I just rode my bike home through a real motherfucker of a storm. It was like riding your bike in a lame shower where cars are actively trying to kill you and everything is very tense and dark. It was a bit scary. Tonight, I worked as a bartender at the Gman, which is a great bar across the street from Wrigley Field. Also, tonight, Pearl Jam played at least half a set at Wrigley before getting rained out. that’s when I decided to try to beat the storm home-before 50k angry pearl jammers decided to flood the zone and take the cabs and riot and so forth.
So I rode my bike home in the rain. I have 2 small children and a wife. I love all three of them with every fiber of my being. Riding my bike home tonight was dumb and could very well have ended up as a vaguely tragic, barely noticed “in memoriam” article on punknews (and the Chicago Reader, of course). Then, life would continue to grind on. My kids would grow up dadless, resenting Jeff, or whatever his fucking pussy ass name is, and my wife would start fucking new dudes (ew) and I’d be back where I started…in the infinite void. That would have sucked. Bad.
BUT! Instead, I survived and I walked in the door, having taken a natural shower in my own clothes, ditching my eel-esque socks on the porch. There were two busboys (I am making some assumptions here, but let’s be honest, two latin dudes on bikes in gigantic trash bags…they’re busboys or cooks) wearing bags over their clothes, (like that last parenthetical notation just indicated), riding the same route as me. Honestly, I thought they were wimps out there in their bags. The rain was awesome and cleansing and super visceral and, well, I also know that those sorts of dudes tend to have insane work ethics and probably not a ton of time to go to the Laundromat and dry their shit off, and it’s always practical to keep yourself dry, so I’m really projecting my shitty attitude on them, but I loved being soaked and I liked that everyone else wasn’t as into it as I was, because I’m a shallow internet person who needs to discover everything’s hidden worth, from shitty beer to mustaches to rain. Now I’m telling you about it. endgame, achieved. sigh…
Now, I’m fully aware that riding a bike 3 miles in the rain is not an accomplishment of any kind. I’m not trying to posit this as a brag or anything, because what the fuck did I do? Go home from work under less than ideal circumstances. That’s all. But man…I felt so alive doing it. and it felt dangerous. And statistically, it is dangerous. And I lived and it was great and now I’m super high on the feeling of having been deep in the mix of some serious weather and come out better for it.
There isn’t much on this earth people. There’s love. That’s number one. And the main thing. But the number two is the undirected, miscelaneous love. The love of surprise and challenge and cute light fixtures (I guess…), the small things. The non-person-to-person shit. The love of this world that, regardless of how you feel about hippies (i hate them. they’re right in this ONE CASE ONLY) made all this possible. This was’ those’ moments, whipped into a quick little damp experience. And while this is definitely not an interesting subject, I feel interesting (read: exhilarated and great) right now, so I thought I’d share.
I could have really, truly died tho…that would have been lame on a massive scale. I guess, no risk, no reward, right? I dunno. I love you guys and I love that that storm came and kicked my ass and forced me to grapple with some basic urban survival. And this is the take away: that the stuff we love is more important to relay to others than what we hate. It’s just way harder to do. I loved tonight, with all its risks and rain and pearl jam fans. And I love you guys.
In the words of Andrew WK, I’m nachos (that’s a paraphrase.) Xoxoxoxox