Jamming with Pearls & Consuming Assorted Meats and Cheeses with Ron and Susan

A few weekends ago I was lucky enough to attend the first of two sold out Pearl Jam shows at the United Center. I saw PJ live a long time ago (pre-9/11), but had never even been to a show at the United Center; it kind of goes against my hipster mantra. Casting those reservations aside, I met up with former co-worker and Beovision marketing guru Shane Smith and his roommate, Brian, and we proceeded to park somewhere in the ghetto (ignoring the fact that you might get murdered or raped, it is free). We then met up with 'The Pride of Davenport Courtesy of Low Expectations' Nick Swanson and his blushing bride at a nearby watering hole to have a few brewskies and a plate of tots before the show. As for the show itself, PJ delivered, breaking out the obscure ditties that even Jesus (an avowed Pearl Jam junkie) wouldn't recognize. The highlight had to be them breaking out 'Rats' for the encore. Double fist pump coupled with a single tear. Good times.

Not a week later, who comes storming into town but my mother, accompanied by her mustachioed beau, Mr. Ron Fuller. (Faint applause.) On Friday afternoon, we took in a game between the listless Cubs and the New York Metropolitans in the bleachers. Thankfully, the Cubs came out victorious thanks to an Alfonso Soriano 3-run donkey slap in the 8th inning. Heck, even if they had lost, that wasn't the point. Any time you are able to sit in the Wrigley Field bleachers and consume Chicago dogs, ballpark nachos and Old Style (or in Susan's case, blended vodka lemonades), unencumbered by the responsibilities of this cruel and unforgiving world, you can't really complain. Well, I suppose you can complain if you're sitting at the end of the row and a bunch of guys with mustaches (not Ron) keep getting up every half inning and making you move your legs, but...deep breaths...I'll slowly sip my Old Style and shut my mouth.

On Friday night we went to the Greektown restaurant Venus. Live entertainment, flaming cheese, baked lamb and unibrows. Good stuff, with Mom's Mousakas Tsoukas being a highlight. Is that a Tsoukas in your pocket or are you just happy to see me? Wait, huh?

Saturday was filled with Katy's breakfast quiche and leisurely strolls around the neighborhood, before checking the parents into the Four Seasons. From there, the girls went shopping and the boys hit up the Diversey driving range and miniature golf course. Fuller sank an unprecedented 3 hole-in-ones on his way to a lopsided and embarrassing victory. And investigation is being conducted by the NAAPP (National American Association of Putt Putters) as of this writing.

For dinner we went to Gibson's Steakhouse. The place to see and be seen if you're a ballplayer, celebrity, past your prime cougar or George Hamilton. But Lordy Lordy, Lyle's 40 if that steak isn't good. The filets were all top notch, the mushrooms were just short of psychedelic, the margaritas (oh yes I did) were bueno and the desserts looked decadent...not that we saved any room. A great meal, but it was good to escape the scent of English Leather and hundred dollar bills afterwards and get some fresh air.

All in all a great two weeks. Katy's parents make the trek this weekend and we head to the South Side for a (gasp) Sox game. Sleeping with the enemy! Don't worry, I'll make out with them, but I will not let them go all the way!

Look for more posts coming this week, including food pics (naturally) and my thoughts on impending fatherhood, should I be able to put them into words.

Susan and Ben pregame at Wrigley.

Filet, mashed potatoes, mushrooms and bearnaise sauce at Gibsons.

Pearl Jam: A view from the rafters.

A stirring rendition of Yellow Ledbetter. This is like the video version of someone calling you on their cellphone at a concert and holding up their phone for you to listen.