A Night in the Windy City, Take 2

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Yeah, it’s blurry, shut up, it was that kind of night.
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See, you’re lucky, to us, it looks like this.

We’re in a taxi chain; in our cab is Dr. Business Casual, the Salesman with sunglasses seemingly attached to his Lego hair and us, your humble narrators the Pot and Pan Handler. Contained ahead of us in taxi #1 is Dr. Notold and Dr. Lady

This festive, night started with a limo followed by, our arrival at an Italian joint called Carmine’s. Which is where we participated in a drunken feast, we attacked like soldiers, who live in a country where the streets are named after dates. Read about it here… http://potandpanhandler.com/a-night-in-the-windy-city/ Eventually our benevolent host Dr. Notold’s inebriation informed him that his white ass could dance so we divided forces and set forth on a pilgrimage to Buddy Guy’s club Legends.

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Legends is sort of like a Hard Rock Cafe, except it’s fun to go.

Upon arrival, we realize the ten minute cab ride had left us with an alarming thirst. Fortunately the bartenders (every bit as lifesaving as EMTs) were able to fix that dire situation. Having found sustenance in the form of beer, Dr. Notold has identified another common problem; we have a disquieting lack of autographed, Buddy Guy merchandise. Terrifying, right? I now realize having made it this far in life without autographed merchandise from a Chicago Blues Legend, I’m only vaguely aware of, is a bit disconcerting. Don’t ask me how I survived outside of the fact that I’m sure a great deal of luck was involved.

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The Pot Handler and Dr. Notold on a noble quest for merchandise.

So Dr. Notold grasps my arm and announces, he will now rectify this embarrassing lack of merchandise situation, as he describes some of his former Buddy Guy acquisitions, he wishes he could show me. Together we track down Merchandise Man; he says “Buddy’s already left for the night.” Well, this seems a bit weird to me, it’s not like we asked to shake his hand. Merchandise Man continued “Buddy doesn’t like to sell autographed merchandise when he’s not here”. This does not sit well with Dr. Notold who, as Buddy Guy’s most merchandise obsessed fan, would like nothing more than to flood the market with autographed Buddy Guy memorabilia. So, Dr. Notold told more tales of his dedicated fandom and convinces Merchandise Man to call Buddy Guy and get him to relax his strict policy of only with a witness autographs. We retire back to the table while he makes the call.

In short order Merchandise Man returns and despite Dr. Notold’s obvious obsession, Buddy Guy will not be relaxing his policy and allow autographed merch to leave his collection without being present. Dr. Notold takes this news with apparent distress, which we ease with another round of beer. Pleasantly alleviated from stress Dr. Notold now turns his attention to Dr. Lady. They began to dance, he reminds me of a rooster in a hen-house.

The Salesman is now talking to us and despite the fact that I can see his lips moving, some trick in the acoustics, created by the sound amplification properties of his plastic hair has rendered me unable to hear him. So I began to talk with the lady at the next table. It turns out she is the sister of the lead singer in the band. We discuss the Windy City, steakhouses, music and the diminished returns of sound when in the vicinity of someone with manufactured Lego hair.

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The siren song of The Singer, boozed up or not we still can’t dance.

Presently, the band breaks between sets and The Singer, joins in our conversation. Meanwhile Dr. Business casual and The Salesman continue to ignore the acoustic anomaly of plastic hair, while attempting to converse amongst themselves and Dr. Lady is trying to escape the now music less  dancing prowess of Dr. Notold.

Shortly, I head to the bar for another round, when I get to the bar; there is a marked difference in the way I’m now treated, like a paying customer. I realize that this is the effect of our company, as we are now for all extended purposes, with the band, which gives us that, fresh, with the band, club clout.

We are somewhat aware of the rules of travel and try to follow the one to four rules, we can remember at any given time. I don’t know if -When you are with a group of Doctors in a Chicago club, make friends with the band’s family is a rule of travel, but if it isn’t, it should be. Soon enough, the band heads back up for the next set, and Dr. Lady comprehends, when music starts again, she might very well be at the mercy of a rooster with a medical license, so she begs off and wishes us a good night. Dr. Notold recognizes this as his last chance to leave a-we are so friends, when we’re not at work impression and follows her to pay for the cab.

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The band starts again, we listen until we’re asked to leave. Fine, we’ll find somewhere else to go… Like bed.

The band is accomplished, playing an array of Blues and Jazz, though the definition is slightly blurred as I can’t really tell one genre from the other. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Soon the bands second set is over and we are formally introduced to the door, as the club is closing. We again step out into the cool night air and exchange brief pleasantries, as if we might see one another, again. We haven’t.

After a cab ride back to the hotel, we quickly fall into the deep slumber of a Rip Van Drunk. This was a beautiful if brief time, as we didn’t yet know that; when we wake up in the morning we’d have hangovers. Perhaps an understatement, for these hangovers were so intense they were eligible for jobless benefits and still pollute the Chicago skyline, as a hazy, foul smelling, cloud, that really, really knows how to dance to this day.

What a night, and what a city.

Coming soon, we’re on sabbatical for a week and then, the Taco Tuesday Take Down continues we’re crowning the winner of the best taco dive tacos on Franklin Street in Chapel Hill, NC…Then we’re headed back to Chicago to discover an hour so precious it’s named Violet. We’ll talk to ya’ then. –The Pot and Pan Handler

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