
"Show Me" is an ace quiet storm song, a charmingly tacky spectacle that conveys the feeling of walking around in a shop that sells the kind of wiry fluorescent signs you find in aquariums and frozen-yogurt shops. It was written by LaLa Cope, who was a member of Change (one of the greatest and most overlooked disco acts) and also wrote Whitney Houston's "You Give Good Love." The opening keyboard, which Ice Cube expertly sampled on 2000's "Until We Rich," sounds like what might happen if you combined a floor piano with an escalator. The melody is gorgeous, and Jones's singing (he is originally a gospel singer) is strong, never going for glottal bellowing or whiny falsetto. And Jones is supposedly such a novice romantic that he needs to be shown—lord knows how—what he has to do. The song has virtually nothing else to say. It's expert midrange singing about the stupid and simple circumstance of being unsure about whether or not the person you're into feels the same way about you. Many of us have dealt with that situation. Let's just thank Jones for having it take place in a jacuzzi.

Cynthia, Tamyko, Carol, and Lauri were two sets of friends at the start of the night, but had clearly bonded by the end. The volunteers shared their feelings in a jumble: "I feel great, like really." "This country is so blessed." "Just relief. Huge, huge relief . . ." "And elated!" One had a closer bond to Obama. "I had just taken an oath to join the U.S. Army," Tamyko told me. She was stationed at Fort Jackson, and he was a great commander in chief, she said.
When I found myself at Bonny's on Friday night irreparably sober and unavailable to the ladies, I decided to make the best of the experience by asking some regulars—and there were plenty of sightseers there to see what they'd been missing—where they'd go to get their drunken dancing fix. Results were mixed, but aside from one very confident reply that Danny's could offer everything Bonny's could, no one was sure. "Danny's is great, but it's not the same," one told me. "I guess I can't walk home from the Hideout," said another. "Bonny's for life," said another, who had "no fucking idea" where she'd go in coming weekends, just that it'd never be the bar that replaces Bonny's.
Anyway, things didn't seem so out of the ordinary on Friday besides the 40-minute-long line outside. We sang "Last Nite" in its entirety on the penultimate night, but that could happen any day, really, because that song is awesome. The one notable difference was on Instagram, which lit up with more than a few tributes, and some of the same old pics of shit-faced faces.
Also, to indulge in a bit of self-promotion, tonight I'll be taking part in a conversation about the conversion from film to digital at the Gene Siskel Film Center, following the 6 PM screening of the documentary Side by Side. The panel will be moderated by WBEZ's Allison Cuddy, and my distinguished co-panelists will be Siskel programmer Barbara Scharres, School of the Art Institute professor Daniel Eisenberg, and local filmmaker Dan Nearing.
"Willie" Greene, as known to lakefront fishermen, died Saturday night at Quincy Veterans Home. Mr. Greene, 84, took over Park Bait, the corner bait shop at Montrose Harbor, from his employer in 1956."That was his life," his daughter Stacey Greene-Fenlon said. "That lake was his world. He used to get a kick out of when a kid would come in and say, 'Oh, my dad brought me here when I was little.' He loved that generational stuff."