Summary: Pynchon List Chicago [was Re: DC Gathering]

[Christopher Gonzales]

At 06:58 AM 1/15/97 -0500, HenryM wrote:
>I was just wondering about other p-list gatherings/meets

Hi folks,,,

Here's a brief summary of what pynchon-l Chicago has been up to the past
coupla months,,,  We don't have a Chrissie or a Faera either but we're not
to be outdone,,, the buildings are taller, the streets are cleaner, wider,
etc.,,,  Forgive me if I've confused or fabricated all of the details,,,

We first meet at the Green Mill, the jazz club around since speakeasy days.
 Capone and his buddies used to hang out here.  Secret, underground tunnels
connect the neighboring buildings, it is said, including the abandoned and
neglected Uptown Theater, which is finally attracting much needed monies
for renovation.  We had never planned to meet at the Green Mill.  I meet a
woman, Ariell, and we talk casually for a while, and surprise, turns out
we're both on pynchon-l.  Then another woman comes along and overhears our
Pynchon talk, and turns out she's also on pynchon-l.  Then comes a third,
and a fourth.  It is all so implausible,,,  These beautiful women are all a
lot smarter than me.  I sort of tag along and enjoy the ride, stare in
amazement and laugh heartily because these women are all so clever.  On my
left, Arielle has piercing blue eyes and curly auburn hair and someday will
be an Art Historian.  Kate, on my right, is a firery redhead, blue eyes,
Irish Catholic, quick-witted, and teaches English to high schoolers.  To
her right sits Julia, straight long sandy hair, a delicate face, and very
vocal, who will someday save some part of the world through her efforts in
the environment.  The band plays standards and we drink not too much and
not too little so we all feel fine.

A week later we all visit the Art Institute and go around straightening the
stuff on the walls as we see fit,,,

In October we go deep-sea fishing off the coast of Bermuda, pull up Wahoo
and Tuna and haul bottom feeders off the ocean floor with line cutting into
our hands,,,  Lotsa rubbing on suntan lotion.  The waters are amazingly
calm and nobody needs Dramamine.

In early December we go to Saratoga Springs, a sort of summer resort town
in upstate New York, where we see the reminiscent Victorian Anglo-Saxon
character, Yaddo, the Ballet Museum,,,  Though it is frosty in winter,
there's a fine little coffee shop called Madeline's,,,  From there we make
a little cross-country skiing excursion to Lapland Lake in the Adirondacks.
 Occasionally Kate or Julia falls down and I have to brush the snow off
their bottoms,,,

The late December we make an exhaustive survey of the striptease bars in
Moscow, tracking various underground links to mafia bosses in Brighton
Beach,,,  We record all the secret directions and passwords you need to get
into the right places.  None of our efforts, however, get us any closer to
anyone involved in exploiting any precious natural resources, so our
research is sort of a bust.  We spend the last few days before Christmas
riding trains in pursuit of the perfect Samovar in Tula to give to Kate's
uncle in Mombasa.

When we arrive in Kenya we are exhausted.  The airport at Nairbobi has
loose security except these guards haven't seen a Samovar before and want
to take it apart.  We take a bus to Mombasa, endless hours with somebody's
live chicken in my lap.  We become friends.  When we finally get to
Mombasa, Kate's uncle, Nathan, meets us at the airport.  He takes us to his
palatial estate.  When we enter Nathan's home we are terrified to see a
Samovar identical to the one we have brought.  We are hesitant, but finally
bring out the gift.  He is delighted.  Nathan collects Samovars and he has
always hunted after this exact type.  His is merely a cheap copy he settled
for at a market in Samarkand so he could study its design.  We have lucked
onto the real thing, identifiable only by a tiny insignia found on the
bottom.  We are relieved.

Well, back in boring old Chicago,,, slow work day today,,, a bit too much
time on my hands,,,

Chris