VISITING BROTHER PHIL
Feb, 1998

Well, as you all know, there are few things that Beaumont Dave likes more than a good pizza, unless it's a good beer, or a good wine, or a good intern (thank you, Monica, that's enough for now). Seeing as how I was out of beer and wine and ... well, the other night, I decided I wanted a Chicago pizza. In Chicago. Now I'd never been to Chicago. But it's the new home of my freezer-burned brother, so I decided if I could get to Chicago, he could pop for pizza.

So's I'm off on the big silver bird, only this one is silver and some brownish shade of Southwest Airlines yellow that reminds me of when I had too much queso with my tequila.

And down there below, on the starboard side, it's a Grand Ole sight, Nashville, I believe, and then, right there next to the Ohio River, it's Louisville, then Indianapolis and now we're over Illinois and what's wrong with those rivers? They're not muddy like the Mississippi. They're not green, they're ... they're frozen (that's right, isn't it Jim Morrow?) And the next thing I know it's all smokestacks and steam and water. Did the pilot overshoot and we're going down in the Arctic Ocean? No, wait, I see Lakeshore Drive, though not one shrimp boat, Karisue. Now row after row after row of gray, dirty, aging rowhouses.

We slide to a stop on the runway and there to meet me is my bro and his lovely 6-year-old daughter. Her job? To teach me all the Spice Girl songs before we reach their home in the burbs. Did I mention there's snow everywhere? I'd like to write my name in it, but my brother won't stop and maybe I shouldn't have had all those beers on the plane, and man, I really need to stop, but my brother is afraid if he gets off the interstate, he'll never get back on. Did I mention it's cold in Chi-town, especially when you're from BO-town.

Sister-in-law, a Midwest native, fixed a wonderful Midwest dinner, shrimp! Wake up to a big ol' snowfall, but it stops in time to tour Chicago -- hey, it IS windy here -- and all the landmarks. Wrigley Field and Murphy's Bleacher Bar and Comiskey Park and the Red Rooster and Navy Pier and the Foc'sle, Soldier's Field, downtown and the Billy Goat Bar (of Cheeseborger, Cheeseborger, Cheeseborger fame), where we stayed too long. Too late for pizza. Shrimp leftovers, yum!

Finally, my last full day in Chicago and a babysitter is hired, a night of live music and pizza is planned. Had to turn down a great offer from Chicago list member Don Morris to go to a show at Evanston. Morrow couldn't come out and play because his wife wouldn't let him. But hey, this is one great night we've got planned. But sister-in-law has a family emergency. The babysitter turns out to be me! My 4-year-old nephew doesn't particularly take to my authority, at least I think that's why he hit me with the pool cue. No chance for Beaumont justice, though. My brother comes home and slaps him with a five-minute timeout. But we did have a pizza -- a frozen pizza!

So it's off to the airport on getaway day, but wait, an express package for me from Tampa, Fla., and Bob Petersen. It's the live interview Jerry Jeff did with the guys from 96 K-Rock last Monday. And now we're winging it home to Texas and I'm typing away. Beats the hell out of chatting with the boring ass auto parts salesman seated next to me. And look, there's the lights they call the City of New Orleans. And Bojangles Chicken (see below) and now I'm home.

So tell me what you want, what you really, really want. Me, after all those airplane peanuts, I'm looking for some queso and tequila. Oh, here it is.