As
you probably have deduced from the lack of posts,
I've been a busy boy. I've been shuffling between
San Francisco, Los Angeles and Chicago.
I
write this from about 30,000 feet over land, somewhere
between Chicago and New York. I'm on my way to
New York to accept an Effie. For the uninitiated,
an Effie is awarded to campaigns whose success
has surpassed expectations. Perhaps not the greatest
achievement for creative excellence, but it sure
as Hell makes the clients happy.
This
is my first trip to New York since being trapped
there during 9/11. I avoided going back for months
after getting out. Like most folks in NY that
day, I was pretty freaked, almost to the point
of paranoia. Scratch that. Past the point of paranoia.
I
look forward to putting on my suit, getting in
the limo, accepting the award and getting the
Hell out first thing in the morning.
After
spending the last couple of weeks in Chicago,
I can see why Men's Fitness named them one of
the Ten Fattest Cities in America.
I'm
a big boy. But in Chicago, I almost pass for average,
which is pretty scary. Everyone is big there;
men, women, everyone.
They
like to eat. I went to this pretty nice restaurant.
Well dressed patrons, excellent wait staff. All-you-can-eat
meat. You read that correctly: all-you-can-eat
meat.
Once
seated, you get a small, round card: one side
red, one side green. Red means you're good and
green means bring meat.
Different
cuts of beef, pork, lamb and chicken. Ribs. Sirloin.
Pork loin. Sirloin and pork loin wrapped in bacon.
Hell, everything wrapped in bacon. The waiters
walked the restaurant armed with skewers on the
stuff. They carved slices right onto your plate.
I could feel my heartbeat slowing to a crawl with
each bite.
For
you delicate types, there was a salad bar. Featured
prominently were the macaroni and potato salads.
They had the worse Caesar salad I've ever tasted.
The only fish you could get in this place was
the smoked salmon at the salad bar.
I
saw a brother walk in and go to town. Alone. Man
walked in and ate his money's worth. Beans, rice,
plantains and meat.
Lots
and lots of meat.
Further
Chicago culture shock...
I
went into a Starbucks to get my non-fat latte
and they had donuts. Three kinds of donuts. Including
chocolate.
I'll
say that again: in Chicago, Starbucks sells donuts
(or doughnuts, if you prefer).
Wishing
to avoid the massive amounts of sugar, I ordered
a blueberry scone. Upon arriving at my destination,
I pulled out my scone to discover it was caked
in rock sugar.
I'll
say that again: my scone was covered in sugar.
Big
crystals of rock sugar... surrounded. I tried
to scrape them off, but gave up after eating half
of it.
Fucking
Chicago.
I'm
told there are only two seasons in Chicago: Summer
and Winter. It's June and it was damn cold there.
Fucking June.
I
have a friend who just moved to Chicago a couple
of months ago. He said he's partied every night.
Reps taking him out, buying him drinks. After
30 days of drinking, he told his buddies he'd
had enough.
"Bullshit,"
they said. "Winter's for sitting on your
butt. When it's nice, we party. 'Cause you ain't
gonna do shit once it gets cold. You'll be sitting
on your ass for five months."
No
wonder everyone is so big. You have to keep your
belly filled to stay warm.
Did
I happen to mention that I finally saw "Chicago"?
Overrated crap. A well-filmed musical. "Moulin
Rouge" kicks it's bony ass.
BTW,
we won a bronze Effie, which is good enough for
me.
