I’ve fully retreated into Angie’s world where State of Union addresses don’t exist. The inflatable pilot from Airplane! is president here and he’s not one for speeches.
While the rest of you were either crying or vomiting through Dubya’s performance last night, I met up with a pal of mine for a stroll through the Art Institute and some vittles. We found out a little late that the museum now closes early on their free night, so Tina and I happened upon this quaint and oh-so-authentic little Irish Pub for dinner and drink.
We had a great time catching up and headed to a nearby bookstore to browse and ridicule anything that crossed our path. I bought this very funny Chicago blogger’s new paperback (see, blogging can pay off!), and Tina helped me with the big words in a David Egger’s book. Good times.
On the way to our respective modes of public transportation, we saw a crowd of placard-holding, drum beating rabble making their way down Wabash. Usually as protests go in Chicago, cops outnumber dissidents 2:1 leaving Johnny Law a little bored. Last night was no exception. About six of them on bikes quickly swarmed a carload jammed packed with protesters. Something, as they say, was about to go down.
This girl in the passenger seat suddenly hopped out and shouted/stuttered preemptively to an officer: “MY UNDERWEAR WAS ON THE ENTIRE TIME!”
Excuse me? What in the fuck did I miss?
Tina again helped me out (I’ve been real slow as of late) and said she probably stuck her bare bottom out the window. Something called mooning, I guess. Sure, that’s one way to make a political statement. But talk about wilting in the face of authority! Abbie Hoffman probably turned over in his weed-lined grave with Miss Pants-About-Her-Ankles squirming her way out of trouble.
And anyway political mooning, I don’t get. But drunken ass-baring, totally makes sense. A few years back, the ladies and I were back in the ol’ hometown and got some beer to go after the bars along the Illinois River closed. One of us, probably me, got the bright idea to moon barges as the passed us.
To this day, I can still feel the barge’s radioactive search light on my bum. They were really looking for something, lemme tell ya.