I'm Not Trying to Get Married

July 23, 2007 – I’m Not Trying to Get Married

So rather than write out all the events the unfolded in Chicago on the daily, I figured, “screw it. There’s so much work I have to do; no time.” Hmm, I’m wrapping up the trip right now on the flight back to LA and crap, I must say that I really miss home and all the beautiful women that reside there. Now I know what Biggie meant when I said, “Going back to Cali strictly for the women, weather and the weed.” First impressions of Chicago were whatever. As for the city, I always had this preconceived notion of the city being really nothing more than a giant, robusto cigar. For some reason, I don’t know, it just came across as stale, stuffy and like charcoal heather gray for me.

And I was definitely wrong. The people there are definitely big-pimping. Like some people were just as wide as they were tall. As I was walking down the airport terminal I started to imagine how I would’ve escaped death if some type of catastrophe were to occur. I’d simply find a big mama and just roll her ass down the terminal to clear a path, a la giant boulder in Indiana Jones. Fuck, Meghan is going to hate me for this, but I’m kinda calling the city “The Land of the 20 mores.” I’m not going to explain the meaning behind it those that like to bust my balls will know what I’m saying.

However, the people are very nice and very warm and genuine. Walking out of the El, like four people said “good morning” to me. I was like, “Wait a minute, what choo want from me?” Yes, the people are nice. And the city is very clean and pretty safe (considering the size of it). Would I want to live there? I don’t know. I will live there if it means I’ll get a job and learn and build and do good work, sure. Someone told me it has all the good things about a city without any of the bad; completely true. I was able to get around the city with no clue or no map, everything is explained in clear, concise detail. The coffee shops there don’t mind if you were to stay there for hours. The food in the coffee shop I was at was bomb grub. It has the neighborhoody feel that lacks in New York.

The city must have known that I was coming from New York and decided to bring out the fine china for me. I left the thunderstorms of Manhattan and came to find that the weather in Chicago was insanely nice all weekend. The loft I stayed at just doesn’t exist in LA (check out the blog for more pictures of Chicago and what I found so right and wrong with it). The loft was really, really, reely (like fishing reel) big. In comparison to Chiat’s office, I would say the living room alone was bigger than the Playstation/Visa area. Right in the heart of Wicker Park and that wasn’t including the rooftop, 6 bedrooms, second living room area and huge ass kitchen…in the heart of Wicker Park. I was at a park music festival and tired, I placed my ears to hear the earth talk to me. It said, “Chicago is a great city. Look! Believe us! You should want to live here! We’re the best of both worlds!”

I’ll tell you what the city is. It’s the perfect girlfriend. It’s compatible and easy going, doesn’t complain or nag, shares the same values as you, lets you hang out with the guys, and has an aspirin and a glass of water waiting for you at your bedside when you go out drinking. Chicago is the girl you marry. In the end, Chicago will leave you with Dockers, a green lawn underneath your feet and a baseball cap to cover furrowed brows.

New York. New York is the girl you leave your wife for. I would love to explain more but that’s really the essence of the city. You can’t qualify it any further. New York is the girl that will absolutely ruin your life and leave you in shambles. It’s as constant as a river; where fishing for stability will leave you with nothing more than a rumbling belly. New York is Scarlet, New York is Sharon Stone in Casino, New York is “The Widow.” But at the end of it, you’ll be left an evolved person that carries no regrets.

LA. Los Angeles is the high school sweetheart that you never marry, but never quite get over, either. It’s the city that will mold you and help you become the person you are. It’s that whiff of Victoria’s Secret body spray that will mentally cue you in to all those distant memories that have since long become extinct. It’s the burger joint you drive through where you had the first date. It’s the highway you sped on when you were damn, fucking pissed off at her. Damn. Fucking. Peest (off, mang).

Ha! But I left Chicago and ended this trip in the best way possible. Riding the train, 5 in the morning, where the ketchup sun was young enough for me to challenge it to a staring contest. I really enjoyed my stay, and I would love to do some good work there. I would let her court me, I would let her into my heart. But in all honesty, I’m not trying to get married.