My Kind of Town

I was a tourist in my own city this weekend. A recommendation to you all—go out, do a few things that only the "tourists" do in your town, and you'll see things a whole new way.

With my mom and sister in town, we adventured to many of the sights that I often neglect or avoid due to the "tourist" factor. We had after-work drinks at the Signature Room Lounge on the 96th floor of the John Hancock tower on Thursday, and enjoyed 360 degree views of my fair city. Including the one from the ladies bathroom, which was made famous in a scene from "Ferris Bueller's Day Off."

With our $14 dollar drinks resting nicely in our bellies, we rode the CTA bus up Lake Shore Drive to my condo, and enjoyed a snowstorm on Friday afternoon while managing to finish the home projects I have been putting off for years.

Friday night we spent a lovely dinner and drinks at one of my favorite "local" bars, Matilda despite their infamously bad bathrooms (see "Bomb Shelters or Bathrooms" for more details), and experienced the full effect of body-odorific-taxis on the way to and from our meal.

Saturday we ventured to Millennium Park to take in (and photograph ourselves with) the fantastic Cloud Gate sculpture that is more commonly known as "The Bean" for obvious reasons. The snow was hanging on for dear life from the rounded edges of the sculpture, and the sun glinting off of the metal was almost blinding as it reflected the old buildings along Michigan Avenue. The effect was not unlike a globe, with the snow patches for continents, lit from within.

We then had a delicious lunch at The Park Grill, overlooking what was the Millennium Park ice skating rink until last week when they optimistically closed it in honor of the arrival of Spring. Yeah...hasn't come just yet, but we're holding out hope. Following lunch by the fireplace, we avoided the lines at the Art Institute of Chicago and were lucky enough to see the Winslow Homer and Edward Hopper exhibition, which was dynamite. Those men were busy! On our way out, we were treated to a sidewalk performance by The Bucket Boys who prove that inspired music can come from anywhere, even a drywall bucket.

Nursing our aching "museum feet," we wandered back to Michigan Avenue to stretch our legs and walk/run for the northbound bus. Dinner included a FEAST of fondue at The Melting Pot which lasted almost 5 hours. Yes, FIVE. You melt a little cheese and chocolate in front of me, and I'm sticking around as long as they'll let me.

Sunday was the more "low key" approach. Sans reservation, we dined for Brunch at Deleece a great local spot that had just been featured on "Check Please." We passed on the Bloody Mary's (why?) and ate more than is normal. Each. Driving back from brunch (after leaving our front row parking spot), we toured through Graceland Cemetery, resting place of many of Chicago's famous residents. Every few seconds one of us shouted, Palmer!, Kinzie!, Magill!, Brauer! and even Burnham, made famous by the great book The Devil in the White City, a historical fiction surrounding the building of the World's Fair site in 1893.

Finally, we were "treated" to the pothole circus that is Cicero Avenue as we made our way to Midway Airport in time for my family's late afternoon flight. I managed to navigate the streets without losing a tire or breaking an axel, and I am rather proud of that. This street edges some rather rough neighborhoods, as made famous in "Chicago" during the musical number of The Cell Block Tango. We tried to sing the song to distract us from the horrid road conditions, but none of us could remember the lyrics. Sorry to disappoint you, Liz.

All in all, it was a spectacular weekend filled with tourist sights, local options and excellent food, drink and conversation. My mom and sister admitted that they think I've grown "tough" in my 7+ years here, and it must be because I kept saying how nice of a day it was, despite the fact that it was hovering just above freezing. Frankly, Mother Nature cooperated mostly, and even gave us some bright sunshine to help us deny the fact that it was still 30 degrees in late March.

We sounded cocky about our discovery as we commented on how quiet the city was during Easter Weekend. Allowed us to be "tourists" without the crowds. It's Monday now, and everyone is back from the suburbs and the Easter Baskets are all put away. The Peeps are even starting to get dry and tasteless already.

It was absolutely worth every minute, every tired bone and every dollar spent.

I love Chicago. My kind of town, my kind of weekend.