Bad (funny) news first. I can't even call them "Lows" so I'll call them "Typicals"...
Typicals:
The El Train. Although Day 2 proved otherwise, I really did study up on where to go, what to see, and how to get there, (promise!) and I felt I had a pretty good handle on how we should get from O'Hare to downtown Chicago. After landing at 10am, we hustled through the airport following signs for the train, got our tickets, and set on our way. Well, I did at least. I'm about to cross the last landing to get on the blue line, and um, Crawford...? While I was busy trying to blend in and act local, my travel companion was busy blowing my cover. He had some seriouuuuusss issues putting the little ticket into the slot and couldn't get through the gate. Turn it over! No, I mean flip it! No, the other way!! HILARIOUS.
Getting hustled. Jump off the train, bags in hand, and not a clue where to go, sore thumbs don't even begin to describe us. Well me, especially, in my STARK white sweater and my "transitional" outfit being 90% Spring, 10% Winter. (So much for looking local...) Anyway, we are heading in what we think is the right direction when Smiley McSmilerson stops us and says, "Ohhhh no, no, no! The James is THIIIIIS way." He points out all the buildings along the way, gives a one-liner about each and every one, and it's CLEAR he has taken us for fools. Well me, especially. We get to The James and he looks at us with puppy dog eyes and says "my 2 daughters" and "Cubs tickets" 187 times, and of course this sucker asks if he has change for a 20. Which of course he doesn't. So I give Crawford the same puppy dog eyes, he hands Smiley a 20, annnd then hands me a 20 minute earful. (Which I deserved 100%). I just hope Smiley actually went to the Cubs game with these 2 daughters and that's not code for a Mickey's and 2 needles. It totally is, I'm an idiot.
MOVING ON.
Thank goodness I left the white jeans at home.
Highs:
Chicago Art Institute. Unreal. Amazing. Everything and more. LOVED the Impressionist Exhibit- It's strange that a 27 year-old former Sorostitute would love Monet and Van Gogh... so unexpected, right?! The modern art prettyyy much freaked me out. Not modern art as in Jackson Pollack and... well... that's the only one I can remember- but "modern art" as in WHY are you making me watch a video of you, as I stand in a dark room, with freaky music, while you paint yourself in what can only be described as oil? FAVORITE (so the Highest High, if we're sticking with a theme here) were the miniature rooms!!! Exact replicas of homes in England and the US ranging from a formal dining room in London to a casual, open living area in California. The detail was impeccable. We're talking that if you crane your neck to see the furthest nook of a room, there is an intricately designed stairwell leading upstairs with the perfect amount of natural light highlighting its banister. UNREAL, I tell you!
The Gage. Our cute waitress from Terzo Piano*, where we ate lunch in the Art Institute (dangit, that's another high!), told us a nearby bar to checkout after perusing all the exhibits. It was right on Michigan Ave, had like 100 beers on deck, and the ambiance was just as a bar should be... Cubs fans tying yet another one on (Opening Day, hellooo) mingling with business men in fancy suits, dark wood accented with crisp shades of green, and a cool name: The Gage. (Sidenote: This reminds me of the college Drake that I ALWAYS pick in March Madness brackets, because I like the name... Relevant? Nope). After hours of wandering the Art Institute, our (my) feet hurt, and this was right on the money.
When you drink a Goose Island brew, you get these cool glasses. Goose Island is one of the very few
places in Chicago that brews and serves their own beers. Stayyyy tuned for more on GI!
The Violet Hour* Mayyybe the coolest part of the whole trip. A legit speakeasy in the eclectic, hipster neighborhood, Wicker Park. Even with the address, an iPhone, and a cab driver, finding the little gem was no easy task. I finally just opened a door that was painted into the graffiti on a wall (seriously, that obscure. and seriously, do I have death wish?) and we were in! High-backed leather chairs, lighting so dim we had to hold the candle to the menu to read it, and an all-around "we're not cool enough to be here" vibe that was intimate and awesome. Drinks were DELISH. I went with a vodka something or other... light and refreshing. So did Crawford. Until he remembered he was a guy and ordered an Old-Fashioned.
Pictured: Don and Betty Draper (I refuse to acknowledge Megan)
Pump Room at Public Hotel. After doing some seriouuuuus blog-stalking of any and every cute girl in Chicago that I could find, I happened upon Pump Room. Creepy? Probably. Resourceful? Definitely. This is the old hangout of Frank and the Rat Pack, and let me tell you, it exuded just that. The food was out of this world, and the only thing to match it was the atmosphere. Also, our waiter was so helpful! He wrote down the recipe for the roasted broccoli we were raving over, annnnnd he whole-heartedly supported our next move of the night- to the blues bar Kingston Mines**- so naturally I felt that we had a special bond over vegetables and shaking it. I distinctly remember him saying, "I'm from Chicago, and I still geek-out over Kingston Mines." Which brings me to...
Pump Room
Doesn't Crawford look like Michael Douglas here??? Oh wait, that's MD above him.
Kingston Mines** Two stages. Two dance floors. 2am closing? NOPE. 4am. In a nutshell, Mary Clay's heaven. The bands were INCREDIBLE. One band would play a full set on one stage, then they'd take a break, and the whole bar would get up and move to the other room of the bar with the other stage. The energy was HIGH, HIGH, HIGH, and we had an absolute blast. I truly couldn't think of a better way to end Day 1 in Chicago. (You can probably tell by this last tidbit why Day 2 started off so swimmingly :)
Happy.
**Thank you to Emily for the insightful article about Chi-town!
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