Every player is given a nametag that they keep on their right wrist. The goal of the game is to collect as many nametags as possible. Nametags are collected by taggin players on other teams.
There are three teams, Orange, Purple, and Yellow, each identified by a colored armband. The Orange team can tag people on the Yellow team, the Yellow team can tag people on the Purple team and the Purple team can tag people on the Orange team.
Each player is given a map with 12 locations on it. At each location is a stamp. You need at least 9 stamps to cross the finish line.
Only travel by foot or on CTA trains is allowed.
Shama and I were on the Orange team and we gathered the mysterious Kevin into our cohort as his friend didn’t show up. We all decided we wanted to try and get the award for getting all 12 stamps as quickly as possible. We figured most people would start south and work their way north towards the finish line. Our plan was to take a train north and then do a big loop.
Here’s the route we ended up taking, complete with checkpoints and annotations. Click on “view larger map” to see the details:
When we finally huffed into the finish line, we were told we were the 7th, 8th, and 9th to finish with all 12 stamps. Not to bad for over 100 players. I also won second in the “best photo” contest for this shot of Shama jumping a fence:
Last night Dax had a practice session to help him work out some of the kinks. A bunch of people met on the steps of the Art Institute and played some tag, sardines, and other games white people like. I’ve always loved sardines. We only played one round beacuse the hider did such a good job — lying in tall grass of the garden outside the Art Institute. It took over an hour for everyone to find him. I was in the middle of the pack, but Shama was one of the first, using a tried and true tactic that my friend Eddie used to use when we played as kids: act like a weirdo and listen for snickers.
Hiding in the garden
I think my favorite moment of the evening was when two people in our group played rock-paper-scissors to decide who would hide first. After a decisive victory, a stranger ran across Michigan Ave.
Stranger: Who won? Winner: I did. Stranger (holding out his hand to play): Let’s go.
The mysterious stranger won three straight games, pumped his fist (rock?) and then walked off down the street. When you’ve got it, flaunt it… I guess.
I live on a resiliant little street. Well, not the street itself — it’s as frail as a lactose-intolerant octogenerian — but the businesses around it manage to keep going despite multiple floods, a ridiculous sinkhole, a year-long train station construction project, and now… emergency sewer repair. Here’s the news we all received:
Repeated partial collapses during cleaning and inspection operation have persuaded the Department of Water Management that a full sewer replacement between Damen and Hermitage is necessary.
Repeated partial collapses? That explains why the neighborhood smells like a toilet. Still, Roong Petch, Glenn’s Diner, Lather, Subway, Scot’s, Beans and Bagels and my friends at the convenience store keep on truckin’. Even El Torito has signs that they’ll be reopening soon. El Torito, which looked like this only a couple months ago:
There are film writers who can do a better job reviewing The Dark Knight than I — here’s a good one — but, like everyone else, I sure dug it. As advertised, Heath Ledger steals the show, but I was even more impressed with the performance of our fair city. Chicago wore very little makeup in its portrayal of Gotham, and the city looks gorgeous. I was particularly excited when Batman threw the Joker into a limestone wall that I’m pretty sure was my bank. My bank! A big movie star! I can say I withdrew from it way back when.
I suspect The Dark Knight will join The Blues Brothers and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off as one of the all-time best Chicago movies. High Fidelity did pretty good too. Oh, and Stranger Than Fiction. And don’t even get me started on John Hughes. What are your favorites?
If you live in Chicago you have to weather the weather, as it were. I actually appreciate the variety. Blizzards, thunderstorms, sweltering days and freezing nights are all par for the course. Then again, sometimes you go out on your porch and there’s a rainbow. Take it, Dean!
Nancy, one of the engineers on the Guatemala trip, qualified for the “Seniors Ride Free” program offered by the CTA. Perhaps it’s rude to mention a friend’s age online like this, but I don’t think she’d mind because every time I see her she manages to steer the conversation to free transit, often producing her pass and rubbing it in my face.
One of the nice things about being a student was getting a U-Pass from the CTA that offered me the fun and freedom of being 65 and older, transit-wise. Unfortunately, that freedom ended in the middle of June and now I’m paying for the train again like a sucker.
If I managed to ride the CTA 1,371 times I could have totally paid my tuition with free fares. I didn’t.
Yesterday I filled in on bass with Aric’s band, Divebar (minus Aric, who was in Washington.) The show was outside of Cellular Field playing for White Sox Fans as they came to the ballpark. Despite having to kill 2 hours with 90 minutes worth of material and my lackluster bass skills, we had a good time and the show went pretty well.
Our sound guy — a friend from another band — said when they played the same stage, Ronnie Woo Woo showed up. Sure enough, about halfway through our set he showed up for us too. He was probably our best fan, singing along with songs he didn’t know and dancing around. Ladies would dance with him briefly while their boyfriends took pictures. Guys in Sox gear would pose giving his Cubs outfit the thumbs-down while their girlfriends took pictures.
As we were packing up, the lady who booked the show came by to say thanks.
PROMOTIONS LADY: I just wanted to let you know that you were really well-received. KELLY: Ronnie Woo-Woo seemed to like us. PROMOTIONS LADY: (A little upset) Oh, he was here again? He comes here a lot.
I don’t know if the Sox folks don’t like Ronnie coming around because he’s so associated with the Cubs (and came dressed in a full Cubs uniform) or just because he can be a little annoying.
PROMOTIONS LADY: I guess he just really likes baseball.
On the way home Kelly asked if Ronnie Woo Woo has a Wikipedia entry. He does.
When I lived in New York, I wasn’t so into the music scene. I wasn’t really a musician back then, so that probably explains some of it, but I never really went to shows either. Music in Chicago is much better. So is small independent theater.
City Hall has a new ordinance in the works that would make it more difficult for independent promoters to put on shows at small venues. This is all in response to the H2 nightmare a couple years back when 20 people were trampled to death after a fight broke out at a concert, but I suspect it will do more to hurt small, honest promoters than it will to stop any future disasters. Most promoters I’ve worked with don’t get rich off of small shows or festivals. They put shows together because it’s fun and they like the music. A $1000 fee and required background check would probably be enough to persuade many of them to quit putting up shows. That would be bad for musicians and bad for Chicago.
UPDATE: Chicago Promoter’s Ordinance to be reworked. Hooray! Hopefully the new version will address the actual problem without killing Chicago’s honest music, theater and comedy promoters. I have to say, I’m impressed with Chicago’s artistic community. Way to go everyone.
I work with Nate, one half of Team Submarine. Unfortunately for Chicago, Nate and Steve are moving to New York to make their fortune. I hope they become big and famous because they’re nice guys (at least Nate is) and they’re way-funny. I just wish they didn’t have to move to New York to do so. (So does Jim Croce.) I’m tired of talented Chicago folks packing up for New York and L.A.
Nate actually thinks it’s a good thing. He suggested that keeping the backstabbing fame-seekers on the coasts makes Chicago a more pleasant place to perform — the people here tend to have different priorities. I’m sure there’s truth to that, but I still think there should be more opportunities for Chicago-based performers.
How about this: when Conan O’Brien moves to The Tonight Show next year, whoever takes over Late Night should do the show from Chicago. I think it would be a big hit. Let’s make it happen, folks. I’m writing a letter to NBC.
They keep pounding away at the local troublemakers, despite the occasional word of advice from producers in New York or L.A., who insist Schadenfreude will never get anywhere making fun of Chicago.
“But it’s not for them,” Kaufmann says. “It’s for the people who are in Chicago that we live with, who are our neighbors, who are our audience.”
After taking a midterm downtown I walked over to Millennium Park to see the Museum of Modern Ice freezamadinugs that’s going to be there through February — a colored ice sculpture that has been nicknamed “The Popsicle.”
I didn’t love it at first. I guess I expected it to be more… something. It didn’t “echo the city’s renowned skyline” as I was told it would. I didn’t get much of a reaction at all. That it was sitting next to, in my opinion, the greatest piece of public art in the world, didn’t help either.
Luckily Shama showed up. She called to see how my midterm went and when I told her I was going to stop by Millennium Park she hopped on a train to meet me there faster than an Evan spilling soup on himself. She’s been wanting to go ice skating since, like, September. After some skating and falling we went up to take another look.
Shama loved it immediately, and the more she talked the more I started appreciating it. When you look up close you can see where pieces broke off, fell, melted, refroze, and melted again. I think I liked seeing it thrive on that zero degree night. The colder the weather, the stronger and more vibrant it gets — just like Chicago.
Seeing this truck parked outside my house reminded me of a story.
A little over a year ago, driving down a busy street, a dark green truck pulled up beside me. It was clearly, at one time, a Marshall Field’s truck, but a big white “Macy’s” banner had been attached to the side.
This was only a couple weeks after Macy’s announced that they were transforming the flagship State Street Marshall Field’s store into a Macy’s.
This truck, with a crappy New York store’s logo pasted over a respected Chicago brand name, was not well received by the surrounding motorists that day. People were honking, flipping the bird, and shouting epithets at the poor driver. “Screw You Macy’s!”
I’ve never actually bought anything at Marshall Field’s or Macy’s, but it made me happy to see Chicagoans sticking up for their institutions.
I know I’ve been dwelling on this, but the whole process was fascinating to me, and the city really did great. To think, just a week ago our street looked like this.
This is just a gratuitous post with more photos of the big sinkhole on my street. The repair job seems to be going surprisingly quick. Here’s how it looked when I woke up on Tuesday morning. El Torito’s foundation was resting on absolutely nothing. Some foundation.
By Wednesday crews had removed all the debris and dug out the entire hole. It looks like the brick sewer was damaged as well, since it was cut in half. At least I think that’s a sewer pipe. I kind of expect some Goonies to crawl out of it.
About 6 months ago we had a sinkhole in front of our apartment building. It wasn’t really a big deal except that it exposed issues with our water main that ended up costing the building $12,000.
Turns out the water main had bigger problems. This morning there was another sink hole on Montrose avenue. This one is a big deal.
Our basement, like every other in the neighborhood, was flooded. My neighbor who lives in a garden apartment had it worse.
Neighbor: I woke up to a sandal floating by my face.
Jen put it well.
Jen: I felt like I was in that scene from Ghostbusters (skip to 2:36).
Anyone who rides the “L” regularly has run up to the train right as the doors closed only to see it slither away down the tracks.
I noticed something interesting yesterday, however. As I was getting off the train a man calmly approached the closed doors. He didn’t run, yell, or pound on the window. He just smiled, looked down the train at the operator who was leaning out the window, and nodded. Magically, the doors opened..
Later that evening I reached the doors just as they closed and decided to try the look and nod trick myself. Ding-dong! Open doors.
Eye contact: live the dream.
The lady who missed the train because she was rooting through the trash at the Belmont station took a different approach. She threw her hands in the air and yelled, “I was getting something out of the garbage!” The doors opened for her too, so maybe my theory needs some work.
(Standing in front of those closed doors always reminds me of Eddie Murphy in Trading Places. And, wouldn’t you know, the clip’s on YouTube. Fast forward to 3:50.)
