is Chicago.. is not Chicago

Every time I go to Chicago, I remember why I miss living in a big city. There’s just something…. vibrant… about stepping out of the Metra station into a whirlwind of activity. All of Chicago was probably at Grant Park, and who could blame them? It was the Taste of Chicago– all hungry hands on deck!

The five of us wandered from booth to booth, squandering tickets on such things as rum-battered tilapia (yum!), spicy vegetable and potato samosas (fantastic) and frozen chocolate dipped bananas, from which much juvenile joking ensued. Hooray for pictures of compromising oral positions!

After we stuffed ourselves silly, we wandered over to the Petrillo band shell, where we proceeded to fry in the sun like so many pale hot dogs on a concrete grill. I think at one point you could actually hear my skin sizzling—SO gross, and I even wore sunscreen! We watched Mike Doughty perform, and he was great as usual, doing a lot more improvising and “jamming” than he’s done before. He launched into a rockin’ version of Firetruck, which made me happy. Then came My Morning Jacket, with special guest Andrew Bird!

After the concert, we dragged our sun-flushed, sleepy selves onto the Metra and back to the Indiana side of the Region, finally getting back to Indy around 1:30 a.m. On the drive back down 65, we saw at least a dozen fireworks displays, popping in concert on both sides of the highway all the down the horizon. It was beautiful, sweet and fleeting, watching the wavering bursts of light as we sped down the dark ribbon of highway… a fitting end to a wonderful day.

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