The Steampunk World
Friday
I went through the motions of going to work on Friday, but soon found myself free. I was awaiting the arrival of two very special friends, who I'll call SlimLuddite and WeirdMirror. These guys are the cream of the wacky crop in terms of my alums. They are low-maint friends, which means that I can not see 'em for four years and pick up right where I left off, and I can trust them to remain friendly in all situations, rather than demanding that I jump through hoops to be their friends, as so many people who wonder why I don't call anymore have required me to do. Diaspora had settled one in Minneapolis, and another in Cincinnati, so Chicago was the perfect place to meet.
WeirdMirror showed up first, craving some greasy Chicago-style food. It turned out that the less-patient members of the household were about to order in, not wanting to wait for the party to come. We got WM a nice big park sassidge. Not long after, Slim drove in.
It was very, very good to see those guys again. WM would come up to my hometown whenever I visited, but it had been a solid four years since I'd seen Slim. Five mintues after he arrived, it was like he'd never left. It's great to have friends like that.
No time for dilly-dallying, as the party awaited. We hopped two stops down on the train to Bamboo, a Mexican Tiki restaurant/bar owned by Cabuto's parents. In this case, Piloto was throwing a party for no reason, although now that I think about it, Piloto exists in a constant state of party, and this time he was just inviting some friends along.
We arrived to find that Piloto has a lot of friends. I'd say there were 50-some people there at 9, and the party started at 8, which means that it would get going at 11 Mexican time. A good amount for a party but nowhere near enough to fill up a club. Many were Poles etc. from Piloto's ESL class. The rest were mostly Mexicans from the usual crowd (E-D, Lun, Tejas, Machetes, Lisa, etc). Some burly guys from Cabuto's job at Casa dePot showed up, invited by Cabuto even though he had no intention of showing up himself, that bastard. It didn't matter, though- I've never been to Europe, for example, but the idea that you have to know someone to be their friend seems to be limited in my experience to the U.S. non-south. The theme of this crowd is friendliness, acceptance, and fun. If you ever wonder why I don't hang out with too many Americans my age, it's cuz they're just too cool for me. I'd rather hang with grownups with nothing to prove or Mexicans with nothing but friendship to give.
To the bar! Everyone got a drink? Good! A round of tequila shots! Thomas was our bartender, Cabuto's brother, and the drinks were "cheaper than in Mexico". We all knew we were just supporting the party itself and weren't complaining about the $2.50 for a mixed drink, especially since most of Chicago will getcha in the $7-$10 range. I'm always willing to support a party, having hosted many. Once The Roommate had a party and one of his scummy friends stole the beer fund, which sucked extra hard because it was being kept in my prized bank-tube-cannister. The Roommate taught me a valuable lesson- if you are so accepting that you'll hang out with anyone, you'll attract those with such social deficiencies that noone else can stand them, and all of your non-sociopathic friends will abandon you. His crowd of friends looked like a goddam ride on the Greyhound.
Piloto was making his rounds like a good host, so it took him three or four minutes to get to us. I've been jetting off on tangents, but picture this- we stroll in, make our way through the dance floor to the bar, order drinks, do some introductions, order a round of shots, scream and dance in place from the tequila, and shortly afterwards Piloto shows up. Elapsed time maybe five minutes. He says, "Hey, how's it going, thanks for coming, here you go," and hands me a blunt. In what appears to Slim and Weirdmirror to be a bar, as they didn't understand yet that we were there for a private party with the owners. Slim turns to WeirdMirror and says, "He's the coolest guy, ever." Hey- these guys wanted to party, we'll party.
Then came a blur of tequila, dancing, a huge Mexican-food buffet, more tequila, laughing, screaming, talking about old times, meeting new people. Slim later complained that he kept having to push away offered tequila, and that "every five minutes some Mexican was coming up to me with a blunt he wanted to smoke". HA! I got 'em. These guys used to party the heartiest of all back in school, and all it took was Mexicans to out-party 'em. Success!
We stumbled back home around beer-thirty (thank Ditka for the train) and engaged in a rousing game of Crash Bash, one of those four-player party-games that consists of 28 little mini-games. At one point, WM and Slim had tried to leave for smokes, and found the door locked (as this was a bar serving likker after hours) and asked Piloto to be let out for smokes but he just gave them a pack of filterless Mexican cigarettes. So those crazy guys stayed up and smoked Mexican smokes while I passed out, my reserves of heartiness spent.
I went through the motions of going to work on Friday, but soon found myself free. I was awaiting the arrival of two very special friends, who I'll call SlimLuddite and WeirdMirror. These guys are the cream of the wacky crop in terms of my alums. They are low-maint friends, which means that I can not see 'em for four years and pick up right where I left off, and I can trust them to remain friendly in all situations, rather than demanding that I jump through hoops to be their friends, as so many people who wonder why I don't call anymore have required me to do. Diaspora had settled one in Minneapolis, and another in Cincinnati, so Chicago was the perfect place to meet.
WeirdMirror showed up first, craving some greasy Chicago-style food. It turned out that the less-patient members of the household were about to order in, not wanting to wait for the party to come. We got WM a nice big park sassidge. Not long after, Slim drove in.
It was very, very good to see those guys again. WM would come up to my hometown whenever I visited, but it had been a solid four years since I'd seen Slim. Five mintues after he arrived, it was like he'd never left. It's great to have friends like that.
No time for dilly-dallying, as the party awaited. We hopped two stops down on the train to Bamboo, a Mexican Tiki restaurant/bar owned by Cabuto's parents. In this case, Piloto was throwing a party for no reason, although now that I think about it, Piloto exists in a constant state of party, and this time he was just inviting some friends along.
We arrived to find that Piloto has a lot of friends. I'd say there were 50-some people there at 9, and the party started at 8, which means that it would get going at 11 Mexican time. A good amount for a party but nowhere near enough to fill up a club. Many were Poles etc. from Piloto's ESL class. The rest were mostly Mexicans from the usual crowd (E-D, Lun, Tejas, Machetes, Lisa, etc). Some burly guys from Cabuto's job at Casa dePot showed up, invited by Cabuto even though he had no intention of showing up himself, that bastard. It didn't matter, though- I've never been to Europe, for example, but the idea that you have to know someone to be their friend seems to be limited in my experience to the U.S. non-south. The theme of this crowd is friendliness, acceptance, and fun. If you ever wonder why I don't hang out with too many Americans my age, it's cuz they're just too cool for me. I'd rather hang with grownups with nothing to prove or Mexicans with nothing but friendship to give.
To the bar! Everyone got a drink? Good! A round of tequila shots! Thomas was our bartender, Cabuto's brother, and the drinks were "cheaper than in Mexico". We all knew we were just supporting the party itself and weren't complaining about the $2.50 for a mixed drink, especially since most of Chicago will getcha in the $7-$10 range. I'm always willing to support a party, having hosted many. Once The Roommate had a party and one of his scummy friends stole the beer fund, which sucked extra hard because it was being kept in my prized bank-tube-cannister. The Roommate taught me a valuable lesson- if you are so accepting that you'll hang out with anyone, you'll attract those with such social deficiencies that noone else can stand them, and all of your non-sociopathic friends will abandon you. His crowd of friends looked like a goddam ride on the Greyhound.
Piloto was making his rounds like a good host, so it took him three or four minutes to get to us. I've been jetting off on tangents, but picture this- we stroll in, make our way through the dance floor to the bar, order drinks, do some introductions, order a round of shots, scream and dance in place from the tequila, and shortly afterwards Piloto shows up. Elapsed time maybe five minutes. He says, "Hey, how's it going, thanks for coming, here you go," and hands me a blunt. In what appears to Slim and Weirdmirror to be a bar, as they didn't understand yet that we were there for a private party with the owners. Slim turns to WeirdMirror and says, "He's the coolest guy, ever." Hey- these guys wanted to party, we'll party.
Then came a blur of tequila, dancing, a huge Mexican-food buffet, more tequila, laughing, screaming, talking about old times, meeting new people. Slim later complained that he kept having to push away offered tequila, and that "every five minutes some Mexican was coming up to me with a blunt he wanted to smoke". HA! I got 'em. These guys used to party the heartiest of all back in school, and all it took was Mexicans to out-party 'em. Success!
We stumbled back home around beer-thirty (thank Ditka for the train) and engaged in a rousing game of Crash Bash, one of those four-player party-games that consists of 28 little mini-games. At one point, WM and Slim had tried to leave for smokes, and found the door locked (as this was a bar serving likker after hours) and asked Piloto to be let out for smokes but he just gave them a pack of filterless Mexican cigarettes. So those crazy guys stayed up and smoked Mexican smokes while I passed out, my reserves of heartiness spent.
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