Great Big Chicago
Part II - Days 1 and 2
"Gettin' Ready for da Show..."

     I think my body didn’t mind getting out of bed this morning at 6:30 because it was under the impression that it was actually 7:30.  My body is always surprised by time zone changes and is a little slow at catching up.  I wasn’t about to remind it of the one-hour time change, however, because I went into work with Kim this morning and due to rush hour traffic we had to leave by quarter til 7.

     Getting to sleep had been surprisingly easy, given my body’s customary resistance to sleeping in unusual places, but waking up this morning was actually a blessing.  Waking up saved me from playing out a dream that was not entirely pleasant.  I dreamed that I was in Chicago with Kim and we were going to a Great Big Sea concert… but that Bob wouldn’t be attending inasmuch as he was dead.  He’d died in a car accident several months ago (I wonder if this is some remnant of The Lathe of Heaven working on my psyche,) and for some reason I either didn’t know this or was in denial.  I think that I was confused because Dream Sarah and Real Sarah had conflicting memories of Bob’s whereabouts for the past several months, and I was positive that Bob had been with the band just the other day, according to his Twitter feed. 

     Not cool, psyche. Not cool.

     Much of the time I spent in Kim’s office was devoted to finishing up yesterday’s blog post and figuring out bus times for the Cleveland RTA system for when I get back to Ohio tomorrow.  The latter involved unsuccessfully trying to reassure my mother, who clearly feels that I cannot function on my own because I tend to figure things out as I go and never plan far enough ahead for her liking.  Yes, I probably should have worked out a rock-solid plan for getting home upon my return to Cleveland BEFORE today, but I also have resources at my disposal to make sure it gets done.  I don’t always do things the way she wants me to, and I haven’t killed myself through planning-related negligence yet.  In fact, if I DID do everything the way she would, I would never have been to a concert in Cleveland or studied abroad or met Michael or driven to Maryland by myself, and I certainly would not have accepted Kim’s offer to give me the coolest birthday celebration EVER.  I know you’re not reading this, but Mom: Not everything on the other side of our front door is plotting to kill me, and I wouldn’t have survived to 26 if you and Dad had not instilled some common sense in me.  You might be worrying because you care, but from this side it really looks like you’re worrying because you don’t trust me to do anything without you.

     *deep breath*

     Kim took a route along Lake Michigan to show me Chicago’s most posh beach and its skyline from a great photo-taking vantage before we headed to the hotel.  It was at this point that I made the comment that it was “booger-freezing cold” outside, which Kim thought was funny enough to immediately put on Twitter.

     The Hotel Sax is quite literally within spitting distance of the House of Blues.  The front doors were so close together that you could hold your breath, walk out the Sax’s front door, and not even need to inhale when you got into the HOB.  Rising astoundingly over the HOB are the Marina Towers, which somewhat obscured the view out our hotel window.  The famed House of Blues Chicago itself is actually not much to look at.  It’s a sort of squat, grey, nondescript, saddle-shaped thing wedged between the Marina Towers and the Hotel Sax.  The interior, of course, is generously and elegantly architected, and is beautiful and complex and labyrinthine for the uninitiated first-time visitor, but looking at it from the outside, you would never know it.  Dave Barry might call it a turd of a building.

     I relished a shower, having skipped the day before, and went for a short jaunt to the Subway on the other side of the HOB (an EXTREMELY convenient one, from my perspective – there have been many times I’ve wished there was a Subway near the HOB Cleveland, and there’s one right frickin’ next to the HOB Chicago) to get something small to tide me over til dinner.  I then thought I’d go for a brief walk to explore the area, but I got as far as the Chicago Riverwalk before the cold drove me back to the hotel.  I learned later that there is a Dick’s Last Resort like, right underneath of the Marina Towers, right underneath of the Subway I walked into, and below that is a place to park your boat, if you are a river-going boat owner.  The Chicago River, by the way, was still very green, Kim tells me, from the St. Patrick’s Day festivities that took place just a few days ago.  I also took a picture from the foot of one of the Marina Towers looking up.  Basically it looks like a huge scalloped concrete thing, and if you look close at my picture you can see a railing on each and every scallop.

     Kim had not succeeded in napping, so when I returned to the hotel she got dressed and we met Murray (and by Murray I of course mean Murray Foster) at the House of Blues so she could deliver her Irish Car Bomb cupcakes to him.  I was again astounded by her relatively intimate association with the band, as I stood there awkwardly but buzzing with excitement while she chatted with Murray.  I got a handshake and a friendly hello, and he introduced himself to me as if I didn’t already know who he was.  He’s shorter in person.

      We then returned to the hotel, where I ate my allotted cupcake.  In case you are curious, it was a legit tastegasm explosion.  My sister might say it’s what “sex with a cupcake” would be like.  Our less tasty reason for returning to the hotel was to wait for Kim’s friends Jen and Kevin, who arrived not long after.  Jen was in the throes of a sinus infection, which put only a slight damper on her mood.  She was, after all, preparing to attend a Great Big Sea concert at the iconic House of Blues Chicago with pretty much the coolest people in town.  Kim also got a call from her sister (also named Jenny – it just about made me wish I could have brought my own Jennie with me to Chicago) to update her on her progress through the traffic-choked Chicago streets.

     The plan was to eat at the House of Blues restaurant before the show and do Pass the Line to get into the venue first, but when we got to the venue we were informed that the restaurant had been booked for a private party and would not be available tonight.  Kim was something south of livid, until they also informed us – after ten or fifteen minutes of sitting around the House of Blues lobby trying to decide where to eat and what to do or who to talk to that could rectify the situation – that Foundation Room access also came with Pass the Line privileges.  In light of this new information, and assured that we could get from the Foundation Room (which did not open until 5pm) to the House of Blues Proper before the lame people who would be waiting outside, we went around the corner to Bar Louie instead.

     I ordered the Trio Dips & Chips, but ended up mostly eating the guacamole dip.  The salsa was okay, but the queso dip was entirely too spicy and nacho cheesy for my tastes.  Kim told a story about how she learned that Bailey’s Irish Cream needed to be refrigerated, which I thought was hilarious, since it’s a milk-based beverage.  I did, however, relate my experience with it in Scotland, when I bought a bottle but kept it in the cabinet of my desk because I didn’t trust my flatmate and her friends to not drink it.  I did not refrigerate it, and it didn’t go bad, but then, it wasn’t sitting in there for months.  Then there was some adventure of which I did not get the details and on which Kim later refused to elaborate.  In my notes the only thing I have written is, “That’s when Kathy came up and shoved her tongue…”

     Not long after we ordered, a man walked in the door that made my dining companions quite excited.  Kim hugged him and he sat down with us, and I gleaned from their conversation that he was intimately associated with the band.  In fact, I learned, his name is Brit and he’s the head of their road crew.  He stuck around for at least 10 minutes just chatting with Kim like they were old friends.

     The Foundation Room was pretty awesome.  Like, really really awesome.  There were little nook everywhere to sit in, and a long bar that faced a fireplace.  The lighting was low, as is the custom at the House of Blues, and decorated with warm wood tones and vintage patterned rugs.  Off to the left immediately upon entering, there is a tiny room separated from the rest of the place by a curtain that really just invites you to peek through.  If you do, you will see a very intimate lounge lined on both sides by couches separated by a long coffee table, and at the end a gold statue of Buddha sits in an alcove contemplating inner peace.  There was no one in this lounge, which meant that either the crowds had not yet filtered in, or it was by reservation only.

     We found an empty table that required some squishing to fit most of us in, and passed the time talking of the band and our related exploits (Kim has been to roughly 100 Great Big Sea concerts, Kevin roughly 83.)  I related my panty-throwing expertise (or lack thereof) and the time at my first show when I lost my wallet at the Southern Theater in Columbus.  We also discussed the inside jokes of the OKP (the Online Kitchen Party, Great Big Sea’s official message board) and its primary drama-causing agents, something I stay away from on the OKP as avidly as I do in life.  At one point we were approached by a woman, much to the chagrin of Kim and Jen, who shall remain nameless but who is known around the OKP for being one of those monster-rabid superfans who routinely go way too far in their desire to interact with their idols.  She is of the “Well, in my defense, you made it really easy to figure out where you live” persuasion, just south of “permanent restraining order from the band.”  She was already somewhat inebriated by the time she got to us, and I wondered just how much she would be able to enjoy the music and the band by the time the show finally started.  She tried to talk to me, affecting an intimate interest in my life and goings-on, which is weird coming from a person that you only know about through an online community and don’t really talk to even then.  It did, however, make me feel like I was at least somewhat infamous around the OKP, which was kind of cool.

     I kept looking at the time, getting anxious with each passing minute about being first in line to get to the stage once they started letting us in.  When it was finally time, I was annoyed to discover that they had started letting people in from outside before we had been informed that we were cleared to enter the venue.  I still managed to get a sort-of-second-row spot after wedging myself in between a despondent-looking teenage boy and a middle-aged blonde woman with a braying laugh.  And then, as it always happens at the House of Blues regardless of city, the waiting began.  Behind me were two girls who struck up a conversation when they noticed my Weird Al Yankovic hoodie.  I chatted with them for most of the time that we waited (they were thoroughly entertained by my promise to throw underwear at Bob whenever he happened to do a solo.  They introduced themselves as Nathaniel and Supa-fly (allusions to the Weird Al song “Albuquerque”) and one took to showing me her tattoos.  When I asked her the names of the koi fish and the dragon, she said that she had never thought to name them (can you imagine?) and then came up with the names Kelly, Bob, Sheela, and Priscilla for the four figures on her arms.

     Kim, Jen, Jenny, etc. were not as interested in being squished as close to the stage as possible, and left me to my own devices as they hung back and opted for a spot on the floor that offered more elbow room.  So when the show started, we were somewhat separated.  I do regret it some, that I experienced the show more or less on my own rather than in the company of those I had come with, but I still had a rollicking good time.

♥

SM