Chitown Weekend, part 2

We found the Yen place right where Johnny had said it would be. Adam answered the door, and Lex and I finally met Kim and Mel. (They're nice. You'd like them.) Johnny appeared from the back yard to announce the fire was lit, I shared my new-found knowledge about the Kennedy and the Dan Ryan (which resulted in confusion all around, as I failed to provide any context), we found out just how much slack Kim and Mel had in their schedule (not much), and Johnny and I dashed off to the Jewels for provisions.

I think it was at about this point, on the road to the Jewels, that we first used what would become something of a catchphrase for the weekend. “All it takes is to not be a dick.” “That’s all it takes.” (The other catchphrase was, of course, “Did you know that the Dan Ryan and the Kennedy are the same highway?”) It seems like such obvious advice, and it applies to so many situations in life, but some people never learn this simple lesson. Tony Blair, old roommates, assorted family members... all of you take note; it’s not that complicated. How do people get through life without learning this?

We got back, swapped supervisory roles with Kim, and I whipped up a batch of burgers while Johnny made a great little cucumber, tomato, and onion salad. Lex wants me to get the recipe. He denies that I’ve ever made anything similar: “The tomato makes the dish.” (Oddly enough, Zoe and I ended up making an Indian dish that uses a lot of the same ingredients a few days later for her world studies class. Sue described it as Indian Salsa. It was a big hit with the class. Zoe said it was fun and that she wants to help cook sometimes. We’ll see how long this enthusiasm lasts…) With the coals ready, we retired to the back yard to grill and catch up, and yak about things in the real world and the blogiverse.

After dinner, Johnny and I retired to the backyard to fire up the fire pit and take a stab at watching Shaun of the Dead on his laptop next to the fire. Alas, the volume couldn’t compete with the ambient noise, so we ended up watching it inside. (Note to the Department of Homeland Security: Equip every home with a cricket bat ASAP.) The boys hung out by the fire pit for a while before joining us for a little zombie violence (which is so much better than the regular kind).

After the Meat, Fire, and Violence trifecta, the only thing the evening needed to be the complete Boy’s Night Out™ was Booze. Johnny and I tromped off to imbibe, just beating the catastrophic downpour. Johnny introduced me to his colleagues, including Phil (of God’s Own Suburb fame), we had a few libations, and moved on to another bar after the rain died down.

We had a few more drinks, I admired the art in the men’s room (cartoony smoking bunnies, which is a pretty narrow niche for an artist to choose when you think about it), and we eventually made it back to the Yen place for some hard-earned rest.

I did not die crossing Western Avenue in either direction (Kim was worried).