The strangest thing happened to me last night. After checking out the Memorial Day fireworks bonanza down on the pier and being kicked out of several closing bars, a few friends and I found ourselves wandering the city looking for a late-night joint. We came across this place called Carol's Pub in the Uptown neighborhood of Chicago which is, in certain blocks, kind of a mini-barrio/crack den. So anyway, we walk into this joint expecting one thing and found something else entirely:

On stage, there's this country cover band with the bass turned up way too loud and a tone deaf singer. I look around and it's like Archie Bunker's Place got co-opted by the "Over-the-state-line-let's get away from John Lithgow" joint from Footloose. There are some depressing looking old men at the bar that look like they may have been there since the Nixon administration, this old lady who kept rubbing her face alot, some trashy/hot chicas (sometimes it's hard to tell), some Punks, a group of what looked like-lost accountants, a handful of mullets, and quite a few middle aged skanky looking pear shaped, wide-ass divorcee types. And the divorcees liked to dance. One of them by herself. Alot. And she was wearing a "Kiss My Bass" t-shirt. It had a picture of a bass on it.

It was like space and time were ripped open by the gods and got stitched up with pieces of Kentucky. It was great! Scary. But great. One of the punk girls was even kinda cute. The band didn't cover Dolly Parton's "Jolene" though. That was kinda disappointing.