Billy Joel (Traffic) Drives Me Crazy

That I totally enjoyed the Billy Joel concert in Chicago Friday (August 26) goes without saying. He is an incredible entertainer – as are all the musicians in his band. Of course, I have such a huge crush on him that it would take something truly horrendous to dampen my enthusiasm.

That I totally hated driving (by myself) through Chicago traffic to get to the concert also goes without saying. You know that “something truly horrendous” I mentioned earlier? The drive from West Branch to downtown Chicago nearly did me in.

I thought maybe getting lost cruising past the Quad Cities (again), a construction-zone traffic standstill, AND a closed exit to the last rest stop for 30 miles (!!!) might have used up my bad traffic karma before I even got close to the Windy City.

I was wrong.

I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to the residents of the greater Chicago area, and anyone else hindered by my poor traffic-coping skills. Again.

After the potty/exit closed emergency, the drive was pretty uneventful until I reached the outskirts of Aurora, Illinois. (Although I did cuss myself for not purchasing an I-Pass. Frickin' tollway.) Traffic had just started to pick up, and I had just started to practice my deep breathing exercises, when I realized that in Chicago, 5 o'clock rush hour traffic starts at 4, and 4 o'clock rush hour traffic starts at 3:30, and it was currently 3:20. I began to wonder if delaying my departure in order to clean the kitchen counter had really been worth it.

My deep breathing turned to deep cursing when I noticed an Escalade riding my tail. I glared as he finally passed me, then realized that I was riding the tail of the Lexus ahead of me. Ooops.

Remember my love of frickin' tollways? I had just traveled across three lanes of traffic to reach the far left lane, when I had to make my way back to the extreme right lane to prepare for yet another cash-only transaction.

But wait! Six successful lane changes later I realized the toll was only for the exit. Which I was not taking. I decided to stick to the middle lanes from then on, just in case.

Up ahead, an electronic sign offered a helpful traffic update: Downtown 37 min. Really? Already? That long?

Yeah, no. Not so much. After another toll booth – for reals this time – and a good 20 minutes, the next electronic sign announced Downtown 30 min. Time. Had stood. Still.

Eventually I reached the I-290 exit, keeping to the left, as my Googlemap directions said. But I was the only one. After being in 4 lanes of heavy traffic, it was a little eerie suddenly seeing empty lanes. Had I made a wrong turn?

Then traffic stopped. Obviously I was right where I was supposed to be.

Good news! According to the next electronic sign, it would only be 10 more minutes to what I thought was my exit.

Ten minutes? On Venus maybe. I could have read War and Peace in the time it took me to get to the next exit. Heck, I could have written War and Peace.

I decided this was good news! As slow as we were going, I shouldn't be able to miss my exit. Then the traffic clog broke free and we were flying! Or going 25 mph, whichever.

Then we were stopping. Again.

This was still good news, because I had finally reached the exit to Lower Wacker Drive. And – get this! – “lower” doesn't refer to north or south, but “lower” than street level! (Who knew?) Suddenly I was driving through a narrow, 4-lane tunnel, which was really cool, but it was kind of dark and there were stoplights and traffic and I couldn't find the cross streets and I didn't know where I was and then WOW! A boat! I was next to the Chicago River and now I was turning onto Lower Michigan Ave (also lower than street level) and the next thing I knew I was turning onto Grand and I was at street level and then I was pulling into the parking garage and checking in to the hotel and getting ready and walking to the corner to catch the red line L-train to . . . .

Trust me. We shared a moment.

OH CRAP! I couldn't remember where Wrigley Field was!

Officer Posey of the Chicago Police Department very patiently explained how to buy my train tickets (return trip, too), and which train to get on and I practiced more deep breathing as I waited in line for 30 minutes to buy my tickets and then I was on the train, and chatting with all these other nice, middle-aged women, and we all got off the train at Addison and we were at Wrigley Field!

The lights went down, the lights went up and there he was! Billy Joel, center stage, sitting at his piano, hands flying across the keyboard, singing and joking. And that grin! Oh gosh! I swooned because I'm pretty sure I made I contact with him. And gee, isn't he just adorable?

And all that anxiety about traffic and getting lost and Lower Wacker was forgotten, because, wow, what a great show!

Sigh.

Then it was time to head home, and I headed out of Chicago for Iowa.

Via Milwaukee.

Not That I Worry, Mind You

So.

To cap off Spring Break 2016, The Princess and some friends decided to spend the day in Chicago.

Now mind you, this would be the same group of girls who, a couple of weeks ago, were having trouble deciding whose car would make it to Des Moines (2 hours away) for the Girl's State Basketball Tournament, and who would most likely be able to stay awake to drive home.

Not that I worried at all about three high school girls (granted they're all 18... just barely) driving the nearly three-and-a-half hours to Chicago's Navy Pier (which, by the way is located in downtown Chicago) and Shedd Aquarium, or driving the nearly three-and-a-half hours back home late at night (when most people like to sleep).

Now mind you, earlier in the week, when I suggested we go to Chicago to the aquarium, the children rolled their eyes so hard I was afraid they would sustain brain damage.

Not that I worried. At all.

Now mind you, this would be the same Princess who whines if you do not respond instantly to her calls or texts, but who, after setting out for downtown Chicago doesn't see the need to call or text her mother.

Not that I worried. Because obviously I knew that:

A. They were having too much fun to call;

B. There are no cell towers in the Greater Chicago Metropolitan Area;

C. All three girls' cell phone batteries died on the three-plus hour drive there;

D. Their cell phones didn't work at the bottom of the Chicago River, where their bodies were no doubt sinking after the kidnappers tossed them off one of the bridges. Although I will admit, cell reception is probably crap at the bottom of the river.

Now mind you, being a typical Mom I did text her late in the afternoon just to:

A. Embarrass her.

B. Make sure they made it safely to wherever they wound up after telling me they were going to Chicago;

C. Check cell reception at the bottom of the Chicago River;

D. Let the kidnappers know that I was on to them;

Not that I worried. Because in response to my text asking “How's it going?” she did send a return text saying “Good.” Which is exactly the reply you would expect:

A. When a group of teenage girls is having fun;

B. When that's all the time you have time to type as you're sinking to the bottom of the Chicago River;

C. When kidnappers let their victims send a brief, non-committal message to assure their worried parents that they are still alive;

D. When you're sitting in the Customs Office at the Canadian border because you got lost on your way to Chicago from Eastern Iowa.

Now mind you, I could have called one of the other girls' parents, but:

A. I like to keep my own particular brand of crazy hidden as much as possible, and there was a slim chance that I was over reacting.

B. Nope, that's pretty much it, although...

C. They are 18 and, unlike me, actually know how to use the navigational systems on their phones.

Not that I worried and stayed up half the night waiting for them to come home, because:

A. I decided long ago that the key to surviving teenagers is to sleep as much as possible when you have the chance, because once the call comes from the police department/ hospital/ Navy Seals searching the bottom of the Chicago River/ customs officers at the Canadian border, there will be no more sleep;

B. I could fall asleep standing in line with kidnappers at a crowded customs office on the Canadian border;

C. I slept fitfully for half the night, until I heard a ghostly voice whisper “Mom, I'm home,” then I slept fitfully for the other half of the night wondering if I actually heard something or if it was just an example of that weird “we're so close/beyond the veil” phenomenon that would end up with me being portrayed by a tired-looking actress in a dramatization on some cable TV show;

D. All of the above PLUS the cat woke me up at 6:30 on a Saturday morning, again, so that I could watch him eat after checking to make sure that The Princess, was indeed, peacefully sleeping in her bed.

Now mind you, it is 9 p.m. on a Saturday night and The Little Prince isn't home yet.

Not that I'm worried.

Sharing 5 Seconds with The Princess

The Queen Mother did many, many wonderful things for me, but she never took me to a rock concert.

Plays, musicals, speech contests... heck, we even saw dancer Bobby Burgess (of Lawrence Welk fame) at the Muscatine County Fair... but never a rock concert.

In her defense, she did buy me tickets to see Richard Marx at the fair, and she didn't quibble when I wanted to see Billy Idol in concert (I may have led her to believe he was a modern-day Pat Boone).

I thought of all this while I was sitting next to The Princess at the 5 Seconds of Summer concert last weekend in Tinley Park, Illinois.

This was our Second-Annual Boy Band Concert Excursion, having successfully navigated St. Louis to see One Direction last summer. Throw in rapper Huey Mack (an introduction to the Iowa City bar-band scene) and I'd say we've hit the trifecta or scored a hat trick or, well… let's just say she's widened my range of musical influences.

Some people who are not as hip as me (and obviously I'm pretty damn hip), have asked me what the difference is between One Direction and 5SOS (pronounced “five-sauce” by the cool kids). Originally I thought the only difference was that 5SOS had four members, while 1D had five. But now that Zayn has left 1D (drama!), you can't judge a band by the numbers.

At the concert I decided the real difference is in how those band members fit the time-honored, boy band line-up stereotypes. From the Beatles and the Monkees to NSYNC and Backstreet Boys, they've all had one “bad boy,” one “smart boy,” one “cute boy,” one “fun boy,” and one “sensitive boy” (as needed).

1D have (or had) one of each.

5SOS has 2.5 bad boys.

Of course The Princess' favorite 5SOS member is the lead singer – the .5 bad boy. At the concert he was wearing a grey t-shirt (not “bad boy”) in contrast to his pierced lip (“bad boy”). The other “bad boys” are the drummer (he's the drummer, so, duh, and he was wearing his hair in a “mun” or man-bun), and the guitarist (eyebrow piercing and Harley Davidson t-shirt). The bass guitarist, he of the baby face and prep-logo t-shirt, I figure is about as clean cut as possible these days.

When I ran my bad boy ratio theory by The Princess she looked at me like I was totally not cool, and explained that 5SOS plays punk/pop, while 1D plays pop/pop. That may be why I like 5SOS both more than and at the same time less than 1D. I like the edgy sound to the 5SOS songs (although they all sounded like one long teen-age girl's scream until their cover of Green Day's “American Idiot”). But the mom in me likes 1D's lyrics (“You don't know you're beautiful/That's what makes you beautiful), better than 5SOS's (“You look so perfect standing there/In my American Apparel underwear”).

When it comes right down to it, it's not about parents enjoying their children's music (although I like it all well enough). It's about parents enjoying their children's happiness. I'm certainly not a perfect mom – when I offered to spend an equivalent seven-hours travel-time in the car with The Prince he looked horrified – but I'm trying. And of course I'm not alone.

The mom next to me at the concert said Led Zeplin was more to her liking, but she was at 5SOS to make her 14-year-old daughter happy. They had gone to 1D last summer, too. As the speakers blared Europe's “The Final Countdown” in preparation for 5SOS's big opening all four of us sang along.

“This is what we went to back in the day,” laughed the almost-as-cool-as-me mom.

Despite the age differences and the relative hip/unhipness of parents, most of us stood and kind of swayed along to all the songs – except for the parents who had their camera phones trained on the stage (presumably at their kids' request). And when 5SOS played their latest song, "She's Kinda Hot"  – which they had just “dropped” (see? I even picked up the cool lingo) a couple weeks earlier – we all knew the words and sang along.

Just like everyone sang along when 5SOS covered The Ramone's “What I Like About You” to end the show. Green Day and The Ramones? Those bad boys are growing on me.

The Princess and I had such a good time enjoying the mix of old and new music that I offered to take her with me to see Billy Joel at Wrigley Field. It was kind of hard to read her expression, what with all the lasers and strobe lights, but I'm pretty sure she looked excited.

Especially when I said we could spend the day shopping along Chicago's Magnificent Mile instead of going to the Art Institute.

It's all about compromise and sharing what you love.

With the ones you love.

Keeping the Faith

This is not a review of the Billy Joel concert at Wrigley Field July 18. Because really, what else would I write besides that the show was amazing and Billy Joel was awesome and adorable. And I could have told you that before the lights even came up.

Let's face it, Billy Joel could have gone on stage and presented a two-hour dissertation on the state of modern paint drying and I would have squealed like a teen-aged girl goosed by the captain of the football team. Luckily for the sold-out crowd, Billy Joel instead chose to do what he does best, delivering a fantastic performance and generally delighting the audience. His two-hour, hit-filled show featured 23 of his songs in addition to “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” and “My Kind of Town (Chicago Is).” The set list included many of my favorites because they're all my favorites, but was light on the more obscure pieces that I like. If he played 'em all, we'd still be there. Which would be OK by me.

But this isn't a concert review, it's a Chicago experience review. Or more accurately a big shout out to some of the friendly, helpful people I met during My Big Adventure Travelling to Chicago All By Myself. You often hear visitors say that Midwesterners are friendly, and by golly, we are!

Thank you to the Chicago art museum docent who practically took me by the hand and led me to the drinking fountain when I asked for directions. I must have looked particularly confused and dehydrated.

Thank you to the people who didn't honk at me when I ran the red light leaving the Millennium Park garage. In that dark intersection beneath the overpass, I was not the only person who clearly had no idea where they were supposed to be. In all fairness, I didn't honk at anyone, either.

Thank you to the lady who showed me how to use the Ventra card kiosk to get my ticket for the “L” to Wrigley. A bazillion out-of-towners trying to get on the Red Line at Grand at 5 p.m. and less than 10% knew how to work the ticket machines. We all apologize for the delay, regular commuters.

Speaking of out-of-towners, it was so nice to meet you, couple from Ontario, Canada! They traveled all the way to Chicago for a three-day weekend planned around the Billy Joel concert. And a ride on the “L.”

Thank you, young girl who thanked me over and over again when I let you have the open seat on the train (I didn't tell you I have to face forward or I get motion sickness). She'd had a long day at work and looked exhausted. In addition to being friendly and kind, she's a concert musician and opera singer. And obviously a Midwesterner.

Thank you to the crazy fan outside the stadium who was over-the-moon about meeting the members of Gavin McGraw's band. You made me feel not-so-crazy. And thanks to the security guy who let her talk to them and let me listen to her gush as we stood outside the performers' bus area.

In fact, thank you to 99% of the staff at Wrigley Field for being unbelievably polite, kind and friendly (and eventually that one girl warmed up to me, too). It didn't matter who they worked for – blue-shirt Wrigley staff, orange-shirt Wrigley security, white-shirt extra security, green-shirt something-else officials, white-shirt ushers – they were all great!

Thanks to the cute orange-shirt guys who directed me to the field entrance, the helpful orange-shirts at the field entrance, and all the shirts who pretty much let me wander wherever I wanted on the field and around the stadium. And offered to take my picture! Of course it was two-hours before the concert and they may have been as bored as I was. I am never early for anything because I don't have the patience to wait. But think of all the nice people I got to meet this time!

Like the usher guy who offered to take my picture with the infield grass, the stands, the stage, the tarp-covered pitching mound.... Oh yeah, I think he was bored.

Thanks to the end of the third-base line beer-stand guys who tried to card me for buying a bottle of water (their first sale of the night), and then offered to take my picture with the 355 ft. outfield wall marker. I took their picture, too.

Thanks to the beer guy inside the stadium who suggested a beer might help calm my upset stomach. I didn't take him up on that, but we had a nice chat.

Big, big thanks to “not Billy Joel” for letting me take a selfie with him. We swapped cameras and took pictures for each other “batting” near home plate. I started to leave, but just couldn't resist. “You know, you kind of look like Billy Joel,” I said. He shyly said he had been getting that a lot that night. He had the right hair style, the right goatee, the right height, and the prettiest eyes! I had to get a picture.

Thanks to the security guy who may or may not have (I wouldn't want to get him in trouble) pointed out the real Billy Joel standing on the balcony above us. Of course I (and everyone else) had to take a picture, although I felt guilty intruding on his privacy.

Thanks to the usher who told me to go for it when I said I was thinking of asking the caterers to give my blogger info card to Billy Joel. “What have you got to lose?” he asked. They couldn't do it, but it was worth a shot.

Thanks, of course, to my seat-mates: Mitch the policeman and his daughter the uber fan, and the nice guy from England-now-Phoenix. You made me feel like part of a group. And to the four wild girls behind us – three Sox fans who found themselves sitting in the Wrigley outfield with their lone Cubbie friend; even the three drunk, college-age guys in front of us who knew just about every song and were very entertaining: Thanks, everyone!

A thanks of relief to the nice people who let me walk with them down the kind of dark and scary alley to the “L” station after the concert because the N. Sheffield sidewalk was packed with party-goers and equally kind of dark and scary.

And thanks to the nice lady on the “L” who asked her friend to give me directions when I followed the crowd and got off the train one stop too soon. It wasn't your fault he sent me east instead of south. And thank you to the train station attendant who talked me down when the ticket kiosk wouldn't take my quarters and I was about to lose it! I can't believe I paid three dollars to ride three blocks. But it was dark. And I was tired and lost-ish. Not a good combination for me.

I'm sure there were other nice people I'm forgetting, so a huge thank you to pretty much everyone I ran into.

You've restored my faith in humanity.

I've always tried to “pay it forward,” but now I'm going to have to work extra hard not just to do that, but to “pay it up,” as well.

I'm Keeping the Faith.

You May Be Right (I May Be Crazy)

Just how crazy do you think I am?

Wait, wait, don't tell me. Because however crazy you think I am, I think I'm even crazier. If you know me and you know how I think, you understand. Maybe.

As you may know, I've been preoccupied with Billy Joel since April (long story, check the blog archive for details) and tomorrow I will be driving to Chicago  by myself for his sold-out concert.

I'm not sure if I'm more excited or nervous. And I'm already wondering what life, post-concert, will be like.

You see, it's become more than just a concert for me. It's an epic adventure – a challenge of creativity and bravery, an opportunity to carpe the snot out of the diem. Others might say it's an exercise in futility, stupidity and time wasting.

The first challenge was to convince myself that I could do this alone. I'm still worried about getting lost on the drive and just the thought of riding the “L” makes me nervous. (Although the Red Line is a straight shot from right outside my hotel to Wrigley so if I screw that up, I'm some special kind of stupid.)

But I'm OK with the “alone” part. It's kind of exciting, in fact. I'm making plans for things that I want to do without having to listen to anyone whine, like go to the art museum. I may even have lunch at the House of Blues... by myself. Heck, I can have lunch anywhere and anytime I want.

The second challenge was securing a concert ticket. This was more a matter of perseverance and dumb luck. But still, I navigated the ticket sites and ordered the ticket all by myself.

And here's where the crazy starts to show. Not only did I whine to anyone who would listen (and a few who didn't) and blog about the concert being sold out and how unfair scalpers are, I started sending emails.

Sending random emails is a sure sign of mid-level crazy.

First I emailed the official Billy Joel web site (maintained by Sony Corp. if you read the fine print) to ask if any additional tickets would be released (there were, and I got one). I still haven't heard back from them (ha).

Then, in a fit of pique I emailed the Cubs organization asking if the high-end VIP tickets ($500+) included a starting spot in the Cubs lineup. They actually did take the time to send a nice reply, saying that was news to them and that concert questions should be directed to Sony (as if).

After I had my ticket, the final challenge was to wait patiently.

Which I failed miserably at.

What do I do when I have too much time on my hands? Send emails.

Not only did I blog about wanting to interview Billy Joel, I sent emails requesting an interview. Neither Sony nor a talent rep who may or may not represent Billy Joel (can you trust press releases you find on the i-net?) have responded to my (very polite) requests.

Did that stop me? Of course not.

Yesterday (that's two days before the concert) I decided to try to get press credentials. I had no idea what this might involve, but it was another adventure! I did actually hear back from the concert promoters (yay!), but after sending a couple of clarification emails the final answer was a big, fat “Requested Credentials Are Not Available” (boo!).

So, did I really think I'd get to interview Billy Joel or get a press pass authorizing me to wander around Wrigley? No. But that doesn't mean it wasn't exciting to receive those emails. And I'm not going to give up. I'm taking my notebook full of interview questions with me.

Did I have a lot of fun doing some kinda crazy, unexpected, definitely out of the ordinary stuff? You betcha.

Saturday night when I arrive back home in West Branch – without getting lost anywhere at anytime and blissed out from a day at the art museum – I expect I'll have some fun Chicago memories to share. But more than that, I think I'll have a little more self-confidence and courage to try some more new challenges.

In one of those cosmic coincidences (or "God winks") I recently saw a quote attributed to Franklin D. Roosevelt: “Above all, try something.”

Carpe credentials!

Top 5 Reasons I Should Interview Billy Joel

I've been watching videos on YouTube of Billy Joel interviews and master classes to prepare myself for his upcoming concert at Wrigley Field... because you can never be too well prepared. (And because if I wasn't watching Billy Joel videos I would have to be doing laundry, washing dishes, or otherwise cleaning house and generally doing stuff I really don't want to do.)

And it occurred to me that I should try to wrangle a personal interview with Billy Joel.

I mean, why not? I'm an up and coming blogger with a readership of literally fives of people (on a good day). I'm working on those numbers and fully expect that any day now I could reach – dare I dream it? – tens of people!

And, I mean, why not? What's the worst that could happen? (Besides being slapped with a restraining order. Really? How much farther away from Long Island could I get than Iowa? In a philosophical sense, anyway.)

Face it, worst-case scenario: the answer is no or I get no reply. Please. I'm a mom. I'm used to people ignoring me. It's like they sing in South Pacific, “If you don't have a dream, how you gonna make a dream come true?” (Or have an reason to reference “Happy Talk”?)

After much thought, here are my Top 5 Reasons Billy Joel Should Agree to an Interview with Me:

1. I'm cute and spunky. Who doesn't like cute and spunky? (Besides Lou Grant from “The Mary Tyler Moore Show.” And he doesn't count, because he really did like Mary.) Obviously I'm spunky because despite the fact that an unknown blogger has absolutely a snowball's chance in hell of landing an interview with Billy Joel, I'm going after it! And obviously I'm cute, because spunky people are always cute. (And I have great legs. Just sayin'.) And I have a great sense of humor. Obviously.

2. I'm fresh off a 3-day return engagement as (acting)Editor of the West Liberty Index weekly newspaper (circulation: more than my blog), so my interviewing and writing skills have been re-honed to my previous razor-sharp editorial... razor-sharpedness.

3. I am the kindest, gentlest interviewer you will ever encounter. In my brief but fabulous tenure as the Arts and Entertainment Editor of the Iowa City Press-Citizen, all my years at the Index and the West Branch Times --  heck even as a high school teacher, speech coach and speech contest judge – I have never made anyone cry. And a few of them deserved it, believe me.

4. Talk about a softball interview! Who doesn't like to be set up for a guaranteed success every now and then? Not that Billy Joel needs to be set up for success. You don't get much more successful than what, a bazillion sold-out concerts in a row?

But he has, in the past (as I learned from those YouTube videos) had issues with reviewers and critics. With me? No issues. None. Nada. And it's not because I'm on the take (or would be swayed by his presence, talent, or general adorableness). It's because I'm a genuinely nice person (who happens to be a cute, spunky, talented writer with great legs).

5. The timing is perfect! Billy Joel is going to be in Chicago, I'm going to be in Chicago (because Billy Joel is in Chicago). Unless I get lost on the way there, in which case Billy Joel will be in Chicago and I'll be God only knows where swearing, crying and generally making a scene. Vegas odds are not in my favor; but if I do make it, I could be in the chips!

Do I really think I'll get to interview Billy Joel? No. Do I really believe anyone will read my email request? No. But this little exercise broke my writer's block (and provided divine-inspiration for my dual-language summer camp story lead).

And writing this was a hell of a lot more fun than doing the dishes.

Adventures in (Pre-)Midlife Crisis-ing

Billy Joel will be appearing Live! And in Concert! at Chicago's Wrigley Field July 18. This is, like, his only Midwest show this summer, and thus my best chance to see him Live! And in Concert! in all my current Billy Joel obsessed-ness.

Except the concert is sold out.

I haven't whined (out loud) much about this, as I am trying to keep the full extent of my craziness hidden or at least under control. But finally, the total, sucky-universe unfairness of the situation has reached critical mass. I mean, he's gonna be this close! And I'm probably not gonna see him Live! And in Concert! Or, more accurately Live! And Televised on the Big-Ass Screen (because I would be in the nose-bleed seats in the far, forgotten nether regions of Wrigley Field's upper-upper deck).

Technically there are Platinum Seat tickets ($495 or $525 each) still available on the official concert web site. I could swear there used to be even more expensive seats, but they must be sold out now, too (WTH?). I don't blame Billy Joel for those obscene prices because I have a huge crush on him, which grants him – much like my children – complete immunity from any blame. However, I'm thinkin' those platinum seats ought to at least come with a free bucket of popcorn, large soda and a special line-jumper pass for the bathroom. (I thought the $1,500 seats should put you on stage turning pages for Billy.)

Then I realized the official concert ticket website is – of course – also the Chicago Cubs MLB official tickets website, so maybe those platinum tickets get you into the Cubs lineup for a game or two. That would explain a lot.

While I'm crazy about Billy Joel, I'm not quite $495 worth of crazy.

Yet.

Clearly this situation calls for out-of-the-box thinking.

Out-of-the-box it occurred to me  that when I was in college, I would have just jumped in the car and road-triped it in to Chicago, hoping to buy a ticket from a scalper outside the ball park. (Probably. Maybe. Eh....)

But now the thought of such a spur-of-the moment, unplanned, unprepared, totally wild and crazy whim of an adventure makes me more than a little nauseous. (Definitely not. Never. But....)

Just for the sake of argument, I gave my imagination free reign: What's the worst thing that could happen if I just drove to Chicago, hoping for the best? Apparently my imagination was more influenced by my college-era movie viewing than I realized.

What could happen? I could end up driving around downtown Chicago in the family station wagon, careening from one potentially dangerous yet hilarious misadventure to another (Adventures in Babysiting).

Left to my own devices in downtown Chicago I could very well end up on a parade float singing “Danke Schoen” and being mistaken for Abe Froman, Sausage King of Chicago (Ferris Bueller's Day Off).

When I mentioned my hair-brained, road trip/scalper scheme to my good friend (and guardian angel) Martha, she suggested I try StubHub first, before driving willy-nilly into the Windy City on a whim.

Hmmm. Scalpers – I mean Re-sellers – online. Who knew?

I can just barely navigate the official ticket websites, let alone a “re-sale” site. And, not that I'm bitter or anything, but StubHub claims to have 4,902 tickets available. Really? You expect me to believe that 4,902 people bought tickets then decided they couldn't go to the concert? Of course, the tickets with a face value of $44.50 (+$5 s/h) now start at $79....

But beggars can't be choosers, can they?

Apparently they can be, because as I roll the cursor around the stadium map I start thinking about upgrading... and pretty soon I can justify buying the $205 ticket because it's on the field and slightly more centered than the $170 ticket – which is not that much more than the face value of $130. Or do those people asking $197/per for the infield club box seats know what they're doing? The box next door is $265/per...

Let's face it. I'm too cheap to spend that kind of money. Although... $170 might be doable. What am I saying?!

Reigning in the crazy for a moment, I think a road trip to Chicago for a day at the art museum would be fun. And I could listen to the Billy Joel Channel on XM radio while I drive (although that's what started this obsession to begin with).

Or I could drown my sorrows at Murphy's Bleachers on North Sheffield St. – which is pretty much behind the stage and across the street, but still closer than some of those upper deck seats.

And then I could stand outside Wrigley and proclaim my devotion by hoisting a boom box over my head and looking all soulful... although I probably wouldn't serenade Billy Joel by playing Peter Gabriel (OK, that's the Seattle-based Say Anything, not the Chicago-based High Fidelity... but close enough).

What else can I say? Just this:

It's 211 miles to Chicago, I've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark... and I'm wearing sunglasses (Blues Brothers).

I'm on a mission for Bill.

Get Away Replay

Things I learned in Chicago:

1. Kindergarteners are nothing like piranhas. According to the Shedd Aquarium guide, the whole wild, thrashing, feeding frenzy, little fish taking down a cow thing is a piranha myth. Sort of. He said that was the impression given to Teddy Roosevelt during a trip to the Amazon, but what T. R. didn't know was that the piranha he observed had not been fed for a week. Makes sense, I'm a little cranky myself without my latte, which brings me to (quite possibly the most important thing I learned)...

2. The coffee you brew in the hotel room is nas-T. Ew. Even the memory is bitter. (HA! That was a good one. I'm pun-stoppable!) I don't even want to think about when that pot was last washed. Still, that was all that stood between me and a mythic piranha frenzy, because...

3. They charge out the whazoo for coffee at that hotel. Me, pay $3 for a cuppa plain Joe? Uh, what part of "Say Wha?" don't they understand? BTW, everything else at the Four Points by Sheraton (on Rush St.) was excellent, including it's proximity to...

4. Starbucks! That's right, the Mother Ship was on the corner. Perfect, no? No. What were all those people doing there at 9:30 a.m.? Doesn't anyone in downtown Chicago work? And don't they have coffee makers at home and/or work? Helloooo, I was on vacation. It wasn't like I had all morning to stand around waiting for my latte. Fortunately this was after I had learned that piranhas don't attack or I would have bitten someone, despite my new-found peace and tranquility acquired dirt cheap at...

5. Trader Joe's! Yes, Trader Joe's Market was squished in between the hotel and The-Pit-of-Desperation-Formerly-Known-As-Starbucks. Yay! I now have my very own, genuine Trader Joe's canvas shopping bag. At last I can show all the plebeians at Hy Vee how incredibly cool I am. I may even start walking around downtown Iowa City, just because! I am one of the beautiful people now. Bask in my hipness.

Oh yes, Trader Joe's had a full variety of Three Buck Chuck. TBC has restored respectability and good taste (that tastes good!) to a price range of wine whose reputation has been sullied by the likes of Mad Dog 20/20, Boone's Farm, and Night Train. But not everything at TJ's is good, for instance...

6. Using Trader Joe's Premium Quality Facial Tissues featuring 100% recycled paper is like blowing your nose on sandpaper. And I don't mean the Super Fine Finishing Grit, either. The King and I both know this because we were both hit with the Mother Of All Colds just as we backed out of the driveway. If you have not yet experienced the kick-assedness of this particular virus, you will soon. If you stop reading this blog every 30 seconds so you can blow your nose or pop another aspirin, you know what I'm talking about. You have my sympathy. 'Nuff said.

7. Speaking of kick-assedness: A couple of 20-oz. beers at ESPN Zone in the afternoon makes shopping sooooo much more fun!

8. Speaking of shopping and beers: Unfortunately there still is no bar/lounge at the American Girl Store although, as the King pointed out, sales would sky rocket if the Dad's didn't have to schlep around the place whining like little children (Can we go yet?). Also conspicuously absent: the "Molly's First Drunken Party" play set.

9. Speaking of All-American, I dragged the Royal Family to the top of the Sear's Tower. Yes they still call it that, although Sears hasn't owned it for quite a while as they point out in the pre-flight movie. Those are some fast elevators. I loved the view! The Prince and Princess? Not so much.

10. What else can I say? Great time. Definitely deserves the "Windy" nickname. Excellent pizza at Pizzeria Due (across from Starbucks!). Had to drag the family (especially the husband) out of the Museum of Science and Industry.

Can't wait to go back.