2001-06-01 - 7:47 a.m.

Episode 6

(In which we loaf around some old neighborhoods, fly a kite and try to have a rockin Friday night)

Except for the one day subbing, I haven�t had a job in almost three weeks. I�ve been halfheartedly calling in to the Chicago Public Schools� sub center, telling them I�m available, but hoping they don�t call. I vaguely wonder what I should be doing now, having discovered and reveled in the infinite possibilities of life, having destroyed the old me and trying to build the new me. But the going is tough, keeping the momentum going can be a struggle, when it would be so easy to shut off my brain, fall back into watching movies or TV or surfing the web, and not worry about this whole creative process of living, which can be so taxing.

I talk to Andy, and he�s all hyped up about my project, whatever it is, he�s been reading my stories too, and he wants in on the action, to be part of my adventures which are suddenly so interesting. He�s got Tuesday off, so I head down to Logan Square where he lives.

He has the idea of exploring around the Pilsen neighborhood and maybe stopping by Greektown, which sounds good to me. So we drive out to what seems to be the correct neighborhood and start walking.

It�s immediately apparent, though unspoken, that this adventuring-with-a-purpose is patently absurd. We�re not sure what we�re looking for out here � maybe he�s hoping I have the answer to that, since he�s just the guest in my project, but I have no idea. I�ve just been hoping it will keep going on its own momentum, and I�m trying not to do anything too rash to screw things up.

We just walk along, and with each new road, consider which road we should take. It really doesn�t matter � we don�t know what we�re looking for. We see the ruins of an old church that has been gutted and stop to gape at it. We love ruins, death, decay � perhaps this will be lead to an experience worth relating. But the ruins are surrounded by a fence, we can�t go in there, so we walk on.

We come to a park � this is interesting, this park, isn�t it? Or is it? We will walk through it and see. We walk through and come out the other end. Not much to report there. Then there�s the question of what to do next. Ahead of us is a house covered with wagon-wheels, looks pretty interesting, while over to the left is the park recreation center.

I wish I had the blue die I found on my walk through Queens. This is the point, I think, where it would come in handy, to represent the random possibilities of life. We could roll it at each decision we came up to, and it would lead us on a truly random adventure, punctuating the existential meaninglessness of it all and also the creative game that you can make it. But I�m not sure what I did with the die, so�

�I�m holding a number of fingers behind my back, either one or two,� I say.

�Um�two.�

�That�s right.�

Oops. Forgot to stipulate whether a correct answer would mean a visit to the wheel-house or the recreation center. I just decide on the rec center.

This walk is actually like lots of walks we�ve taken, only more self-conscious. We just go, see what there is to see, like we always used to do, knowing all the while that there�s really nothing to see, we�re really just passing the time and doing things because they seem to be the things to do.

We stop in a bakery and purchase a cookie. We turn right, then left. We come to some train tracks, go up the ramp until we�re level with them and can see where they lead.

It�s nice up here, the quiet train tracks, the decrepit apartment building behind them, and in the distance, the skyscrapers of Chicago poking in the distance, through the wide-open expanse of blue sky. It�s the perfect location for the opening of a movie, beginning with the train barreling along this desolate landscape.

Moment over. Now what?

I�m inclined to follow the train tracks; he�d like to follow the road. I do the hand thing again, this time properly.

�Put up a number of fingers behind your hand between one and five. Got it?�

�Yeah.�

�One finger, we follow the tracks left, two or three we follow them left, four or five we go back down to the street.�

He shows four fingers. We go back down to the street. Perhaps the tracks would have led us to a wonderful paradise; we will never know.

Instead, we follow the streets in any direction, looking for something to entertain us. It�s an interesting neighborhood, we surmise; we recall that it�s known for its architecture, and stop to appreciate the buildings. There are people hanging out their windows and talking to the people on the streets, we suppose that�s interesting. Everyone speaks Spanish around here, and that�s something different, some sort of different culture, we�re not sure what. We stop to gawk at the books on display in the book store, all in Spanish; we pretend to interpret the titles.

�The Men of Salads.�

�Waiting with the Valentine.�

Yes, I am wondering the same thing you are: What was the point of all this, again?

But we must go on with our adventures, so we wrap it up here in Pilsen and jaunt over to Greektown; maybe we�ll get something to eat. We park the car and walk along the main drag; it�s just this one long strip of restaurants on this one street, but we want to dig deeper, we want to have a random adventure in Greektown, not just be tourists. So we turn off the main drag and onto the next road back, and it�s just all these nondescript buildings without any signs or storefronts, in fact it doesn�t look very Greek at all. That main drag is really just a fa�ade they�ve set up to make you feel like you�re in Greece, create the illusion that it�s this whole big Greek town when it�s really just a movie set and these Greek designs on the sidewalk are really just props. They really don�t expect you to think too much about it, just buy some trinkets and eat at a Greek restaurant and go home feeling cultured.

Since there�s nothing else to do back here, we wander back to the main drag and settle on one of the restaurants. It�s a nice restaurant, and we can sit outside by the sidewalk and just enjoy ourselves. Because there�s nothing else to be done, we don�t need to have any crazy adventures, we don�t need to do something for the sake of doing something. All we have to do is eat our gyros and sip our beer and talk about whatever, and try not to worry if what we�re doing is interesting enough.

I am trying to hold onto this optimism, this zest for life, though I�m not sure what I should be doing. I try to block out those what-are-you-doing-this-for and shouldn�t-you-be-doing-something-else demons and tell myself, fuck it, I may not have a job or a particular job prospect, but I�ve still got a bit of money in the bank and I�m 24 and in the prime of my life and don�t have a care in the world! I am intelligent and comfortable and have good friends and good family and am the luckiest person in the world! I will force each sentence to end in an exclamation point, even if I only feel halfhearted about it all! I will enjoy this good life, dammit!

So Nate and I each have a kite, we got them without realizing the other had bought one, and our art-school friend Karla comes up and we will make them fly. The three of us go out to the park with our cheap little kites, mine decorated with fire and his with a bat, and I go running off with it tailing behind me and then it�s up there, going higher and higher, straining out over the lake, and I�m just letting the string go out as fast as I can to see how high I can get it. Then it�s about as high as it will go before I�m afraid it will bust or fly away, and I start reeling it in and hand it over to Karla, who�s just sitting there on a boulder being real cool about it, and I am trying to work up some excitement. Yes, we can fly kites! We are children, new to the world, wide-eyed as we gaze at the beautiful kites! Our hearts will flutter as they go soaring up to the heavens, and we will feel that tension of wanting to go higher and higher still while still not floating off forever, because something is holding us down to the earth and will eventually reel us in, and that something is Karla, who struggling to keep the kite aloft as it tries to catch a breeze, you have to know how to work it, catch that breeze and make it look easy!

Eventually it comes crashing down, nose-dives onto the cement in fact, but such is the price of flying high and while you�re flying high you might as well enjoy it. And I am flying high, trying so hard to, to make every occasion perfect, do exactly what I want to do, because that was the point of this whole thing in the first place. And then, just when it looks like the wind is dying on this project, something lifts be up again, like the next day when my temp agency calls and tells me they have another job for me, but it doesn�t start til tomorrow and for today, at least, the world is my oyster.

I can laze around all day, not worry about money any more, just do what I want to do, which means taking my beach towel and heading down to the beach and laying out in the sun. I dip my feet in the water. I watch the people enjoying their random day off � two girls are rolling up their pant-legs as they wade in deeper and deeper, giggling and talking in some foreign language. There�s a man and woman to my left, out to enjoy the suddenly summery weather with their two young children. The young boy fills his bottle with water and is splashing it on his mom and dad, the mother is trying her best to avoid getting wet, but then the dad picks his wife up in his arms, she laughing all the way, and walks out into the water with her, a good ways out but not too deep, and then calmly deposits her on her side into the water, so both her shirt and pants are wet.

I just roll over onto my stomach and pull out my book, and just start to quietly read, because there�s still a bit of sun left in the day and I might as well enjoy it.

This new job starts up the next day, a Friday. It�s actually a job for the same publishing company I left three weeks ago, only I have a different boss and I�m working upstairs rather than downstairs. This time I�m working on this educational software that people can buy to learn a subject. The software is filled with these lectures, featuring a video feed of this guy teaching the course, and then there�s a bunch of sample questions complete with answers and explanations. My job is to edit these explanations.

I work all day and take the train home and wonder what I�ll do this weekend. It�s the kind of question that only occurs to me on Friday on my way home from work, as I realize that it�s Friday night and things are going on but I�m not a part of them, I am missing the best stuff, which always happens on a Friday night. I want to be part of the action, not just come home at seven and say hello to Nate, and rent a movie and go to sleep because I don�t know how to make plans.

I come home and hope something will come up, something to justify my existence, justify this waiting for the weekend, though of course I�ve only worked one day this week. But if you�re gonna have any fun it�ll be on a Friday night, because the work week is done and it�s party time, baby.

I call Carrie. I tried her a couple days ago and she was there, only she was going into a meeting and couldn�t talk, she said she would call be back soon but never did. She�s not there again, so I leave a message, and I hope I didn�t scare her off because she seemed just so cool, and I thought it had gone so well.

I pace around for a while and stare out the window at the street. People are shouting with excitement, motorcycles are screaming by. The Aragon Ballroom, a block away, is starting to fill with people. Fat Boy Slim is playing there.

I�ve got to go out there and be with these people. I need to feel like I am doing something, part of all this excitement that is the weekend.

Nate plays me a song before I head out, something he recorded off of MTV2 by a British-sounding band called Gorillas, I think:

I�m useless, but not for long

My future is coming on.

And I�m off.

The Aragon is nearly filled; the ticket takers are shouting.

�Have your tickets and IDs ready before you get to us, people. We are not afraid of making fun of you,� one woman says.

I�m just standing there in front of the doors, trying to look like I belong, like maybe I�m waiting for somebody to show up with my tickets, but nobody seems to care. I�ve thought to myself that maybe I could get a job here, sell the tickets or the beer or whatever, and be part of the excitement and see the shows. Only the Aragon is usually empty and there�s no number to call to go looking for jobs.

When things slow down, I ask the security guard if the Aragon needs any help. He tells me that no, they just contract out people to do their security and sell their beer, and these people work not just for the Aragon but for venues all over the city. I tell him okay and linger around some more.

But I�m not ready to leave, I want to get in there, though I don�t even know who Fat Boy Slim is. I pace back and forth on the street, where people are scalping tickets, and I stop one guy and ask him how much the tickets are going for.

�30 bucks. $32.50 with the ticket surcharge.�

That�s way too much.

�That�s a bit much for me. Sorry.�

�How much you want it? Talk to me.�

�Uhh�I really wouldn�t be able to give you enough for it��

�Talk to me, man. How much?�

�Only, like, 10 bucks.�

With that he scoffs at me and turns away, to try to find a serious buyer, and I resign myself to the fact that I will not be getting into the Aragon tonight. I go off on my own adventure, screw it, I don�t need these people anyway.

I get to the park and then to the lake, where I somehow knew I was headed all along, where I always seem to end up. It is quiet and I am alone, except for the couple making out a ways off. But I walk past them, out onto the concrete slabs, edge out as far as I can until the high-rises to my left and the skyscrapers to my right are nearly out of my field of vision, and commune with the waves.

Looking out on the waves, I can forget the Aragon and Uptown, I can forget my ambitions and my life, forget my friends and family and all the chain of events that have led up to this moment, because I could be anywhere at any time in the history of the Earth with these waves. It�s a miracle that these waves are here, more and more always coming, and it�s a miracle that I am here to witness them, this little creation that can experience these waves and celebrate them. I think how it�s nice to be with people but it�s also nice to be alone, because we�re always alone, always stuck in our own little bubbles, even if we�re trying to break free and communicate with other people, we�re always still trapped inside ourselves, and the only world we�ll ever know is the world filtered through our own brains.

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