I tried to sleep in today but I couldn't. Typical. It’s 6:30am on a Saturday morning, and I'm out on my back porch staring at the sun and watering my basil plant. The other weekend I took a three-day trip to New Mexico for a gay wedding, and forgot to ask my housemates to water little basil. Now I spend mornings trying to revive it, bringing its light yellowish leaves back to a crisp green.
I let myself back into the house and open the computer and turn on my Android phone, slipping into a chain of emails and texts about art. I listen to Girls and Boys by Blur on repeat while looking at a painting by Peregrine Honig that I don’t yet understand. This happens with her work- it is a process that I’ve gotten familiar with since I started writing about her art three years ago. My girlfriend and I email ideas about it back and forth. The clock hits 9am and I realize I’m late to meet a friend for coffee. I’m usually late these days.
Late this afternoon I found myself at the beach again- three days in a row now, each time with my friend Ondrea. Today five teenage Latino boys strolled up and parked their blanket ten feet from us. As they relaxed, listening to hip-hop beats stream from a boom box, eating greasy chips, and drinking Jose Cuervo and coke, they intermittently adjusted their caps, and tugged at their baggy shorts. We were at Hollywood Beach, Chicago’s notoriously gay beach, but we couldn't figure out if these boys knew that. As they waded into the water fully clad, their shirts never left their boy chests. Wife-beaters and t-shirts got wet, plastering to their bodies. It was as if the boys had to keep their uniforms on, despite the rising blue water. As they waded, the seagulls nipped at their chips, sipped their sweet summer drinks.
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About the author: Alicia Eler is a writer, culture critic and social media consultant. She lives in Chicago. www.aliciaeler.com
