Perfect Day for Coffee

This is truly a gorgeous day, perfect in every way. There was heat and humidity yesterday, violent storms attacked in the evening, and we awoke to a bluebird sky unencumbered by moisture with highs at 70 and a gentle breeze to keep you honest. I’m really, truly, honestly having difficulty finding anything to bitch about. I was even let out of the slave cage today in order to dine al fresco with an old pal, adjacent to Millennium Park which if you haven’t been, is one tourist destination in Chicago that I recommend. The Gage was the destination and anyone who has visited me in Chicago knows that me gusto El Gage (is The Gage a masculine noun? feminine? did I drop the Spanish ball by using gusto instead of gusta? nevermind, I don’t give a shit). A- fish and chips on its worst day, awesome burgers, a Scotch egg like you dream about, wine list that you just rarely see at a pub, great beer choices, friendly staff, really I could go on but I don’t want The Gage to get too excited and prematurely blow it on my face. Showed up a half-tick early and scored a primo spot outside with no reservation. Forgot my shades today and was squinting like Bruce Lee in a basement fight, but no worries, our chillaxin’ server brah just tossed me his Wayfarers and all’s well. So what possibly could be missing from this perfect scene on a perfect day? Beer. Not just beer, but a big ol’ oak aged, double IPA from Southern Tier (“Unearthly”). Tastes like prom night undies. Big, complex, with a smoothness you don’t usually experience in a double IPA, owing to the perfect application of subtle malts. And the icing on the cake: served in a big tulip glass for the extra pretentiousness that should accompany a beer of this regal beauty. Ga’ head Daryl, enjoy your Miller Lite shotgun top, we’re drinking pure sophistication over here. Only here’s the thing, I wasn’t drinking sexy, curvaceous, mind-honeying Imperial IPA from a pretentious tulip glass, I was drinking fucking coffee. That’s right, the day is bent over with its skirt hiked up begging you to stuff it with hoppy IPA and you’re sitting there with a boner pillow drinking goddamn coffee staring at your buddy’s multiple rounds of orange-gold glory through the filtered light of borrowed Wayfarers. Damn you work. Damn you to the bowels of hell and an eternity of swimming with boots on in a boiling sea of putrefaction like Andy Dufresne crawled through in The Shawshank Redemption. Work is the biggest bullshit in China. So I sit there at the intersection of indentured servitude and pussification getting absofuckinglutely wired on strong coffee while my supposed pal swills manna under a heavenly sky. Hope you had a great rest of your day off, Ryan. Sweet fucking brotherhood dude.

And in the end, through thick and thin, I can and always will, find something to bitch about.

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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