I remember

Scurrilous supposition and rumors to the contrary aside, I did not spend that entire weekend at the tubs. A boy has to eat sometime, and egg salad sandwiches from a bathhouse vending machine are far dodgier prospects than any of the goings-on elsewhere thereabout.

According to The Rules of the Baths (#32), if after you leave you can recall the title of what was showing in the "rest area", you did not have a good time. I can assure you, however, that I do and I most certainly did.

Friday night, 3:32 am: Discovery channel documentary about Navy SEALs. Three viewers, one languidly smoking, one making a cell phone call, one drifting in and out of sleep.

Saturday night, around 2 am: I Love Lucy, the episode where Lucy and Ethel work on the candy conveyor. Two viewers, apparently acquaintances, discussing the travesty that was Mame, the movie.

Sunday night, just past midnight: Ab-Roller infomercial. Deserted.

Monday afternoon, 2:15 pm: Oprah and Dr. Phil. Thirteen viewers devoting full attention to the screen, except for the blond number in the jockstrap licking his own bicep.

Well, it was Chicago, after all.

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