I found myself at the gate of The Union Stockyards, where from 1865-1971 millions and zillions and fafillions of cows, pigs, and humans were turned into miserable meat. Today an erie memorial for 21 fallen firefighters greets you. They scream silently, perishing in unseen flames, their faces melting into their skulls.
It seems this spot will always represent horrific death.
A lazy day, with enough work to make it worth coming in.
And enough leisure time to talk to Lauren on the phone.
She and I enjoyed a playful conversation while I drove from the affluence of John Hughes' north shore Chicagoland.
After class I joined my students for a drink at a bar called Fat Cat. I used to really not like this bar. Based on the quality of the food, service, and the clientele, I had determined that Fat Cat was for assholes.
However since 2007, the service has improved, and there weren't that many douchebags there tonight. But the presentation of the food was still a bit stupid.
For instance, I ordered an appetizer of corn dogs (wait, who's the stupid one?).
What arrived at the table was an obnoxious Tinker Toy that stood ten inches tall, with multicolored skewers displaying the corn dog balls like a junior high double helix science project. I felt like a mild asshole eating this idiotic thing.
But let it be known that Fat Cat is not for assholes anymore. It is for dummies who think the Rat Pack was a bunch of jerks watching sports highlights and singing Green Day songs with a mouthful of bar-food novelties. Barf-ood.
Anyway, we went there and I drank too much, which lead to one of my least favorite activities: Talking about improv.
Oh well. Fuck it. It was a decent day.
Also it was David Letterman's birthday.
Verdict: Win
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