Chicago. City of the Big Shoulders. The Windy City. The Second City. The Third Coast. Gateway to Wisconsin.

It feels like home here, if New York is to be considered our home, which is a matter for considerable debate. In any case, it feels like New York. The skyscrapers, the panhandlers, the crush of suited people at lunch time, jostling each other while discussing pending litigation on their cell phones, the smell of mass transit, it's all here. Here's a fact we didn't realize about Chicago: they have better hot dogs.

Today we took the train into the city and hopped on an architectural boat tour. It's not as boring as it sounds, really. They have beer on the boat.

The tour goes up and down the Chicago River, taking in much of the big buildings that line either bank. Some of them suck, some of them are pretty, some of them are just really, really tall. None of them appeared to have shoulders.

After the tour and a brief stop on the Magnificent Mile to get in a fight, we decided to get drunk and eat pizza. Pizza is something Chicago's got a lot to learn about, but thankfully the liquor is comfortingly familiar. After loading up on doughy, crushed-tomato pie, we headed to the concert at the imposing Chicago Theater.

Trey and company put on a great show, as usual, with a strange and worshipful parade through the lobby at the end. We had a great time, despite the undercover cop standing behind us for the whole first set, and renewed our vows to be more musical. Not necessarily to be musicians, but at least to hum more often.

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