1,001 Chicago Afternoons

I was pleased to discover college students are still awful. » Read the rest of this entry «

Two years staring at the restaurant was enough. I decided to get some lobster.

Across Clark from the modernist federal prison shaped like a triangle, on a block of 1800s buildings that somehow survived the skyscrapering and Mies van der Rohe-ing of the Chicago Loop, next to a sign that blares HOTEL MEN ONLY into the atmosphere, there’s a soul food joint that’s been alluring me.

My main attraction to the place was also my main source of reluctance: the awning that declared it the home of Coco’s Famous Deep Fried Lobster. » Read the rest of this entry «

It’s summer. The birds are singing, the grass is green, the president is floating a potential Blagojevich pardon either as a form of political distraction or as the word salad that erupts when someone wakes up the commander in chief too early from nap-naps and the Chicago Corruption Walking Tour is ready to go for 2018.

Buy your tickets now at Dabble.co. » Read the rest of this entry «

I presume the calligraphed words running down his well-hewn triceps said UNTOUCHABLE and UNSTOPPABLE. » Read the rest of this entry «

I don’t think the Fine Arts Building intended to house a company that hosts corporate team-building retreats where you escape from a room full of zombies.

But it does.

I don’t think the Chicago Musical College intended to become the home of a college bookstore with windows stacked with alumni hoodies, Harry Potter play scripts and zen-themed coloring books for adults.

But it has. » Read the rest of this entry «

Here’s the story, all its parts:

I was sitting in a leafy spot by the federal prison parking garage, waiting for a tour group for the walking tours I run.

Across the street, a lady walked by with a Dick Tracy-style yellow fedora. She had a milk crate slung in front of her. When she passed a beggar, she pulled a plastic-wrapped sandwich out of the crate. He looked at her, she looked at him, and he took the sandwich.

She kept walking south and I lost her behind an SUV at the stoplight.

That’s it. That’s all. And wow.

Wow. » Read the rest of this entry «

“Bathhouse John Coughlin was my great, great uncle,” she wrote. “Nothing to be proud of, I know.”

I’ve received several interesting letters since starting the corruption walking tour. Some are old friends letting me know they heard me on the radio and “Miss yer face.” One man wrote about his fears the demolition of his childhood home was a land scam.

And then there was Bathhouse Coughlin’s great-great niece, letting me know what the family had been up to. » Read the rest of this entry «

On Wednesday, I put out an incredibly difficult Chicago trivia quiz.

The purpose, aside from the fact I’ve been all coughing and bronchial and wanted a story I could write from my sickbed, was to get people to explore certain sites I like, including this one, Atlas Obscura, the Chicago Collections Consortium, the Chicago History Museum, Mysterious Chicago and Curious City.

So I made the quiz goldanged impossible. (And Curious City, that thing we talked about? It’s handled.)

From the Fool Killer submarine to park bats to Iroquois Theater Assistant Chief Usher Archie Guerin, here are the answers you didn’t get to the 1,001 Chicago Afternoons Really Difficult Trivia Quiz. » Read the rest of this entry «

You might know the Iroquois Theater Fire happened in 1903, but do you know the name of the assistant chief usher called to testify after?

Sure, you know that the first self-sustained nuclear chain reaction was at the U of C campus, but do you know what sport the room was originally made for? » Read the rest of this entry «

Innovation. Luxury. Sleek design.

These were some of the watchwords at the Chicago Auto Show’s media center.

In my pre-blog newspaper days, I was no stranger to the event media center. These are little rooms, tents or other quiet spots where reporters covering everything from auto shows to music festivals can get away from the throng and commit the hard-hitting acts of journalism you can only get from local reporters covering auto shows and music festivals.

If you want some quiet, a cup of lukewarm coffee and a spot to transcribe a 5-year-old saying “I liked it. It was fun.” an event’s media center is where you want to be. » Read the rest of this entry «