A Night at Lake Michigan

There's nothing quite like drinking beers on the edge of Lake Michigan at night. The winds blowing, not beating down on you really, it's just enough to make it slightly uncomfortable. There are fish popping up every so often, they can sense you getting closer and they wonder if you have anything for them to eat. The waves lap against the rocks below the strong metal railing, yet it doesn't feel quite strong enough to hold you up; if you leaned a little bit harder it would deposit you gently into the water. And it may be the Newcastle talking even though you've only had two, but you kind of wish that it doesn't, you wish that the wind could lift you up. But mostly it's the cornflower blueness that reflects off the city lights and the high white clouds that look like they're dyed black, and in the middle the lighthouses and buoys and occasional speedboat, both with their shining red lights, one a constant reminder in the distance the other a fleeting image. I went to the lake with a friend for a little while after we got off work. We were loud, raucous, indignant in a way, but it was as peaceful if I'd been there by myself content from listening to the waves.
Me and my brother would go to the lake during the summer; there's few things like Milwaukee in the summer. The oppressive heat alleviated by the lake effect wind; and after using spring for the dress rehearsal, the young ladies were finally ready for opening night unveiling every conceivable inch of skin.
That was awhile ago though, the only thing on my mind as I finished my second Newcastle and walked back to the car was logistics, and nextels, denied credit cards, lax security, and inept managers who needed a few more hours of marinating. I forgot one thing, the canvassers are good (which is what I thought I'd be doing)

After night beers at Lake Michigan, we drove up Lake Drive to look at all of the enormous houses, places where doctors and minor stars and big time businessmen live. Shorewood and Whitefish Bay; cities and neighborhoods for the tastefully ostentatious.
"I want to be castle rich," my coworker said and all I could do was nod my head as I tried to keep my eyes on the road and on the 10,000 square foot house to my left at the same time. I smiled inside, because I'm only 22 but I think I've already chosen my route, not completely, but enough to know that "castle rich" is probably not in the cards. There's no doubt my coworker could be that kind of rich, or well on his way, if that's the way he wanted to go. Maybe I could too.. I don't know (as an aside, it's crazy for me to think that by the time this is done I'd have spent 95% of my waking hours with this particular coworker; if we spend any more time together we'd get common law married, I mean, if we were in California or Connecticut). We've made our choices though and it feels good to live with them for the time being.

I floated an idea by a friend the other day, the concept of "diner people." It's hard for me to explain it. I went to George Webb (a Wisconsin diner) the other day with my coworker, the one near my old closed down high school to get grilled cheese sandwiches and to have a little time away from the office. For some reason, even diners nowhere near the highway confer an aura of transience, travel as a state of being. Yet when I eat at a diner, theres also a feeling of warmth, even a vague sense of safety. The combination makes a diner an ideal resting spot for a journey, short or long.
Another reason I love diners is because you know (for the most part) what you're going to get there. I'm always willing to try different kind of food, but people who know me know that at heart I am pretty simplistic in my eating habits. If I could, I'd have a patty melt every meal. But within that simplicity, the mundaneness, I try and find something profound, maybe that's the best way I can articulate what I mean. Always looking for something fantastic in the ordinary; it's the best I can come up with for now.