Lasting impressions of the city where Take Out never sleeps

I can't say the word "Chicago" without feeling like I am some character in a movie or Sinatra serenading every last lady in an audience. We took a chance traveling there in late November, but were pleasantly surprised with the effects of climate change when it had yet to begin snowing and still allowed us a few days of sweater afternoons. We spent most of our time chasing down decent improv around the city, and trying to see releases of movies that were not in Texas yet (and probably never will be, thanks to the Coen's brothers wayward script all about Jewish culture and the life following this in A Serious Man).

Some tidbits to recollect about the windy city before I clear my mind of the last few months and start seriously consider considering looking for a job.


1. The skyline. Jake and I were lucky enough to be able to wake up and look out at this every morning, but you can't get much better than that, unless you're in New York and don't mind rats in your stairwells. I get nosebleeds just thinking about going up in most of these monsters, let alone to work or live in one.



2. Wicker Park was like a revitalized neighborhood for mid-twenty somethings with time to kill and an ego to support. There, we found one of the three Buffalo Exchanges in the city, shopped at the Marc Jacobs store, and visited some neat grassroots bookstores that could hold a candle to bookstores in Europe. Places like The Boring Store deserve more credit than a simple nod and a laugh.



3. The little things you can find if you're looking (or lost). Like the small boutique and specialty coffee shops that host kitschy signs good enough to eat.



4. The fact that in a city where spray paint sale is banned within city lines, you can still find little secrets and drawn convictions on almost any part of town.


Chicago, a city for friends. Chicago, a city for hungry lovers. Chicago, a nice place to visit if you have a warm enough jacket.



Oh, and this is me pretending to be a writer in Chicago, which basically means I have a free pass at wearing my boyfriend's sweater out of the house and I can get away with being moody more than most people. Just a note.