It all began innocently with coffee and a leisurely stroll through a vast industrial part of town. Nick and I passed a huge Yak silhouette mounted to an overpass and a shiny handmade memorial—which we could only imagine was erected to mark the spot of a murder—and in the end sunset at the river.
Wanting a change of scenery and maybe a bite to eat, we hopped the first bus we saw. I'm sad to report that Lincoln Park, where we disembarked from the bus, hands down, lacks the charm of the previous neighborhood. We strolled past designer work-out gear shop after Barney's Co-op (is that fancy for outlet?) after Blue Mercury, you get the idea, looking for a suitable place to nosh. Ultimately locating that little place I'd been meaning to try—Maza. Maza's a cozy and albeit, classy Lebanese restaurant. We polished off 22 tiny maza plates, a cup of carrot puree soup each, an orange pudding and washed the whole thing down with a cardamony Lebanese coffee.
Sated, we waddled into Delilah's with the intention of partaking in one of their myriad of whiskies. Sandwiched at the bar between a pack of tattooed rockers in old man hats and an odd, older gentleman in a cowboy hat and sun glasses who drawled that he only drinks Pabst Blue Ribbon because, "I just like it," Nick and I somehow started talking about the 90s. Specifically the music of the 90s and more specifically one-hit wonders of the 90s.
Now Nick is good at this game, which he has titled The Chumbawumba Game. He was able to rattle off forgettable 90s band after forgettable 90s band, while I sat there stumped. 4 Non Blondes, Rebulica, Chumbawumba, Soul Asylum, The Proclaimers—you get the idea. We laughed and had another bourbon and, er, another. As Nick remembered songs, we sang a line or two of each. We were still playing the game, which is so much better than the Lionel Richie one, as we rode the bus home. We continued to play it until nearly 2 in the morning at which point I derailed the whole thing by coming up with Live, the perfect amalgam of 90s musical sensibility and forgettablity. At that point Nick went to bed.
I woke up this morning dehydrated and in the shower shouted, "US 3!" And was still somehow on time to work.