[Tremendous brunettes at the Park West]

For those of you who believe that animals can tell who's cool and who isn't, it seems my boys have picked out my new boyfriend: Snidge's baby bro, who came up with her for the Mike Doughty show this weekend. As it happens usually, Rube is standoffish and glares like an insolent teen at everyone, while the Ween just hides, not to be seen unless running back under the bed after eating or using the can. But with Rlee? Rube was rubbing up against him like they were best pals, while Ween let him touch him. (Ween also nudged Snidge to pet her during the night, but he knows her well enough now.)

It was another stellar visit this weekend. The Snidge family got in about 10-ish Friday night, so what we do? Head to the land of the Hobartians so that Rlee could experience firsthand what Snidge has been telling him about for months. And it didn't fail to disappoint, either, as it never does: The people turning to stare at you as you walk in the bar because you're not indigenous to them thar parts; the near 6-hillbilly brawl out front of Rosie O'Grady's during heavy metal night; the teenagers walking around well after curfew; Benny coming up and calling me his "Irish Rose," also kissing me one too many times. Yep, all there. And he LOVED it. Also, he loved the Vodka and Red Bulls he was tossing back.

After a vile, greasy breakfast at the Flying J in Lake Station, we got back to the crib, where after a mere four hours of rest I was out the door to an early muni meeting. (The message I left on my editor's voicemail: "My mellow has been harshed," followed by something completely unintelligible about that assignment and the second one I was headed to that wouldn't have to be written up for daily unless the retirees started setting the union hall on fire in protest. Luckily, it didn't happen, because I'm getting too old for that shit.) Meanwhile, Snidge and Rlee headed off to Chicago for some tooling around and shopping, so that gave me the perfect opportunity to come home for a four-hour nap. (Don't judge me.) Both showed great restraint with their purchases, except Snidge bought this stuff from Lush that looks like olive drab gelatin, and I was quite disturbed. (Had I known there was going to a trip to Lush, I'd have told her to get me another bar of Buffy the Buttskin Slayer and another Butterball, but that's all right.) I got up, they got back, we all changed clothes and headed back downtown for the show, starting with a lovely dinner at my favorite tapas joint.

If y'all have never been to the Park West for a show, I'd highly recommend it, because it's a great setting, and one that suited my pretend rockstar boyfriend well, because he ROCKED. OUR. SOCKS. (Yes, pheNOMenal, my friend. Thank you for turning Snidgey on to him.) Opened with "Tremendous Brunettes" and stayed tight the whole show. He did this montage of "It's Raining Men" and "Firetruck" that included the riff from "Circles," but he flatly refused to perform it outright, which was cool. It's just too bad that the crowd didn't seem to be into it as much as they should've, because Doughty's got a great stage presence. Stupid trixies. Anyway, one of his encores? Kenny Rogers' "The Gambler."