Booze, blues lead to talk with hookei
We’re bound for Chicago, but
Jesus left for New Orleans. I want to
know why. Chicago has everything.
Booze, blues and babes.
Well, booze and blues anyway.
Jesus done left Chicago, ‘cause
it’s too damn silly cold.
The windy, rainy, cold crap sent
him down to New Orleans.
And the music he grew up on,
wailing steel guitars,didn’t sing.
Imagine a dozen Zoo Bars within
a few blocks of each other. My own
lost weekend. A half-dozen blues
masters and a two-day drunk. It
was an obvious, appealing alterna
tive to a suburban thrash festival.
I hadn’t been to a city of over a
million (or even close) since I left
New Orleans, too soon after my
birth. The first hour was anti-cli
mactic. We had to drive through an
endless sprawling post-industrial
wasteland, like an Omaha of night
marish proportion.
Dark, overcast, misty, rainy, cold
crap. More beautiful weather could
not have been ordered. Besides,
V
Gary
Longsine
the gloomy, nasty, whole-sky de
pression was well matched to the
miserable string of events that I call
my existence.
I was standing by the edge of
death, the edge of violent anger,
the edge of sanity. From moment
to moment, no one around me was
quite sure which side I was on.
At times, I was pretty sure I was
on the wrong side. I could feel the
edge slipping away behind me, as
I sunk further into despair.
“Cold, cold, cold. Walk, walk
walk,” I thought to myself as
leaned over and shivered dowi
the sidewalk.
I walked into the first bar I foun<
with blues spilling out the door,
don’t know what it was called an<
don’t know where it was at. The
end sentences with prepositions ii
Chicago, too.
Smoke burned my eyes, and th«
demon with her long gentle finger
around my heart was squeezing si
tightly that I thought I might pas
out from the memory. And I wa
chilled to the bone.
I ordered a double shot of vodk
and a vodka sour chaser. The blue
flowed down the floor from thi
stage, brushing past my feet like
friendly cat. In minutes I began t<
feel warmer, relaxed and much les
hostile._
See BLUES on 1
"■n
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Flat tire, Iowa drive I
make trip to Chicago I
memorable for touri J
I road-tripped to Chicago once.
The longest part of the trip was
driving through Iowa. It’s so flat
there.
My friends and I drove there in
a car we called “Mad Dog.” It was a
generic automobile. I’m not even
sure what kind of car it was, but it
carried a personality of its own.
Anne
Steyer
f- mmm—- ••••••»
Mad Dog made it to Chicago in
just under eight hours. We started
out early, so we made it there with
plenty of time to experience the
night life.
We drove into downtown Chi
cago to eat and go to Second City,
the comedy club that propelled
many of its comedians out into the
late, great land of SCTV and Satur
day Night Live.
The show was fine but the fun
began on the way home. In the
middle of a dark, dirty and danger
ous-looking neighborhood in
downtown Chicago, Mad Dog hit a
pothole of enormous proportions.
Wc had a tire as flat as Iowa,
which turned out to be exception
ally bad news as the spare wasn’t
exactly filled to capacity. At least
the spare didn’t have a puncture
wound.
There didn’t seem to be any
relief in sight, nor any gas or serv
ice stations nearby. There were
four of us so we decided to split up.
I wo of us went one way with the
spare, the other two stayed behind
with the crowbar.
We walked about five blocks to
a convenience store, hoping to get
directions to the nearest gas sta
tion. Unfortunately, the clerk spoke
litilc-tono English and was he|
able to help us. The phone b^H|
from the pay phone was miss^^B
the cord bolting it to the wall HH
dangling. IB
Discouraged, we left thesto^H|
strike out on our own mis^H|
impossible. We were approacBBj
by two people in the parking^K|!
one asking lor money, one offc^BI'
help.
The second directed us fl|||
nearby station that was a few bB|#^
down and around a cornerBf#
managed to arrive there withaBui-f
incident, filled the tire and ret^Bd
to Mad Dog safely. .
Our friends were inside yBHP
with the doors locked. Behi^Bjpm
was a huge car, music hlarq^^^K
two gentlemen inside. AppS^Btly
they had pulled in behind^^H
Dog just as we left on our quej^^H
a filled lire.
I told my friends they shouwj't
have worried. After all, they ltd
me uuwuai.
The rest of our trip was u nevBfc >
ful. We did all of the tourist actB
ties, visited the Art Institute, shopjB
at the Water Tower, saw the SeM|
tower I love tourist activities. Ml
people will not admit it, but I wB:
I like being a tourist.
The one attraction we missB
was Mother’s We tried to go, hB
they didn’t open until late. So \B|
had drinks at Trader Vic’s insteacB
had a Tiki-Puka-Puka. f
It came in a giant glass — B
exotic drink with an indiscernibB
taste. The drink list said it woulB
come with a gardenia floating fi|
the lop. It didn’t. The bartendrB
heard me lament over the absencB
of a flower and sent the server oveB
with a folding paper flower. B
That drink was one of the highB
lights of the trip. That, and the flaB
tire. And the trip through Iowa B
Steyer Is a senior F.ngiish major and aH
Daily Nebraskan columnist. ■
