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16 Miles, Paid in Twenties and Hundreds

Musing about Los Angeles distances recently, I was surprised to learn my mental yardstick had finally changed time zones.

Shabbos Mice: Ryan’s 40th Birthday Disneyland Trip Report

An epic post about dragging my partner to Disneyland for his 40th birthday–and watching him fall in love with the place in spite of himself.

Where You Sit Side by Side on Space Mountain

To celebrate Ryan’s 40th birthday, we leave next weekend to enter the world of yesterday, tomorrow, and fantasy. Oh, my Disneyland. It’s been a long time.

Louisville, No the Other One

This month, my relationship with Ryan becomes my longest ever. And so much for being Chicago Carless. Try as we might, it’s a love we can’t stop re-living from the front two seats of a car.

Saturday in the (Theme) Park

There’s a reason Ryan and I have a rule about going to Six Flags on Shabbat. The rule is we don’t do it. It always takes falling off the wagon to remind you why you were on the wagon in the first place.

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.

The Great Migration

Seven years living in downtown Chicago ends Wednesday in a seven-mile trip up Lake Shore Drive. The life and times of this former New Yorker now continue in Edgewater. That is, if we make it there.

Antigone Goes West: A Man, A Dog, A Bike…and 2,000 Miles Towards A New Life

Know this first: this is the most emotionally compelling blog I’ve ever read, and perhaps the best. A Chicago writer and pet lover loses his job, gets fed up with the economy, and decides to bike to the Pacific Ocean to promote pet adoption, with his favorite Basset Hound, Antigone, blogging the trip from her doggie trailer. But it’s the candid bravery of the human author that shines best as Antigone Goes West.

Pepsi Challenged

‘I was in a bilevel Burger King, with the dining room squeezed in downstairs from the order counter. I ordered something I don’t remember and a large Pepsi. I really don’t know what happened. A tremor? A foot slip? But there I was walking downstairs watching my soda tumble end over end in slow motion in front of me.’

A Fair to Distemper

Last Thursday, I did the Wisconsin State Fair badly. In my defense, I meant well. But having been to only two state fairs in my life–Arizona’s in 1990 and New York State’s in the Shea Stadium parking lot–I was ill-prepared for the scope of Milwaukee’s century-old annual festivity. Not to mention the heat.