Chicago, the Windy City: awesome. I got there Friday on time (despite taking the “express” Megabus) and met up with Nate. We went out to Millennium Park, Navy Pier and the Freedom Museum, meeting up with Andrew after work.
Dinner turned out to be some sort of Top Chef-esque dinner party (courtesy @joejanas). There was a lot of drinking, followed by Tuman’s for more.
Saturday, Andrew started things off with a gigantic breakfast and then we went to Wicker Park, wandered Milwaukee and stopped in for some local retail at Urban Outfitters. For dinner, we went to Coast Sushi Bar.
Andrew talked up the specialty roll, named White Dragon, as if it were a mythical potion of sex, drugs and teen pop hits. Turns out, he downplayed it slightly. From there we went to Horseshoe to watch Fox and the Grapes and the Screaming Bulldogs. (All while drinking; obviously.)
Sunday, I went grocery shopping with Andrew and we headed downtown to meet Nate so he could head back to “the Burgh.” We had obligatory (and delicious) deep-dish at Exchequer. Andrew headed off and I wandered downtown a bit before catching the bus.
Thanks to Andrew for the hosting, Joe for the grub and Coast for a reason to live. (I’d apologize to Jo for not meeting up but she’s not a reader.)
With the drunk sleep and only two hours rest last night, the excessive walking in cold weather and the brutal ingestion battle that raged between myself and the part of my brain that recognizes limits, I’m the worse for the wear. My head and legs ache, my right foot had some sort of shooting pain last night and I’m serenading my co-cube-dwellers with a tone-deaf dry cough.
Snaps are, or will be, in the usual places. As I wander through occupational tasks in a groggy mist of wish-I-wasn’t-here, I’ll leave you with this, unrelated, question: why is this desperate call for spousal commitment seen as empowering?