Single malt and steak and mushroom pie at the Red Lion. I was just at a reading, where I realized, once again, Gene Tanta is a damned good poet -- even when only reciting the work of elementary school children. End of the reading, people shuffled around the DvA gallery and Tom filled me in on the media circus at the Cafe last week in the wake of JJ's arrest. I guess that will teach me to miss out on that poetry series.

Steph and Katee meet me at the Red Lion and we have some drinks. On the way out, I hail a cab, and as we're about to enter the taxi, some Abercrombie-clad Chad & his backward baseball cap-wearing buddy, Chad, elbow ahead of us quite violently to steal the cab from us. One of them mutters something derogatory about my prized Coca Cola truck driver's jacket and hollers "I fucked your mom" to nobody in particular as the cab scurries them off to The Store or Mother Hubbard's or some other 4 a.m. shit-hole. And sometimes I wonder why I so despise Lincoln's Park.