The Taste of Stevie Wonder

I think I had a pretty good weekend. Here are some reasons:

1. My parents came in town.

2. I saw Stevie Wonder.

3. I'm fairly confident he saw me too.

I don't think I really need to explain much more. His name is Steven Wonderful. He is fantastic. He makes babies and music. He is agape.

But, to move past his epic performance, I've got to tell you this: I saw Stevie Wonder drive into the show!

No, he wasn't the driver, you fucking goof. It's bad enough they allow old people and Asians to drive.

But honestly, it was great. My parents and I were being zealous citizens -- abiding to traffic signals and crosswalk regulations -- when along comes, who else, but Stevie and his crew driving up in a brand new, white Escalade. (Move over, St. Lunatics.)

So close your eyes and imagine this (just as Stevie does): we're minding our own business, about to walk into the Taste of Chicago, when Stevie's driver practically bulldozes a group of innocent pedestrians.

What would you do in that situation? Oh, I'll tell you what we did -- we waved to him and screamed his name like a bunch of little schoolgirls.

You know, why not make gestures at a blind man as a way to show my adoration? It seemed like a good idea at the time, though. Just about as good as Stevie Wonder requesting the specific

COLOR and MAKE of his escort vehicle.

It may just be me, but it seems a bit strange that a man of his, ahem, caliber is demanding particulars such as colors and shapes of cars that he has never -- dare I say -- laid eyes upon. But hey, who am I to judge?

So kudos to you, Stevie Wonder! You don't need to look in a mirror to know you are still a true American badass. You just have everyone else telling you how fucking sweet you are (myself included).

Now I wonder....was Helen Keller was this demanding?