Marc
(The Return To) Bourbonnais
Miami. Nice. But I'd never want to live there. Sat around and read most of the time, and was able to hear from Scooter yesterday that the Bears won. I was buying a coat at the Gap on Collins St, just two blocks away from the beach. I didn't see much, to be honest. Some people. Some bums. Some awesome flamenco guitar players. A guy playing sax at a bar to a cd of background music. Would you believe me if I told you he covered Destiny's Child's "Survivor" on his sax? Cause he did. He's the type of guy that probably has his own album, and he's also the type of guy that probably wanted to have his picture on the front, and he's also probably the type of guy that took a trip out to a sand dune in the early morning sunshine and put on his cleanest sunglasses and had his brightest sax in hand and wore his shiniest shirt and he probably put his foot up on the sand dune and kept the other one down a bit and he probably arched his back and stuck his sax to his lips while pushing the bell way up into the air cause he thought it'd look all kinds of masculine and triumphant and whatnot. I thought he looked kind of like a terd. His big thing was that he could hold out the last note of every (fucking) song out for like thirty or forty seconds, which was impressive after the first one, but lost its charm after the sixth song. If that damn waitress'd've come back with our beers and dessert sooner, we would been on our way. But no dice. We had to watch the guy playing sax who was wicked into it.
On the up side, I got to see a good proportion of the guys I used to work with, and we all went out to a real fancy dinner last night across the water from downtown Miami -- like literally on the water line, looking directly across to the skyscrapers crowding the shore. If it were possible to open up a decent restaurant somewhere in Indiana with a similar view of the Chicago skyline, they'd never go out of business. But, of course, they'd also likely be operating in Gary IN somewhere, and no one'd go in the first place. So you take your pick.
But, anywho, the guys I worked with are great. Funny. Three of them are Cuban-Americans from Miami, and they just crack me up talking about baseball, and how the Canadian Mounties wouldn't let them cross the lake from Detroit to Windsor, Canada, to go gambling one night. I joked with them at the time that it was because they weren't white, and just to prove my point, next time I was near the Canadian border, I crossed and took a picture of me standing in front of the "Welcome To Canada" sign with all of the equipment that the Mounties told them was contraband stacked up in front of me. For me, the white guy, it was no problem. I emailed it to them later that night. They still won't let me live it down, instead pointing out all the ridiculous things I did on the job, which are too many to say here. The food was excellent, and the beer flowed freely, and it was all on the company dime, so kudos to them.
Also got to spend some QT with the pops, as we shared a hotel room for a couple of days. I tried to be polite at first and read at night on the porch while he slept, but it ended up getting too cold, and I had to back in, and couldn't concentrate on account of his snoring. I will tell anyone who's ever complained about my snoring problem one thing -- you've never heard my dad snore. I had to wear headphones to bed last night cause he was keeping me up so long. And, as soon as I fall asleep on the plane ride home today, the guy to my left had to pee and bumped me so I could get out of his way. Why? I ask, does the guy who always has to pee always also get the window seat? Fuck that. I was stuck in the goddamned middle seat for the first time in I don't know how long, and I was not happy. I guess all those first class trips kind of spoiled me. Damn airlines.
So, that's it for me. I might right tomorrow, or I might not. I'll be around Bourbonnais all damn day all jacked up on Codeine and whatnot. I'm still actually looking forward to getting my teeth pulled, which sounds kind of sadistic, I know, but still. I think it's going to be fun.
(The Return To) Bourbonnais
Miami. Nice. But I'd never want to live there. Sat around and read most of the time, and was able to hear from Scooter yesterday that the Bears won. I was buying a coat at the Gap on Collins St, just two blocks away from the beach. I didn't see much, to be honest. Some people. Some bums. Some awesome flamenco guitar players. A guy playing sax at a bar to a cd of background music. Would you believe me if I told you he covered Destiny's Child's "Survivor" on his sax? Cause he did. He's the type of guy that probably has his own album, and he's also the type of guy that probably wanted to have his picture on the front, and he's also probably the type of guy that took a trip out to a sand dune in the early morning sunshine and put on his cleanest sunglasses and had his brightest sax in hand and wore his shiniest shirt and he probably put his foot up on the sand dune and kept the other one down a bit and he probably arched his back and stuck his sax to his lips while pushing the bell way up into the air cause he thought it'd look all kinds of masculine and triumphant and whatnot. I thought he looked kind of like a terd. His big thing was that he could hold out the last note of every (fucking) song out for like thirty or forty seconds, which was impressive after the first one, but lost its charm after the sixth song. If that damn waitress'd've come back with our beers and dessert sooner, we would been on our way. But no dice. We had to watch the guy playing sax who was wicked into it.
On the up side, I got to see a good proportion of the guys I used to work with, and we all went out to a real fancy dinner last night across the water from downtown Miami -- like literally on the water line, looking directly across to the skyscrapers crowding the shore. If it were possible to open up a decent restaurant somewhere in Indiana with a similar view of the Chicago skyline, they'd never go out of business. But, of course, they'd also likely be operating in Gary IN somewhere, and no one'd go in the first place. So you take your pick.
But, anywho, the guys I worked with are great. Funny. Three of them are Cuban-Americans from Miami, and they just crack me up talking about baseball, and how the Canadian Mounties wouldn't let them cross the lake from Detroit to Windsor, Canada, to go gambling one night. I joked with them at the time that it was because they weren't white, and just to prove my point, next time I was near the Canadian border, I crossed and took a picture of me standing in front of the "Welcome To Canada" sign with all of the equipment that the Mounties told them was contraband stacked up in front of me. For me, the white guy, it was no problem. I emailed it to them later that night. They still won't let me live it down, instead pointing out all the ridiculous things I did on the job, which are too many to say here. The food was excellent, and the beer flowed freely, and it was all on the company dime, so kudos to them.
Also got to spend some QT with the pops, as we shared a hotel room for a couple of days. I tried to be polite at first and read at night on the porch while he slept, but it ended up getting too cold, and I had to back in, and couldn't concentrate on account of his snoring. I will tell anyone who's ever complained about my snoring problem one thing -- you've never heard my dad snore. I had to wear headphones to bed last night cause he was keeping me up so long. And, as soon as I fall asleep on the plane ride home today, the guy to my left had to pee and bumped me so I could get out of his way. Why? I ask, does the guy who always has to pee always also get the window seat? Fuck that. I was stuck in the goddamned middle seat for the first time in I don't know how long, and I was not happy. I guess all those first class trips kind of spoiled me. Damn airlines.
So, that's it for me. I might right tomorrow, or I might not. I'll be around Bourbonnais all damn day all jacked up on Codeine and whatnot. I'm still actually looking forward to getting my teeth pulled, which sounds kind of sadistic, I know, but still. I think it's going to be fun.
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