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…