Home is Where the Aeromattress Is

I was hoping to write this latest blog from the comfort of my new home. Instead, I’m writing this latest blog with intimate knowledge of what it’s like to be homeless. I’m currently sitting in the Maplewood Bar (JQ of the Retar Crew’s basement bar), which happens to be moonlighting as my bedroom. Many of you have probably jumped to the conclusion that Lori has already kicked me out of the house. I would probably put my money on this as well, but in actuality I’m living in a bar because the lease on our apartment has run out and the renovation project on the new house has run long. So while Lori lives in the clean and air-conditioned opulence of her childhood home, I’m trying to sleep through Jackson continuing his Dimaggio-like streak of consecutive days of drunkenness in the Maplewood (Those of you who think I have some alcoholic tendencies have never met Jackson. In the analogy mentioned above, I'm certainly a Dom to Jackon's Joe D.)

Steve, our Romanian contractor, is a great guy, but it’s tough not to get frustrated with him now that this project has run two weeks late and counting. The frustration began when he tried to impose his unique Eastern European aesthetic on our new home. We are doing extensive renovations as we try to restore the bungalow back to its original design (wood floors, original oak moulding, etc. while extracting the 70’s influences including orange, green, and white dangling beads separating the living and dining rooms ). Lori has raided the local library taking out books about traditional Chicago bungalows. So her newfound bungalow knowledge directly contradicts the Eastern-Euro post-fall of Ceausescu era sensibilities of the contractor. She wants vintage door knobs and light fixtures while he wants to install speakers in every room of the house, just like his place, "so when my wife is cleaning the house, she doesn't have to move the radio from room to room. It’s easier to get speakers for every room than it is to get radios for every room.” I couldn’t argue with that logic, but Lori shot down the idea nonetheless.

My frustration grew even stronger this morning when I was awoken to Steve fixing the bathroom of the Maplewood. Upon noticing that his incessant banging woke me up, he promptly tried to hit me up for cash. “Oh hey, Tom! Did you get a chance to go to the bank yet to pay for the moulding?” he queried as I rubbed my eyes. So just to clarify the situation, not only was his lack of progress preventing me from sleeping in my own home, but now his vehement dedication to fixing the Maplewood was also preventing me from sleeping in my makeshift bedroom.

So while I’m acclimating myself to living sans roof, I’ve tried to focus on the positives. Every time Romanian Steve barges in on my bar-bedroom, I try to remind myself of the great aspects of our future home. For example, our new neighborhood definitely features an upgrade in celebrities. Our old hood featured disgraced Celebrity Apprentice Rod Blagojevich, one half of the Retar Crew, and my personal favorite, Sandra Cisneros (for those of you saying “Who the hell is Sandra Cisneros?” right now, rest assured every 8th grade English teacher who reads this blog is wetting themselves with jealously that I get my haircut at the same place as the writer of The House on Mango Street). However, the new hood features rock-genius Jeff Tweedy of Wilco fame. This fact added to my intention to learn the upright bass this summer means I could have a whole new career arc in the new place.

The most disconcerting part of my fall on hard times is that it has coincided with an explosion in popularity of the Retar Crew. Their "We Love the Hawks" bandwagon song has taken off in this city as Hawks fever has spiraled out of control. They have been featured in the local newspaper, the mornning news, and sports talk radio. This means that there are long nights of celebration in the Maplewood while I try to sleep and/or write my final grad school papers with graduation looming just days away. Check out the Hawks dance craze that is sweeping the nation: