Chicago sports teams keys.
You know where you can have 'em made for like nothin' and yet the sports fan you give them to will LOVE THEM?
True Value Hardware.
That's all I got today.
Because tonight is our agency Holiday party.
Usually, I'm on a shoot somewhere, but tonight I'm here so I'm going.
Actually, I'm writing this yesterday, the day of the party, in anticipation of not really feeling like doing any blogging today.
Which brings me to what I really wanted to tell you.
A horrible, really embarrassing Holiday party I went to when I was a baby art director and new to Chicago.
It was my group creative director's party, so I kinda had to go.
But I was nervous and didn't really want to and I was telling this other baby art director and she goes, "I have to go to a recital and I'm dreading that. If you go with me to mine, I'll go with you to yours."
For the record, I'd never even heard the word "recital" before.
But she said I should wear a tie, so I went to a used clothing store and got a skinny, glittery silver tie for $5.
To wear with my jeans and tennis shoes and my best shirt, which was a heavy dark blue flannel.
What didn't really register was the fact that she was also the neice a famous Chicago movie critic (not dropping names, but he was the skinny one on "_____ and Ebert") and probably came from a family that...well, the kind of family that gets invited to recitals alot.
So I pick her up in a cab and we go.
It's at a mansion.
On Astor Street.
It's possible that I've told this story before - so skip it if you know it.
Astor Street is where the seriously rich who also really want to be urban live, but who knew?
I was like, "Man, that's a big house!"
We walk in and my "date" immediately leaves.
And I can't help but notice that every dude in the room is wearing a tuxedo.
So I'm Gomer Pyle and I just walked into the Officer's Club.
A waiter comes up to me with a tray and 4 glasses of red wine on it, begins to describe what region of France each one is from and would the gentleman care for a glass?
Total outer body experience.
A woman catches my eye from across the room, comes over as I'm getting the wine talk.
Thinking about it later, the only thing that made sense was that I was SO not dressed for the occasion that this woman thought I must be family and just didn't care.
"Are you related to the hosts?" she asks.
Not hi or anything, so I'm caught off guard on top of being class-challenged.
And I swear to god I said this: "Uh, I don't know, is their name Souers?"
Had I said it like a smart ass, probably she would have laughed.
But I said it just true to myself, a naive dope.
She looked at me strangely, saw somebody else to talk to and scrammed.
Now it's about an hour later.
There are a million people in here, I'm drinking red wine and my shirt is boiling.
So I see a bay window in a little clearing behind some empty chairs, I walk behind the chairs and crack the window.
Look at all that snow out there.
I hate everything about being here and sure wish I could...HEY.
I turn around and in the chairs are 3 young women in black prom dresses, each holding instruments.
So THAT'S what a recital is - MUSIC.
I hadn't even noticed the piano to the one side.
And one of girls is holding this giant standing violin thing that's completely blocking my way.
Everybody in the entire party is staring at me, because now I'm the 5th Beatle.
One of the girls makes some kind of introduction and they begin playing.
I stood behind them for their entire little set, politely clapping after each song and ruining every photo, every note, and every sip of wine the black ties took.
Later, we went to my grouper's party, but nothing horrible happened.
So, that's my holiday party story.
I've got lots more, but I also have children so ahh...not writing those down.
Did you see the Angels signed Josh Hamilton?
Wouldn't you love to read the fine print in that contract?
He and Prince Albert come to Wrigley in the middle of July.
When it's hot, the wind maybe blowing out, and somebody's reject on the mound for our favorite team.