I was sitting on the floor of the bedroom just a little while ago playing with the cat, when suddenly I smelled it. It's the smell that says, "You are knee-deep in Autumn. No turning back now, so dig out your sweaters and coats, corduroys and long-johns. Say goodbye to late-evening daylight and mid-afternoon sweat. Summer's o-v-e-r." The smell was sneaking in around the crevices of the closed windows. It reminded me of all of the Halloweens I've ever seen.

I wasn't feeling much like going out Friday night, but when I happened across the live music listings in the Chicago Reader, I noticed that two bands from my hometown were playing at the Hideout. C. was in the mood to go out and dragged my ass out the door. This band opened, and man, they were just amazing. Last time I saw them, they were just a scraggly little country/folk group with no real focus. When they took the stage on Friday night, they looked like they stepped right out of a scene from "O Brother Where Art Thou?". In-cred-y-bull! Then these fellas. What can I say? Who knew that a bunch of punk-rockers could pull off such low-down-lovely country music? The best part is that they're my homeboys. They made me so proud. Sometime during the latter part of the evening, probably due to all the beer I was consuming, I started getting all misty-eyed for the old hometown and "the good ol' days." All those baby-faced kids (me included) working shit jobs just so we could have money to pay rent and go see shows. Or play music. Staying up all night. Flirting and making out. Gossip. Hang out with nothing to do but drink and fuck shit up.

And now? I know the saying. You can't go back. And I really can't go back to the old homestead, because it's not there, really. Not the way it used to be. But I think it's okay. Wouldn't it be creepy if it didn't change?

As cliche as it is, I still have a piece of KC in my mind that will never change. The people and the galleries and the venues and the people and practice spaces and basement shows and the streets and yards and people. I will miss it because it was so damn much fun.

Hey, I'm a Chicagoan now. It's been long enough. I've seen a few very nasty Winters, I know a lot of neighborhoods, complained about the state of the politics, blah blah...and I got married here. I'm going to probably raise kids here. I love Chicago. You're supposed to leave home and blaze your own trail, right? Done and done.

Speaking of leaving home, we went to visit C.'s parents in their new home. It's one of those pleasantly faceless houses in a little subdivision in a little Indiana town. It was good to see them, at nearly 80 (!) years old, doing just fine in their new surroundings. C.'s dad is amazing. He built a workshop in the garage, complete with his own wiring and insulated walls and everything. Then he had an electrician come and check it out. Of course it was perfect. Did I ever mention that this man is building his own plane? That's right. He's a marvel. I love him.

C.'s mom is a good one, but...she is very, very, very much the Mother. Let me just put it this way: Sometimes, with C.'s mom, it's just better to let her do what she will. Don't tell her you're not hungry, just eat. Don't tell her you don't need that lamp turned on, just let her do it. She is a very good mother. Just let her do it. This is sometimes hard for me to remember, being the strong-willed girl I've always been, but I'm learning.

This morning we had plans to meet B. in Indianapolis for brunch. This turned into plans to meet B. in the little town where C.'s parents live, then it turned into meeting two other friends, then it turned into something of a fiasco that involved two closed restaurants and finally an open Bob Evans that would take us, but who made us wait about 30 minutes for a table. The food took another 30, then someone's order was screwed up. What started as a simple brunch plan became a 3-hour ordeal that left everyone somewhat grumpy. But oh well. The food was okay.

Then we drove back into town. And here we are.

I'll talk to you later. I don't feel like computering anymore.