Soundtrack: Dragnet Year Released: 1987 I Bought It On: Vinyl Do I Still Own It?: You're damn right I do.
Track List:
1. Just the Facts - Patti LaBelle 2. City of Crime - Dan Aykroyd and Tom Hanks 3. Dragnet: Danger Ahead/Dragnet March - Art of Noise 4. Helplessly in Love - New Edition 5. Dance or Die - Dan Aykroyd and Pat Thrall 6. This Is the City/Danger Ahead/Dragnet March Medley - Ira Newborn 7. Looking for Muzz - Ira Newborn 8. Pagan Tension - Ira Newborn 9. Pagan Fight - Ira Newborn 10. Dairy Apologies - Ira Newborn 11. Joe Gets Fired - Ira Newborn 12. Tank - Ira Newborn 13. Dragnet End Credits - Ira Newborn 14. Kill Me Instead - Ira Newborn
My dad went to the movies with me once. I'm not complaining about that, just stating a fact.
He took me to the movies a lot, dropping me off and/or picking me up on many a Friday and Saturday night at the UA theater, lovingly situated mere feet away from the Fresh Kills landfill. He even drove me to and fro for what I'm still not entirely sure was my first date, to see Aladdin. I'm about 90% certain it was a date, but given that nothing happened that was even the least bit romantic, I can't be positive.
But let's not speak anymore of my pathetic teen years. We did plenty of that last time. What I'm trying to get at is that my dad served his time when it came to me and the movies. He just didn't much care for going inside the theater. I only recall him going to see one movie with my mom, Goodfellas. It's not that he disliked movies; he just could take them or leave them. I am my father's son in that regard, and also in the way that once I have seen a movie, I will almost always watch it again if it's on TV, regardless of whether I actually liked it or not. The Sigman men...we're enigmas. In fact, our name is in "enigmas." I just blew your mind.
But back to the matter at hand: I was surprised in late June/early July 1987 when my dad agreed to not just drive me to the Fairview Cinema in Hudson, NY, and then browse through Ames or drive around for 90 minutes until the movie ended, but to actually join his 10-year-old son for a showing of Dragnet, starring Dan Aykroyd and Tom Hanks.
For some reason, I was really psyched to see Dragnet. I even bought the movie magazine that featured a foldout poster, which soon hung on my wall. I don't think the makers of "Dragnet" were aiming for the 10-year-old demo when they were making the film (and, honestly, based on the final product, I'm not really sure what demo they were aiming for), but they got me. And they also got my 45-year-old dad, who loved the old TV show and somehow was curious enough to know how they updated the story that he was willing to venture into a movie theater.
So my dad wanting to see Dragnet made a little sense. My desire is still a bit of a mystery. But if I really stop to think about it, my interest in Dragnet was probably piqued by one thing (besides my willingness as a young boy to see anything involving Dan Aykroyd): the "City of Crime" video that was getting heavy rotation on MTV. If you've never had the pleasure of hearing Dan Aykroyd and Tom Hanks "rap," now you will:
I tend to think I bought the soundtrack right after we got out of the movie (I don't recall my dad and I talking much about the movie, but I doubt my dad was all that taken with it, since it bore little resemblance to the TV show) at the Strawberries two doors down from the theater, where I also made my one and only Grateful Dead purchase, the grey-vinyl 45 of "Touch of Grey" (long since gone). I needed to have "City of Crime" to enjoy at any given moment. There were some other decent songs on there--well, really one, Patti Labelle's "Just the Facts"--but the bulk of the soundtrack was from Ira Newborn's score, and who doesn't love listening to scores for comedies? (to be fair, there was also Art of Noise's update of the "Dragnet" theme and a New Edition song that I guess isn't terrible).
So it wasn't a very exciting soundtrack, and I doubt any of the vinyl grooves other than "City of Crime" got much play. But I still hold a fond place in my heart for the soundtrack. Part of that is because, let's face it, "City of Crime" is awesome. But part of it is because it reminds me of the day my dad and I went to the movies.
And memories of that make me happier than even the sound of Dan Aykroyd rapping can.
*Marah, Elk Creek Cafe, Milheim, PA *My new Frankie Yankovic t-shirt *Super Duper Weenie, Fairfield, CT *Ben Sollee, Daniel Martin Moore, and Yim Yames/Preservation Hall Jazz Band, Music Hall of Williamsburg
*Kathleen Edwards, Stephen Talkhouse, Amagansett, NY; Rockin' the River Cruise, NYC *Anke's Fit Bakery Granola *The Sadies/Garth and Maud Hudson, Bowery Ballroom, NYC *Discovering the first season of Fifteen is on iTunes
*Willie Nelson and the Family/The Levon Helm Band, Radio City Music Hall, NYC *John Prine, Fort Adams State Park, Newport, RI *The inaugural Staten Island Pizza Tour *The willingness of people with cars to drive me places
Before I was the hip savvy, music listener I am today, slavishly following great bands to small clubs where the few people willing to get off their fat asses on a weeknight seem more content to talk than to actually listen to the band, I loved soundtracks. Sometimes the soundtracks were well-known and purchased in large quantities across America. Sometimes they were the soundtracks to movies featuring Dan Aykroyd and that seemed like as good enough a reason as any to ask my parents for 10 bucks so I could buy the record, tape, or CD at Sam Goody, Tape World, Record Town, Strawberries, or any of the other long-gone, occasionally lamented chain stores of my youth.
In this ongoing series (this one will really be a series, I promise...just don't expect it to be on any sort of set schedule), I will assess the soundtracks of my youth and tell you why I loved them. And maybe you'll remember why you loved them, too. Or you'll start to question my musical tastes and/or sanity. Let's just see what happens.
Soundtrack: Pretty Woman Year Released: 1990 I Bought It On: CD Do I Still Own It?: No, but when I heard "King of Wishful Thinking" on Sirius this morning, I kinda wished I still did.
Track List:
1. Wild Women Do-Natalie Cole 2. Fame 90-David Bowie 3. King Of Wishful Thinking-Go West 4. Tangled-Jane Wiedlin 5. Must Have Been Love-Roxette 6. Life In Detail-Robert Palmer 7. No Explanation-Peter Cetera 8. Real Wild Child (Wild One)-Christopher Otcasek 9. Fallen-Lauren Wood 10. Oh Pretty Woman-Roy Orbison 11. Show Me Your Soul-Red Hot Chili Peppers
I'll be honest. I don't recall about half of the tracks. And a quick run-through on YouTube of the songs I don't know isn't ringing any bells. But that may be a testament to how much I liked the other songs on the soundtrack. It is also probably because this was one of the first CDs I ever owned, so I was probably really enjoying the thrilling, new ease with which one could skip tracks on a CD. Exciting!
Anyway, going into the CD, I knew I would already like "Oh Pretty Woman," because in 1990, I was, like all normal 13-year-olds really into Roy Orbison. I mean, every teenage boy in the 1990s listened to a homemade tape that had all the great Roy Orbison sad songs before going to bed, right? What? That was just me? Weird.
But since Roy was buried deep on the CD (next to last seems to be an odd placement for what is pretty much the title song of the movie, but I guess Roy's not as sexy as Roxette), I probably didn't make it to "Oh Pretty Woman" often when I was listening to the CD. In fact, with the exception of "Real Wild Child (Wild One)," all my favorites on this one are in the first half. I inexplicably liked "Wild Women Do" (another thing that makes me wonder about my alleged heterosexuality) and since I probably hadn't heard the original "Fame" at this point, the "Fame 90" version was just fine with me.
But, without a doubt, my top two jams on the CD were "King of Wishful Thinking" (the second Go West song I liked, after "Don't Look Down") and another in the long line of classic soundtrack weepers, Roxette's "Must Have Been Love," which was also on the mixtape with Roy Orbison songs. Look, I was a very sensitive young man not having a good time adjusting to all that comes with puberty. Those days of Junior Teen Center dances were not kind to me. Get off my back.
Anyway, if I have to pick my favorite of the two, I'm siding with Go West, probably because it's a slightly more manly song and I'm not sure I can bring myself to have Roxette win any battle, even one with a strong whiff of nostalgia.
But, hey, you decide:
They're both good, and the movie wasn't half bad either.
We all have our dreams in life. Some dream of a home in the country, with a loving spouse and children. Some have visions of reaching the top of their field. Some hope for fame, wealth, or a combination of the two.
I dream of a Staten Island pizza tour, sampling some of the best pizza in the much-maligned borough of my birth.
And on July 11, that dream came true. It went like this:
The first two stops on the tour were new to me, because it didn't seem right to devote the entire tour to places I'd already visited. So it was off to Hylan Boulevard, just a little past Rab's Country Lanes, the long-gone and much-missed Ribs & More (now Pasticceria Bruno), and two other fine pizzerias (Il Pomodoro and Goodfellas) to Salvatore of Soho. This pizzeria, nestled into one of the many strip malls of Hylan Boulevard, is the new kid on the block, but it's been racking up some good press since opening. So it seemed worth a shot.
When we (two other pizza lovers came along for the gluttony, thus preventing me from having to eat a whole pie at each place) entered SoS a little after 1 p.m., we were the only three in the checkered-tableclothed place. We were quickly greeted by one of the yellow-uniformed waitresses (who nearly outnumbered us) and given some bread, which we ate, because, you know, why not more carbs? Our pie soon made its way out of the coal oven, and the tour was officially under way, with Sinatra as the soundtrack.
But enough writing. Here's the real star of the show: the pizza.
We decided to keep it simple on the day, ordering a plain pie at each stop. The star of the pie at SoS was the cheese, with the fresh basil coming in a close second. I'm not crazy about the Neapolitan style of pizza that demands a charred crust, but I can live with it, as evidenced by my willingness to spring out of the gates early and down three slices.
The pie was as good as any of the more heralded Neapolitan pies I've had in Manhattan and Brooklyn, and it was a good start to the day. Plus, Salvatore of Soho wins the prize for best crapper of the day, with the fanciest toilet tank you'll ever see in a pizza joint.
Yes, I took photos in the bathroom. No, I wasn't the only member of my party to do so.
We decided to walk the half mile or so to Lee's Tavern, conveniently located right near the Dongan Hills station of the Staten Island Railway. Despite hearing of the place for years, I didn't know where it was until I started planning the trip. But when I saw pictures online, I realized I'd watched part of the Rangers' most recent playoff flop from outside Lee's window last year. So I had good memories there without even knowing.
I hadn't known it was Lee's, because it's impossible to know it's Lee's unless you're inside. There are no signs outside, and barely any indication that inside you will find one of Staten Island's most revered pies. And if that's not a reason to like it right off the bat, the pizza will do the rest of the convincing.
We waited a long time for our pie (we were stuck in the pizza line behind a softball team and a table led by a crazy woman who seemed to be complaining about almost everything, which is, of course, the Staten Island Way), but after watching a few pies pass and a few baskets of calamari pass by, it was finally showtime.
While waiting for the pie, I think I OD'd on water, which, combined with the walk in the 90+-degree heat, meant I could only shove two slices down my throat. And that made me sad, because the Lee's pie was damn good. The crust and the sauce were the stars here, and I feel confident that, on a good, non-tour day, I could polish off a whole large pie and be quite content.
Lee's is also the first pizza place I've been in that had deer heads on the wall. I'm not saying that's good or bad; I'm just stating a fact.
INTERMISSION: Staten Island Yankees vs. State College Spikes
Because eating at four pizza places in a row on a hot July day is a sure recipe for vomiting, we built in a minor-league game in between. We almost regretted that decision when a rain delay held up the start of the game for an hour, thus jeopardizing our strict timeline for the second half of the tour. But the skies eventually cleared, the home team won in extra innings, and we were out of there just in time to stay on schedule.
Joe & Pat's is the sentimental favorite among Staten Island pizzerias, because my dad worked there at one point (doing deliveries). Seeing as the joint opened in 1960, it's quite possible that my dad was in on the ground floor. Yes, I am bragging.
It took me a while to warm up to Joe & Pat's in my youth, partly because I preferred the thicker crust at Al's Pizzeria (now a shadow of its former self, though I can still remember their phone number--273-5877--which should give you some indication of how much pizza I ate there) and probably partly out of some kind of half-hearted child rebellion. But I have grown to love it over the years and now make a point to have a few slices there on Father's Day and my dad's birthday.
And another point in Joe & Pat's favor is that they now make whole wheat pizza, which we ordered (or I ordered while my tourmates looked on somewhat skeptically). So slices 6, 7, and 8 of the day were really healthy. Look at me, setting a good example for the kids.
The cheese and crust (super-thin) are good at Joe & Pat's, but it's the sauce that will keep you coming back (or keep you away if you're not a big pizza sauce devotee). It's got a little sweetness to it, which goes nice with the whole wheat crust, if I do say so myself. And I do, because this is my blog and what else am I gonna do here if not say things.
Fatigue once again set in as I made my way through the pie, but I couldn't resist the third slice. Besides, the end was near, so I figured I might as well finish strong.
This wound up being a historic visit to Denino's. It was the first, and possibly last, time I left Denino's having eaten a measly two slices. I debated the third, but having already hit double digits on the day, I felt I had nothing left to prove. Still, it's sad to leave Denino's after only two slices.
Denino's is the pizza spot on Staten Island. If you ask your average Staten Islander (please approach carefully) where you should go for pizza, the odds are reasonably high that they will tell you to go to Denino's (and go to Ralph's across the street for an Italian ice or some ice cream after dinner). Denino's produces a frighteningly consistent pie, always with a good balance of sauce and cheese and a nice, firm crust that's neither cracker-thin or overly puffed. I can't recall having a bad slice there, even the time we got there about 10 minutes before closing and they had to restart the ovens just for us. I choose not to think what they did to our pizza, but whatever it was, the pizza wasn't affected by it.
We got there in plenty of time this time around and settled into a booth for the final, satisfying lap of the pizza tour.
After Denino's, my fellow tourmates decided to cap the day with some ice cream at Ralph's. My stomach informed me that I would be well advised not to join them, so I took my Graham Crunch creme ice to go. After they finished off dessert, they picked up some bread at Melone Bros., and we were on our way, survivors of the inaugural Tinsel and Rot Staten Island Pizza Tour.
There will certainly be more in the future (perhaps with other places). Just not the near future, because I'm OK with not looking at pizza for a little bit.
Oh, so you want to know who the winner is, right? Because you need there to be a winner. Well, it's hard to pick just one. They all have their strengths, and I would have no quarrel with someone saying that any of the four was the best pizza they'd ever had. But, you need your winner. So, let's see, the winner is...
Me. For eating ten slices of pizza in one day and not throwing up. Let's hear it for me.
*Alejandro Escovedo and the Sensitive Boys (with special guest Ian Hunter), City Winery, NYC *Hangin' with the Chambalas *Amy LaVere/Southern Tears, Castaways, Ithaca, NY *Jeff Kane joining Facebook *The Cheeseburger Cupcake, Crust & Crumble, Asbury Park, NJ *Dan Bern's "Joyce and Galarraga" *Aoife O'Donovan, Rockwood Music Hall, NYC *Drive By Truckers, Tarrytown Music Hall, Tarrytown, NY
*Avett Brothers/Patty Griffin and Buddy Miller/Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings, Appel Farm, Elmer, NJ *Pete & Elda's, Neptune City, NJ *The Tenderloins selling their TV pilot *The willingness of people with cars to drive me places
First of all, hooray for the Avett Brothers playing Radio City Music Hall. A big moment for all involved. I'll be seeing it from a seat somewhere on the floor, but not quite as close as I'd hoped because buying tickets to a show at a theater in NYC in 2010 is more trouble than it needs to be.
But as I was refreshing the Ticketmaster page in the hopes that their stupid system would start dropping tickets in the middle and not on the sides, I noticed some disturbingly worded instructions regarding Radio City's arrival policy. To wit:
So, not only does Ticketmaster metaphorically violate you with $15 in service charges and a refusal to release tickets to a venue box office the day tickets go on sale, but then when you get to Radio City Music Hall, you need to look out for the metal wands going up your entry. Yikes.
Milwaukee, the final leg of my journey, was a solo mission. Fellow Traveler #1 was headed home on the Amtrak (but not before catching another game at Wrigley), and Fellow Travelers #2 and 3 were staying in Chicago for a few more days. So I was on my own as I hopped on the Amtrak in Chicago for the short trip to Milwaukee for a day that I hoped would include some baseball, some bowling, and a visit with the Bronze Fonz.
When I got off the train, it took me a little while to get my bearings, and I actually wound up overshooting my hotel and walking a little ways up the wordy North Old World Third Street. But that detour led to the discovery of a block containing three restaurants/bars that I wanted to visit immediately, including one with a bronze pretzel hanging over the entrance. Unfortunately, it wasn't much past noon and I wasn't in the mood for a heavy German lunch before the ballgame. But I made a mental note to return after the game and before my bowling expedition.
I finally made my way to the Best Western, checked in, and then set out to knock the easiest thing off my list: a picture with the Bronze Fonz. The Bronze Fonz, on the off chance that you don't know, is a statue of the Henry Winkler character partially commissioned by TV Land for Milwaukee's River Walk as a salute to "Happy Days." It took me a little while to spot it, but when I did, I was quite pleased with the result.
Things were definitely getting off to a good start in Milwaukee.
Since I had plenty of time before the game started and I was alone and, thus, didn't have to worry if I'd kill any of my friends with my dogged devotion to walking, I figured I'd just wander in the general direction of Miller Park. With any luck, I figured, it wouldn't be that far and I'd get some exercise.
So, once I figured my way around and scoped out a path around the highways, I discovered that I was on the Hank Aaron State Trail. That seemed like a fortuitous occurrence, so I continued on the trail. Soon I saw a sign for the Potawatomi Bingo Casino. "Oh," I thought. "That must be the sign for the highway that takes you to the casino." Then I turned a corner and thought, "Hmm...that building sure looks like a casino." Sure enough, as I got closer, I discovered that that was in fact the Potawatomi Bingo Casino. Yes, I had stumbled upon a giant bingo casino.
I was really starting to like Milwaukee.
I went in for a bit and looked around the area outside the bingo hall (pretty substantial, but maybe not as big as Foxwoods) to see if there was an evening bingo session. There was, but it was a Night Owl session starting at 11:30 p.m., and since I had an early train to catch the next day, I decided against it (I know, I know...I've let you down...I'm sorry). And I was a little bummed to discover that the session going on while I was there had started about five hours earlier and consisted of, if I remember correctly, 86 games if bingo broken up by two intermissions. Perhaps that sounds like torture to you, but it sounds like heaven to me. If I had known about it in advance, I'm pretty confident that I would have spent an extra day in Milwaukee and gone to the Brewers game on Sunday. Lesson learned. I will definitely do my due diligence next time.
After my quick stop in the casino, I headed back out on the trail and, eventually, made my way to Miller Park about an hour before game time. Google Maps tells me it was about a four-mile walk. That's why I travel alone most of the time. It's in everyone's best interest.
There was, not surprisingly, a hearty tailgate scene going on at Miller Park. There were people playing Cornhole, drinking heavily under giant tents, and peeing in their own private Port-A-Potties that had signs on them warning others to keep out. They've got tailgating down to an art in Wisconsin.
As I walked through the Uecker lot, I saw in the distance a motor cart. As it got closer, I realized that I had arrived at just the right time, for riding on that cart were four of the sausages from the famous Miller Park Sausage Race. Yes! I was going to see the sausages up close. What more can a 33-year-old man ask for?
The sausages were on their way to a D.A.R.E. get-together in the parking lot, in which they mainly stood on a stage while a DJ yelled out "Let's hear it for Chorizo!" "How about Italian!" and so on as the kids went wild. Then the sausages descended to mingle with the kids, at which point I headed toward the box office to buy my ticket. And on the way there, I saw Bernie Brewer on his way, I assume, to the same party (then again, maybe he was going to see the people with the private Port-A-Potties).
I bought a ticket for a seat in left field and still had plenty of time to do a lap around the ballpark before the game started. I was a little skeptical about going to a game at a stadium with a dome (even though the roof stayed open), but I wound up liking Miller Park a lot. There's lots of cool little features around the park (including a completely awesome area for kids that made me wish I was 10 again--a wish, to be fair, that I make quite frequently), and you can't beat watching Bernie Brewer go down the slide after a Brewer homer. I missed his descent the first time, but captured the moment when the second Brewer homer of the day (hit by Alcides Escobar) cleared the fence.
The food was good, too. I'm not a big brat guy (though I'm occasionally a big brat), but I decided since he was the one I was rooting for in the Sausage Race (he got trounced), I should support him at the concession stand. I thought about ordering waffle fries, but it didn't appear to me that one could order fries without cheese. That's some hardcore cheese love, Wisconsin. Later, I saw some people with cheese-less fries, so I guess it was possible, just not recommended.
Despite a late rally, the Brewers fell victim to the continuing home-team jinx, losing 10-6 to the Phillies and becoming the fifth straight team to lose at home in games I attended (I had seen the Mets lose at Citi Field the night before the trip). I took some photos of the statues on the way out, decided not to take the four-mile walk home, and boarded a bus back downtown, anxious for some sauerbraten and a jumbo pretzel on North Old World Third Street.
This is the point at which Milwaukee started to take a turn for the worse. First, when I got back to the hotel, I noticed a lot of camera crews around, and what looked to be a press conference across the street. There was a definite weird vibe in the air, but I didn't have time to reflect on it, as I had places to go. So I dropped off my Brewers stuff (a glass, a Bob Uecker CD, and a magnet) in my room and headed off for dinner. When I walked outside, a TV reporter was interviewing a young woman, and I overheard the question, "Do you think that downtown is still safe?"
That's when I put all the pieces together--the news conference, the reporters, that collection of flowers and balloons over there on the other side of the street--and realized something I confirmed later that night.
Turns out three people were shot and one killed roughly eight hours before I arrived at the hotel after a disagreement at a bar a few doors down. How about that? I'm not sure if I was just so exhausted at this point that it didn't really register, but I wasn't overly concerned. The neighborhood didn't seem bad at all, and the chances of another murder happening seemed remote, particularly with the ridiculous police presence now in the area.
Except they ran out of the pretzels just before I got there (8 p.m.? Really?), so I had to settle for the sauerbraten, which was, I'm pretty confident, the best I've ever had. The spaetzle definitely was the all-time champ, and the red cabbage was pretty good, too.
Then it was off to the Old German Beer Hall, where there was some genuine German music going down in the back room. OK, things were looking up again. But I couldn't linger, because I had three bowling establishments I wanted to check out before the night was through. I vowed to come back after the Night of Bowling.
The first stop was the Holler House, home of the oldest bowling lanes in the United States (also pinmonkey-operated). Since first reading about it, I had been anxious to roll a few here. So, as I got off the bus and headed in the direction of the bar, I got giddy. Right up until I saw a completely dark and closed Holler House. Sigh. A dream deferred.
Now it was dark and I was in a not particularly inspiring area of Milwaukee. But I persevered, heading toward Bowling Establishment #2, Koz's Mini Bowl, which was not a real bowling alley at all. The balls were slightly larger than a skeeball, the pins were short and squat, and the lanes were short, too. I was more interested in seeing the set-up than actually bowling, which is a good thing because the place was crowded when I got there (and filled with smoke), and they're looked to be some sort of bachelorette party going on, as there was a young woman wearing a veil. There were also a few guys wearing bathrobes (perhaps a Lebowski homage, perhaps they just didn't have any other clothes). I wasn't about to interject myself into whatever the hell was going on, so I took some pictures and headed out the door.
Exhaustion and frustration were both setting in at this point, so when I got to the bus stop for the bus that was to take me to Bowling Establishment #3, Falcon Bowl, I made a deal with the gods of travel. If the bus didn't arrive in 15 minutes, I was gonna cut my losses and call it a night. Then I extended it to 20. Then 25. And then I threw in the towel and headed back to the hotel, probably another three miles or so. So at least I got plenty of exercise in Milwaukee.
When I got downtown, I briefly got on another bus heading in the general direction of Falcon Bowl but then realized it was the last bus of the night, meaning I'd have to take a cab back to the hotel after bowling. And a cab wasn't in the budget for the evening. So I got off the bus, walked past Johnny Rzeznik from the Goo Goo Dolls signing autographs and taking pictures with fans outside of a theater (Larry the Cable Guy was also in town), and then headed back to the Old German Beer Hall to drown my sorrows in some German oom-pah music. Unfortunately, in my absence, the hall had morphed into your average college bar, with generic, thumping bar music playing over the PA. Realizing that the only German music I'd be likely to hear would be Rammstein, I hung my head and went back to the crime scene, er, my hotel, watched Tom Petty on SNL, and called it a night.
I'll be back Milwaukee. Make sure you have enough pretzels next time.
***
I made my early train to Chicago in plenty of time, decided to do one last dash through Wicker Park to get breakfast at Milk & Honey (home of my favorite granola, available at a Whole Foods near you, or at least near me) and a few more sweets at Alliance Bakery. And then I was off to the airport, where my flight was delayed yet again (while we were on the plane this time, so at least there was a little variety). But we were up in the air before too long, and soon I was back home.
And, now, a few weeks later, I've almost recovered.
My only full day in Chicago had a pretty packed schedule. Two more fellow travelers joined the caravan Friday morning (they had arrived in Chicago the day before and had their own full day of sightseeing), and the four of us headed to the Eleven City Diner for brunch prior to the Cubs game. I swear I took a picture of my meal, but I must have erased it in my rush to consume said meal, the Eleven City French Toast. Luckily, through the wonders of the Internet, I can just show you someone else's photo (thanks, Flickr user Emperor Anton!):
That's challah bread french (or freedom, if you prefer) toast, with strawberries, bananas, and toasted coconut. Probably the best french/freedom toast I've had.
Fellow Traveler #1 decided to go for it and ordered the Tom Waits 2 A.M. Breakfast 1987: two eggs, two pancakes, two strips of bacon, two sausages, home fries, and toast.
The Eleven City gets a big thumbs up all around.
Then it was onto Wrigley the way it should be seen: nine innings on a clear afternoon, with the "nickel-dime people," "the other 15," at the playground for the ... nevermind (just go here to catch up on the lingo...VERY NSFW language, so listen with the headphones, fool.) It makes you feel good to be alive to get off the train, head down into Wrigleyville, and stroll on through the front gate (we had to use the bleacher entrance Tuesday night). We had pretty kick-ass seats, too (thanks, Fellow Traveler #1!), and we got to see your American Idol, Illinoisan (Illinoyance?) Lee DeWyze, throw out the first pitch. OMG!
And, let me tell you, friends, I did get up to get some food. And when I did, I came upon one of the greatest things I have ever seen, at a ballpark or anywhere. I was originally just going to get a hot dog, but then I saw something called the "Northside Twist Giant Soft Pretzel." The phrase "Giant Soft Pretzel" and the fact that it was $10 compelled me to purchase it. When I ordered it, the vendor asked me if I could handle this "B.A.P.--Big Ass Pretzel." I assured her I could. Then she handed me a small pizza box. I opened it and fell in love.
Now that's a pretzel, with mustard, icing, and, I assume, nacho cheese (it went unopened). When I brought it back to my seat, the fellow travelers were duly impressed, as were the people behind me. I let a guy further down our row take a piece and offered it up to the other guys behind me, but they said they'd be more interested in watching me try to finish it. It all went, with a bit of help from the fellow travelers, and I received kudos from the guys behind us when the game ended.
As if the pretzel and the sheer joy of being at Wrigley weren't enough, we were also lucky enough to see someone pretty cool sing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." After getting his intro from the PA announcer Jeff Garlin from "Curb Your Enthusiasm" started off by saying, "Hey, can you believe it, it's me, Jeff Garlin!" and then led a pretty strong rendition. Sure, it wasn't as cool as Mr. T's take, but it was more on key.
Unfortunately, the game itself was another disaster for the Cubs, starting with giving up three runs before they even got to bat (though they put up four in the bottom of the first to take back the lead) and bottoming out with a horrid outing from erstwhile ace Carlos Zambrano, who gave up three runs on four hits (including a homer to Garret Jones, who went 5-for-6 on the day) in one inning of work, bringing his ERA up to 7.07 for the season. Zambrano took the loss, as the Pirates won 10-6.
After some souvenir shopping and a quick look at Uncle Buck's apartment building (which my Internet info had as the wrong address, meaning I have pictures of the building next to Uncle Buck's; I blame myself, as the other building was clearly the more logical site), we hopped on the train and headed toward Great Lake, which GQ's Alan Richman claims has the best pizza in America. Since two of the fellow travelers had had Italian the night before, we didn't stop there for a full pie (there were no tables available anyway), but they do sell slices, so I bought one for $5.50. I forget what all was on it, but I remember mushroom and garlic and some kind of fancy aged cheese. It's hard to judge on just one, warmed-up slice, but it was pretty damn tasty.
The other fellow travelers, due mostly to my ineptitude/poor sense of time (sorry, fellow travelers), did not have time for dinner, though they did sample some of the baked goods at A Taste of Heaven, which seemed to be enjoyed by all (I had a German chocolate cupcake, and it was pretty good, though not anywhere near the one from NYC's Buttercup Bake Shop).
Then we hopped on a bus toward the Old Town School of Folk Music, where we were to see Carrie Rodriguez, The Pines, and Tim Easton. Well, three of us were going to see Carrie Rodriguez. One of us had decided to see The Pines and Tim Easton and then hop in a cab to FitzGerald's in Berwyn to see The Knitters. Guess which one of us that was?
But I'm getting ahead of myself. We got to to the Old Town School just before the show started, so there wasn't much time to soak the place in. But there were lots of interesting photographs on the walls, and the theater itself was really cool. Photography wasn't allowed, so you'll just have to go to the Old Town School's website to look at pictures and read up on the history of the place (or better yet, just go to Chicago and check it out for yourself). I was a little bummed at having such a rushed experience there, but I made my bed.
Tim Easton had a really strong set (if you've never heard his song "Next to You," you oughta, because it's a good one), and The Pines, whom I'd never heard before, had a few good songs in their set, too. But after they were done, I wandered around the school halls for a bit looking at the pictures, bought an Old Town School of Folk Music t-shirt (T-shirt #3 on the trip so far), and headed out to find a cab to take me to FitzGerald's, which I was looking forward to almost as much as I had been looking forward to Wrigley.
Why would I be looking so forward to going to a club in suburban Chicago? Was it because I really liked The Knitters? Well, sure, I like them just fine, and any opportunity to hear "Dry River" played should be acted upon in my book. But that wasn't the main reason. Was it because the club sounded like a really cool place? Yeah, that had something to do with it, mainly based on the excellent coffee-table book, Live from FitzGerald's. But that I wasn't leaving a concert just because of what I read in a cool book.
No, there was really one main reason why I was taking a cab (something I hate doing, by the way, but public transportation wasn't a reasonable, timely option) to Berwyn, Illinois, to see the Knitters play in a place I'd read about in a book. And that reason is that FitzGerald's is where one of my all-time favorite movie scenes was filmed. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the "Babysitting Blues":
Yes, I have stood mere feet from where Elisabeth Shue and Albert Collins sang "Babysitting Blues." I can't tell you how happy that makes me. And how sad I am that there isn't an official soundtrack for "Adventures in Babysitting." There are so many great songs in that movie (in addition to "Babysitting Blues," there's The Crystals' "And Then He Kissed Me," Edwin Starr's "Twenty Five Miles," and Southside Johnny's "Future in Your Eyes," among others) that it seems impossible that there isn't an official soundtrack. Someone must pay for this.
I'm getting off track again. FitzGerald's was everything I'd hoped it would be. There's a really cool vibe to the place, with neat stuff decorating the walls, including a bad-ass accordion signed on the keys by everyone from Garth Hudson to Boozoo Chavis.
I realize I'm sort of discrediting The Knitters here. I was, after all, going to see them play, not just stare at the walls at FitzGerald's. I could have easily gone to FitzGerald's Tuesday night for open mic night, but I wanted to see a real show there. So when I saw The Knitters were playing there, but on the same night that we already had tickets for the Old Town show, I started to do the math in my head (always a dangerous proposition) to see if it was possible to see at least half of the Old Town show and most of the Knitters show. And it wound up working out perfectly, because I got to FitzGeralds's about 10 minutes before the show started and found a good corner at stage left where I wasn't blocking anyone's view.
The Knitters (John Doe, Exene Cervenka, D.J. Bonebrake, Dave Alvin, and Johnny Ray Bartel, if you were wondering; Cervenka and Alvin pictured above) sounded as good as ever, and did particularly strong versions of the aforementioned "Dry River," "Wreck on the Highway," "Rock Island Line," and X's "I Must Not Think Bad Thoughts," whose title runs through my head on an almost daily basis. The Knitters always put on a fun show (or at least they try; I am thinking of a Lincoln Center Out-of-Doors show at which the predominantly older audience seemed too perplexed to engage in the give-and-take necessary to create a fine show), and I assumed everybody was in on the fun at FitzGerald's, until a tipsy gal turned to me at the end of the show and asked, "I liked it, but do you think they were for real?" I assured her they were, but she seemed hesitant to take my word for it. I can only hope she was able to find John or Exene after the show to inquire upon their realness.
I planned to buy a Knitters shirt to support the cause, but then I saw a FitzGerald's shirt and plans changed. So I bought the FitzGerald's shirt (I'm wearing it now, in fact--if only I blogged live on a webcam) and bought something else from the Knitters' table (it just occurred to me I haven't told the person I bought the item about that, so I'll keep it on the down low). Then I headed back to the Blue Line train that took me downtown, where I transferred to the Red Line to get closer to the hotel. It occurred to me that I hadn't eaten since that cupcake about six hours ago, so I bought a banana and some peanut butter and crackers at 7-Eleven, walked around for a bit, and took a picture of the building used as the exterior for Chez Paul in "The Blues Brothers" (i.e., the restaurant where Jake and Elwood harass Mr. Fabulous into rejoining the band and Jake asks the immortal question, "How much for the women?"). It was right around the corner from our hotel. I suppose I looked odd taking a picture at a little after midnight, but so be it.
So, to recap, the day featured: a hearty breakfast, a full game at Wrigley, the biggest pretzel I've ever seen, a strong slice of pizza, a decent cupcake, two concerts, and seeing three places where my favorite movies were filmed.
I'd call that a good day. Thanks, Chicago. Go Hawks.
