleaned up. John's dad drove us to the train station. We climbed on the train, and shot into Chicago. As we rode the trains into the city I read the people. I looked at their clothes. I noted their walking pace. I deduced the simple truth. New York City, and Chicago are the Cain and Able equivalent of cities. One is a killer, and the other the lamb. John didn't take me to the South Side, and had I been there this relationship would have skewed.
We got off around Lincoln Park. It was pretty. It had all of the same upper crust brands hip Millennials go for. It had the little coffee shops too. The streets were traveled by the same educated youth that every city had. Here, they just seemed more polite. John took me by Wrigley Field. I was in awe. I didn't care for baseball, but this was a monument. This stadium sat in the middle of a lively neighborhood. It was a relic of times past. This relic harkened back to a simpler time. It stood reminding us of what America's favorite pastime is. Did I mention, I love America? The coolest part of the stadium is the surrounding condos tower above it. People have cook outs from their roof tops, and look below for the game. It's like have those special seats that millionaires have. Only, this is Chicago. So, the special seats are community rooftops.
We were starving, and just like old times, John and I got burritos at a hole in the wall. It was the perfect sustenance. We walked along the posh part of Chicago. We saw the nice shops. We took a break mid day, and had coffee at La Colombe. We had americanos with biscotti. The onslaught of burritos followed by coffee triggered our bodies to need a bathroom visit. We took turns heading in. After, we took a stroll through the neighborhood. We had time to kill before going to a speakeasy in the evening. John knew a girl who worked at the speakeasy.
It was nearing nighttime. A young African man in an oxford and slacks approached us as we cut down a main street. I was trepidatious, because I didn't know what a stranger wanted from us as we trekked along. He was sincere, and young.
"Hey, you guys in the service?" He asked us.
"No, we're not." John answered.
"Oh you guys look fit like you'd be in the service." He said.
"Nah, I do Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, and MMA though." I answered (also letting him know that if he tried anything...)
"Well, what do you guys think about serving?" He asked.
"I train with a few marines. I find them to be top notch men. I haven't met a marine who wasn't an amazing dude." I answered.
"Wow, that's great. I was pondering on what I want to do with my life." He said.
"Well, the service is a way to go. I wish I had served. I regret I didn't." I said.
"I moved here from Africa to go to school. I feel a need to give back." He said.
"Well, we enjoy so much freedom here. It seems only upper middle class folks here are ungrateful for America, and don't appreciate all it gives them." John said.
"Yes, I have so much more freedom here. I feel like it would be a privilege to be able to give back." He said.
"I would go to a recruiting center, and ask them questions. The west is the best. It's because of people like you who see that, and appreciate that. God bless America." I said.
"Thanks, gentlemen. Thanks for taking the time. I really appreciate it." He said.
We went on our way. It was a pleasant encounter. Chicago, my kind of town. We walked for miles. We went past neighborhoods with beautiful townhouses. I noticed whole families living with all the luxuries of the suburbs. New York wasn't like this. It was always a hassle to do it there. Having a family seemed more cruel than it did cool. In Chicago, the families in the city had their cars, bikes, parks, shops, and little league games. It was a family city (which seems like an oxymoron).
The night was upon us, and we made our way to The Drifter. It was a speakeasy in the northern part of Chicago. We made our way into the bar. It was hidden behind a door decorated with bric-a-brac. The bar was a long classic bar. There were some tables on the other side of the wall. A stage took up the far back wall. Every hour on the hour a live performance would start. John and I started trying various cocktails off the menu. They were fancy drinks. I preferred the classics. We started with the menu, and then segued on for classic Manhattans. The first show at the spot was from a magician/comedian. He apparently did the same set every time. I didn't care though. For me this was the first time. It was like an old Vaudevillian show. There was a Mongolian juggler, and a stripper! Well, I think in this scenario you call the stripper a burlesque dancer.
The burlesque dancer was a skinny black girl in her early twenties. She put on a hell of a show. I could only imagine what she would be like dancing on her back. They had her come back and fill in for another hour on the hour show. I thought it was kind of weird to have a dancer who removes clothing go twice in one night. I already saw her naked. Why are we doing this again? I got it. I understood the act. I saw the act. I saw everything short of her nipples. What more was there to see?
After her second act she came to the bar for a drink. She sat right next to me. John was chatting up two sisters from Nevada the whole time. We were in a warm drunken place. We were social butterflies by nature, and booze enhanced our charms. I tried to chat with the Nevada girls earlier on, but was too far away to hear much of anything. I engaged the burlesque dancer.
"Your set was very good." I said.
"Thanks." She didn't seem too thrilled.
"I thought the music was a very good choice as well." I said.
"Yeah, I like that music." She said.
I realized that she might not have been thrilled to be speaking to an audience member. I don't know why she chose to sit at the bar then. I tried to play as docile as possible. I wanted her to know I had no intention of getting her number, taking her for dinner, or shagging her. I just wanted to make small talk withe the girl. I went to my next strategy which was to show I was knowledgable about her field (in some way).
"My mom danced ballet for years. I even did it too for a short while. I admire your dedication to the art." I said.
"Yeah, it's how I pay my bills." She said, and then pulled out her phone.
"Very cool. Living off of the dance is very cool." I said.
She turned away from me, and began typing on her phone. I accepted it, and went back to my drink. John and I were five drinks in at this point. I was pretty drunk. He had me stand up by the girls so we could talk more intimately. I learned about their lives in Nevada. I had never been, just like I had never been to Chicago. It was painted in my mind like some kind of cartoon. I pictured a large red rocky flat land with lizards everywhere, and a strip of buildings like in the old west. The girls were pleasant. I exchanged Instagram information the younger one. The lights were going up, which was the cue for the bar patrons to kindly leave.
The night was winding down. We needed to get back to Arlington Heights. We hobbled down streets trying to find the train. John hadn't lived in the city for years, and couldn't figure out which was was the right way. After twenty minutes of drunkenly lopping around the city blocks we found a bus to the train. We waited for a moment. We didn't know how long we had before the bus came. I knew we needed food. I was in desperate need to soak up the bourbon sloshing around in my guts. I noticed a Dunkin Donuts. I jogged across the street to it. I encountered the late night shift guy. He looked like he may have been or currently was a drug addict. I didn't begrudge him. I was grateful he was there to heat up an egg 'n cheese sandwich for us. I also bought two donuts. I jogged back to the stop. John and I devoured the Dunkin baggies. The bus arrived soon after we finished our donuts. We hopped on, and got to the train. It was just like old times. John and I drunkenly navigating public transportation after striking out with multiple women. My kind of town Chicago is!
We got out at the train station, and got in a cab. We got back to the house, and felt the exhaustion of a long day traversing the second city. I slept a deep black sleep. I awoke to my body feeling like a tenderized piece of venison. I was on my way to catch a plain back to Boston. The short trip was essential. I had to see John primarily. He was taking off next month to disappear to New Zealand.
John's dad, Steve took us for authentic Polish food. We had a platter of pierogis, and borsch. The pierogis were handmade. We had cheese and potato. We had spinach and kraut. They were excellent. We had cheese blintzes (which reminded me of grandma). We also had Polish pizza. It was the food of my people. It was the food to cure hangovers dead in their tracks. It was the food for men of various ages to gather around, and talk about the future.
Steve and John dropped me off at O'Hare. It was a short needed trip. Chicago, my kind of town. How couldn't it be? It has all the things a guy would need. It has buildings with windows. It has a quaint baseball stadium. It has speakeasies. It has strippers... I mean burlesque dancers. It has Polish food, and good salt of the Earth people. My kind of town, Chicago is!