Chicago 1

This place is cool, although I haven't had the opportunity to really see the city.  Most of my time's been spent at the conference in panels, running Sandra's publication (1913) table, or smoking cigarettes outside in the brisk, brisk Chicago air. 

Last night, when my flight came in, I hopped onto the L and shot downtown and then hiked a few blocks to my hotel.  I checked in and, the sweetest part, I asked for a room with ashtrays. I love smoking in doors, just not at my own house.  Its a single room on the 12th floor, the top of the building, with a king size bed, a desk, and two windows that open only a couple of inches.

Once settled, I wandered around the park bundled up in two coats and a scarf and then found a pub to drink in until my classmates were ready to go out for dinner.  When they were all set to go, we met me outside where I was thrilled to flag my first taxi! A feeling of power runs through the arm that lures a taxi to the curb. 

The cab dropped us off to an excellent dinner at Frontera. The best Mexican food I've had outside of Southern California.  At Frontera, my three classmates--lets give them a collective title... the crue-- At Frontera, the crue and I were joined by Sandra and her husband Ben where we discussed the conference and what 1913 was setting up at the table.

After dinner the crue and I went back to the pub and continued to drink our jetlag into oblivion.  Needless to say, I slept like the comatose.

Thismorning, I woke up around ten, got ready and headed to the conference. Nothing noteworthy at the conference, although the bathrooms at the Hilton were fucking lovely.  Black marble, golden flush handles, sconce light fixtures... classy.

I headed back to my room to work on some homework around four or five, then headed out to North Chicago for a reading at The Empty Bottle, where, if I lived in Chicago, I'd spend much time.  It's a gnarly hole in the wall venue that has music seven nights a week. Everything from jazz to punk to indie... bad ass joint for sure.

The reading was really cool because the only people that knew about it were a small number of poets and their friends.  Ben Doller, Sandra's hubby, read his work and I was impressed, although I shouldn't be since he is published.  Not to mention the reading was great because of the other poets who read... I found some names to follow... Forrest Gander, G.E. Patterson.

Afterwords, the crue and I ate at Bite.  The food was great and the service was slow, but the prices were like Denny's prices, so I didn't mind the service. Besides, there was only one server for the packed diner.  When dinner was finnished, we hopped into a cab to go back to the hotel.  When we climbed in, we gave the driver our destination and he flipped a bitch and then got pulled over. 

As the crue and I were sitting in the back of the cab, the cop approached the driver, asked for his license and cabbie certification.  Obviously the Uturn was illegal, however, our cabbie's cabbie license was four years expired!! The cop threatened our driver with a night in jail, kept his expired license, gave him a ticket for the illegal U-ie, and since we were in the middle of transit, the cop let the driver finish his route for the night.

Yeah. It's good.