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11:00 am, Wednesday, June 4, 2003 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.
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