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Hangout Review
My Wife’s Birthday Dinner
at Coast in Chicago
October 27, 2004
I am one lucky fucker.
Look at this dude trying to peek down my wife’s dress. It’s not your birthday, bro. Whatevs, they’re good friends.
Did I really just type “whatevs?” Indeed I did. Does it need an apostrophe? I even said it out loud just now. I didn’t bark it at the top of my lungs because I’m in a coffee shop. A place called Jinx. It’s one of the few coffee shops around that you can smoke cigarettes in. I don’t smoke cigarettes, however, so I’m not sure why I chose to come here.
It’s really dirty, loud and angsty. There’s a skinny guy to my right who’s wearing all black and smoking Parliments. Two at a time! The young man sitting in the booth behind mine has green dred-locks pulled into a ponytail, and a biohazard sticker on his notebook. I keep expecting Matt Dillon and Stone Gossard to saunter in, preceded by a swirl of flannel BO. Jinx is like a wormhole into Cameron Crowe’s mind, circa 1991. They were even blaring Alice in Chains when I arrived.
For reasons even more logic-defying than my sitting here for a third consecutive hour, I didn’t yell, “whatevs.” I didn’t want to jinx myself. I don’t want to be the dude in the corner on the laptop talking to himself. Being the dude in the corner with the laptop is bad enough.
I really should have yelled it. It’d be like that shit in Network where the disgruntled news anchor snaps, “I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore!” I think the vacant bluntness of “whatevs” adequately encapsulates the bogus rage that I must be feeling right now.
“Whatevs! You mad fucking world. I’m like, so over all of this corporate greed and dirty air!”
Picture it: I’m on the table now. I just kicked over an ashtray. No I didn’t! Yes, I did! Oh my, I fully just took my shirt off. I am feeling really primal.
“C’mon my peeps. You all know what I’m talking about! Like, why should we continue to consume all of these, like, products! All of this horrible stuff. How many pygmies do you think were exploited and raped so that I can drink this coffee right now? They sleep on dirt beds and I sit and drink this coffee? Hey! And, like, who had to mine all the plastic to make my laptop? And why does the government get to read my email? Those are my private thoughts, man! What-fucking-evs! Oh, and blow me, Bush! You‘re fired bro”
Jesus. There is absolutely no chance that anyone is still reading this muck. I’m supposed to be writing about my wife’s birthday.
It was awesome. She’s awesome. We went and had sushi with all of her friends from work and they bought our meal! We all laughed and drank beer and wine, and ate delicious fresh fish. Then went to a bar called Danny’s. There we drank more and told everyone that we loved them, and then told all sorts of fucked-up funny stories. Oh hell, nobody is reading this.
Whatevs…
Lates.
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