This is Chicago

So, once more at home in Chicago, we dropped my bags off at Elizabeth and Eric's, and went out for luch. This is not in and of itself noteworthy, excepting the fact that we went to a Thai place! And the food? It tasted like Thai food should! Simply delightful!
I'm sure there are many of you looking expectant, like the real revelation is still coming, but I'm afraid not. The missing tidbit is the understanding that there is no good ethnic cuisine available in Bryan-College Station, so the experience of Asian food that taste good was one that has been sorely lacking until my return.
So, food and more good food followed. I cooked a soup that evening, and we hung out before venturing into the city for a viewing of The Aristocrats over at Piper's Alley. I'm sure most of you are familiar with the premise of this film, but I'll explore it briefly nonetheless. It is a documentary assembled from countless interviews with comedians making or disussing a single joke, that being "The Aristocrats." The whole point of this joke is contained in the following setup. A man enters a talent agent's office, and tells him he has a great family act for him. The agaent inquires, and is then witness to a series of depraved actions meant to make the most hardened of us blanch. Horrified, the agent asks what this calamity could be called. The man proudly says, "The Aristocrats!" Ba-dum-dum.
The premise of the film centers around the "jazz-like improvisation" of each comedian telling the depraved part differently, and thereby making it their own. This is, unfortunately, the films primary flaw. i expected it to be a case of comedian after comedian being given a shot at telling the film, and there is a distinct feeling that that was what6 was shot, but the end product is much more that of a true documentary, wherein the joke is discussed more than told. I recall sitting in the theatre, aching to get to the next telling of the joke, waiting for the next laugh. (And the film opens Big, with George Carlin giving arguably the most disgusting version of the joke. I literally had to struggle to avoid retching. It's all downhill from there, though.)
Still, the movie is worth seeing, if only for the daring sense of being naughty in a sophisticated way, and at numerous points there are examples of genuine comedic brilliance that are alone worth the price of admission. Overall, I would give it a solid rating of 55 points out of a hundred. More good than bad, but boring in stretches.
(Warning; the movie rating scale is both arbitrary and inconsistent.)
Following this, we returned home to bullshit, drink, and play Risk late into the night. Okay, okay, Lord of the Rings Risk. (Glorious, by the way.) Eventually, everyone was gone or in bed, and i lay there thinking just how damn hungry I was. I delayed for an hour or two, thinking i'd fall asleep, but it never happened. Finally, I arose to find food. Since there was none in the apartment, I was forced out to the street. I stole Elizabeth's keys, pulled on some clothes, and ventured out.
The sensation of Chicago at 2:30 AM on sunday morning is distinct and pleasant. There is a sleepy crispness to it, as you are aware of that diminished percentage of the population that shares some elelment of consciouness with you, at that early hour, while the rest of the city sleeps. I turned left as I left the apartment, and walked towards the car. A woman was speaking on a cellphone in the street. She dropped her cigarette, ended her conversation, and returned to a folding chair waiting for her on the sidewalk. As I came parallel to her on the sidewalk, she gave me an appraising look, and asked, "Hey. You want a Reading?"
I realized she was sitting in front of the Psychic's shop, which until now I had never seen inhabited. I suppose it was unfair that I didn't stop to think before I said "No."
She shrugged, and I walked on, finding the car and directing it towrads the nearest Golden Nugget.
The inhabitants of the diner were a group of drunken girls out after a night of clubbing, some cops, a homeless man, and, entering later, someone I was fairly sure was a Hooker. (Although she seemed to be on friendly terms with the cops.)
The food was filling, and unremarkable other than in its provenance. Driving back, I felt estatic, if quietly so.
This is Chicago, and this is home.