1,001 Chicago Afternoons

“Excuse me… ah… excuse me… ah… ah… ah…”

I waited, wondering the proper amount of time before I could tell him I had no change. It took a few moments before I realized he wasn’t asking.

“My watch… has… my watch has… my watch… has run out of time,” he said. » Read the rest of this entry «

For the last several months, I’ve been going to baseball practice.

Each Tuesday night, I would hop in the closest available Enterprise Car Share car and take off for the suburbs, where a friend who coaches Little League prepped me for throwing out the first pitch at a Kane County Cougars game.

The coaching was needed, as most of my childhood was spent talking about dinosaurs and trying to convince my parents that reading a Star Trek: The Next Generation novel in my room was a perfectly acceptable way to spend a summer day.

The pitch was last night. Quick verdict: Passable enough to be ignored by the crowd on dollar beer night.

But now the commute is done. No more hopping in rush hour traffic. No more subjecting myself to the vocal onanism of self-amused local radio DJs.

No more light curses when startled by a guy in a T-shirt zaggling through traffic on a crotch rocket motorcycle.

My commuter summer is over. Here are a few things I learned: » Read the rest of this entry «

In 1969, a speech was written that, thankfully, no one ever heard.

It was a contingency speech written by White House staffer William Safire, to be read by President Richard Nixon in case Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin were stranded to die on the surface of the moon.

Tomorrow night, Aug. 18, 2016, I will be throwing out the first pitch at the Kane County Cougars Political Corruption Night in my role as arch-dictator and creator of the Chicago Corruption Walking Tour.

What follows are my own contingency speeches for when a pudgy writer with spindly little scarecrow arms tries to do something physical before a large crowd of people. » Read the rest of this entry «

It was 2011 and I had just read that, get this, Donald Trump announced that he wasn’t going to run for president. » Read the rest of this entry «

They and they were of types who usually don’t talk.

The first they were 30s-ish, white and cool, aging punks and hips whose once candy-colored hair was now seeing threads of white come through. A man and a woman riding a rocking, jumbly ‘L’ train toward the Loop. » Read the rest of this entry «

One of the most iconic images of Chicago is the sight of an L train rumbling down the tracks. But can you tame this rough beast?

Play this text-based role-playing game to see if you have what it takes to…

Master the Chicago L!

» Read the rest of this entry «

He shuffled into the train, a thin, fussy old white man wearing New Balance sneakers over brown socks.

He wore light khakis. He wore a checked button-up shirt under a cardigan under another cardigan.

He looked around, his fine mustache twitching, and found a spot. From his canvas bag advertising the Environmental Law and Policy Center, he pulled a folded-over copy of the New York Times. He pushed his thin bifocals up on his nose, twitched the ‘stache a time or two more and proceeded to read the Times, article by article, in order. » Read the rest of this entry «

We would talk about it on the train to and from Evanston.

We would plan it at work in the rare moments between meetings about bleeding-edge digital disruption.

It was to be our masterwork, the business bible for the 21st century, the must-read of 2014, the seminal text of the ages, the hardest-working man in show business, Soul Brother #1, Mr. Please Please Please…

“When You Were Older, You Used to be a Giraffe.” » Read the rest of this entry «

It would be hard not to burst, I suppose, through the doors between cars on a moving ‘L’ train.

Metal clamps, security latches, slamming and rumbling on tracks that bumble north through the city — a saunter or casual stroll through those doors would be a physical unreality. The doors between cars on a moving ‘L’ train slam open, a metal crash saying, “I’m here and I’m going to ask for your money.” » Read the rest of this entry «

Chicago’s at its best in the snow.

It’s cold and damp and miserable, “dibs” is childish and there’s nothing like a Chicago winter to make you feel the world is dreariness punctuated with mid-July.

But it’s pretty. The little flutter flakes cascading around warm me as they chill my skin.

And the people in the snow are wonderful. » Read the rest of this entry «