For Lynn, Jim, The Other Half and me, July 8 and 9 will be known as The Weekend of the Dead for the rest of our lives.

The four of us didn't ask much. We just wanted a cheap, weekend vacation to Chicago so we could escape the heat, experience a big city and take in a few tourist attractions.

Then the Grateful Dead entered our lives.

You may recall that, on their recent Midwestern tour, the old codgers brought death and destruction wherever they went. In Noblesville, Ind., fans rioted and brought down the stadium gates to get into a concert that later was canceled. Just outside St. Louis, fans gathered on a wood deck to get out of the rain, and it collapsed on them.

In Chicago, the Grateful Dead prevented us from getting a motel room within 50 miles of the city.

Seriously, we called motel after motel in downtown Chicago, and everything under $160 a night was booked. Thank goodness for a close friend and his nephew who works at the Sheraton Downtown. The nephew -- may he walk in sunshine all his days -- got us a room with a great view of Lake Michigan at a very reasonable rate.

But it was up to us to get there, and Deadheads were everywhere. We sat in traffic for TWO HOURS surrounded by people who stepped straight out of a Cheech and Chong movie. Two of them had actually drilled a hole in the roof of their car to accommodate a flagpole and flag with a peace symbol on it.

I could see the process now:

Deadhead 1: Look, Dude, I drilled a hole in the roof of our car!

Deadhead 2: Dude! Cool! But, like, what do we do when it rains?

Deadhead 1: (sadly) Dude. Gotta doobie?

The traffic wouldn't have been so bad if Jim had chosen to use the bathroom when the rest of the group did. But he didn't, so we had to listen to his debate on whether or not to use an iced-tea bottle in a car with three other people.

After an hour and a half, the bottle won out over Jim's modesty.

All the Deadheads were going to Soldier Field, where many of them camped with no running water for TWO DAYS, living under tarps strung between cars. They were everywhere, and I'd never seen the number of bras per capita so low and tie-dyed shirts per capita so high.

One woman who WAS wearing undergarments was trying to get into the Art Institute. Unfortunately, she wasn't wearing anything else but combat boots. The guards wouldn't let her in, and she was crying.

"I REALLY need to see A Rainy Day in Paris," she said. "REALLY!"

"We've all got problems, lady," the guard replied, manifesting typical Chicago empathy.

Eventually, we became used to the Deadheads and their peace-loving ways. There must be something to that culture, because one of my co-workers recently was pulled in by the gravitational field of the Grateful Dead. He left a couple weeks ago for the concert in Indiana, called in from St. Louis and nobody has heard from him since.

Chicago itself was great, but maybe I think so because none of us were mugged or killed by an insane taxi driver, which are plentiful. We packed a lot into one weekend, so here goes:

-- The Art Institute. Beware of the $7 "voluntary" donation. The demure art students working the desk try to make you feel bad, but you can get in absolutely free by donning a strong Southern accent and explaining that your life's ambition has been to "get some culture."

-- Shelter. This dance club is absolutely incredible, from the fallout shelter atmosphere to the sexy clientele to the almost-industrial music. The only problem with our group's visit there was the blonde who literally SHOVED me out of the way to ask The Other Half if she could buy him a drink. I'm not kidding.

-- Shedd Aquarium. Bring your camera and lots of quarters for the ever-present parking meters.

-- Planet Hollywood. Skip it. Overcrowded tourist trap with weak adult beverages.

~Heidi Nieland is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.