I am on a train, and slowly losing any connection or care regarding Australia, Melbourne, Car Registration payments, outstanding bills, and winter weather. Each little stressful memory of this past year, builders and real life crap is rattling it’s way out of my pores like salt from a saltshaker with each rumble of this carriage. I’m surrounded by lush green cornfields, the other passengers are peaceful and it’s romantic, tragic and enriching all at once. God bless this vacation, God bless bottomless coffee, and God Bless America.
Chicago was such a divine experience that I’m not sure it’s really sunk in, but i can be sure to get back up there as soon as I can. I’ve sung, drunk copious amounts of vodka, been chased around by German Police Officers who’d like to have a shower with me, caught the bus, looked at gigantic mirrored beans and hung out with some lovely musicians (who all think i’m a mental alcoholic – which is not far off what lovely Australian musicians think either.. maybe it’s the truth.. but being away from any driving responsibility is a big loosener for one’s self restraint.)
And now i’m 31 years old. Best birthday ever. I’m a grownup now.
On Sunday night I was invited to Andy’s Jazz Bar – the last night of being 30 – and had a great time with my new friend who plays 5 String Electric Bass (and is on the run from the Chicago Jazz Police), I drank martinis and toodled around… leaving with the band to go to a great bar with an ENORMOUS jukebox consting of all the best Jazz Albums you can imagine. I got over excited – put in too much money and ended up having to pick 45 tunes.. which in itself was very difficult as there were about 100 albums in there. Still over excited I started slamming down vodka like a woman posessed, dancing with the door man and chatting to all and sundry (which is when the wheels fell off the evening). It was a man called Kevin. Damn you Kevin. Damn you.
Kevin and his friend (total randoms) hijacked me on the way back to the band table from the Ladies Loo. My friend Tim looked over (apparently) to see me climbing over the bar to sit with them and then chugging tequila shots whilst laughing hilariously – he (being a sensible bass player) saw the light, realised disaster was imminent, and launched himself in his 6′5” way across the room to rescue me from myself (those of you who have tried something similar will nod and say, yes – like nailing jelly to a wall) only to have me wave him away and slurr “i’m fine”.. “I’M FINE!!”.. (famous last words).
I can’t remember the rest of the evening (not a jot) but do remember being driven home with one eye open to counteract the nausea, vertigo and the inability to focus both my peepers at the same time. God alone knows what the Chicago Muso’s thought.. I can’t remember a damn thing.. Though i do have the photos and they are attrocious. Let’s hope Australian charm will carry me through that social faux pas – and at least I didn’t set myself on fire (NYC 2005) or vomit on anyone.
My birthday, obviously, was spent being very hungover. So hungover, that when I arrived at the Greyhound bus station at 2:15pm – which is like a concrete toilet block resurrected from the depths of hell with every kind of derelict bum loitering with intent inside and outside it – I was very unimpressed to have to queue 3 times in separate queues to get the ticket I’d already bought online. Whilst waiting I was treated to an attractive vision involving a larger Mexican man wailing in Spanish whilst disrobing and changing into his jeans and t-shirt in the middle of the bus terminal. It was hot, it was smelly, it was full of bums, bogans, the mentally challenged, the financially challenged, the personality challenged and the entire production was uttery unorganised. And the idea of sitting on that bus for 4 hours was not that great. Luckily, and unluckily, when I spent my last 45 mins standing in a queue to rebuy my ticket as they’d made my original ticket for a different day – I missed my bus. The very last bus to Decatur.
Though on the run from the Jazz Police, and in disguise, Tim came to my rescue and picked me up, took me home, cooked me dinner, and let me watch him play beach volleyball at Lincoln Park, then we watched a movie (Hostel 2 – my review: utter garbage and not in the least bit scary 3 out of 5)… Thank god for him and his creative out of tune vocal arrangements of classic jazz standards. I’ve slept all day today (Tuesday) and ate a ginormous burrito at the BEST Mexican restaurant in Chicago before getting on this very train to go downstate. I feel almost human – though hangdog at my boozy behaviour – and Tim is the best.. and Chicago is now my 2nd favourite city in the States. Not sure anything can top the Big Apple. But you never know. One should not get too comfortable on ones throne.
However I must stop drinking vodka, they FREE-POUR in this country. Brain – remember that! I reckon I drank about 450ml of pure Grey Goose as well as beer, wine and martini – and the shots. It’s lucky I didn’t die of alcohol poisoning (won’t happen.. I have the constitution of an ox). At least I’m preparing for NY. Have packed my backpack with flame retardant clothing and have a rucksack full of milk thistle. I’m ready.
