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.