Chicago – Dinner With Matt McGuire

restaurant: Fresco
occupation: Editor/ Producer & Drummer
birthdate: 6/4/76
connection: E-mail forwarded to him at the Chicago Tribune’s RedEye Headquarters
ordered: Matt ordered a Capresa salad and a Chile ancho chicken sandwich and an iced tea. I ordered a Boddington’s, a Capresa salad, a bowl of cream of chicken soup, and washed it down with a cup of coffee.

Matt and I were seated in the patio section of this fine establishment. Chicago was living up to its Windy City reputation that evening, but thankfully we were dining in what might be considered a waiting room in a 14th century castle. Guarded by ten foot brick walls, two feet thick, and under a cozy umbrella, avoiding overhead fire, we started off with a round of drinks, an ice tea for him and a favorite Boddington’s draught for me. Matt was taking copious mental notes on his experiences for an article that he was writing for the Chicago Tribune.

We quickly realized our bond – we both grew up in the Midwest. Matt recently decided to move from his Wicker Park Apartment back home to save some money in order to buy a home. I think it would be a very bad idea to move back in with my mom; money saved – yes, mentally worth it – probably not. Naturally, I asked Matt about his journalism career. He didn’t do much writing in High School as he wasn’t there much – who really was? While in High School, I stole a pack of admission slips and learned all of the teacher’s initials – I ended up missing something like 70 or 80 days of my senior year. I would skip school and sit in a Walgreen’s parking lot smoking a corn cob pipe, reading discarded magazines and listening to the radio. Kids – unless your an excellent hacker, I don’t encourage this behavior, they have much better tabs on you now.

Matt explained that he began his writing career when he landed a job as the entertainment editor for his college paper. He claimed it was only a ploy to get loads of free music. While he was toiling away doing some good hard reporting, I was stuck working as parking lot attendant. What a shot job; Usually, I would open the gate and leave for a couple hours, nobody seemed to complain, who would? Only my boss, who fired me after learning of my escapades. After my unemployment, I tried my hand at selling weed. I was terrible, and quickly quit that to work at a local Italian restaurant owned by a bickering lesbian couple. The only perk, other than the fact that you felt like you were in some sort of reality television series, was the free wine, unbeknownst to the owners. I would usually end up hammered at the end of my shift; once I got nippered up a bit early and spilt snail juice in my accounting professor’s wine. Nodding after listening to my monologue, Matt continued, “After graduating from DePaul with a degree in English, I came home to work for the Tribune.”

Aside from meeting with strange people like myself, Matt rocks out in a three piece band. Apparently, he’s been playing music for quite awhile. This prompted Matt to launch into “music speak” – a language that every musician, headbanger, and groupie understands. He began mentioning countless bands and speaking music lingo. I agreed and hummed to mask my uncomfortableness in talking about music: I can’t memorize any song lyrics and my music history is about as shallow as a baby pool.

Quickly changing the subject, mentioning an artist residency I did at the San Francisco Sanitary Landfill a couple of years ago. While there, I found a woman’s slide collection – 19,000 of them to be exact, all numbered, labeled, and meticulously stored in beautiful aluminum cases. Matt’s eyes lit up and he told me about this father, mother, daughter group called the “Tractonburg Family Slideshow.” The ten year old girl rocks out on the drums, mom flips through carousels of found slides, and dad strums and makes up lyrics to the slideshow. Apparently, they were recently on Conan O’Brian. I guess I could do something like that if I only had a wife and daughter.

The food came and I explained my newest craze of wanting to suspend a pristine 1969 Camaro SS in a huge block of lucite. It would be an extremely expensive endeavor, but well worth it. It’s not everyday you take a walk, and see a car floating in plastic. Matt suggested I apply for a grant. Supposedly there is a source for grants for these kind of things in Minnesota – where else? A bunch of Minnesotans clustered around a wood burning stove making cabin-fever laced decisions to give crazies thousands of dollars to realize their dreams based on a two page essay and a handful of slides! Saving myself the trouble, “I think I’ll start with a miniature versions using a Hot Wheel” Matt nodded in agreement and ate a couple more fries.

A bit of silence passed and the photographer made his entrance – complete with his girlfriend, who incessantly talked on her cell phone beside us. She may as well been in my ear, like those worms in Star Trek, chirping and screaming – I could hear everything she was talking about it. You know these kind of people, rather then excusing themselves for a phone call, they’d rather stick around and turn up the volume, begin talking about their kidney stones or their neighbor’s diet.

He snapped a few pictures, and off in a jiffy with his lady, who was busy verbalizing her new something-or-other to her mother. I could have sworn the photographer was wearing some sort of cape. Anyhow, embarrassing moments became the topic. Once, while at a Young Life Camp, I got “pantsed” in the cafeteria. It was troubling enough being the only Jew at a Christian Camp, let alone having my pants pulled down to my ankles in front of a live audience. My penis dangled there for all to see. However, It quickly shrived up and my balls must have become aware of what was going on and shrunk as well. Everyone turned their head with my short shriek, and there I was, spectacle and entertainment. Before I could even hush “what the…,” “HOROWITZ, HOROWITZ, HOROWITZ,” quickly became the cafeteria’s chant. It still makes me shiver.

Matt had an equally compelling story. He was ten visiting the local public pool with his mom and sister. And having just seen the movie “Jaws,” Matt felt a compelling desire to scare his mother – JAWS style! So he went underwater and came up underneath her; he grabbed her leg with all of his might. She tossed back and forth, flailing her arms and legs as he hung on for dear life, listening to her muted yelps. Realizing his lack of gills, he sadly had to let go and surface for air. Up he came, with his devilish grin, to quickly find out it wasn’t his mother he was “jawsing,” but a foreign lady who couldn’t speak a lick of English. She yelled a few foreign obscenities and shot several harpooning stares. Matt quickly got out of her way, and noticed his mom and sister were sitting at the pool’s edge laughing it up.

waiter/photographer: Francisco

[tags]chicago, dinner, tribune, fun, tour[/tags]