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| Bossman's Blues Center |
| 06.21.04 (11:47 am) [edit] |
On Saturday, after arriving at the conservatory 15 minutes before it closed and having almost no time to check out the Giant African Dinosaurs on exhibit, my guy, a friend of his and I walked around the area. The air was warm, but the wind was blowing. We walked around these little lakes, watching families barbeque and a mama duck direct her ducklings around a pond. After a while, my guy wanted to buy a couple of tall cans to start our evening. The local market had no alcohol, so we ducked into the bar across the road. Oh mama, we found a treasure: Bossman’s Blues Center. This bar is located under the green line tracks at the Conservatory stop. Bossman, the owner and bartender, grew up in Louisiana. Every evening his parents, who work on the plantation, went to sleep at seven. The children, who also worked in the field, were required to tuck in at seven too, but Bossman spent most evenings sneaking out the window to a small shack with a jukebox inside. To get there, Bossman had to navigate a medium size canal on a flat piece of wood, often falling into the water in the pitch-black night. Since Bossman was just a bitty boy, he had to stand outside the shack and peek through the cracks in the wood to see the dancing. But he didn’t care that much that he couldn’t see everything – he was there for the soulful, deep blues. His love for Blues carried him to Chicago, where he opened his bar and has blues men play shows every now and then.
The atmosphere was very relaxed and Bossman was timidly friendly, warming up when asked specific questions about music. A great weekend day spot to hang out, learn about the blues and sip moderately priced cold beers.
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| Suddenly |
| 06.08.04 (11:46 am) [edit] |
Suddenly. That is how the death of a co-worker was described in the obituaries today. Suddenly.
Yesterday, a small meeting was called in the boss’ office. He spoke softly and I could not make out his words as I patiently waited outside the door frame, covered by an over grown plant that kept tickling my arm and wanting to get back to work. The girl next to me turned her head, “Oh my God,” she breathed. The woman who hired me started crying, sniffing back the tears as she sat across from the boss. Others looked at their shoes. Someone mentioned giving money, I refrained asking what for. The youngest worker, barely 18, piped up and offered to make a book of all of her contribution. Again, I didn’t ask for whom. We left the office. I pulled a friend aside, “What happened?” I asked. “He said she took her own life.” She worked directly behind me. I didn’t know her well (isn’t that always the case?) and I doubt she knew my name. She was young, pretty, slender, tan and had a great, fun job. She took her own life. Suddenly.
She was suffering from depression, for a long time her father said. But suddenly she took her own life. Suddenly she disappeared from the office. But her belongs linger. Suddenly I will never know her. But those that did didn’t like her much.
Suddenly I am thankful for my own robust mental health.
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| Yum Discovery |
| 06.07.04 (10:48 am) [edit] |
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Saturday I dined at the fantastic Café Ba-Ba-Reeba! The best escargot ever (and yes, I’ve been to France). The quarter size pieces of escargot sit atop a small toasted bread round that is taller than wide and the most pleasing creamy spread tops the bite sized morsel like a cream puff. Yum.
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