Bad math

Wednesday, June 14--Chicago

Having grown up in Nebraska, where the whole world is a far drive, we think we’re driving badasses, so we’ve scheduled this tour with some sizable day to day distances. St. Paul to Chicago seems manageable, about 7 hours, but then again, we never get to bed before two AM, and I have a bladder the size of a hamster’s. We’re learning the hard way to add about 30% to the drive time. Every day, we think we’ll get in early enough for a shower and to unload our luggage before load-in, but it never happens. For this same reason, we also rarely have time to eat.

If we were laughing most of the time in the car before Mike arrived, we’re now laughing all of the time.

The Chicago drive grinds to a halt just outside the city, after seven or eight hours in the car already. After two hours in hideous traffic, in which our shower, our meal, our unpacking, our nap, our record shopping, all evaporate with each passing minute, we finally reach the club.

Schuba’s is an extremely nice club, and has a photo booth, which is a terrific idea. They also give meal tickets, which would be great if we had time to eat. The sound is the best we’ve experienced all tour, and we feel a bit naked because of it, like hearing your voice on an answering machine. Do we really sound like that?

We open for Bottomless Pit, which my friends from Seattle–Andy and Tim, who now live in Chicago–are in. I also get to see Tim’s wife Vick, whom I adore. I am stunned when Andy tells me it’s been almost five years since I’ve seen them; they are all so vivid in my memory. But then memory is a blunt instrument; this fact is driven home the second they start playing, when I am shocked—just as I was every time I saw Silkworm play—at how good they are. Their set is devastating and beautiful. I don’t know how to do the experience justice, so I’m going to stop.

Number of meals each: one.