So I made a holiday card. If you’d like to buy one just drop a line.
Now that I’ve quit, I can go to Hardboiled, drink too much coffee and paint! This watercolor, as well as a bunch of other pictures, is available for sale—whether for holiday or everyday purposes.
Here are a few of the recent bags I’ve drawn for Hardboiled Coffee Company. Order one for yourself in time for Xmas/Kwanzaa/Tet or whatever you do to celebrate TODAY!
I’ll be reading some of my high school philosophy class reflections as part of Mortified Chicago at Schuba’s this Saturday.
Yesterday I went to a bar I used to go to a few times a week. I moved away from the neighborhood three years ago, so it was no longer part of the regular routine. In fact, I’d only been back a few times. The thought was to start over, to leave the past—and the places of the past—behind. This was the place that I put up artwork, where I met people I’d know for years, where I watched the women I wanted to meet meet other men, where various dramas replayed themselves nightly, over and over again.
Sitting in my familiar spot, I wondered whether all those things that happened would’ve been different had it been a different bar. Or was I the only constant?
As the night wore on the bar filled with people, most of them strangers, yet not entirely so. Perhaps a little younger, but otherwise quite like the ones I saw all the years I came here. Of course there were a few I recognised, even said a few words to. Seeing them makes time travel seem possible. Their concerns seem exactly the same as they were years ago. And my responses to them are just the same as well. These people from the past get fixed in memory—in a particular spot—doomed to stay there for eternity. With no new conversations or experiences between us they stay as they were. In a way this is reassuring, solid ground when everything else is in flux. But it can also be a trap, a way to get stuck repeating old patterns.
So, what can it mean to visit such a place? Fraught with significance, yet no longer important. It was the only bar where I was a regular, which was something I never realized I wanted.
Drunk and sad, I wandered out to look for something to eat. But it was Christmas so every place was closed.
I gave up and went home.
I wrote up a trip to The House on the Rock for This Belongs in a Museum.