1,001 Chicago Afternoons

The North Side was a blur, as it should have been. I tried to play catch-up after lingering so long on the South. I was out of energy, out of sweat, felt bile rising in my stomach and my legs burned. I do OK for what I am, but I was not in shape for this weekend warrior nonsense.

And I couldn’t stop laughing.

Down some water. Laugh. Dip among traffic. Laugh. Cram an energy bar and stop by the tampon boxes, fast food wrappers and museum-pimping statuary that pool along the spot the Roosevelt Road bridge overlooks both river and the vacant Rezkoville and I laugh laugh laugh. » Read the rest of this entry «

“People ask why I bring my bag,” the magician said, gently tapping the toiletry kit he had set on the stage’s lone chair. “It’s just some personal possessions in case I get deported.”

The joke was, of course, found in the color of the magician’s skin and the sing-song Tapatío accent with which he charmed the crowd. It was a dark joke told lightly. It was masterful.

It wouldn’t be the last time the sleepy magician amazed. » Read the rest of this entry «

Do people know DeKalb produced barbed wire?

Who has a clue what the second-biggest city in the state was before Rockford?

What is a reasonable amount of Cheap Trick lyrics to expect people to know? Like, all of them or just most? » Read the rest of this entry «

For those of you who missed Friday’s story, the missus and I are backpacking through France following the Tour de France for our honeymoon. If everything went according to plan, we’re currently in a little town called Le Puy-en-Velay.

Since I don’t want to miss a moment of this, I loaded up the site before we left with Le Tour de Chicago, four bike routes through famous sites in the city’s history. I’m not posting these as thought exercises — get out there and explore this city.

We rode through Chicago’s newspaper history on Friday, and later this week will learn about lakefront encroachment and something I’m just calling “A Warhellride to the Goddess.”

Today’s bike tour is going to go through some of the spots connected to Chicago’s gay and lesbian community » Read the rest of this entry «

Her hair was as radioactively blue as the pile of berries on her pancakes was red.

She sat at a table for four alone at the bustling Andersonville breakfast spot. She smiled wan but warm at the server when he brought her the massive pile of pancakes, whipped cream, berry compote and streusel crumbs.

Then she delicately picked up a fork with her right hand and, as a slow, peaceful smile lit on her face, she picked at the pile of warmth and fluff. She picked at a book with her left. » Read the rest of this entry «

The two-headed calf stared at us as we walked in the door, or at least one head did. » Read the rest of this entry «

500. Half a thou. D, to the ancient Romans. As close to the halfway point of the project as an odd-numbered goal allows.

So what should I write this milestone story about?

I decided to toss that question to the folks who made up the first 499, asking the people who got me this far how I should kick off the second half. » Read the rest of this entry «

Tiny souvenir glasses in hand, the crowd joked, laughed, flirted, mingled and networked over herring and little meatballs.

And beer. » Read the rest of this entry «

We used to work in newspapers, he and I. We talked about it.

…

We used to work in newspapers, he and I. We talk about it. » Read the rest of this entry «

“Most people don’t look up in this neighborhood,” he said. “But if you look up, right above the Swedish American Museum is a water tower with the Swedish flag on it. The neighborhood was a Swedish neighborhood. There’s still a Swedish bakery and there’s a deli and it’s still definitely part of the neighborhood today.”

“This is my neighborhood,” he said, giving the poster an unintentional tap with his finger before he the print marked Andersonville at the bottom of the pile on our table. » Read the rest of this entry «