Tales From The City - Part Three...

Wow... it has been a long time since I've written an installment of "Tales From The City." Like a year and a half long -- oops. It's not like I don't see plenty of wacky things when I'm out and about, but apparently I lack the presence of mind (or perhaps the promise of personal safety, in the case of crazy person-related sightings) to grab my camera and document them. Earlier tonight though, when Justin and I were on our way to catch The Illusionist, we spotted this on a Columbia College dormitory at the corner of State and 8th Street:

Can you see it?

Apparently, the students living in the building had banded together to turn their windows into a real-life version of Pac-Man, the iconic 80's arcade fixture. Pac-Man is on the left side of the building, and the trail of pac-dots he's munching, along with the ghosts who are chasing him, wind across the rest of the building. Ms. Pac-Man is located near the bottom right side.

You can see it a little better in this close-up.

I'm used to seeing all kinds of unusual things in the area around Columbia -- it is, after all, an art school. In fact, I'm often inclined to attribute any atypical happening in the area to an art project or performance piece being conducted by one of its students. Unlike the troop of young people I once saw walking around balancing on rubber balls in Magritte-like suits and serenading passersby, this larger than life Pac-Man creation is something I can get behind. Very cool, Columbia kids. Well done...

The Illusionist...

It is rare when life gives you a second chance, but this week I received just that when I was scanning the schedule for the Siskel Film Center and noticed that The Illusionist was playing there this week, after finishing its run in more mainstream theaters ages ago, shortly after it gained attention for its Oscar nomination for Best Animated Film. Having enjoyed The Triplets of Belleville, the previous film directed by Sylbain Chomet, I had planned to see his latest work with Justin, but when the night in question rolled around, we were both too tired to drag ourselves to the theater. We resigned ourselves to renting it at a later date, but fate intervened and gave us another chance to catch it on the big screen tonight.

The Illusionist tells the tale of an aging magician whose work is increasingly less relevant in a culture captivated by the advent of rock music and more flashy forms of entertainment. He moves through Europe trying to scrape together a living through a series of increasingly demeaning performance opportunities, before he finds success for a time in a remote Scottish village where his talents are still considered novel. There, he meets a young girl who believes he has real supernatural powers, and she runs away from home to follow him into what she believes will be a charmed, more exotic existence. Tatischeff, the magician, takes her under his wing as he would a daughter, and lavishes her with expensive gifts, secretly working a series of degrading odd jobs to support the girl in her new lifestyle.

I won't tell you how it ends, but I was warned in advance by Katherine, who saw the movie when it was in theaters the first time around, that I should prepare myself to be depressed. She was not mistaken. Unlike The Triplets of Belleville, which was a zany, exuberant romp, The Illusionist has the same heart-wrenching effect as reading your way through The Giving Tree (a children's book surpassed in its power to sadden only by I Love You Forever.) Tatischeff gives until he has nothing left to give, and the movie takes our dreams (as well as the girl's) and stomps all over them. The ending isn't totally without hope, but it is also profoundly sad.

I don't mind a bit of emotional devastation from time to time, but most people don't, so I'm not sure I can recommend this movie. Stylistically and aesthetically, it is very much in keeping with The Triplets of Belleville, so if you would like to appreciate some gorgeous, hand-drawn animation (itself a dying art in this day and age) with European flair, I think I'd recommend renting a copy of that instead.

Eggstra, Eggstra...

I must confess, my desire to dye Easter eggs this year was not entirely rooted in childhood nostalgia for the craft project, but also in a surprisingly nostalgic longing for the dish that always came after the eggs were dyed -- egg and olive salad. They say that as you get older, you begin to understand the wisdom of your elders, and in this case at least it's true. Egg and olive salad (a concoction that has no recipe but is just as it sounds: sliced hard-boiled eggs, sliced Spanish olives with pimento, Miracle Whip, and a sprinkle of sugar) is a seemingly unorthodox combination of flavors that somehow just works.


I used to love its unique combination of sweet, salty, and tangy flavors as a child, but the older I got, the more I found myself mortified by its presence in my lunch. My friends would make fun of me for the way it smelled and what they deemed the "gross" combination of ingredients. Eventually, I begged her to stop sending it in my lunch. As far as I can remember, she stopped making it all together as long as I was still living under her roof.

Now that I'm older and less prone to the whims of peer pressure, I've found myself thinking back fondly to the memories of that childhood egg and olive salad, particularly the multicolored batches that resulted from freshly-dyed Easter eggs. Hence, after spending all that time on Saturday decorating eggs, their beauty was not long for this world. Even without a recipe, and never having made it before, the egg and olive salad was just as I remembered it, and just as delicious. Funny thing, nostalgia...

An Eggcellent Eggsperience...

Did anyone else watch the original Batman growing up? The ridiculous, camp version with the iconic theme song, starring Adam West? I may have been born of the generation that was weaned on Batman: The Animated Series (and goodness knows I watched plenty of that too), but reruns of the 60's-era Batman were all over the television when I was a kid, and I ate up the silliness. I ask, because when I was trying to come up with a reasonably clever title for today's post, I couldn't help but think of Egghead, the pun-intensive Batman villain played by Vincent Price. I always thought Egghead was one of the weaker villains, but in retrospect, I think he just added to the show's aura of so-bad-it's-kind-of-awesome-ness.

And why was I thinking about Egghead and egg-related humor today? Simple -- with Easter right around the corner, and the notoriously capricious Chicago weather keeping us indoors and away from our original weekend plan of visiting Starved Rock State Park, Justin and I decided to decorate Easter eggs. Nothing beats a craft project on a rainy day, especially one that is ultimately edible. It'd probably been at least a decade and a half since the last time I dyed Easter eggs with my mom, but it was always a favorite part of the holiday season. We might not be particularly religious in our household, but we still had fun observing the secular traditions associated with otherwise religious holidays.

If you think about it, dyeing eggs is a pretty wacky tradition as it is practiced in America. At least in Eastern Europe, the favorite colors for Easter eggs are red (a symbol of the blood and suffering of Christ), black (a symbol of His death), and green (a symbol of rebirth and His resurrection). Here, however, we dye them in vibrant pastels. It seems to have about as much to do with the resurrection as decorating a Christmas tree does with the birth of Jesus, but that's how it goes I guess. Who am I to argue with such time-honored traditions?


For decorating inspiration, I looked to my muse and favorite lifestyle icon, Martha Stewart. Yes, I know she's kind of evil and probably a bitch in real life, but she and her staff have clever craft ideas, reliable recipes, and know how to throw a party. I think I could do worse for an aspirational figure. Since I wanted to hard-boil and consume my eggs later, I was restricted to the decorating methods that utilized food dye (as opposed to the legions of ideas that involved glitter, decoupage, and paint), but I settled on two interesting techniques that involved wrapping eggs in rubber bands to create stripes of color, and dripping rubber cement on to eggs to generate a splatter-painted effect.


The rubber cement technique was by far my favorite; I really liked the Jackson Pollack vibe of the ones we dyed that way. They took more effort than the other eggs, as they had to be held until the rubber cement dried before they could go into the dye bath, but I think they were well worth the extra work. The rubber bands were my next favorite, with a certain minimalist charm, but drawing on the eggs using the crayon included in the $2 package of Paas Easter Egg Dye from Walgreens was definitely a bust. Spend a little money on some extra supplies, and your eggs will be much more interesting.

Decorating Easter eggs might have felt like a bit of a let-down in comparison to the day trip Justin and I had planned for today, but sometimes you have to bend to the whims of Mother Nature. It was still fun to express our creativity and produce something together, and hopefully we'll have provided a bit of inspiration for your own Easter celebration...

Gone To The Dogs...

Just about a year ago, I was able to cross a major item off my Chicago bucket list when I finally went to Hot Doug's, the renowned local emporium of encased meat products. While there was no way it could have possibly lived up to my epic expectations for it, the food there was still quite tasty, but I haven't made it back, given its distance from my residence, its public transportation-unfriendly location, and the daunting lines that turn any visit into a half-day affair.

Since then, a new presence has cropped up on the Chicago gourmet sausage scene that has been receiving its own fair amount of hype. I've seen Franks 'n Dawgs featured on Food Network, the Cooking Channel, and the Travel Channel for its "haute dogs," and last night Justin and I decided to have a pre-theater dinner there since it was a mere couple blocks from the Royal George Theater where we saw White Noise.

Franks 'n Dawgs had several things going for it to recommend it over Hot Doug's: although there has been plenty of press about it, my expectations were lower, there was no line when we arrived, and once we had placed our order, there was plenty of available seating -- we didn't have to stalk people who looked like they were about to finish their food and shoot them dagger eyes til they felt guilty enough to hustle through their meal and vacate their seats so we could sit down. The menu also featured a bit more variety than Hot Doug's, as it boasts more options for side dishes, including a Brussels sprout salad and truffle waffle fries (worth returning for entirely on their own) in addition to their regular fries, cheese fries, and chili cheese fries. I also liked the buns better at Franks 'n Dawgs, which are supplied by a local bakery and toasted on each side, as opposed to the standard issue hot dog buns served at Hot Doug's.

Da Ringer and the N'awlins Dog.

When it came to the actual dogs though, I think Hot Doug's still dominates in terms of flavor. I ordered the "Charitable Dog" of the month, from which a dollar of the proceeds go to benefit a local charity. "Da Ringer," as it was called, featured a Thuringer-style sausage, topped with shallot marmalade, pieces of bacon, and shoestring potatoes. The flavor of the meat was not particularly interesting and I found its natural casing to be more tough and chewy than snappy. Ditto for the bacon topping, which was similarly chewy instead of crisp. It was good, but it wasn't transcendent.

Justin, who loves New Orleans cuisine, had the "N'awlins Dog," which consisted of an andouille sausage, topped with fried shrimp, fried okra, and spicy ketchup. He seemed to enjoy it, though the andouille was a bit on the spicy side for me, and I don't normally shy away from hot food.

Even though I ultimately still think Hot Doug's has the better hot dog, I'll definitely be going back to Franks 'n Dawgs. For one thing, it's much easier to get to -- I think you could even walk there from the North and Clybourn Red Line station on a nice day -- and the thinner crowds make for a much more diner-friendly experience. I was overwhelmed when ordering my meal, but only because there were so many delicious-looking options that it was hard to choose. I'm already thinking about when I can go back to try that Brussels sprouts salad and the celebrity chef-designed "Chicken ala Naha," a house-made chicken sausage topped with maple pork belly, apple cider date chutney, tomato crème fraiche, and scallions. Yum!

If you're traveling through Chicago and want to get in on the gourmet encased meat trend, I'd seriously consider skipping the more famous Hot Doug's in favor of the more accessible Franks 'n Dawgs. It might not be quite the same, but it's still very good, without all the hassle.

Everyone's A Little Bit Racist Sometimes...

As a brief preface to this post, let me just acknowledge that I am fully aware of how lucky I am to have a boyfriend who probably couldn't name any of the college teams that were in the Final Four this year (correct me if I'm wrong, babe), and who seems endlessly willing to tromp around the city with me attending cultural happenings instead of staying home to watch sports. I seriously hit the jackpot with him.

I am also lucky to have a diverse and creative group of friends who work in a variety of fields. Their unique perspectives enrich my life on a regular basis, but today, I was able to tap my network in a more tangible way. You see, my old high school pal, Tamar, does backstage work at a variety of theaters around the city, and is currently working on White Noise, a new musical that is being tested in Chicago before heading to Broadway. She posted a couple weeks ago on Facebook that the theater was "papering the house" or giving away free tickets in order to fill seats during the first few weeks of the run, and to get in touch with her if we were interested in comped tickets. Naturally, I took her up on her offer and scored a pair of free tickets to the show tonight.

White Noise tells the story of a white supremacist rock trio who are discovered by a big-time music producer who wants to take their act to the mainstream, albeit with a subtler, more coded message. The show underscores the disturbing power of superficial packaging and marketing in America, and how audiences are willing to accept many products of popular culture uncritically. It seemed like an interesting premise, and with the credibility added by producer Whoopi Goldberg, I thought the show seemed worth checking out, especially for free. Oh, and I might have been a wee bit motivated by the fact that this production stars Mackenzie Mauzy, who used to be on The Bold and the Beautiful, back when I was in college and had more time for soap opera watching...

The show was, predictably, somewhat hard to watch given the subject matter, and very heavy-handed, though that is probably to be expected considering the premise of the show is that Americans don't look for messages in their entertainment. Hence, the show feels compelled to hit you over the head with one. There was not a sympathetic character in the bunch -- everyone eventually sells out or compromises their beliefs in some way.

I found myself wanting to like some of the characters; Jake, the talented young producer who works for Max initially refuses to work with White Noise but ends up giving into the lure of money; Eden, the least racist of the White Noise members ultimately values fame and an escape from her impoverished upbringing more than her ideals; and Dion and Tyler, the wholesome African-American Ivy League grads who want to sing songs that are full of positive messages ultimately allow Max to market them as Blood Brothers, a gangsta rap act whose biggest hit is "Nigga Gonna Shoot The Whiteboy." As for the rest of the characters, there is nary a redeeming quality to their one-sided terribleness.

The acting with which they are portrayed is similarly over-the-top (not surprising in Mauzy's case at least, given her soap opera work), substituting petulance and attitude for intensity of emotion. Nobody seems to have much depth of motivation, beyond the obvious. Yet, despite the lacking quality of the performances from an acting perspective, the singing was actually quite impressive. Musically, the ensemble was very talented, and every voice seemed well-cast for its role. However, I can’t say there was really a memorable song from the entire production. Justin made a comment that he didn’t foresee any of the songs from White Noise making any future “Best of Broadway” compilations, and I agree with him. The songs were catchy and at times disarming (an earnest ditty from the band’s audition with Max entitled “Welcome to Auschwitz” comes to mind), but none of them really stood out to me.

My only complaint was with the sound design for the show – in order to channel a rock concert atmosphere, the entire show was very loud. Before the show, Justin and I had been joking about him falling asleep during the production, because he had to pick his sister up at the airport at 5:00 this morning, but as soon as he saw the speaker set up for the show, he knew he’d definitely be awake for the entire thing. In fact, I spent several musical numbers with my fingers in my ears trying to cut down on the noise levels because my ears were starting to hurt.

Both of us enjoyed the stage design, which echoed the scaffolding and temporary sets one might see at an arena rock show. Clever use was made of onstage cameras as well, which projected the action onto screens above the stage, again, like a rock concert. There were a bit too many strobe lights for my taste, and Justin found the overall lighting design to be too bright. This too was in keeping with the tone of the production – everything was very loud, very bright, very flashy, and very in-your-face. It was not a night of theater for the faint of heart.

Rumor has it that White Noise is bound for Broadway, but I’m not sure it’s quite ready yet. It is a challenging piece of theater, but not unlike the titular band itself, I think it could use a bit of tweaking to make it more palatable to a mainstream audience. I certainly wouldn’t have gone to see it if I hadn’t gotten free tickets, and I don’t think that kind of audience attitude will net the producers a profitable Broadway production. Technically, the show has good bones, but a few tweaks here or there to the lyrics and writing, and a few notes to the performers on their acting, and the producers might really have something.

Dedicated To The One I Love...

Six months ago today, I was putting on my cutest dress, pairing it with strappy sandals that were no longer really seasonally appropriate for October, and trying to stifle a serious set of nerves -- I was going on my first date with Justin. On one hand, it seems hard to believe that it has only been half a year: I feel like I've known him forever. On the other hand, it astonishes me that six months have already flown by and we fell so in love so quickly. Six months together makes this not only my longest-lasting relationship but also the happiest, most stable, most mature relationship I've ever had.

A couple months ago, whilst perusing my usual assortment of blogs, news, and editorial sites on the web, I came across an Elizabethan-era love poem that made me think of my relationship with Justin. I emailed it to myself where I could reread it from time to time, and I often think of its words when I'm spending time with him. Since I've come to associate it so closely with my feelings towards Justin, I thought I would let it speak for me today, since I've already written at length about my love for this man. Happy six-month anniversary babe!

"My True Love Hath My Heart"
by Sir Philip Sidney

My true love hath my heart and I have his,
By just exchange one for another given;
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
There never was a better bargain driven.
His heart in me keeps him and me in one,
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guide;
He loves my heart, for it was once his own,
I cherish his, because in me it bides.
My true love hath my heart and I have his.