Back in Chicago, the rockstar was in a band. A rock n roll band. A dirty, loud, sweaty, rock n roll band. After several name changes, they ended up calling themselves the Bish. A name that could only be explained by the drummer. It's a good story, anyways.

Thinking back to those days of late night shows, hauling gear to the practice space, and four in the morning breakfasts, brings back fond memories.

Before every show, a couple of the other band members girlfriends and I would get together, get ready, and jump in a cab that would take us to that night's venue. If we were lucky enough, our boys would remember to put us on the guest list so we wouldn't have to pay at the door. If we were even luckier then that, they would ALSO remember to get us the "I'm with the band" sticker so we could join them backstage.

Sometimes, when the show began, the gals and I would stand real close to the stage and dance around, singing all the words to all the songs. Other times, we would sit back and watch other people listening their music for the first time, their different reactions, and never before seen dance moves. A set could last anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour. It all depended on how many other bands were playing, what time everyone was playing, and who was headlining.

You could never tell how the night would unfold. Some nights there would be a sell out crowd, ready and waiting to hear good music. Other nights, you might find a smaller crowd, showing no interest to anything that was happening on stage. There would be the rare occasion where the line-up of musical acts didn't make sense. I remember a show the Bish played where they went on right AFTER a heavy metal band. Uhhhhhhh...yea. They had a lead singer marching around the stage wearing spandex pants that had no behind (and I don't think he was wearing underwear. I know..GROSS). One time, they played a show out in a suburb of Chicago in the middle of nowhere. We pulled in and the big sign out front was advertising the club's upcoming band to perform there: The BLOOD KISSING DEVIL WHATSITS! That wasn't REALLY their name, but pretty close. And, of course, who can forget the bar fights. If we were lucky enough (and by lucky I mean UNlucky), we got to witness a bar fight. A fight between bar patrons OR the random drunk guys on the street OR even between band members. The Bish was even kicked out of a bar they had just previously played at moments before......a misunderstanding. The possibilities for the evening's outcome were endless, but always interesting.

After the show, the girls and I became roadies. Helping LOAD all the "gear" into the vehicles (I never did figure out how to wrap up a cord very well). By this time, it was usually between one and three in the morning.  We then drove over to a somewhat scary part of town (the only place you could afford to practice) to UNLOAD the gear into the practice space. By that time, everyone would be pretty exhausted (the kind of exhausted where you're so tired, you're a little giddy....a little silly. You know what I'm talking about). The night (errr..morning) would usually end with breakfast. Who could resist a giant helping of pancakes and eggs at four in the morning?

Mmmmm. Makes me hungry for breakfast...at a 24 hour diner.

Anyways, I hope you like the picture of the boys. The rockstar hated his outfit that day. Don't tell him I told you. I thought it looked good. They all looked good. Like dirty, sweaty, too cool for school, rockstars.