It's Not Big. It's Large.

Just a brief (yeah, right) post before I have to busy myself packing and offering up sacrifices to the FSM that I can somehow get all my goodies situated in such a way that I don't have to check any luggage. Taking an enamaled cast iron Dutch oven and a cake pan through TSA security should be loads of fun.

Keep It in the Pantry
The concert last night was absolutely incredible. Lyle and the Large Band not only know how to put on a show, but they know what's important--the music. The musicianship was astounding, and so apparent was the love of it and the dedication to making great music with rich textures and nuances and all that stuff that makes music worth savoring like great food. For me, at least, it was such a different experience from the karaoke-with-a-live band experience Friday night. So much of that was just about being brassy and making lots of noisy. I get the sense that a lot of music-selling people out there (so many I refuse to call artists because they're just engineered and technologized products) are just about making noise and drawing attention to themselves and making money, but Lyle and the Large Band? Bring on the good music and bring on the fun.

I'll have a few pictures in a day or two since they, like the proof that I was at a bar, are on the younger sister's camera, which is currently on it's way to O'Hare.

The venue, Ravinia, reminds me so much of what Zilker and some other outdoor venues at home attempt to be. (Whether or not they succeed I can't say since I've never been to any of them but have only heard complaints about them.) Of course, the general seating (i.e., open grass) can be that lush and appealing because it doesn't have the Texas heat (and the drought at the moment) to contend with. Open-seating concert goers can bring massive sprawls of blankets and collapsing chairs and tables and hampers of food and wine and flowers and candles and the kitchen sink because they don't have to lug it around in the scorching heat, set it up in the scorching heat, try to pretend to enjoy it in the scorching heat and then pack it up and haul it home in the scorching heat. Not to say that Ravinia probably doesn't get its share of scorchers--but not as many as Texas.

I could go into more detail, but I won't at this time. I'm now anxious to see Lyle and the Large Band again--this time with the husband.

Speaking of Keeping It in the Pantry
This trip to Chicago is full of firsts: my first trip to a bar, my first "authentic" fish and chips, my first time knowingly eating cauliflower (forgot to mention this in yesterday's blog that I knowingly ate cauliflower in a pakora at Tiffin--and it was yummy!), my first real encounter with rabid Cubs fans. Add one more: my first visit to a real sex shop.

Miss Marie needed some supplies for an upcoming bachelorette party she's obliged to host for a friend as her maid of honor and third- or second-largest contributor to the bridal industry from this particular wedding event (following the bride's parents, of course, and perhaps the groom's parents and/or the engaged couple themselves), and the elder sister knew exactly where to go.

Exactly where to go turned out to be not far from Wrigley Field, where the Cubs evidently had managed to blow a 7-zip lead while the three of us were en route to that part of town. The game was stretching toward its eventual eleventh-inning conclusion, and tensions were quite high in the area. Walking the handful of blocks from the stadium to the shop were interesting to say the least. I felt largely out of place without any Cubs gear on, both inside and outside the shop.

Although I'm sure the husband will be disappointed I didn't splurge for the 95-cent ampule of flavored lube (he likes wild cherry), I...well, I guess I'll never have to host a blog about my sexual exploits because I found the goods for sale and their myriad of potential purposes to be, quite frankly, not incredibly titillating. (Yes, that word choice was intended.) Does that mean I have a problem? Does that make me a cold fish? I don't think so. Perhaps after nearly fourteen years of being in a pretty damn satisfying monogamous relationship, sex is just...well, it's part of life that doesn't really have a lot of great mystery or taboo or giggly, awkward inexperience surrounding it. Sex is what it is, I know how to make it different, the accessories you can get for it are not curiosities for me and that's that.

And yes, Gentle Reader, I'm sure that's more than you ever wanted to know about sex from me. The husband, I'm also sure, is dying right now of mortal embarrassment. It has nothing to do with you, dear. I'm just comfortable with my sexuality and my needs and know how to get them satisfied. That's just a fact. No great, naughty mysteries.