The Tamale Guy: A Chicago enigma

Who is he? Where is he from? Does he have a day job? Or does he make enough money of his bar-to-bar tamale sales to pay the bills? Who makes his tamales? Where are they made? Is he part of a larger tamale-selling conglomerate or is he a solopreneur?

I've seen only one other tamale peddler, a younger fella who looked a bit unseasoned in the ways of tamale selling. Who is he? Is he part of Tamale Guy's posse? Or are they bitter tamale selling rivals? Was he Tamale Guy's protege, but grew frustrated with Tamale Guy's technique and demanding schedule and decided to go out on his own? If so, do they purposefully avoid each other when they hit the streets? What happens when they do bump into one another? Is there a bar-clearing showdown? Do they have a tamale drawing contest?

Some random observations on Tamale Guy and his routine:

He’s sort of like a panhandler, only instead of asking you to give him something, he's asking if he can give something to you. However, like a beggar, he'll ask you if you want one, you'll say no, then he'll come back to your table less than a minute later and ask if you want one again. Just like when a bum will ask you for money as you walk into a convenience store, you'll say no, then he'll ask you for money again when you walk out of said convenience store moments later.

I mean, if you’re going to take the time to ask me for something, you could at least have the courtesy to remember my face 30 seconds later.

Also, Tamale Guy works with complete disregard of what's going on around him. I've seen him at concerts literally walk through a crowd, and mid-song, will bark out "Tamales! Tamales!" in everybody's faces, often out-screaming the band. When it comes to selling tamales, this man has no scruples. If Latinos didn't hold Catholicism so sacred, I wouldn't put it past this guy to hawk tamales in Mass.

Can you imagine:

"And now, we give to you oh Lord, thy daily bread..."

"Tamales! Tamales!"

He's got a lot of gumption, I will give him that. You hang out at the same place long enough you'll likely see him twice in one night. And I've seen him as far north as Irving Park, far west as Western and as far south as Grand, which leads me to believe this guy covers damn near the entire north side on a given night, sometimes twice over.

Which leads me to another batch of questions: What kind of car does he drive? How many miles are on it? Does he have a driver? Where does he park when he hits all these bars?

Since it's doubtful his English vernacular stretches beyond what's necessary to sell tamales, we'll probably never know...

St. Patrick's Day can kinda suck in Chicago

This shouldn't come as a surprise to anybody who really thinks about it (apparently I didn't really think about).

It sucked much in the same way it would suck to be in Times Square on New Years Eve, Las Vegas for tip-off of the Final Four, New Orleans on Mardi Gras or South By Southwest — these supposed epic moments/events which we all at some times in our lives feel the need to be a part of.

As a society we're deeply intrigued by the concept of being there. We want to be there to somehow gain some greater perspective on life or the particular phenomena we've gone to experience or at least brag to our friends about it. This concept of being there is everywhere, from sporting events, to concerts, to family vacations in clichéd touristy destinations.

The trick is, being there (especially with these not necessarily imaginative experiences) usually means we're doing so with thousands of others in uncomfortable circumstances that frequently end up ruining — or at least slightly diminishing — the experience in some way.

Case in point, Saturday. Partying in Chicago — a predominately Irish Catholic town with a reputation for hard drinking — on a St. Patrick's Day that falls on a weekend sounded like a great idea. I figured it'd be a blast. A grand party. I wanted to be there.

However, being there meant standing in line for 15 minutes to get into a bar, then after finally getting in one, being practically dry humped by the guys next to me because it was so crowded, waiting 15 minutes for a Guinness, then eventually spending $20 for it because the disoriented server forgot who you were and that she owed you change.

Because of this I wasn't able to enjoy myself at all and, ironically, didn't get the least bit intoxicated.

It brought me back to the same question I had while standing like a sardine with 65,000 other hot, sweaty people while headliners the Red Hot Chili Peppers closed Lollapalooza last summer and trying to watch this year's Super Bowl at a bar in Chicago (all events I was hoping would be some sort of zen-like transcendent experience, but wound up being ultimately dissatisfying.)

What's the point of being there when being there usually sucks?

The answer to this question is creating our own there.

So next year on St. Patrick's Day, in order to capture the true essence of the holiday (which is getting sauced in intimate quarters while a band with bagpipes plays in the background), I'm going to grab some close friends, a couple CDs of Celtic music, a shit ton of beer and whiskey and bring them to my living room (which is what most authentic Irish pubs resemble anyway).

We'll create our own hoopla, likely have more fun, save money, and if a fight should break out, it can go on for as long as it need be.

I'm back (for those of you who were not reading)

It's the beginning of Year No. 2 in Chicago and I'm back and promising this will be a regular blog yet again. I'll have at least three new posts per week for nobody to read.

I turned 28 on Friday, but any specifics on that would be too self indulgent and self incriminating to post here, so I'll stick with something safer and more abstemious (that means the opposite of self-indulgent).

The first ever column I wrote for a magazine in Chicago I was bitching about how difficult concertgoing in this town can be. While I have to say that a year later I'm not nearly as discontent with it as I was last spring (a higher paying job and better understanding of the CTA system have a lot to do with this) I still have some frustrations, such as the phenomena of shows selling out insanely early.

Apparently tickets to last week's two TV on the Radio gigs at Metro were liquidated months in advance. The Shins show at Congress sold out months ahead of time, too, and the Arcade Fire shows (all three of them) have sold out as well — and they're not until mid May (I've also heard of scalped tickets going for hundreds on ebay.)

This could mean a handful of things: The immense popularity of these bands I discovered years ago reinfocres my astute prophetic ability to predict what types of music the masses will fall in love. The booking agents for these acts need to do a better job of finding bigger venues for these bands to play while in Chicago. I should turn my back on these aforementioned groups, accuse them of selling out and find new, yet-to-become popular bands that I can wait until the last minute and still get tickets to (while impressing record store clerks with my obscurity along the way.)

OR, I, and everybody else who bitches about missing too many shows in this town because they don't secure tickets in time needs to, should get with program and start paying attention months ahead of time like the thousands of others who gobble them up.