What would Frank Lloyd Wright say?

I've just returned from a longish Labor Day weekend in Chicago, where per usual hotdogs and PBRs were consumed. Far too many, in fact.

I do love Filter in Wicker Park, a coffeeshop I visit when in town to do some work. Last Friday was pretty wonderful--I had the whole day to myself, and for the first time in a long time had a brain full of mental energy to dispense with as I wish. Those days are rare at the moment.

The highlight of the weekend was attending my first major league baseball game. Now, I'm no stranger to baseball. Though the finer points may be lost on me, I do have fond memories of attending minor league games in Duluth, where our Duluth-Superior Dukes would put up a worthy effort every weekend at Wade Stadium. I even remember a string of games when Daryl Strawberry, post-cocaine, donned a Dukes uniform.

But I had never been to a major league game, and I had never tailgated before, either.

We got there right as the gates opened and pulled up front, unloaded a little cooker and enjoyed several Best's Kosher dogs and some ice cold Leinies. We sat at the back bumper and surveyed the parking lot before us--what a perfect blend of Sports, Beer, and Automobiles.

Look at all the pretty advertisements!

My friend Marc had cautioned me that these games get boring so I should consider bringing a GQ or a Vogue, but I figured I'd get wasted instead, which makes the game go by a lot faster. It also helps to have a true diehard baseball fan at your left elbow.

I can't quite remember his reasoning, but my little Chicagoan feels very strongly that the White Sox are the baseball team in Chicago, and he has nothing but disdain for the Cubs, which he dismisses as a circus, a spectacle, a farce attended by yobs and other assorted fools. The White Sox, despite playing ball in one giant commercial, somehow represents the true spirit of Chicago yadda yadda yadda there were some cute ball players in tight pants. After a few beers Mike yells at the Detroit team, "Go home ya bums!" Chicago won!

blame the gays for the hurricane; barbara bush is a big fucking bitch; newscasters finally find what is left of their spines, if only for a brief moment; johnny applesandal; partying on in the french quarter