The Need for Coffee, a Stint in the Blues, and the Mind of Pete

If I haven’t mentioned the coffee theme on this trip let me go ahead and do that now. Having been wound so tightly from my job and the plane wreckage of the last six months of my life I’ve become dependent on it; addicted if you will. When I got in on the first night Rob wound up driving me to a Panera Bread Co. and I picked up a frozen coffee there. I picked one up from the BP am/pm Friday morning, and I got Saturday morning from inside Union Station. It was my “fix.” Pete doesn’t drink it nor does Rob. Vicky can’t so she’s pregnant. The main thing about me finding a coffeeshop? No Starbucks. I flat-out refuse. If you EVER see me hocking Starbucks brand anything I have seriously sold-out, folks.

Now, back to our tale…

We met up with Vicky who was done meeting with Kim. We walked toward the Blues Fest and began discussing dinner. Pete suggested a place in Wicker Park and asked if I was interested. Rob suggested going to eat in the city. Vicky was for Rob’s idea but the final decision was up to me. Decisions, decisions. We continued walking to Grant Park and went into the Fest, first having our stuff checked by security.

Once inside we walked to the center thoroughfare; the intersection of the entire fest. Continuing forward we stopped in front of one tent. I wanted to take a few quick pics so and asked Rob if he could watch my stuff while I did so. He nodded, I grabbed my camera, and circled around the tent of a black guitarist who was really good. Upon returning Pete had left. I told Rob to continue watching my things for a moment because I needed caffeine or something to keep going…

I walked through the crowds and finally spotted the ticket tent. 12 tickets for $8. I had spotted a tent offering coffee earlier for three tickets which would leave me with 9. Which it did. Iced coffee. No chocolate. Dammit. Oh well.

I returned to where Rob was standing and he was enjoying the music. The spot where we had stopped was one of the few where one band wasn’t bleeding over another one. Vicky dropped by momentarily and Rob was splitting attention between the two of us. She asked me what I was planning on doing which was to listen to music but take a few quick pics. She got upset and said, “I just can’t stay in one place too long,” and left. I looked at Rob, wondering what was up and he shrugged. I asked if he would watch my stuff while I took a few minutes to go around and take some pictures. He said “Sure,” and I had him watch my camera bag and iced coffee while I walked around.

A band playing. A woman going solo. A group on the Gibson stage. I took pics of them and the crowds. I returned to where Rob was standing within 15 minutes, having finished off the roll of film.

“Get your bags. We’re leaving. Vicky wants to go home right now.” Rob stares at me with those eyes. I’ve seen them before. The “this is all your fault, you pissed off the woman I am in love with” look. For the record it’s the third time I’ve been there. I’m like “Whoah, whoah, what?” Apparently Vicky, who ditched Rob and I, was upset that Rob stayed in place while I went around taking pictures. I asked Rob if he would watch my camera case and I went around taking pics but returned within 15 minutes. However, she was taking it out on him over the phone. He calls her again and assures her that yes, I returned, no, he wasn’t babysitting my stuff he was there listening to the guitarist and yes, we would go soon. He also mentioned something about her saying that he didn’t have any balls, but I don’t know the rest of that part of the conversation. He suggested I call Pete and have him meet us at the Fountain. I did so and we headed that way.

The Fountain. There’s no way to sit in the park on one of the benches that circle it and not start humming to tune to “Married… With Children.” Rob and I sat on the bench waiting for Pete or Vicky. Or both. Vicky finally arrived with a box advertising the new Jason Lee TV series, “Memphis Beat.” Inside was a donut. Vicky needed to go to the bathroom and Rob followed with. Pete finally found me and we sat and watched Rob and Vicky talk, more than a thousand yards away.

Rob returned and said that Vicky didn’t care where we went to eat, just that we had to pick somewhere. Being the “leader” of the group (the glue, the head cheese, whatever) I decided to compromise: since Pete had came up to hang out and see me we would go where he wanted to eat. And so we hopped the train for Wicker Park…

We rounded the corners and traversed the sidewalks. Pete stopped at a Bank of America to get money, instructing us to go onto a bookstore called Quimbeys.

What can I say about this place? Well, if you’re into alternative/gay culture, superheroes, fantasy, smut, political activism, conspiracy theory or any and all of the above, this is your hive. Sans the superhero stuff, I imagined it to be exactly like spending 5 minutes inside Pete’s brain. Nothing I really wanted to own here… After a while Pete showed up. We continued to look around until Rob and Vicky stepped outside and I followed with. We sat outside against the buildings while it lightly rained. A guy stopped to ask us what we were getting tickets for: “Nothing, just waiting on a friend of ours.” Rob stands up to retrieve Pete and goes insider. A moment later a thin, gay guy breezes past in a white undershirt, woman’s Hawaiian-looking frock, and hoop earrings. Vicky makes a comment while Pete and Rob walk out of the store. On to dinner…

…Where I become disappointed. Fiorno’s it’s called. Not much on the outside inside it’s “get to know your neighbor” intimate with sturdy, dark wooden chairs and tables. I look at the menu and Pete babbles on about how the menu changes on a daily basis, they only get fresh food in there, etc. They order an appetizer, which everyone splits (I wasn’t impressed with it) and we order. I pick out a bowl of rigatoni pasta and an order of tea. “Sergai will be right with you” the waitress claps her hands. Apparently my look of disdain for being there gives her some sort of enjoyment.

So I’m sitting in this “fancy” restaurant, not so much fancy as moderately priced with a fanciful façade, and I’m feeling low. I’m quiet. Beyond church-mouse quiet. Pete blabs on and on about how he loves the restaurant and I’m not saying anything. Period. Every now and then I’m asked a question and don’t give more than a terse two-word answer. I begin loathing the place. Once the food arrives I go through mine. Sometime later, after the meal, my tea finally arrives. I have a quick cup before we leave. Pete picks up the bill. Rob and Vicky thank him for the suggestion and I walk along. They try to console me with the fact that sometimes restaurants serve tea after the fact. That’s not why I was pissed. I wanted REAL food, not faux elegance and pretentiousness. It took a lot for me not to say “fucking underwhelmed.”

We walk down to Myopic Books, one of theirs (and my) favorite booksellers in the Chicago area. They sell discount and used books and have some interesting titles come in every now and then. I went there on one of my first trips to Chicago. This time around I picked up a volume of Mickey Spillane novels and a hardbacked collection of Dashiell Hammett. Yeah buddy. Crime fiction.

We took the train back to Union Station and realized we would be among all the ones returning from the Cubs game. Great. The train was packed tightly. Pete sits to my right, Rob is behind me, and Vicky is to his right. Above, below, left, and right… baseball fans that went to the game… I plug my earbuds in and listen to my Zune.

At Vicky’s car I make the motion that we find coffee. Pete makes the statement that finding coffee in the suburbs after 9pm is a few and far between thing. Driving back to his place I mention Caribou Coffee and we beeline it over there. Pete gets out and walks in with me and we order.

Back at Rob’s place. Everyone winds down. I get on my laptop, check e-mail, then get up to take a shower. Tomorrow, Sunday, is the wind down day…

Get Lit

Before I go too much further, I forgot something that happened on Friday. As we were walking back to the car a guy steps onto the curb a good twelve feet ahead of us. He’s built big with long black hair that goes past his shoulders. In his hands he holds a soccer ball. Eyeing me he tosses it straight up in to the air. I look away while Pete and Rob see where the ball lands. It smacks against the concrete with that deflated sound and the guy quickly walks over and kicks it around lightly, like a hacky-sack. After we cross to the other side of the street Pete says, “Anything can happen in Chicago.”

And now back to regularly scheduled blog…

Saturday morning and the day looked… alright. A lot of showers for the day and it being the Lit Fest, it wouldn’t surprise me if there was a torrential downpour (not that I wanted that to happen; I didn’t). The plan was for all four of us (Vicky included) to take the train into the city, walk over to the Fest and at some point Vicky was going to meet with her friend for lunch and eventually we would all go to the Blues Fest. All of us had our breakfasts separately and I grabbed my camera bag, making sure I had some Banana Boat SPF.

The train ride up to Union Station was uneventful for the most part. The spot we picked had train benches facing each other and I sat across from Pete. I take the book I’m holding in my camera bag, Jim Thompson’s “A Hell of a Woman,” and begin reading. Pete plugs earbuds into his ears from his iPod, and Rob and Vicky talk about… whatever. I don’t pay attention to them except when Pete points out the Farmer’s Markets each stop seems to have, that long procession of white tents. Vicky replies back and one time she exclaims, “Why’s that guy taking off his shirt?” Pete’s eyes shoot to her, he leans toward her and she replies, “Oh, he’s putting his shirt back on now. I was wondering about that.” I just shake my head.

At Union Station Vicky is trying to find a bathroom. Meanwhile, I make a beeline for one, use the urinal, then stand at the sink and apply sunscreen. A guy who took the sink next to me chuckled and says something. Yes, I hate applying that crap…
I catch up with Rob and Pete who are coming up the escalator. Rob is grabbing something to drink and I go ahead order a coffee. From there we begin our trek to the Fest. Let me talk about traveling with Pete: if you EVER find yourself in need of a tour guide who will never take the same route twice, Pete is the guy for you. The fact that he will take a zig-zagging path through a city is the only constant on the tour; he knows where’s he’s going it’s just that he’s a fan of the “scenic route.” I found myself an equal distance between Pete and Rob and Vicky, which at times became as much as fifty feet.

Arriving at the Lit Fest it felt… down. C-SPAN’s BookTV-mobile was there and I picked up one of their red book bags which held books in a “V” shape. Aside from that Pete went his own way, Rob began following me around and Vicky went hers. Eventually I lost track of Rob and was on my own. I ran into Vicky who asked me, “Did you lose my husband?” and I replied, “Well, he was behind me a few minutes ago…” I began perusing the books for anything I immediately wanted, as well as what the going price was. Several of the tents and vendors offered older books, some of which I already owned, but nothing new. No technical writing books. I was limited to how much I could spend as well as how much space I would have in my suitcase to bring them back with me.

-PLUNK-

Drip. Drip.

It started raining which means that within moments the vendors running the cash registers stop what they’re doing and pull tarps over the tents as well as any outside boxes with books in them. I met back up with Rob and Vicky and they called Pete to have him meet us in front of SRO’s, home of the World Famous Chicago Turkey Burger. We ate outside of the place last year. Quickly we discussed where to go for lunch while it began raining and reasoned that since there was an open table inside, we should have lunch there. We did.

After the rain stopped and book vendors slowly removed the tarps to show their selections, we were out and about again. I stopped at one and found hardbacks of Sue Grafton. “Hardback Sue Grafton? Who knew?” I poked some fun (especially since the cover art was from the Eighties) and a girl beside me laughed. I began picking up some books: “100 Stories,” Ray Bradbury; “The Best Time Travel Stories of the Twentieth Century,” etc. I hunted Rob down and got him to pick up Elmore Leonard’s “Western Stories” collection. Kim met up with Vicky and they went off to do something together and Rob came along with me. We stopped and took pics of mist at the tops of buildings before splitting for other stuff. I ran into the DuPage Writers group, introduced myself and talked with them for a few minutes. We ran into Pete and while they went to check stuff out in Dearborn Station, I walked around for a few more.

Going into Dearborn Station I had to use the restroom. After, I found Rob and Pete sitting at a table. I told them I wanted to look around one last time before heading out. It was 2 o’clock so Pete watched my stuff while Rob and I went out one last time for 30 minutes. He stayed inside the building for a moment taking pics while I rushed through tents. I picked up “Into the Wild” by Jon Krakauer and “21,” the book about the MIT students taking on Vegas.
Rob called Vicky and we were winding our way over to State to meet up with Vicky and from there to Grant Park for the Blues Fest.

Come Pick Me Up

We walked out of the museum and the air was thick with humidity. While Rob drove us downtown I looked out at the lake. Pete tried pointing out sailboats that were far off in the distance.

We parked off of 56th street next to an old hotel being renovated. On the search for food we rounded the corner of the building. Chain-link fencing surrounding it had pictures of what it looked like in its heyday and what it will look like when finished. “Yes, everyone will have a Prius,” Pete quips.

We cross streets and traverse blocks to wind down 53rd street and stop at a corner restaurant, an Italian place. No one is sitting outside but in seems to be fairly hopping. We’re sat at a table; Rob across from me and Pete adjacent. Rob and I split a pizza (Canadian bacon, pineapple, and ricotta cheese) while Pete orders something for himself. Ricotta cheese is alright but not preferred for pizza…

Afterwards we begin the walk back to the car but I suggest a stop inside the Borders. Pete mentions the fact that yes, we’re going to the Lit Fest on Saturday but I prodded them to go inside anyway. We all separate and walk around the store. I start looking for books I can’t find in Louisville. Eventually I catch up with Rob, then Pete, and then walk outside for a few moments.

For a moment there’s that “attack.” I can’t say it’s a “panic” attack because I’m not panicking about anything except being thrown together with Rob and Pete and I chose to hang around with them; it’s just that being around after spending the past few months alone on Isle de Chas is jarring.

Heading back to the car I’m tired. Not whooped; tired. Rob says something about checking out Promontory Point to see where he had some pics taken of himself. “I’ve seen it during the wintertime but not the summer. Kinda want to see what it’s like without the ice and snow.” I agree to come along and the three of us walk under a bridge and to the point. Heading to the left side I spot a circular stone bench and sit for a moment. A group of people to our left talk and hang out. Rob comes over and talks with me while Pete walks down to the end of the rocks. I look over at the coast and the Chicago skyline. After a few Pete comes back and we walk to the other side.

It’s on the other side that no one is around, or no one seems to be anyway. Giant square rock slabs sit slightly uneven but in rows like amphitheater seating. I forge ahead and down to the row closest to the water, drop my camera bag to the side, and sit. And stare into the water. I can look out eight feet and see to the bottom. The sun gives the rocks below a yellowed look and I watch the seaweed wave back and forth while the water crashes against the rocks under me. I ask Rob about the rusted rail under me and Rob says that it was there to hold back the rocks. I continue looking into the water and for those few moments in time everything faded away; washed out to the sea. Time spent purging the pollution inside me…

It neared 3 o’clock and time for us to be on the road again. We go back to the car for the l-o-n-g ride back to Rob’s place. While he navigates I’m DJ again, going through whatever’s on my Zune. Pete sits in the back. After spending too long on the main highway Rob decides to travel the side streets going through the seedier parts of Chicago neighborhoods. Pete points out the “penthouse suites” of motels, special rooms on the roofs of motels that shouldn’t really have them. I fall to sleep for about ten minutes. When I wake up Pete’s asleep and I talk with Rob.

We drive through Cicero (where Al Capone used to keep his headquarters at a hotel now long since burnt down) and a few more places before Rob gets out his cellphone and talks with Vicky. We all decide to have turkey burgers and sausages for dinner and I mention to Rob that I want to stop off at the store for a few things. Rob gets a list of items from Vicky and we’re on our way to…

The Super Target. I’ve heard of Super Wal-Marts but not Super Target, which is the same concept except better quality (I think). Rob proposes a “surgical strike”: we go in, stay close to him, only get what we mention, and get it. Good enough. He picks up green beans and some wheat buns while I get a pack of Sierra Nevada, a box of tea, and some strawberry cream cheese. We were probably in and out within fifteen minutes or less.

Back at his place. Had dinner and discussed our plans for the next day: going to the Lit Fest. We would take the train in, go to the Fest, then check out some Blues. Vicky planned to meet up with a friend of hers and do lunch.
Pete sat in the kitchen and cued up NPR on his laptop and we listened for a bit while Rob, Vicky, and I unwound in the living room. I grabbed my laptop and found a site that streamed episodes of “The IT Crowd” and had Rob and Vicky watch. Pete eventually walked in and watched it with us. After, Pete, Rob and I went to a little bar about ten minutes away from Rob’s place.

The bar was okay –kinda sedate for its location. It had that feel of “let’s convert a room into a bar” feel and was nice, well-kept, and had that family-restaurant feel with minimal props or decorations. The female waitresses were attractive and one had long pink/magenta hair that ran down her back. Pete discussed politics for the most part, Rob bantered with him, and I reasserted the position that most people don’t care. I had two drinks, was buzzing pretty well, and we went back to Rob’s place.

Keine Fotographie auf das Boot!

Friday morning and like always I’m the first up even after being the last to bed. Pete had arrived the previous night right before Rob was going to bed and ended up in the basement again. Rob laid down the rules: do not make the pregnant lady mad. No loud noises, etc. Rob went to bed; I talked a few minutes with Pete then went upstairs to do whatever on the Internet before going to bed.

The plan: go see the German U-boat sub at the Museum of Science and walk around the city. Pete and Rob got their backpacks while I applied sunscreen and grabbed my Zune and camera bag. We were on the road…

Coffee first. I got an iced mocha and blueberry muffin from the am/pm BP down the street from Rob’s place.

For about two hours we inched through traffic to go downtown. I got out my Zune player and was DJ’ing while Rob drove and Pete sat in the back. Pete began getting snide about things and I wasn’t really in the mood for it. I started off with some more melancholy music because I just wasn’t in the mood for a lot of upbeat in the morning, or just not in the mood period. We finally settled on Johnny Cash.

Rob drove around to find cheap parking by the museum while Pete and him bantered the finer points of paying and if so, how much. We took a spot by a meter that was charging a dollar an hour. I grabbed my camera bag and let them figure out how much to pay while I walked down a hillside to the lake sat in front of the Museum of Science. I took a few shots of the front and returned to where they were standing.
We walked across an old bridge that used to be part of a road that connected to a main vein. That road has since been removed and grass grown over it while the bridge’s access by vehicles is blocked. Taking a right we crossed another bridge, over a lake that has Japanese carp, and walked into the garden.

It was a nice garden; very picturesque. I took a few shots while walking over to the Zen temple where a redheaded woman, average build, tattoos, and earbuds in her ears, sat down on the floor and did stretching exercises. Rob said something to me about Zen-ing out and I sat for a few moments. I was too wound up. I rejoined him and Pete and went back the direction we came to the museum.

It was somewhere around ten but admission was free. Pete made comments about trying to avoid kids and Rob nodded about it. Rob and I decided to check out the German U-boat sub while Pete opted for the architectural green-designed house. I shelled out $8, grabbed my ticket, and took a look around the main area. NASA/space race was the going theme with a lunar module that had an internal camera which you could operate via control joystick with a built-in monitor. It even had “zoom.”

Other points of interest in the main room were an Atari arcade game machine in which you tried to –successfully- land a lunar module on the moon. Not as easy as advertised. Rob walked away 10 points higher than my score. Another activity station had you build up pressure in a tube before you launched a small rocket up in the air. There were reenactments of NASA missions that you could watch video for, a machine that made a plastic mold of a shuttle, another which made Apollo mission minted coins, etc.

Walking down the hallway leading out of the space exhibit stuff we went into World War II territory: the U-505. The U-505 is an actual German sub caught by the Allies in 1944 before the Germans had a chance to scuttle it. The hallways were lined with giant panoramas of information about how many German subs were made, how many destroyers sunk, etc. As we three walked down the hallway each room continued the story of the capture of the U-505. One room had a scrim placed in front of actual objects from that time while an overhead projector showed digital imagery of characters “reenacting” the events while behind the objects physically in the room. Cool stuff.

The steps leading down to the sub’s main room displayed the propaganda posters of the era, urging Americans to help out with the war effort not just by enlisting but staying quiet (or else!) At the bottom we walked to a platform and there she was: the U-505. Note to self: even subs are massive. I took several pics while walking around. Rob and Pete hung back a little.

10:45 and Rob and I waited in line for the tour; Pete’s house tour was five minutes before ours started. A total of twenty of us crammed together to get inside a sub that in its heyday had 59 burly German guys packed into it. The guy giving the tour, early thirties with glasses, beard, and mustache, told us all about the conditions, “hot bunking” (one guy gets up to work in the same bed another waits to sleep in), changing from diesel to electric, how the sub got captured, etc. This was all really interesting and cool to know but it sucks that when you shell out $8 for a tour photography is not allowed. Oh well.

We join up with Pete at the main lobby and traverse through the rest of the museum. I had absolutely no clue how LARGE the place was except from the outside. I walked through a circus room (funhouse mirrors, clowns), an old west room (Conestoga wagon, lonesome prairie), kids science room, and finally to the Main Hall. To my right is a gigantic area that contained a tornado while on the left varying modes of transportation. We went over to the train and jet, both full-sized and sitting on the floor. Beyond them was a mock-up of Chicago with model trains running from it to a mock-up Seattle and back. Against the walls were more trains from 1800’s while hanging above us are bi-planes, jet, and a full commercial airliner.

Diabetes made itself known and my blood sugar began rapidly dropping. Pete took us one direction to show us something and I started feeling it: concentration was going, I was becoming more irritable, I was getting dizzy, etc. If I didn’t find something to eat right-away, I would have to be picked up/escorted out of the place. I asked them both if they knew where any candy could be found and neither really knew. I quickly flew away from them and ran over to the first “shop” selling anything.

Astronaut ice cream. No go.

I then went to the staircase and spotted a vending area. I rushed down the steps and to one of the “pellet machines” (as I call them) and got a 3 Musketeers bar. Mission accomplished. Having left Rob and Pete a mile behind they caught up to me while I was in the middle of the candy bar. We began the walk outside cutting through the rooms and finally where Rob had re-parked the vehicle. The outside air was thick and humid and we were driving into the city to walk around and get something to eat…

How Was Your 48-Minute Flight?

Fine, just thanks.

Thursday afternoon I did a half-day at work, booked it back to my apartment, then drove over to Scott and Sandy's place. My luggage: a suitcase, laptop computer, and camera bag. I felt I was ready to go after being tired, burnt out, wound up, etc. I needed out of town for a bit.

Scott took me to the airport and I was checked-in, sitting, and waiting by 5 o'clock. The gate I was leaving out of had the “waiters” for a flight leaving before mine so I took the next gate over, with less people sitting in the chairs, and setup shop there for a while. After realizing that I just didn't feel like reading or listening to music, I went to get a drink from one of the restaurants.

At the restaurant I took the last available seat at the bar and looked around. The rest of the seating was comprised of professionals: dresses, slacks, high heels, business shoes, blouses, and pressed-shirts. A bartender asked me what I wanted. “Pale ale.” I end up with a Heineken. A few moments later a guy walked up to my right and ordered a Miller Light. “We have Miller or Bud Light.” He changed his demeanor to say, “Didn't ya understand what I wanted the first time?” and said, “Why don't you just offer me watered-down beer?” I make a reference about iced coffee and we laugh.

Boredom, sitting in the airport waiting for your flight be thy name. I'm sitting at the gate next to the one I need to be at waiting for that flight to leave; it's going to St. Louis. I'm buzzing on the Heineken and am unable to focus my attention on anything like reading so I get out my Zune and kill time listening to music while waiting for the flight.

“Thank you for flying Southwest from Louisville to Chicago... The flight will be forty-eight minutes long.” A 48-minute flight? Did we need to really be in the air for that? I took my seat, lodged between two professionals. The guy on my left keeps his attention set straight on whatever is outside the window. He's maybe in his forties, bald with white hair in his mustache that makes a square on around his mouth. White earbuds are firmly inside his ears and once in a while he checks his Blackberry phone.

Daniel. He's the guy sitting to my right. Late thirties, clean-shaven, ex-military wearing a sky-blue shirt. Quickly he grabs one of the in-flight magazines, the ones that are all pomp and no circumstance, and flips through it. He shoves it back into the seat's magazine holder. I crack a quip about how “in-flight reading” ain't what it used to be.

Everyone is in Louisville for a different reason and his is to sell paper products to law firms. He's from Lavonia, a suburb outside of Detroit. We compared downtown Louisville (he was impressed with Fourth Street Live!) and downtown Detroit. “They've shut down half of the downtown area. The city is designed for four million people. There are only one million spread out across one hundred and thirty-six square miles. The city can't support itself like that.” Retrieving the same in-flight magazine he opens to a page with a large white area and draws the ethnic “make up” of Detroit and how most everyone lives outside it as opposed to in it. Living in Louisville I forget that while we are segmented we are a hodge-podge as opposed to the North where actual races occupy much larger sections.

I talk about what I do, mostly doing movie reviews and writing. “If it's not applicable, I don't read it.” He has problems watching movies, especially fiction, because it's not “applicable” to anything in his life. “It takes me twenty-to-thirty minutes to get into a movie. I have to tell myself, 'It's mindless entertainment' and go with it.'” With his fingers he counts the three groups of books that have made the garbage: lightly read, made it to the middle, and got all the way through it. “You see, I have to get something from the book. I read a book and as long as I get something from it, even one sentence, I consider it worth my time.” He reminds me of my uncle Roy and the fact that some people can't read for enjoyment. This is oil and water talking. “Clutter” is a concept that he has read about. We, as a people, tend to keep baggage whether physical or emotional. “Delegate, diminish, and delete,” he reasserts over and over.

We go back to talking about movies and I plug my reviews on the web. He tells me he'll check them out and we de-board the plane. I call my friend Rob on the cell, he calls me back, and we finally connect over by the baggage area. “How was your flight,” he asks to which I reply, “The greatest forty-eight minute flight ever.” “Yeah... well, when you ask how someone's flight is it's usually longer.” True.

On the way back to his place we talk about various things including that we are now in the realm of “the pregnant woman” which means no late nights, no staying up talking too loud, etc. We stopped off to eat at a place called Buona's and I got a bowl of meat with some vegetables in it. Back at his place Vicky had already went to bed so I took my stuff up to the room I was staying in and we went out to his deck, sat, and talked. I don't think I've ever felt as broke and fractured as I am now...

My Head on Write

Taking a chance to catch up with what’s going on at the Writing front:
- I’ll be doing movie reviews for Alt Revolt Magazine (www.altrevolt.com). Not being paid per se but I may get to do some photog work (and maybe even get to meet musicians).
- One of my OLD stories, “It Made a Decision,” is being featured in the Mystery Newsletter for Writing.com. The cool thing to come from this would/will be exposure and more people reading my stuff. Which brings me to…
- The Chicago Printers Row Lit Fest. I’ll be there this weekend. If you know me and are in the area, flag me down. I’ll probably be there on Saturday with friends.
- And last but not least everyone wants to know about “The Big Adios.” For those of you who don’t know, “The Big Adios” is my own hardboiled thriller about a hitman, a DVD, and every underbelly-kicking sack o’ crap wanting it. I’m approaching the 4th draft and feel that yes… it’s done. Seeing as it’s longer than a short but shorter than a manuscript, and the fact that hardboiled is a “niche” genre,” and several personal and economic reasons I am going to stick to the plan: “The Big Adios” will be released in the form of a blog for free (but donations will GLADLY be accepted). I will post the first chapter on Gather, Associated Content, and several other sites. It will also have its own Facebook fan club. Watch for it.
- I’m going to begin editing on my old stuff which I should have done a long time ago. Life is what happens while you are making other plans…

The Last Bit of My Sandcastle Got Washed Away

Tuesday morning I ran through the blog entries in my Mojo account. Since September I have written film reviews and covered events for them such as the Louisville International Festival of Films, Dark River Film Fest, Derby City Film Festival, etc. Over the past few months events in my life have caused article submissions to wane and the man is right when he says, “Hindsight is 20/20.” You're never more clear than when you look backward.

I sent my invoices to the account manager at Mojo and sometime later in the day received a note saying that I would receive my payments and that due to restructuring of the website my freelance contract has ended. It's enough to take the bounce out of anyone's bungee.

I'm not angry or pissed-off; I consider myself lucky that I was given the opportunity. Before September of last year I was the last person I thought would be a journalist. I was just a guy who knew a shitload about film; enough to write coherently on it. The sheer fact that someone liked my work enough to hire me and pay me (pittance, yes) for it was a mini-dream come true. I remember meeting the founder, Chuck, who told me, “Thank you. You make us look good.” He shook my hand and for once I had validation for some kind of effort I had been giving. Incidentally I also had that “I'm the nerd in the room” feeling...

My best experience working for them was doing the LIFF. I took the Friday off from work and had a Press Pass that allowed me to go any and every where that I wanted to go, something I likened to “God Mode” in “Wolfenstein 3-D.” I brought along my laptop and digital camera and after an event (movie, seminar) I would write about it and upload it to my blog. I was going 900mph and running between constantly providing content and being a part of it all. By Sunday I damn near crashed but I honestly have never had so much fun and I enjoyed doing work like it.

By March I should have called out the instigator because something was in the air... I was wrapped up in a breakup but had noticed things being slightly amiss; something was going wrong at the Mojo Ranch. I gathered from various sources that money was becoming an issue. By April it was announced that Mojo would be killing their news department but they asked me to stay on and keep doing what I had been doing; no changes to my contract. There were two others sticking around as well...

At some point in May I stopped and noticed that I was the last one blogging. I didn't make a big deal out of it but the site had changed to be primarily about dating and being a “local” thing so I just kept plugging along. Eventually it got to be the beginning of June, I sent in my invoices and got a response back. The last bit of sandcastle, the last of what I had built up for myself here, was washed away in all directions.

And what am I going to do about it?

I'm taking some time off to re-evaluate some things in my life. Reorganize. Restructure. I'm laying low until I come back from Chicago. Will let you know what I come up with.

Moving Forward with Eyes on the Rearview Mirror

Before I get too far into this there are those out there who miss my blog, what's up with me, etc. These entries are for you. I'll probably post this on my MySpace and NW site as well, so any friends still over there can read it, too.

It's nearing the end of May and a brutal summer lies over the horizon of the setting red sun. As the season called “spring” comes to a close so does a few chapters in my life.

Last year I began a blog I never posted; one talking about how much my life had changed once I found out that I was Type II diabetic. There's nothing in life that forces you to live than to find out that now you are required to watch everything you eat and drink or else at best your mind spins and you feel hot or cold or at worst, death.

January 2010 and despite the freezing cold and weekend snows my world was sailing. I was in a relationship for the first time in a long while, I churned out an article every day for LouisvilleMojo, I watched a bunch of movies for free, I went down to Georgia for my birthday for a week... everything was happening. I got up at 8am and didn't get to sleep until 2am on most nights. When the girl I was with moved into my place for two weeks my life went from 900mph to jumping on the Autobahn.

March 2010 the machine broke. The first breakup I had that stretched itself out when I had been a fan of the “fading away” method. My world went into free-fall then gray and finally I found myself taking a long, hard, cold look over what happened and what I was responsible for in all of it. I felt like I was investigating the remains of a plane crash that happened fifty years previous.

I had to do something, I just didn't know what. In February I started a hardboiled thriller project called, “The Big Adios” and continued with that. I also made it a point to exercise correctly and lose some weight.

By the end of April I stacked events on the scales. On the positive side I had lost 23 pounds and made it to the second draft of “The Big Adios,” which I had been pouring my heart and soul into. On the negative side I had lost three friends: one out in California due to whatever the hell he was doing, and two because of the relationship (one of them being the ex-girlfriend). Also, LouisvilleMojo shut down its news division which meant my competitive impetus was removed and I became one of three writers remaining on a site that now dedicated itself to dating.

Keep hanging in there...

May plodded along and at points I found myself re-examining everything and everyone to the point of wanting to crawl under a rock or duck back under my shell. The trust I had in others was broken, I had lost people I had considered friends, and the straw that broke the camel's back? I got booted from the writing group that I was a part of.

But I'm still here.

If there is any saving grace to this river town it's that I've had moments to realize who I am and ask myself: what the hell AM I doing here? This place has a sustainability factor which is fine if you need to figure out who you are and what you want to do but don't expect it to be able to suit your needs for very long. Some people want to be a big fish in a small pond and that's fine. I'm after a bigger pond.

Each day I traverse the hallways of a house of mirrors and find out something about myself that I didn't know. I can't tell you if this is growing up or growing old; I wish I knew. I can tell you what it led to.

Killing Old Charles. The bastard is definitely a bleeder. Old Charles is that sense of self that no one likes: wishy-washy, trying to make everyone love me, living life by what others suggest, and several other quirks I'm having to pound down worse than a Van Helsing stake. Neurotic, uncomfortable, no self-esteem; the list really is endless. It's everything I dislike about me.

New Chas. Or maybe just Chas. Cool, content, precise, focused, happy(er), and most importantly not taking shit off of others who have nothing better to do than drag others down to their level. The idea of self-actualization or the process of finding it. The idea that fear is a ploy used by those who want power and control but cannot and should not be respected.

And the change is not overnight but on a plan of getting to be who I want to be; who I really am. Some days I feel like the VCR flashing midnight because it needs to be re-programmed. It's about learning things I didn't realize in the first place and re-learning what I have forgotten. It's about finding that place where I'm happy just being me.

So I'll begin June in a few days and have to move on; keep up the forward momentum. Aside from bills, debt, my job and my writing the rest of it all has reset. Zero hour and it's “nut up or shut up time.” I can't spend any more time looking back and I shouldn't. The road ahead is half-terrifying and half-exhilarating but I'm hoping that it's every bit as beautiful as I imagine it to be.

On a final note is the “plan”: the One Year Plan. I have a year to set myself up for leaving. I'm not sure where I'm heading to but “anywhere but here” sounds nice. I'm looking for a large city. One that can
handle me.

Stay tuned...

A New Home for Chasness

Yep. That's right. Right here.

If you intentionally came to the blog by way of linking, cool. Thank ya. Welcome to the show again my friends where the music never ends...

If you've stumbled upon the blog by accident pull up a chair. Stay for a bit.

What lies herein are the bits and pieces of my existence. Thoughts and ruminations on the goings on of everything around me. In short, my life. Sometimes it's happy, sometimes sad. But it's mine and you're here reading it. In the words taken from “Slaughterhouse-Five,” “so it goes.”

Come inside, come inside...