Bad Smells, Chessboard Dreams

Last night I went out to Cafe Ennui to see if I could find Steve, and also to get a cup of coffee. Steve wasn't around, so I settled for a scone and read The Chess Garden for a while, and then left. On my way back to the el, I noticed a group of people—youngish, attractive—standing around in the alley outside of a gallery I used to pass every day on my way to work. So I walked over to them and asked a hipster-looking guy what was going on.

"We just had a bad smells contest," he said.

"A bad smells contest?" I asked.

"Yeah. Go in, you can check it out."

Inside, a lineup of bottles and jugs and other plastic containers, labeled with names like "Gut Slurry," "Old Lady," "The Stinkinator," and the politically named "The Smell of Truth," (so named because it consisted of fast food byproducts) sat on a table, along with judging forms, visual aids describing the creation of these concoctions, and a sign which read "Perfumes of the Doomed." My favorite for ingenuity was the Gut Slurry, which featured a delivery mechanism made of an oxygen mask and a bicycle pump, but for overall awfulness, the Stinkinator won, hands down. I sniffed it for, maybe a nanosecond, and very nearly threw up. Apparently, overall foulness was only one of the judging criteria, the rest ranging from creative combination of stuffs to the overall decomposition of the materials. Big Brother (which was kept in an aluminum thermos with a biohazard sign on it) won first prize for the evening. I didn't dare find out why.

After the stench contest, I went out to the Pick Me Up to write for a bit and to clear away the lingering scent of the Stinkinator from my soft palate. I ended up getting a lot done. I'm finally done revising what I had of Chapter 5 and have begun to move forward with it. Which is exciting news for me. At around two a.m. I wandered to the bus stop and watched the circus that is Clark Street in Wrigleyville at two a.m. until the bus arrived to take me home.

I spent last night dreaming of chessboards and talking pawns, no doubt the result of some combination of the humidity, my caffeine high, and residual effects of reading The Chess Garden.

Jazz Fest, today, with Bonnie and Darcy and lots of others of my favorite people in the world. I'm very excited.