What the hell was that?
I found a nice little place where I'm renting a computer by the hour. That's right - this computer is my whore. Don't worry - I'm typing with a condom on. Wouldn't want to give y'all cooties.
As you can see from my last post(s), I was experimenting with the email-to-publish Blogger format. The first time I sent it, I got a text back from Blogger saying it wasn't a valid address; I know it is a valid address, so I resent it, this time successfully. After talking to Squirl this morning, I realize that it posted the first time anyway. And neither one of them posted all the text I intended, either.
What I *meant* to say is that I'm pretty sure the band members were in the rooms next to mine at the hotel. When I got into my room yesterday afternoon, I donned my jammies and bedded down for my traditional post-travel, pre-concert nap. This is how old people manage to have a night life - it's all about strategic napping. Just as I was settling in, the sound of an acoustic guitar being played in the next room became nearly as clear as if it had been in the room with me. Normally I'd have been a little annoyed, but the person playing was doin' some fancy pickin', and I was actually enjoying it, so I just kind of closed my eyes and went with it. The El runs right outside my hotel, so it's not like this was the quietest location to begin with.
Just about the time I was accustomed to the roar of the El, the din of traffic, and the guitar in the next room, and was just drifting off to sleep, the guitar player began doing vocal warmups. You know, wordless exercises and scales, complete with fancy key changes and everything. There was something pointedly familiar about the voice, and it dawned on me that it sounded just like Rick Miller, the lead singer for Southern Culture on the Skids. That would make sense - the hotel is within walking distance from the concert venue, and it's not the most expensive stayover in Chicago, either. It's not like this is a big-budget band - they travel in a van that doesn't always make it to shows (like last time I was supposed to see them) and Rick and the drummer, Dave Hartman, set up their own equipment last night. It's a no-frills operation - I'm sure these guys don't stay at the Allegro when they're here.
So, I don't know for a fact that they were in the next room, but I'd be willing to bet money and my virginity that I'm right. I'll post more about the show when I'm home and can upload all the pictures I took with my phone. Now I regret leaving my camera (and my video camera) at home. I was in a prime spot to get some monster shots, and I don't think getting video of the show would be an issue, either (SCOTS have a liberal policy about recordings of their shows). There are five little 20-second video clips I took with my phone, but I can't email them - the phone says the file is too big! I'm going to be royally pissed if I can't find a way to get these things off my phone and useable elsewhere.
More on all this later. I'm wandering around the LakeView neighborhood while I wait for my train, doin' a little shopping and dining (though I was not crazy about the sushi place where I just had lunch...you win some, then other times you get fake crab covered in masago). I wandered into what I thought was a jewelry shop, but the only rings they had for sale were the vibrating kind. I don't know who has fingers big enough for this kind of jewelry, but I'm guessing it's someone who handles poultry, because they were calling them "cock rings." These crazy big-city folk! You don't think they're actually putting jewelry on their roosters, do you?
I need to do some actual work while I'm online, but I thought I'd at least check in and give you a complete and nonduplicated post.
Remember - if you can't behave, at least don't get caught!
As you can see from my last post(s), I was experimenting with the email-to-publish Blogger format. The first time I sent it, I got a text back from Blogger saying it wasn't a valid address; I know it is a valid address, so I resent it, this time successfully. After talking to Squirl this morning, I realize that it posted the first time anyway. And neither one of them posted all the text I intended, either.
What I *meant* to say is that I'm pretty sure the band members were in the rooms next to mine at the hotel. When I got into my room yesterday afternoon, I donned my jammies and bedded down for my traditional post-travel, pre-concert nap. This is how old people manage to have a night life - it's all about strategic napping. Just as I was settling in, the sound of an acoustic guitar being played in the next room became nearly as clear as if it had been in the room with me. Normally I'd have been a little annoyed, but the person playing was doin' some fancy pickin', and I was actually enjoying it, so I just kind of closed my eyes and went with it. The El runs right outside my hotel, so it's not like this was the quietest location to begin with.
Just about the time I was accustomed to the roar of the El, the din of traffic, and the guitar in the next room, and was just drifting off to sleep, the guitar player began doing vocal warmups. You know, wordless exercises and scales, complete with fancy key changes and everything. There was something pointedly familiar about the voice, and it dawned on me that it sounded just like Rick Miller, the lead singer for Southern Culture on the Skids. That would make sense - the hotel is within walking distance from the concert venue, and it's not the most expensive stayover in Chicago, either. It's not like this is a big-budget band - they travel in a van that doesn't always make it to shows (like last time I was supposed to see them) and Rick and the drummer, Dave Hartman, set up their own equipment last night. It's a no-frills operation - I'm sure these guys don't stay at the Allegro when they're here.
So, I don't know for a fact that they were in the next room, but I'd be willing to bet money and my virginity that I'm right. I'll post more about the show when I'm home and can upload all the pictures I took with my phone. Now I regret leaving my camera (and my video camera) at home. I was in a prime spot to get some monster shots, and I don't think getting video of the show would be an issue, either (SCOTS have a liberal policy about recordings of their shows). There are five little 20-second video clips I took with my phone, but I can't email them - the phone says the file is too big! I'm going to be royally pissed if I can't find a way to get these things off my phone and useable elsewhere.
More on all this later. I'm wandering around the LakeView neighborhood while I wait for my train, doin' a little shopping and dining (though I was not crazy about the sushi place where I just had lunch...you win some, then other times you get fake crab covered in masago). I wandered into what I thought was a jewelry shop, but the only rings they had for sale were the vibrating kind. I don't know who has fingers big enough for this kind of jewelry, but I'm guessing it's someone who handles poultry, because they were calling them "cock rings." These crazy big-city folk! You don't think they're actually putting jewelry on their roosters, do you?
I need to do some actual work while I'm online, but I thought I'd at least check in and give you a complete and nonduplicated post.
Remember - if you can't behave, at least don't get caught!
Katy Barzedor proclaimed this to be so at 2:58 PM
6 of you felt the overwhelming need to say somethin':
Yeah! A from-the-road dispatch; love it! Looking forward to the rest of the story and the multimedia presentation.
*whispers "Google 'bitpim' and get yourself a data cable*
I'm glad you found a computer. Sounds like you had a great time! Sorry the sushi wasn't better.
One day, I will see SCOTS. I don't need any fried chicken, but it would be nice to see the band.
Rooster rings...heh
Looking forward to the pix. And wishing someone would throw fried chicken at me. (We haven't been to the store in a while.)
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