I’m one of the Interweb’s charter bloggers. In 1999 I began scribing the Brooklyn local site for About.com. For most of the following three years, I wrote weekly articles about life in the “Mother Borough.” I used to have an archive of all my old content, but a hard drive crash in the early 2000s put an end to that. Or so I thought.
Lido’s Caffé, the home of a longstanding coffee klatsch that germinated on Twitter–my coffee klatsch–succumbed to the ailing economy last week. Yet in the shop’s failure is a lesson in online community–and how to translate it to real life.
I am a future Windows PC user and that is that. After a 15-year relationship with all things Apple, I’ve finally had it with the Steve Jobs ‘you’ll use your computer they way we tell you to use your computer’ method of customer relations.
When Overly Frank adopted olderly Ryza from PAWS Chicago earlier this month, the cuddly interaction between Oklahoma expat and 11-year-old feline made me realize how much I’d been taking my own lifelong companion for granted. His life, that is.
It had to happen sometime. I’ve finally created a comprehensive list of the friends, colleagues, dates, and various miscreants I’ve featured here in the virtual pages of CHICAGO CARLESS for the past four years.
A new report on the state of local news released today named Chicago Carless among the top-20 community-centric websites in Chicago. Oh. My.
Happy Birthday, Chicago Carless! Here’s a look back at the last four years of my life as an open blog.
‘Most notable of the pre-existing non-Trib blogs that have so far been added are CTA Tattler and Mike Doyle, of Chicago Carless, who is heading up Chicagosphere, a look at the Chicago blog scene.’–Chicagoist
An old 12-step adage says no matter how willingly you’re off the wagon, sometimes recovery comes and finds you. One day you’re sitting there in your living room wrapped around your addiction of choice when you hear a knock at the door. You peer through the peephole and there’s no one there. But you could have sworn…
Friends rarely believe me when I tell them about the grandmother on a rocking chair who lives in the walls at Marina City. At least, that’s who it sounds like inhabits the cast-in-place concrete of my high-rise corncob home every time a stiff wind blows through downtown Chicago. Here’s proof.