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[title]I’ve always wondered, is it possible to score the little blue pill in the Viagra Triangle? Just curious what’s in a name.—“Dick Richards,” Ravenswood
As my hunt for boner pills began in and around Mariano Park—that three-sided isle of May-December liaisons—I heard an appropriate sound. It was Frank Sinatra crooning “You Make Me Feel So Young.” Bleating out of the speakers of the park pavilion’s Whispers Café, the song about how a younger woman stirs a burst of teenage lust in Ol’ Blue Eyes could be the anthem of the Viagra Triangle—or Pfizer’s little blue pill, for that matter.
Formed by State Street on the west, Rush Street on the east and Bellevue Place on the south, the triangle is indeed a haven for the Michael Douglas–Catherine Zeta-Joneses of the city. On a warm October night, plenty of Rogaine-meets-silicone specimens were hanging out, waiting for tables at Gibsons or Carmine’s. So I went to meet my potential dealers.
“Got any blue diamonds for sale?” I asked a guy with slicked-back gray hair wearing a brown leather bomber jacket and sunglasses—at night. He seemed not to notice me as he puffed on a cigar. “He’s looking for Viagra,” said the young blond seated next to him, slapping her silver fox on the arm. “I don’t, but let me know if you find some!” he said, chuckling and chomping down on his stogie.
At a sidewalk table along Rush, a pudgy guy in a Tony Soprano costume (track jacket with dress slacks) dined with a Heather Locklear look-alike. He turned me down, too. “I’m fresh out,” he said.
On State, three wrinkled Russian pals perched on a bench, commenting loudly on all “zee gurlz” walking by. “What do we need zee Viagra for?” replied the one in the Green Bay Packers sweater. “We need-a zee girl, zen we get-a zee Viagra!”
After an hour of failure, I conclude the Viagra Triangle is not a wonderland of erectile meds. You’d probably have better luck answering a spam e-mail touting “Best, cheapest ViaGr@!!!!”