Sunday, September 19, 2004


It was all so hush hush. Invite only. Well, evite but that is only because the only people that use invites for their party tend to also give out goodie bags for showing. Fort building, Franzia drinking, and honorary Golden Girl Lily Berman turned 23 this Saturday and she had a private party in Chicago. The guest list included friends old and new, many unemployed- it's been going around.

Incase one is looking for a place that is classy yet keeps the windows open when it is fifty five degrees out should go to Alive One. It was tight. There was another guy watching the doorway to the back room of the bar. Rif raf filter was in full effect.

I walked into the room and was thouroughly amazed by the sight of a packed room. For a moment I began to think that maybe she was going away on a long trip. Never has there been a 95% success rate of invites actually attending. Once again I was the tallest person in the place. That may not seem overly relevant but since I was told that more than a few times I felt it is justified. Hey you are really tall. Thanks I tried to do something that would match my shirt.

Upon the recommendation of one Brian Raczkowski (not at the party, he was busy giving credibility to U of I's electrical engineering department), I drank Blue Moon off the tap. It was really good. The catch was that everyone was on a three hour open bar with the cover to Lily's bash. Almost every ten minutes the guy from Barbados was bringing back four 7 and 7s. What was more captivating than his drinking habits was the unsettling resemblance he has to Donny Osmond. I chose not to mention this since it really is not a cool resemblance to have.

I caught up with a bunch of people that graduated ahead of me at Ripon and that essentially eliminated a need to visit for Homecoming. During the evening we updated eachother on the growing marital epidemic that has been sweeping the nation and claimed the lives of too many friends. One being my RA from freshman year. This guy embodied the smoothness of John Shaft and he got married. His legacy shall live on.

I left the party out of the fear most suburbanites have when visiting the big city at night. I was afraid the car was going to get towed. This paranoia is born even if one parks legally. The cause - the space was a pretty good one. Almost too good to be true. After hesitantly gloating over my space across from Steppenwolf Ben (Lily's fella/hell of a Cranium teammate) told me of his courage/apathy when faced with parking restrictions in Chicago. "Let it play on Maxwell, let it play on." I did. Until it finally consumed my every thought forty minutes later.

I am convinced no one in Chicago drives their car, they just leave it curbside to taunt the bagel-eye suburbanites. Don't stare at the lights too long you'll go blind I hear. By the by, happy birthday Lily.

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