I've mentioned before that Windy City politics are their own breed of business. Here's a great example:



Yesterday, a hearing was held by the city finance committee to introduce an ordinance which would require all cats and dogs over 6 mos old to be spayed or neutered. And who would happen to show up, but America's foremost spokesman for pet population control:


Seriously, Bob Barker showed up to testify in favor of a Chicago city ordinance! Want to know the best part? EVERYONE was talking about it today. I first heard about it on NPR. NPR! They mentioned it twice--TWICE--on my 45-minute commute to work this morning. It wasn't even the real vote, just an introductory meeting, and you know that SOMEONE in city politics felt it was necessary to pull ol' Bob out of some Palm Springs retirement community to weather (literally) Chicago in July.




What a ridiculous kick!

Sandy Whiskers

Work has been a little rough again this week, and I have also felt a little like I've lost some focus in the past month, so I have been feeling a little down.

Being the ever-vigilant mental health professional, I started working my way through my positive coping skills: talk to a friend, do a little more exercising, prayer and reflection, problem solving with work dilemmas.

On Tuesday, I took Atlas to the local dog park, which reminded me of the one at the beach we went to on Memorial Day, which reminded me that I live about TWO MILES FROM A FRIGGIN' BEACH! What could possibly be better for a case of the blues than a mini-vacation to the shore?

So I loaded up the pooch, connected with my friend KKagogo, and headed for the sand last night after work.

We wandered over to the dog each first for a bit, where Atlas found a couple of labs he could pester for a bit. He doesn't have an ounce of tracker in him, so it was funny to see other pet owners throw tennis balls, which would be followed by a flurry of tails, which would then be followed by Atlas, who was just along for the ride.

He doesn't much care for the water, but loves a good wrestle, so it was not uncommon for me to call him to return and find his black "mask" completely covered in sand.

Pup worn out, we then walked the people portion of the beach, watched some soccer players, a few passes of a volleyball by some teenagers. A front was moving in , so there was a cool breeze, but not so cold that I needed sleeves. KKagogo and I, both transplants to the city, discussed our respective experiences while following the shoreline. It was beautiful outside, for sure, but even better just to have a substantive conversation with someone, especially someone uniquely empathetic to my recent transitions.

We ended the night in search of ice cream, eventually settling at a Baskin Robbins (two scoops--coconut and pistachio almond). I'm a fairly easy call on some things, I guess: comfort in a grand place; comfort in friends; comfort in a bowl.

WrigleyGirls

My guests this past weekend so completely wore me out that an absolutely necessary nap on Sunday afternoon after they left wrecked my momentum, hence the delay in posting.
But I'm not complaining. I have been blessed, BLESSED I tell you, to have an amazing run of visits from folks back home, which continued this weekend. Slamela Anderssen and Holita Cowe, both friends from the office in St. Louis, zipped in on Friday night for a weekend of spoiling and running around. Since we work for a slave-driving company (I tease, I kid...or not), they got a late afternoon start and mid-evening arrival. We knew we'd be in for the night, so I threw together some nachos, some margaritas, and cookie dough and got caught up on all the latest company politics while Atlas worked his charms.

Many of you know that Holita has a unique personal connection to legendary Cubs announcer Harry Caray, and spending time with her in Chicago, retracing steps she had taken at previous points of her life, retasting flavors she had grown to love, was a real treat. The highlight was Saturday night, when she graciously treated Slamela and I to a wonderful dinner at Carey's famed downtown restaurant. We met his widow, Dutchie, got to sample his favorite chicken dish, and even got a peek at his private office on the second floor. The restaurant is filled with memorabilia and art inspired by Harry, including a full-sized Hole-y Cow and pictures galore. It was halfway through dinner before I realized that our table was directly beneath the key to some small town in Indiana that had been given to Caray. Once I clued into this, I glanced around and saw several others among the photos and plaques and news story clippings, etc., large portions of which had been carefully collected by Holita's own mother through Caray's early career. Holita told us stories of knowing him, and it was clear that he was a man who brought a lot of people a lot of joy. It was pretty wild to see exactly how much he still did. Due to a delay on the train, I missed the customary singing of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" that happens at 7:30 each night, but both Holita and Slamela said it was pretty awesome.

All of this was such a unique, privileged way of seeing the city, but Holita and Slamela brought so much more through their effervescent energy and curiosity. Saturday morning was spent checking out the boutiques in the city's ritzy Gold Coast area, including a pet shop where Holita picked up a gourmet baseball "cookie" for Atlas and a few other treats for her "grandpuppies". We checked out high end jeans from a West Coast designer who has created fashionable tees with developmentally challenged kids, as well as miniature sized full reproductions of his most popular styles. We marveled/gagged at the retro 80's hipster clothes at American Apparel. We cruised the windows at Chanel, Louis Vuitton, and Armani, and even got a kick out of the fact that in this day and age people can buy several grand worth of jewels and baubles from Tiffany & Co, while still wearing plastic flip flops.

After lunch at what has to be the most complex food court in America, we took a shiny glass elevator to the top of Watertower Place and literally walked the whole place from top to bottom. Their enthusiasm was relentless; zipping in and out of shops, testing, trying on, laughing. After spending so much time these past few months just trying to keep things together for my new life, it was a welcome surprise to get swept up in someone else's energy. I even skipped improv class.

Sunday morning I took them to Southport in Wrigleyville for another go at brunch (I've been spoiled this month). This time I got to sample a local institution call Ann Sather, which is known for two things: their multiple variations on Eggs Benedict and their cinnamon rolls, which they literally serve WITH EVERY DISH ON THEIR MENU. And they were super-tasty. As in I had flashbacks about them today at work. That good. When my lease is up here, I may try to move in next door there.

After eating our weight in breakfast, we worked it off with a stroll over to Wrigley Field to check things out with Holita. I also wanted to show them how developers had built bleacher seats on the roofs of the apartment buildings across the street from the stadium. On the way back to the train we (surprise) even got some shopping in. Due back home for other commitments, we called it a day and I saw them off from the apartment.

As I said earlier, I just feel blessed. I have such good people in my life who are gracious and fun and interested in the wide world, and I get to tag along. As with the Maplewood Family and J-Dog, the chance to share this new place with such caring people whom I, in turn, care deeply about, takes all this STUFF that makes up this city and brings some measure of actual meaning to it. Beauty. Connection. Love. That's worth more to me than all the Tiffany baubles and city keys in the world.

J-Dog, Mimosas, Wrigleyville, Improv

J-Dog came from StL for a visit this weekend! While the move has gone well, and I am really enjoying my Chicago friends, there is nothing like seeing a longtime friend again. It was good to host him, good to catch up, and good to have him along as we explored the city some more.

We had a nice, laid-back time, making breakfast burritos, visting funky t-shirt shops, and enjoying the scene in and around Wrigleyville. In spite of of threatening skies, J was even able to squeeze in an afternoon at the beach while I was at improv class.

On Saturday night, my Second City connections allowed me to get a pair of free tickets to a new review, called "Second City All-Stars". The All-Stars in this instance were a rotating team of six veterans of the conservatory and various Second City companies, including the touring groups and the resident company. KKagogo, who went with me to iO earlier in the week, and JR, the roommate, were able to meet up with us. I enjoyed the show quite a lot, and think I am discovering that I tend to favor short form improv like Second City's over the long-form of iO. For the show last night, they worked through about a half dozen different types of improv exercises, including monologues and a mock debate. One of the first bits they did involved a made up musical, complete with pianist accompaniment, and I was blown away. I wanted to jump up and give it a try, too!

After the show, we were looking for a place to get some ice cream for a scratchy throat J-Dog had been nursing all weekend. There's a chain up here called Pot Belly Sandwich Works that also happens to pride themselves on serving hand-dipped milkshakes and sundaes. Although we had been looking specifically for an ice cream shop, we eventually tired of wandering and settled on a Pot Belly that we happened to come across. It turns out it was the original location for the restaurant, in Lincoln Park with a big pot-bellied stove right in the middle of the dining room.

This morning, after a good sleep-in, we met up with an old Truman acquaintence, Sasi, who has lived in Chicago since finishing undergrad. J-Dog has kept in better touch with her since then, so for me it was like meeting her all over again, and we had a really nice time.

Since we had resigned the morning over to pure leisure, we decided to indulge in one of my favorite big-city past-times, Sunday brunch. In my various exploits of the past week, I had discovered a neighborhood called Southport, a part of larger Wrigleyville, and right around the corner from Wrigley Field itself. Since Sasi lived relatively close, we decided it would be a good place to meet up. Wrigleyville overall tends to skew towards 20-something singles, which is fun in and of itself, but Southport bumps it up a little bit and adds a lot of young families to the mix. I saw one guy pushing a double stroller with twins, and a young couple in which the the wife was GINORMOUSLY pregnant and STILL out for a brunch stroll.

We enjoyed an American/Irish buffet at a pub, and I topped things off with my first Bloody Mary (with a touch of Guinness stout), which was alright. A bit like drinking cold vegetable soup, but I get it. Sasi, quite the Mary connoisseur, said that the were decent, but not the best. I'm not opposed to trying again. Southport, on the other hand, is an unqualified success in my book. Great tree-lined streets with lots of shops and restaurants, including a place with about a dozen different Italian ice flavors and a new-old-fashioned candy shoppe with a signed movie poster for the first Willy Wonka movie. At a shoe store, I bought new sunglasses in a retro-Aviator style (for $14!) so I can have a hipster edge next time I am feeling a little under-classed in Wicker.

J-Dog left this afternoon. I made him get off the El a few stops too early and walk through a music festival in Lincoln Square with me in an effort to stretch out the last little bit. Over the past few months I've been thinking about the cliche that says that the only constant in life is change, which seems to gain traction as a worldview the more I live my own life. But having things that ground you during change, like family, or faith, or, in this case, good friends, goes a long way to making that cliche seem less like a threat and more of an invitation.

Atlas: Year One

Today is Atlas' birthday (also my sister's wedding anniversary--congrats to you!).

As a little celebration, we got to break his big no-no rule about people food, and he enjoyed a vanilla buttercream cupcake as "bonus breakfast". Is it wrong that I was a little jealous?

In his honor, the video bar on the right has been updated to include first birthday and puppy birthday goodness. Enjoy!

Misunderstood the Ghost

KKagogo, another friend from improv class, invited me out to a show at iO, formerly known as Improv Olympic, the other big game in town.

The cubs are playing a series in town, and the tiny iO theater is right around the corner from Wrigley. I got two shows tonight: one on stage, the other in the streets.

KKagogo describes iO as more down to earth than Second City. I think that refers to the fact that the space they perform in is smaller, and you might be prone to hearing more profanity. They are known for doing more "long form" improv, which means they will build scene for scene in long continuous loops without stopping for the entire length of the show. I felt exhausted just watching them, but enjoyed the show.

They stumbled into a scene that felt like classic Monty Python, about residents of a haunted mansion who couldn't quite make out the warning to "get out of my house".

"What? Go buy a dead mouse? Harold, why would he ask us to do such a filthy thing?" Good stuff.

As for the street scene, the game was finishing up as I left iO. I have to say I kind of like Cubs fans. Their love of the game is contagious, even for a non-fan like me. And they so clearly enjoy each other, as evident by the pockets of people hanging around outside the stadium, not too anxious to get home, laughing and recapping the night. Evidence that sport can bring out the best in people.

Going Out to Sea...errr...Lake

I spent some time watching boats being loaded in, then later making their way out of the marina and into open water.

It reminded me of a period of my childhood when we lived in Florida. For a couple of years we had a boat and I have specific memories of my parents and older brother loading it into the water, which is a painstaking process at times, and then the relief of being in and ready to take off. It was a cool connection, a set of memories that hadn't been stirred in awhile.

Did make me miss my family a bit, though.

Ducks & Seagulls

I awoke this morning with the distinct feeling that I had given short-shrift to both Lincoln Park and Atlas yesterday. So this afternoon, determined to set things right, I loaded the dog into the car and drove along Lake Shore Drive back to Lincoln Park (the park) to do a little more exploring.

I was a little duplicitous in my motives, too. Atlas and I had been going around and around with regards to nail trimming lately, and I had spotted a Petsmart not too far off of the park while wandering yesterday. I'm also looking for a new pair of summer sandals, and a late night internet search yielded a hit for one of the biggest shoe stores in the city around the corner from the pet store. After scoring a parking spot on a side road between the park and the neighborhood, I dropped Atlas off at the grooming center in the store and hopped over to the shoe store.

The shopping excursion was a bust, but Atlas did great at his first trip to the groomers. I turns out that one of my neighbors worked in this particular grooming center, and as we finished up she told me to just give her a call next time, and she'll come over and do it for free! Can't beat that!

To-do list completed, we made our way to the park. (side note: I am just really impressed by my dog. We were walking some busy, busy streets getting from the car to the store to the beach, and he did fantastic, sticking by my side and following the lead really well. I am so lucky.)

After a pit stop for some water and shade, we crossed over the park to the marina, spending some time watching boats come and go. The Lake still amazes me. It is so bizarre to me that it is not an ocean, but has the feeling of one. I think even the wildlife get confused, as I saw both wood ducks and seagulls hanging around the boats. It was another bright, clear day and the crowds were out en masse, making for some great people watching. And scooter watching. Lots of scooters around Lincoln Park, making me anxious to get my own up here soon.

We spent close to two hours in the park and still covered only a fraction of it. I was reflecting on my difficulty yesterday in avoiding comparison with the zoo and was naturally doing something similar today with Lincoln Park as a whole and St. Louis' Forest Park. I started listing off all the things in the latter that I found so beautiful and awe-inspiring, like the Grand Basin at Art Hill, and wondering if I could find as much inspiration here. Right about that time, we were walking out of a little hollow of trees, over a grassy hill covered with flowers, and a view of the lake, complete with sailboats, suddenly filled the horizon, with the downtown skyline visible just a bit to the south. Comparisons suddenly seemed very futile. My restless mind went still. And I was grateful for just being able to be here.

Lincoln Park - Additional Photos

Rhino March-Lincoln Park Zoo

He's not really doing anything exceptional, but he's just so beastly that it seems almost majestic just to watch him move.

Neighborhood Field Trip: Lincoln Park

In describing Lincoln Park, the neighborhood (and not to be confused with Lincoln Square, up northeast by me), the Lonely Planet guidebook starts off by saying that it's the place you would go if you were looking for that long lost sorority sister or fraternity brother. The name Lincoln Park is loaded with implications in Chicago, some of which are captured by that guidebook description.

Home to DePaul University, there is a strong collegiate influence throughout the neighborhood, which is overrun by energetic young adults "omygod"-ing into their cell phones, hunched over their laptops in cafes, or jogging around the neighborhood and into the nearby Lincoln Park itself. The other big contingent is young families, mostly Caucasian. Well-appointed couples behind either designer strollers or the wheels of luxury SUVs on their ways to who knows where, or simply out to see and be seen. There is a considerable affluence to the area, and several big name fashion labels keep active boutiques along Halsted, one of the main thoroughfares. The streets are wide and clean, the shopping and dining options seemingly endless, and the condos start in the mid- to high- six figures.

Lincoln Park is undeniably nice. For me, perhaps a little too nice. There's very little grit to the neighborhood, and not as much diversity, socioeconomically or even racially, as what you get in other parts of the city. With its Home Depots and Chipotles and picture-postcard streets, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was like a swanky suburb transplanted into the middle of the city, if that even make sense.

But enough color commentary. Lincoln Park is a fairly large neighborhood, bounded on the east side by the actual Lincoln Park itself, just beyond which is Lake Michigan. Only about another mile or two south and you're in downtown and the same distance north will get you up to Wrigley. A choice location.

I started by walking the main north-south commercial boulevards, Halsted and Clark, and the same diagonal stretch of Lincoln Avenue that defines Lincoln Square to the northwest ends after it cuts through the Lincoln Park neighborhood.

I may have been unimpressed by the lack of vibrant street life, but it is hard not to be at least a little dazzled by all the shopping and eating that can be done along these streets. I also worked a few side streets, marveling at the handsome brick and stone townhouses and manicured greenspace.

Lincoln Park is also home to Oz Park, dedicated to the memory of Chicago resident L. Frank Baum, author of "The Wizard of Oz". On the north side of the park are some pretty great statues of the Tin Man, The Scarecrow, and Dorothy and Toto, as well as some small sections of yellow brick road, and beautifully landscaped garden that is apparently quite popular with sunbathers. The south side of the park has several ball fields and basketball courts, filled with college-aged athletes working out a little academic malaise.

I had scheduled a haircut at a combination boutique and salon that specializes in cuts for men called, cleverly, Guise, so I worked my way over there after grabbing a bite to eat at a great little cafe called The Bourgeoisie Pig, specializing in Americanized French and Italian light fare, like the tasty Salad Nicoise I ordered for lunch. The salon itself was a pretty great experience (sorry to get your hopes up, Man Mane Maligners, it was a strategic job that kept most of the length and added some bangs and layers to make it a little less neo-hippie Prince Valiant and more urban gentleman. Hair in photo is bizarre looking and finished result is quite different).

After the haircut, I hightailed it over to the actual Lincoln Park park itself, starting with the renowned Lincoln Park Zoo.

For the sake of full disclosure, I have to admit that I have this strange, strong, nearly spiritual connection to the St. Louis Zoo. It's partly a function of having lived so near to it for so long, walking in and around and through it so many times, and also a testament to just how quality of an institution it is. All that to say, the poor Lincoln Park Zoo didn't stand a chance with me. It's a nice facility and I have to give the leadership credit for keeping it free to the public, but I found it to be surprisingly small and most of the exhibits unexceptional. The penguin exhibit especially, usually a favorite of mine, was depressingly cramped and obscured by heavy condensation on the plexiglass.

Far cooler to me was the Conservatory, nearly adjacent to the Zoo and separated from the main Zoo entrance by a beautiful formal garden. The Conservatory houses several rooms with everything from unusual orchids to a vast variety of ferns. Again, this is probably not unlike anything you could see at the Missouri Botanical Gardens, but it was free, and the Conservatory building itself, made up of several different rooms for the various species, was a great place in which to wander and and get lost.

By this point, dinner plans with friends were taking shape, and I was due to start heading home in order to tend to the pooch for a bit before heading out. I left the park behind, saving the discovery of its other greenspaces, beaches, and marinas for another day. The guidebook says that in total, Lincoln Park is about six times bigger than Central Park in New York. That's a lot of "another day"s.

I'm sure that there's a lot to Lincoln Park that I'm just not getting. The nightlife, for one, I am told, is pretty good. And the luxury of quiet, bountiful living in the heart of the city is not something to be summarily dismissed.

As I was talking about my trip with friends at dinner, little things would come up, like "that's where my dentist is" or "I go there just because this one great little shop has this one thing I need". Perhaps moreso than most any other neighborhood I've visited so far, Lincoln Park is vitally connected to the Chicago experience, typifying the city's residential heart (for the north side at least) and setting the standard for how life can be lived. As my own life works its way into the mix, it will be interesting to see how, or if, Lincoln Park can grow on me.

Elevation Makes People Boogie at Navy Pier

The guy with the cup on his head started out as a crowd favorite. Then he started getting more drunk and sloppy, knocking in to people while dancing, spilling his cup on bystanders, and even making an unsolicited appearance on stage.

Later, I asked him to be please be respectful, and he was too drunk to even talk back, but got offended, and then plain beligerent. It's the closest I've come to a fight in many years, and after a crap week at work, was feeling surprisingly game.

Elevation-Sunday Bloody Sunday

Maybe not the most sophisticated crowd in the music biz, but some darned big U2 fans.

Don't bother asking who that is singing in the background. No comment.

Fireworks over Lake Michigan and Grant Park

Notice the nifty pop music in the background. Perfectly edited little clips of popular, singable songs. Added a fun touch and a nice alternative to the Battle Hymn of the Republic.

A Beautiful Day

Many of you know that July 4th is one of my least favorite holidays to celebrate. It has nothing to do with the meaning of the holiday, and everything to do with the fact that I associate it most with heat, crowds, and loud noises. Things in and of themselves okay, but together I find them unbearable.

So, when my friend, Redd, invited me to join her on Navy Pier to hear a U2 cover band called Elevation and watch the July 3rd fireworks over Lake Michigan (for whatever reason, fireworks on the 3rd, not the 4th, are the big deal), my first instinct was to take a pass.

However, Redd is not one to be easily dismissed. This is a woman whose every email signs of with "live your life with arms wide open". She cajoled me into not only joining her, but even taking my car to her place in Old Town.

Did I mention that it is estimated that 1,000,000 people (that's ONE MILLION, people!) come in town on July 3rd for these fireworks? Drive my car in that? I must be crazy.

But Redd suggested a side street, Elston, which runs at a diagonal down to Old Town, mirroring the highway, and so I started out. I made it down reasonable time, amazingly avoiding all of the crush, and even found a parking spot right on her block.

Redd is also smart enough to know that the city runs a free trolley system from the El to Navy Pier, so we hopped onboard and made our way to the Beer Garden at the end of the pier, where the band was playing.

Elevation is a lot of fun. The lead singer looks rather alarmingly like Bono (he apparently calls himself Dan-o), and even sounds like him. The best bit was that he does all of the goofy stage theatrics Bono is known for, bringing women on stage and flitting about generally like some elastic-spined zealot, with message t-shirts, cowboy hats, and bug-eyed sunglasses. Redd has a serious thing for the band's fake-Edge. I kept goading her to go shake her moneymaker in front of him, an easy enough task with the small crowd we were in, but she would giggle and then sing along to the band for a bit.

They played a little bit of everything, both old and new, and worked some especially great versions of "One", "Pride", and a closing "Where the Streets Have No Name". They were big on audience participation, and it was a lot of fun to sing along to some of my favorites.

About 80 minutes into their set, they shut things down for the fireworks. As I mentioned earlier, we were at the end of Navy Pier, which is pretty removed from downtown, and especially Grant Park, where the fireworks are centered. This meant that we had fantastic views of the show, but were fairly well removed from 1) the crowds, and 2) the noise. As for 3) the heat, the predicted high tonight was 68 with clear skies. It was well under that. And to top it all off, it technically wasn't even the 4th. How could I complain?

As soon as the fireworks ended, Elevation picked it back up and played for close to another two hours. By the time they finished this second set, most of the crowds had cleared out, and I ended up making it home, via a tram ride, a short El ride, and a drive, in under an hour from Navy Pier. I even found a parking spot next to my apartment building, on the non-through street, when I got home. Best. 4th. Ever.

You Don't Seiche!

Learn something new every day.

Today, Chicago's beaches were closed under the threat of the formation of seiche (pronounced SAYsh).

I hadn't heard of it before, either.

Turns out, it's sort of like a mini-tsunami, a massive redistribution of water on the lake caused by winds. It can cause swells that can knock people over pretty easily and create dangerous undertows.

I have to give props to the Chicago Tribue editor who came up with this title for the story:

"Chicago sees seiche swells by city shore".

Oh, and there's a new post at the Frugal Traveler today. Cyprus! Revolution! Hitchhiking! Link is to the right.

10.25%

As of today, Chicago has the highest sales tax in the nation, beating even LA and New York with a staggering $1.025 worth of tax for every $10 spent (thanks for the edit, j).

In honor of that, here are some other notable 10.25's:

*The Monetary Policy Rate of the Bank of Nigeria is 10.25%
*RH Forschner by Victorinox makes a 10.25 inch blade bread knife.
*igourmet makes a 10.25 oz bottle of Mojito glaze for $11.99 (that's $13.22, with tax, if purchased in Cook County)

The Chicago Tribune has more information here.