Cubbies for a day

This past weekend, Ian and I made the trek up to the fine City of Chicago to enjoy a Cubs game and a Jimmy Buffett concert. A few observations:

Every bloody thing in Chicago is named after Mayor Daley or his dad. The Richard M. Daley Building, the Richard J. Daley Center, the Richard M. Daley Public Restroom (A Richard J. Daley Project). You get the idea.

Chicago has public transportation down, man. We took the train from our hotel to Wrigley and back in a snap, all for the low price of two dollars. (I will have to get used to public transportation this coming fall, because I think I’m taking the bus to campus if I can’t find someone to sell me a red parking decal. This is a not-so-subtle hint.)

I felt sort of like a traitor when I clapped for Cubs hits. Oh well, I balanced that out by wearing the right cap:

My cousin Scott is a dirty, funny, old man. He burned a bunch of bootleg and compilation CDs and brought them to Buffett tailgating, where he offered them to old drunk ladies in exchange for a good view of their funbags. I have photos. They are disturbing.

Finally, I think I fill out a coconut bra quite well, don’t you think?

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