Once we were finally fully vaccinated, my husband had an epiphany, and the epiphany was this: If he did not get to get on a plane and go
somewhere, anywhere, after more than a year of not getting to travel at all except for one pathetic jaunt to a miserable place in Florida, he was simply going to have no choice but to cut a bitch. Thus to protect the bitches of the greater Greenville-Spartanburg area, he began to research flights and trips. Upon his niece's suggestion, as she had just been there herself, he researched Chicago. It was affordable. We decided to go.
I informed glowrock, with whom I go way back. We decided to meet for shenanigans, namely a river cruise hosted by the Chicago Architecture Center. And naturally, my husband and I planned shenanigans of our own, including visits to the Sears Tower, the Hancock Center, the Art Institute and the Shedd Aquarium. We also decided, just for fun, to visit the Nederlander Theatre, site of the Iroquois Theatre fire in 1903 which killed 602 people, and the site of the SS Eastland disaster, which occurred in 1915 and killed 844 people. We had also hoped to visit the site of H.H. Holmes' murder castle, which is today occupied by a post office... in Englewood. Therefore, we did not visit the site of H.H. Holmes' murder castle.
This leads me to my next point, which is that Chicago has a dreadful reputation. Everyone, to a person, that we told we were going, practically blanched, clutched at pearls (their own when available and those worn by ladies sitting nearby when not available), and warned us to be
careful. We got this reaction from my brother, who visited places such as New Orleans, Boston, New York, and Washington DC at the nadir of American urban safety back in the 80's and early 90's, and we got it from a friend of ours who holds a black belt in karate and who thinks nothing of jetting off to any corner of Europe alone, despite the fact that she is a tiny little Jewish lady who stands five-foot one if she wears the right shoes.
People who should have known better, in other words. Nevertheless, Chicago's reputation is as a place where you can't hear yourself think for the gunfire. I'm pleased to report that we weren't shot at a single time -- all the times we had to hit the floor or hurl ourselves away from exploding windows, the bullets were obviously meant for someone else. Seriously though, the only incident in which we felt at all unsafe was when we were leaving, waiting in the Blue Line subway station for the train to O'Hare, and were entirely too close to a deranged person having a very loud and very animated argument with the ceiling, and losing that argument.
(As always, apologies for the informercial YouTube will attempt to force you to watch before you can access the theme music for this thread.)
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Day 1: Friday
Naturally enough, we stayed at the Congress Plaza Hotel, which was built to accommodate guests visiting Chicago to take in the Columbian Exposition in 1893. You have to know this in advance in order to really appreciate the Congress Plaza, whose rooms feature furniture that appears to date from 1893, and which also appears and often smells elsewhere to date from that era. Overall, I liked the place a lot though, the bed was exceedingly comfortable, and the lobby was a sight to behold.
This is my kind of artwork.
This was the view from our room on a gloomy Friday evening.
This is also my kind of artwork, at a Thai and sushi place around the corner from the hotel. The sushi was great, the Thai was meh.
Day 2: Saturday
The next day began with a trek to the Dunkin Donuts across the street from the Thai place. At that Dunkin Donuts I enjoyed perhaps the worst bagel I've ever eaten in my life. It was like trying to chew a shoe. Chicago clearly loves its Dunkin though, because downtown was crawling with them.
And there's the old girl there...
It's a bay window bonanza!
I was curious about these flowers, so I asked about them in a Facebook group for gardeners that I belong to. Apparently, they're foxtail lilies.
We returned to the hotel momentarily, and this was the view from the room on a bright, sunny Saturday morning.
Our quarry was in sight.
I really just couldn't stay away from that fountain.
After the Sears Tower it was off to the Art Institute, where I refused to be one of
those tourists who catalogue every painting and item on display or worse, have a digital hitchhiker along as they FaceTime everything they see back to someone across the country. I steadfastly refused to photograph the art, in fact.
But even I have my limits. This sofa was just too much sexy to pass up.
Silly me, but I thought I had made reservations to go up in the Hancock Center on Friday and I was quite surprised to learn I'd actually made them for Saturday... Where we enjoyed one of the worst tourist experiences we've ever had. So bad, in fact, that they later sent out an apology email to everyone there that night. For what it's worth though, in the two hours we had to wait in an airless, hot, interminable line, I got to learn quite a bit about the young woman in front of me who, like, doesn't, like,
like Victoria Pearson who, like, just, like, gets on, like, her, like, nerves. Like, you know? And, like, it's, like, weird, like, how when you, like, go to, like, college, like, and everyone you went to high school with
also, like, goes to college you end up, like, just, like, knowing everyone there! I also got to read this young woman's Facebook feed and discovered she banks at Wells Fargo because she had no compunctions at all about conducting her personal business in full view of hundreds of strangers crammed together.
Although the whole situation with Victoria Pearson, whoever that is, just makes me sad.
I just kind of feel like Miss Pearson really deserves better. Maybe she just needs a friend.
There were other benefits to that view from our room, including being able to lie in bed and watch the fireworks at Navy Pier on Saturday night.
Day 3: Sunday
On Sunday we set out in search of the Bean, en route to the Shedd Aquarium.
This was where we finally gave in to the chorus of people, both from Chicago and those who'd just visited, who demanded we try a Chicago-style hot dog. To hear them go on about it, a Chicago-style hot dog is a life-changing experience and should you have one, you will be moved to the point of touching yourself. You won't be able to help yourself, and thus it is highly advised to only enjoy a Chicago-style hot dog in private.
Turns out they were lying. A Chicago-style hot dog consists of a Vienna beef sausage in a poppyseed bun, with random shit piled atop it. When I got mine it had a pickle spear, tomatoes, and peppers on it. I ate it. It was okay, but my life remained unchanged and I was not inspired to touch myself until much later that evening.
After a nice visit with the penguins and beluga whales, it was time to rush off to meet glowrock for the architecture river cruise. En route, we walked along the waterfront where it transpired that some silly bitch had fallen in the lake. This necessitated what appeared to be the entirety of the Chicago police, fire, and ambulance services to converge in order to pull her out. It drew quite a crowd.
Day 4: Monday
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It was at this point that we finally tried the other Chicago staple that people advised us to try, and they had usually advised us to try while jumping up and down and screaming. Deep dish pizza. Apparently, deep dish pizza is even more orgasmic than the Chicago-style hot dog. We had queried glowrock for his recommendations the evening prior and were recommended to try a place called Pizano's.
Not bad. My husband, who grew up in the Connecticut suburbs of New York, though, still maintains that
real pizza is New York-style pizza, and that the only
proper New York-style pizza is that which has two toppings at most and comes in slices of a size adequate to use as an airport windsock should the need arise.
I often think of his pizza preferences when I'm applying the extra onions. And the green peppers. And olives. And ground beef. And sausage. And pepperoni. And anchovies if I happen to have a few spare ones.
On glowrock's recommendation, we decided to have a look at the Macy's in the old Marshall Fields building. We weren't disappointed.
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After the "shoegel" incident of our first morning in Chicago, I had sworn not to return to another Dunkin Donuts there. However, as we passed by, my husband noticed an advertisement for some sort of coconut drink they have and simply could not be dissuaded. Located in an historic storefront, this was their ceiling.
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