#462: Hogwarts has WiFi: A Visit to the University of Chicago

April 10th, 2015 § permalink

I had been in the library for an hour, crawling up and down floors, heading up twisting paths between gray stone towers, parading by endless locked doors festooned with office hours times and course-relevant Far Side cartoons, before I found out there were no books.

“They took those out years ago. Now they’re all underground at the Reg with the ~robot arms~” my friend Rachel, a U of C alumna, texted when I finally gave in and asked where to find something to read in the University of Chicago’s Harper Library. » Read the rest of this entry «

#461: The Elopement of Lucy Bruise

April 8th, 2015 § permalink

She was Lucy Bruise, Rat Face Ratticus. Her hair’s been long and platinum, mohawked and spiky, completely shaved or finally a growing-out undyed. Her body is a canvas of tattoos, from elaborate Baba Yagas to stick-n-poke mallets advertising the Punk Rock Croquet Club of which we’re both founding members.

“Sup dood,” the email read. “I hope you’re doing well.” » Read the rest of this entry «

#460: The Mystery Half-Wit Sure Has the Girls All Agog

April 6th, 2015 § permalink

Norwood Park seems like a suburb.

The single-family houses, grassy lawns and seemingly omnipresent Little Leaguers seems to scream suburbia. There’s a Metra station there. Little shops.

Only the Rahm and Chuy signs for Tuesday’s mayoral race remind what municipality you’re in.

Part of the confusion is the new development. Newish, at least. Places with developer-sanctioned nouns like “Crossing” wedged in. One angular thing with jagged points that screamed “modern” 15 years ago sits kitty from the train station. » Read the rest of this entry «

#459: Enrique Was High as Hell

April 3rd, 2015 § permalink

He walked about 10 feet behind me, smoking and muttering. Coat over hooded sweatshirt and a black, flat-brimmed baseball cap. It was late. I was alone. I stepped closer to the street and slowed down so he would pass.

“You messing with me, bro?” he said as he hustled past me, taking angry puffs of his cigarette. It wasn’t until he repeated the phrase that I noticed it wasn’t to me. He was talking to himself.

I noticed him slip a ball-peen hammer up his sleeve. » Read the rest of this entry «

#458: Cabbages and Kings

April 1st, 2015 § permalink

The little abuela got off the North Avenue bus in front of Tip Top Liquors in Humboldt Park.

She and her grocery bags shuffled west on the sidewalk, past the liquor store, past a brand of community church noted for taking over storefronts, past the abandoned offices of “Carlos F. Pedrera M.D., Especialidad en Medicina Familiar, Dentista, Farmacia.”

A photo studio and a doorway arced with chopped skateboard decks were her next encounters before she slowly made her way into the Family Dollar.

She did it while clutching a paper grocery bag from Eataly, a luxury downtown grocer/restaurant where you can buy white truffle puree by the $98 tube and a box of dried pasta runs from $2.20 to $26.80.

This is a story about food. » Read the rest of this entry «

#457: A Scene from a Table

March 30th, 2015 § permalink

“She’s sleeping,” the security guard said on her walkie talkie as she edged closer. “I’m gonna wake her-“

With that, the woman slouched over the table began to rouse. Sleepy but not sleeping, and resentful for being denied the chance, she lifted her earbud-dangled head, cocked it and blinked angrily at the security guard. » Read the rest of this entry «

#456: A Love Story (With Slapping)

March 27th, 2015 § permalink

“Cold” isn’t the right word. It’s accurate, in the same way “nice” or “fine” is accurate in most settings, but not quite good enough.

It was a brisk, jarring, sobering chill. It wasn’t quite an ice cube down the shorts, more of a splash of water in the face. We both needed it as we ambled out into the night.

“Ah,” I said, taking in the chill. “I have no idea what I’m going to write about for tomorrow.”

“How about this place?” he said.

“Yeah,” I said, drawing out the words in that way that implies a guilty admission. “I was thinking about writing about us slapping the shit out of each other.”  » Read the rest of this entry «

#455: Ode to a Young Guy With My Same Sunglasses

March 25th, 2015 § permalink

We’re both sitting on the train on opposite sides of the aisles. I got a backward-facing seat, he got one looking forward.

Young guy. Beard and a stocking cap. Headphones playing, I’m sure, the coolest of tunes. Jean jacket that somehow looked good on him.

And he and I both blocked out the world with large, old-fashioned Ray Ban knockoff tortoiseshell sunglasses. » Read the rest of this entry «

#454: The Expert

March 23rd, 2015 § permalink

She wasn’t so much sexy as stylish. That’s the characteristic I figure they hired her for.

Some people can be decked and drizzled with the hautest of coutures and step out into the world looking like a kid in a Halloween costume.

The Gucci, Versace, Dolce and/or Gabbana fits and clings in all the right places, the heels lift asses and the suitcoats hide beer guts just as well, but there’s something awkward and wrong, a plaint in the eyes crying for socks, Crocs and an oversized T-shirt advertising their favorite sports team.

But not her. » Read the rest of this entry «

#453: The 1,001 TIF Guide, Part 2 of 2

March 20th, 2015 § permalink

I recently heard a political guy fulminate against tax increment financing — one of the hot-button issues of the upcoming election and a funding source either raising or stealing billions of dollars, depending on who you ask. He inspired me.

He inspired me to take a couple of these 1,001 afternoons to explain TIFs, because that guy clearly didn’t know what he was talking about.

On Wednesday, I touched the broad strokes — why we have TIFs, what they do and why they’re only as bad as the person using them. Today, we’re getting into the nitty-gritty. » Read the rest of this entry «

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