I met Tragic Mulatta

(written by popular demand)

Chicago, July.

I met tragicmulatta at the White Castle but we weren’t there to eat. It was just next to impossible to find the place that I was staying, even for a native Chicagoan. Big Sis was practically screaming at Little Sis to just give her "the Goddamn address" when we tried to find it coming from the airport. They were having some Big Sister/little Sister trust issues and I was on big Sis’s side until we finally got there and I realized that the oddly placed stoplights, the El, one way streets, and Chicago drivers would have made it next to impossible unless little Sis had met us at the local franchise of the grossest fast food in the country.

TM was waiting by her car. I don’t remember what kind of car it was so let’s say it was a red Porsche convertible even though it wasn’t. I’m sure it was some kind of sensible economy car and I think it was brown.

So anyway, TM asked me what I wanted to do. "Drive me around!" I demanded. We got into the Porsche and she hit the gas hard, peeling rubber and making an old man jump back on the curb. This elicited the envy of all the White Castle parking lot denizens who showed it by throwing full cans of Old Style at us. But we were much too fast, just a red blur to people on the street. We were already in the next neighborhood by the time the cans hit the ground.

We drove semi-aimlessly, eventually ending up at "the beach". I think I’ve mentioned before how I feel about lakes. I was talking to a co-worker, a native San Franciscan who had lived in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, about lakes right before I left town. We agreed that they are creepy. The just sit there quietly, lulling you into a delusional self-confidence. Waiting for you to make a mistake. Quiet? Too quiet, imho.

But perfectly fine to sit in front of and eat soft ice cream. Which is one of my favorite things, btw. Especially if I can get a swirly one dipped in chocolate. I don’t care how fake that stuff is they fill it out with something artificial that tastes better than soy, that’s for sure.

Anyways, stop interrupting. TM and I exchanged partial life stories, talked Liberation Theology and the nature of church work, ridiculed prep school hippies and intentional communities, and swapped sex stories. I told her about all the gossip I know about local LJers and she described the things we drove past and the past and present demographic make up of the neighborhoods we entered and left. The wind blew in our hair.

When the traffic got terrible we went to the hipster neighborhood and had meatball subs and beer, while waiting for the reading at Quimby’s to begin. I was all shy and nervous because I had only met Anne Elizabeth Moore, who was reading, once through beelavender, and I wasn’t sure if she’d remember me. TM was shyer and quieter. It was adorable. We were an hour and a half early because the wrong time was printed somewhere. We walked around the neighborhood for awhile chatting with locals about their gardens.

When the reading finally started, AEM was great as was the local woman who read from her zine who’s name I didn’t catch. I bought a ton of zines I noted all sorts of small scale fame celebs in the audience but said hello to none of them. It was hot in there because it was summer in Chicago, so we went out for more beer at the bar under the El by where I was staying. We talked more shit until it was time to go home. As she sped away in her Porsche, I wished that I had more time in Chicago so we could hang out more.

TM was super-sweet, fun, and a great tour guide, even as she was going through a huge breakup. I highly recommend visiting her when you’re in Chicago.



*Confidential to spoonfeeding: hells yeah!
**Only the car stuff is made up.