Sometime around Monday, July 2nd, I realized that Tuesday the 3rd would be like a Friday. Some people bitch when a holiday falls on Wednesday, but I like having a week comprised of two Mondays and two Fridays. Every day of the week is either horrible or wonderful! This must be what it's like to be a movie star!

Well, it would be downright unamerican of me to not go out and party hearty on the Fourth. For extra patriotism, I knew I had to involve liquor and explosives. She was feeling a bit sick Tuesday night, so I went over to my friend Monkey Man and Three-Kidney Armogida's place, where they were grillin' out. Kasey was there too. He doesn't get a nickname, because, well, he's Kasey.

They had just moved to town. Ol' Three-Kidney Armogida was going to the Art Institute, and Monkey Man was just kinda taggin' along, them bein' sweethearts and all. They're both from my hometown, and were lucky enough to reach escape velocity. My home town has a tendency to suck people in (to the local college) and never let them out. Took me 14 years. Great place to grow up, sucky place to be young and free.

My hosts live in Marina City I could write an entire post about the twin towers, so I'll save it for later. Bertram Goldberg, the designer, says

'Our time.., has made us aware that forces and strains flow in patterns which have little relationship to the rectilinear concepts of the Victorian engineers. We have become aware of the almost live quality which our structures achieve, and we seek the forms which give the most life to our structures.'

I say, they look like the 1960's vision of a future in which corn is idealized as the perfect form.

I was tickled pink to get to visit. They're neat buildings. The valets ride up and down 20 stories on a conveyor belt with handles. There were numerous and scandalous fire code violations. And each apartment is shaped like a petal of the flower that is the floor plan, in this case a 38th-floor balcony view facing south, looking at the State Street stretching all the way to Indiana. I ran into a kid I hadn't seen since he was in diapers, and he hadn't turned out too bad. Everybody kept daring each other to drop wads of paper or pour beer over the balcony. Thankfully nobody was stupid enough to try and kill anyone. The building seemed full of 40 to 50-somethings who liked to party like mad, and we got our fill of old naked flesh in the other tower. During the day, the two rooftop decks are like nudist colonies, there are so many nude sunbathers.

We went up on the roof (61st floor) to watch the fireworks. They were launched from a barge on the lake, and each time one went off you could see thousands upon thousands of leisure craft out for the show. When it was dark, red and green lights filled the lake like an eerie sea of glowing plankton. When the show was over, somebody started pitching quarter-sticks off the other tower, making booms that would echo off of all the other buildings and thump you in your chest. Scared the living shit out of me every time, and I could see the fuse as they lit it so I knew when it was coming. I gotta get me a hookup for those things, they really make some noise. We also saw an SUV limo progress down State street, stopping to proposition every unaccompanied woman the occupant saw. They all turned him down, of course. Can you say abduction and rape, kiddies? Besides, who's supposed to be impressed by an SUV limo? That just screams "rich yuppie with something to prove."

As hundreds of boats headed back up the river after the show, we went down to the marina. Underneath the towers are boat slips, bubbled to keep them from freezing in the winter. Monkey Man has had at least four boats in the five years I've known him, but the waiting list for a slip down there was at least a year long. However, they have a catwalk that hangs over the river, so we sat out there and watched the boat parade. Lots of party barges, and even more old fat guys with bikini babes. I even saw some mullets in a Baha! In Chicago! "Bahas are becoming the redneck boat of choice," observed Kasey, "you practically have to show your mullet to buy one."

With the explosive entertainment over with, we headed out to some bars. Nothing notable about our drinking, except that Kasey, being from small-town Ohio, was shocked when three drinks came to $28. "Welcome to the big city!" I told him.

Now, my friend E-D had invited me to this party that started at 11 PM. I was eager to party with E-D since she's a coworker and I was eager to see her cut loose. It was 12:30 when I left my hometown homies, and I figured the party would still be in effect by the time I got out there. It took me a half an hour, though, to find a cab, because they were on strike that day. When I finally got one, he bitched about where I made him take me. "You're too far west!" he said, "Too far west! How you get home!" It was 4600 west, that's about six miles west of town zero. He dropped me off in BFE at about 1:30 AM.

I stroll into the party, and thank Santa Guadalupe, there's about 30 people still there. I ask for E-D, and I'm told that she left 5 minutes ago. Shit the bed! I don't know a damn person at this party! Fortunately, I had something in my blue-leopard-print cigarette case that made me some instant friends.

The party was held in an auto-body shop. Actually, the host's uncle ran a handyman business and used the place as his business address. However, a bunch of kids my age lived there. They had painted up the walls in fancy patterns and built a loft. They had a pool table and a drop-in cooler for the beer. One whole wall was covered in a huge, 30-ft mural of Aztec gods with stuff coming out of their brains, very trippy-like. It was painted from multiple perspectives and really fucked with your mind if you looked at it too long. There was also a big bison float from some parade in there. The women's restroom had been converted to a shower, so the place was actually a pretty phat party pad. Plus, no neighbors to complain about the noise from the party, not to mention the metal band that the residents were in.

The kids there were from mixed social groups, you had yer Gap kids, yer punks, and yer nerdy goth-types. Now, I'm perfectly comfortable being the only white person in any environment. I grew up in Georgia, and my mom took me to the public pool where no white folks would dare swim because it was integrated. Skin color is a non-issue. Plus, these folks could tell I was a little uncomfortable not knowing anyone, so they would just come up and introduce themselves. However, when there ain't no English being spoken, it creates a bit of a barrier. Not for long, though, as I made a ton of new friends and had a blast.

They thought I was weird because I wasn't dancing the whole time. They made me dance. I tried to explain that I'm a whiteboy, but they wouldn't hear it. What really struck me about these folks is that unlike the same social groups at a white party, there wasn't this air of snobbery, this cooler-than-thou attitude. These kids were genuinely there to have fun, and they were determined to make me have fun too. There was a spirit of humor in the air about it being America's independence day and noone there giving a shit.

My host's name was, believe it or not, "El Piloto". They said, "They call heem Peeloto because he's always flying reely high!" Actually, his real name is Alfonso, and so Piloto is a play on Poncho Piloto/Pontius Pilate. Most everybody there, if not all of them, were from Jalisco. It seemed like the thing to do was to move to Chicago once you were old enough to move out of your parent's house.

Well, we danced and drank and talked about music until the sun came up. I was lucky to get a ride from Piloto's sister, who took me east to the train station. I stumbled home about 7:30 AM on the Fourth. The next day at work, I made sure E-D would tell me when the next party is. Brooklyn Mick wants to go, too. Next time I'll know folks and have an even better time!