Last night, while walking down Michigan Avenue toward my bus stop, I overheard some tourists trying to figure out where to go to dinner. Immediately, thoughts of all of the fantastic restaurants I could recommend flooded my mind, but I was polite enough to keep my opinions to myself.
And then I heard it.
The dad said, "It's too bad there isn't a Chili's or an Applebee's on Michigan Avenue."
Ohhhh-Kaaay.
First of all, that is so incredibly sad. With all of the highly rated, fantastically reviewed, best-in-class, top-in-the-world restaurants in Chicago, at every price point and every "level," it is a total shame that someone would even CONSIDER going to a chain for a dinner in Chicago. Much less a chain like those two, restaurants that appear on every corner near every strip mall in every suburb in America.
Second of all, maybe try the deep dish pizza? Or the polish sausages? Or the kosher dogs? Or the Italian beef sandwiches? Or the steaks and potatoes and salads at any number of restaurants? Or the sushi? Or anything but THAT?
Third of all, go back to Oklahoma. Or Arkansas. Or Iowa. Or whatever middle-America suburb you came from. We appreciate the tourists that appreciate Chicago. Which is to say, we appreciate those who will indulge in, take a bite of, experience and enjoy the culture, cuisine and class that Chicago has to offer.
If you're looking for plastic table cloth covers, kitchy yet duplicated a million times across the country decor, bad fried foods at cheap prices served fast, then we're not the city for you. And, Michigan Avenue is not your place to roam.
As is traditional for the month of May in Chicago, the tulips are in full bloom up and down Michigan Avenue. They are a gorgeous metaphor for summer in this city, in my mind.
You anticipate their arrival for months, waiting as the snow melts, the landscapers prepare the beds, the sun warms the frigid pavement and the bulbs are planted.
When the do arrive, they burst onto the scene with a delightful vengence, causing tourists and Chicagoans alike to proclaim their beauty, wear silly shorts and Cubs hats, capture their wide range of colors on film, soak in as much time outdoors as they can and revel in their brilliance.
They don't stick around for long, however, so you best enjoy them while they last. Milk their presence here as much as you can. Treasure the days that are full of vibrant color, long hours of sunlight and the abundance of leisurely outdoor activities.
Toward the end of their time, the tulips begin to wilt, sway in the wind and sag towards the ground, bowing down to the inevitable reality that is their demise. The calendar doesn't lie, despite our every effort to delay the reality of the seasonal change. The expense of having planted them is questioned, as the time they were here was so brief. But deep in your heart, you know it was worth it.
And, then they're gone.
Sadly, and yet patiently, you must wait a full year to experience their glory yet again. But the anticipation is sweet, the countdown is boisterous and the sheer fact of their existence in the city makes it all worthwhile.
If only summer arrived in May along with the gorgeous flowers. Can a landscape crew get on that, please?
I'm not a gay man, a cheesy tourist, or a granny from middle America.
But, I must confess, I do love me some musical theater. In honor of last night's American Idol, where the theme was the music of Andrew Llloyd Weber, I figured that musical theater was as good of a topic as any. And, frankly, I was flat empty on other more intriguing ideas today.
My old roommate Jill and I used to go a lot, and even had season tickets for one grand year of Broadway in Chicago. I'll avoid telling you during how many shows she fell asleep. But I will say that I'm still baffled by how one can conk out to a full snooze right in the middle of the French Revolution. It was tres (Les) Miserables, I assure you. Overall, we loved being a part of the classic culture of Chicago.
Anyway, I have seen many, many shows, and was impressed by them all. For most of them, I now own the soundtrack and when no one is looking (or the windows aren't down in the car), I belt out the tunes as if I were the one on stage. My key takeaway for each is also included, for your memory lane reading pleasure:
Les Miserables—first show ever, at age 13, with Jenny and her dad at the Fox Theater in Atlanta; we were all dressed up and felt very special. Black velvet, a hair bow and tights have never meant more. Doesn't mean we looked that good, but the lovely strawberries in our pre-show sparkling cider may have led to a life of drinking. I blame Mr. Goff.
The King and I—one of the many shows that my Mom took my sister and me to, cleverly using the half-off coupons from the local grocery store; our girls' night treats were exquisite, and I even liked the movie rendition.
Phantom of the Opera—the music makes me cry, and the candles/fog scene is outstanding, but the whole premise is just a tad bit strange, no? Or am I that vain to find it difficult to believe she'd fall in love with a creepy attic-crawling figure in a plastic half-mask?
Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat—all I remember is the giant patchwork coat. I'm sure it is a good show, but I can't bet on it.
RENT—loved it loved it loved it. Heard on the radio in Atlanta that they were giving away the front few rows (part of the author's plan to gain attention from/audience members from younger, more broke generations), but when I got there, the lady sold out right in front of my face. My date felt bad, turned to a scalper, and paid a fortune. I really liked that move. Him, not so much, but seeing the show from the 10th row was killer.
The Lion King—expected furry costumed theme-park-style animals, and was pleasantly surprised at the artistry of it all. Seriously didn't expect that.
Jesus Christ Superstar—was a little offended. Maybe I was taking the whole "mock Jesus' crucifixion" a little too seriously?
Oliver—great show, but all I can think of is my mom playing Oliver when she was young in the school play. I think she was THAT skinny that she made a great orphan. Boy.
Miss Saigon—two words. Heli. Copter. I cried a lot in this show, both times I saw it. Beautiful story, great music, fantastic stage effects.
Hairspray—really great show. Where else can you see a can of ozone-killing aerosol so proudly celebrated?
Stomp!—who knew you could make music that sounds so great from a few garbage cans and a broom?
Mama Mia—fantastic, and was again really surprised. Yes, this is a pretty freaking cheesy storyline, but the tunes are great. ABBA forever!
Wicked—sat really close and the costumes blew me away. And all that green paint! Where can I get that for next year's St. Patrick's Day?
Chicago—the movie was so much better than the stage show, I'm afraid. Sorry, thespians. Except for the Cellblock Tango, which is great no matter where you see it.
The Producers—yes, it was good. I wasn't that blown away. Funny, strange, yes. Would ever see it again? Not a chance. Maybe I missed out by not seeing the original cast?
Urinetown—gross. Stupid. Forgettable. Do I sound like Simon Cowell?
Speaking of Simon, here was my absolute favorite (goose-bump) performance last night. I predict a David vs. David finale. Which would be fine by me...
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.
My mom and sister arrive today, and are actually on the ground in Chicago as we speak. They're riding the famed Orange Line from Midway, so hopefully no one flashes them as they cruise past the Pulaski stop (see yesterday's post if you have no idea what I'm referencing).
I have a full weekend of sight-seeing, wine-drinking and food-eating planned, including a trip out to Oak Park to see the Frank Llloyd Wright home and studio, as well as a walking tour of the homes in the area he designed.
And, then...
The forecasters announced that we're to get 4-9" of snow tomorrow.
It goes without saying that I'm over it.
But, I did scrub, clean, vaccuum, spritz, spray and dust my condo within an inch of MY life in preparation for their visit, so if we have to stay home and, ahem, complete house projects so be it.
The list on the fridge is a mere coincidence, Mom, I promise. And, the Home Depot credit card laying out? Yeah, I leave that there all the time. No, no, I'm not asking you to...oh, you'd like to help? Well grab your pre-printed monogrammed waist apron and protective eyewear and let's get busy.
**Update as of Monday, post-weekend: We DID get snow on Friday, and we DID finish all 6 house projects I had on my list, plus one or two that I hadn't even thought of. My Mom and sister sure are handy. Maybe I could rent them out by the hour on their next visit?
As a follow up to yesterday's post "Not So Magnificent," I just ran some last minute, lunch time errands on Michigan Avenue to finish my holiday shopping...
...brief celebration for THAT right here...
and realized that the melting snow/ice from the buildings is really gettin' serious out there.
It was like one giant game of Frogger—using real life tourists!
And, it is the best social analysis of the psychology of mob activity. If one person looks up, then everyone begins to look up.
Don't these people realize that if they look UP, then snow falling will hit them directly in the FACE?
I'd say keep your Frogger head down, and move quickly. When in doubt, carry a child on your shoulders for protection.
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