Not My Father’s Cyclone
It took me eight years to finally visit Six Flags Great America. Imagine my surprise to find the Coney Island Cyclone sitting in the middle of the Chicago suburbs.
It took me eight years to finally visit Six Flags Great America. Imagine my surprise to find the Coney Island Cyclone sitting in the middle of the Chicago suburbs.
In Chicago, how people feel privately about the status quo and what they say about it in public are rarely the same. That applies to Chicago’s blogosphere, too. In a new-media space where dissent makes people run for cover, how can local bloggers hope to make change happen?
Maybe it would help native and newcomer Chicagoans get along better if we had a civic creed to help us tell real Chicagoans from mere Midwestern posers. If you had to raise your right hand and swear your loyalty to Chicago in order to be considered a Chicagoan, what would your oath be?
A recent discussion thread in the popular, urbanist City-Data Forum asked for reasons why some people shouldn’t move to Chicago. Speaking as an ex-New Yorker who very annoyingly used to measure every city by the standard of the five boroughs, I can think of eight million people who might want to consider a reason to stay home.
I love walking, but a 15-minute walk to the nearest ‘L’ station? I don’t think so. So why on earth did I almost agree to be roommates with my ex-boyfriend in suburban Oak Park?
It doesn’t take a grad school education to figure out where you want to go before you get there. And to pick up a map, or a phone, or a laptop and figure out, where you’re going. Yes, young St. Louis couple who asked me how to get to Union Station so you could take a train to Wrigley Field, this means you.