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This weekend I broke with a long-running pattern and spent more waking hours outside the house than in it. After sleeping away most of the day, I slipped out of the house at 4:30, telling the old man, "See you again in about five hours." Yesterday I left a little after 9 a.m. and wasn't back for twelve hours. Far from feeling neglected, I expect the Old Man was relishing being able to get his work done. If anyone missed me, it was the cat.
I actually made plans with Alexander the Great to hit the Out In Chicago exhibit at the Chicago Historical Socierty last Saturday, but renovation-related issues forced him to postpone. Yesterday, despite further mayhem chez lui (in a manner reminiscent of a nouvelle vauge film, the arrival of a young new cat into his settled home has set the other two to fighting like, well, like cats), he met me for coffee at Metropolis and we headed down together.
He was right that the el would've been speedier, but I relished the opportunity to travel down the lakefront in a bus flooded with morning sunlight as we dissected every sort of human frailty. The exhibit itself was very much worth seeing; if you can make it, go. (But go soon; it closes before the end of the month.) Lots of interesting artifacts, particularly from the first century of Chicago's existence. If I have one complaint (more of a nitpick, really), it's that the contemporary bits heavily favoured the testimonies of activists. Obviously the focus is on those who are "out", but there are a lot of queers living openly in this city without considering that a political gesture or viewing themselves as part of any "movement", and I'd like to know more of their stories.
Afterwards, I steered us to Adobo Grill, which I was relieved to find (a) still in existence and (b) still good, where we talked about the good and bad points of nostalgia and those things which have gone into making us the jaded, guarded, cynical old queers we are today. Then he graciously walked me to my next engagement, a tour of the Lincoln Park Conservatory with Bumiputeri and her husband.
His appearance was a surprise; last I heard their marriage was on the rocks and he'd moved out, but the gentle bickering was more what I would've expected from a couple which are still a going concern. In any case, the mild weather encouraged us to take a stroll around the North Pond and into the Oesterreiche Bäckerei on Clark Street, for some leisurely mid-afternoon Kaffee und Kuchen (und Suppe und Salat for Suami Bumiputeri). To kill some time before we could eat again, I lured us to World Market and finally had the chance to stock up on the echte stroopwaffels I've been pining for.
They let me choose where to go for dinner so I seized the opportunity to finally check out Jibek Jolu, the city's only Kyrgyz restaurant. I worried it wasn't the best choice when I saw how meat-heavy the selections were (Bumiputeri is piscatarian) but she pronounced herself very satisfied--particularly once she'd negotiated herself some lazy (chili paste) with which to kick up her entree. By the time I parted from them, I was punchy with affection, wondering why I'd put off so long getting together again.
On a whim last Friday, I'd texted the Rabbi again. We last got together about a month ago, and after a couple of my attempts at getting in touch went ignored, I figured I'd leave to him if he wanted to resume his studies. (He's taking an Italian class right now and I surmised he'd gotten overwhelmed.) We negotiated a meeting at Blind Faith Café in Evanston and to my frank surprise I found we hadn't lose much ground at all despite the gap.
I had to cut things short because of an invitation to dinner at Scruffy's place before the weekly Walking Dead viewing party. Not only did the Rabbi give me a ride over but he let himself be talked in for a drink; he ended up staying to watch the new episode with us, but sped off the moment it ended. I mooched a ride home from Mazeppa, which gave us a chance to talk books.
So, in short: plenty of good eats, some fun activities, and lots and lots of engrossing conversation. Pretty much an ideal weekend (if you ignore the disruptive effects of DST).
I actually made plans with Alexander the Great to hit the Out In Chicago exhibit at the Chicago Historical Socierty last Saturday, but renovation-related issues forced him to postpone. Yesterday, despite further mayhem chez lui (in a manner reminiscent of a nouvelle vauge film, the arrival of a young new cat into his settled home has set the other two to fighting like, well, like cats), he met me for coffee at Metropolis and we headed down together.
He was right that the el would've been speedier, but I relished the opportunity to travel down the lakefront in a bus flooded with morning sunlight as we dissected every sort of human frailty. The exhibit itself was very much worth seeing; if you can make it, go. (But go soon; it closes before the end of the month.) Lots of interesting artifacts, particularly from the first century of Chicago's existence. If I have one complaint (more of a nitpick, really), it's that the contemporary bits heavily favoured the testimonies of activists. Obviously the focus is on those who are "out", but there are a lot of queers living openly in this city without considering that a political gesture or viewing themselves as part of any "movement", and I'd like to know more of their stories.
Afterwards, I steered us to Adobo Grill, which I was relieved to find (a) still in existence and (b) still good, where we talked about the good and bad points of nostalgia and those things which have gone into making us the jaded, guarded, cynical old queers we are today. Then he graciously walked me to my next engagement, a tour of the Lincoln Park Conservatory with Bumiputeri and her husband.
His appearance was a surprise; last I heard their marriage was on the rocks and he'd moved out, but the gentle bickering was more what I would've expected from a couple which are still a going concern. In any case, the mild weather encouraged us to take a stroll around the North Pond and into the Oesterreiche Bäckerei on Clark Street, for some leisurely mid-afternoon Kaffee und Kuchen (und Suppe und Salat for Suami Bumiputeri). To kill some time before we could eat again, I lured us to World Market and finally had the chance to stock up on the echte stroopwaffels I've been pining for.
They let me choose where to go for dinner so I seized the opportunity to finally check out Jibek Jolu, the city's only Kyrgyz restaurant. I worried it wasn't the best choice when I saw how meat-heavy the selections were (Bumiputeri is piscatarian) but she pronounced herself very satisfied--particularly once she'd negotiated herself some lazy (chili paste) with which to kick up her entree. By the time I parted from them, I was punchy with affection, wondering why I'd put off so long getting together again.
On a whim last Friday, I'd texted the Rabbi again. We last got together about a month ago, and after a couple of my attempts at getting in touch went ignored, I figured I'd leave to him if he wanted to resume his studies. (He's taking an Italian class right now and I surmised he'd gotten overwhelmed.) We negotiated a meeting at Blind Faith Café in Evanston and to my frank surprise I found we hadn't lose much ground at all despite the gap.
I had to cut things short because of an invitation to dinner at Scruffy's place before the weekly Walking Dead viewing party. Not only did the Rabbi give me a ride over but he let himself be talked in for a drink; he ended up staying to watch the new episode with us, but sped off the moment it ended. I mooched a ride home from Mazeppa, which gave us a chance to talk books.
So, in short: plenty of good eats, some fun activities, and lots and lots of engrossing conversation. Pretty much an ideal weekend (if you ignore the disruptive effects of DST).