Chicago-What it is and What it is Not

Towers of Power on the Chicago River

Chicago is not called the Windy City because it is windy. It is only the 12^th windiest city in the US. It called the Windy City because of the abundance of bragging political and business windbags in the 1800s.

Chicago is not called the Second City because it is second to New York. It is the third largest city after New York and Los Angeles. It is called Second City because after the great fire of 1871 the residents were able to start over and build a new and nicer Chicago, a Second City.

    When you get to Chicago, as soon as possible, take the

 90 Minute Architectural River Tour with Chicago Line Cruises ($42 adult). On this 90-minute tour you will be schooled in the basics of this fabulous city, as you cruise down the river in a canyon of towering architectural wonders, from Neo Classical to Postmodern styles. Just learning what this oxymoronic term “Postmodern” means was a boon to me. We learned everything we needed to know and the journey was devoid of hideous tour guide jokes.

  Contingent of Italian Runners in the Lobby at The James

     We stayed at The James, a sweet boutique hotel in the epicenter of the Magnificent Mile action (double rooms started at $324 in October).  The lobby was filled with hip and cool Postmodern touches

Sit Here at The James

and, much to our surprise, brightly dressed runners from Italy. We had landed on the eve of the Chicago Marathon. That’s a small detail we had overlooked during our minimal planning for this trip. What good energy to have everyone in the hotel and on the street make small talk Saturday by asking if we were here for the race.  Some karmic reminder to get in shape.

     My husband the frequent traveler has a hard and fast rule never to eat at the restaurant in your hotel. Well okay, unless it’s David Burke’s Primehouse, voted number one steakhouse by Chicago Magazine. The Cow, with the exception of Mrs. O’ Leary’s, is King in Chicago. Our steak had been aged for 40 days in the “Himalayan salt-tiled aging room” downstairs. We ordered a Caesar salad which was constructed tableside with white anchovies, crusty crab croutons; we had Black Pepper Fries with romano and aioli. And then a steaming hot popover roll served its its own little cup appeared on the table.

     

Mile One of the Chicago Marathon
  

  Having a “front-row-stand” at Mile One of the Bank of America Chicago Marathon was a wonderment. The race starts with the wheelchair contingent with the men and women propelling themselves entirely on upper body strength. Followed by runners with prosthetic limbs. Followed by runners who had guides with them holding onto a tether. As if this isn’t moving enough, then the 45,000 runners start to stream, led by the Kenyans, the super humans, followed by the other super humans who would run 26 miles at a clip of three miles a minute. Oh the density of health, vigor, and happiness assaults you. Bravo. Really.

     We made our poor concierge find us a dinner reservation on the night before the marathon when every ribbon of pasta was being sacrificed for the carbo-loaders.  She got us into Cantina Laredo. We both grew up on Sonoran Mexican food in Tucson and have been on a hopeless quest to find food like that anywhere beyond the one square mile incorporated city limits of South Tucson. And everywhere we fail. In many cases the food is just wrong, but in most places it is just not right. Take this joint in Chicago for example. A beautiful gas fireplace should not be part of the décor. Tacos should not be served on a rectangular plate with a square bowl of toppings. There should not be an avocado and a lime in a bowl on the table. The guacamole should not be made at your table. It’s just not that interesting. Mexican food should be served on the cheapest thick china and carried out by an ancienne with a pot holder who warns you that the dish is very hot and calls you “mija.” Price was right though, dinner for two pre-tip was $36.00.

    And finally, go to Second City. Why wouldn’t you? All you have to do is get a ticket online ($31- $41), stay up late (shows start at 10 p.m.) and then sit, drink and laugh your ass off for two hours, in a theater that serves as a shrine to every comedian you have ever liked. There they are in black and white photos on the wall—Martin Short, Michael Meyers, Carvey, Carrell, Colbert, Elaine, Gilda and Jane and, well everyone. They started there. You should stop there.

     So thanks Chicago for being there. I am fully reminded of your greatness. I fly over you more than I should. But no more. Keep those big shoulders* ready and I will be back.

Reflections of Chicago

*The nickname “City of Big Shoulders” was at no time refuted on this trip.

The Peabody has its Ducks in a Row -- July 19, 2014

I wrote this in July 2014, just before Franky started college at Rhodes in Memphis. On a trip this month for Parents Weekend things were not quite as ducky.  The internet was out for almost 24 hours and housekeeping had not made up our room by 3:30. The horror!

The Peabody Memphis built in 1925, originally in 1869

There is nothing like a stay at an old fashioned luxury hotel. We just experienced ours at the  Peabody Memphis Hotel. My son is going to Rhodes college in Memphis in the fall and as soon as I found out there was a Rhodes rate at the Peabody I booked it. The desk clerk asked if I would like to upgrade to a superior room. I immediately accepted, as I am wont to do. So we got a deluxe corner room on the 10th floor and could see the Mississippi River from our window.

            The beds felt like clouds with an excess of downy pillows; and the design of the room, well I am sure The Peabody won’t mind if I show you one of their photos.

Room at the Peabody

I just like elevators doors that look like this:

 I like hearing Nat King Cole and Frank Sinatra in the breakfast room.  I like the exquisite service, with staff members greeting me every few yards and offering help. I like getting up in the morning, having the newspaper delivered in a special bag:

 

and heading to a deluxe health club. I like room service, especially when it rolls in on a cart between our beds.   

I am sure I could live quite happily in a hotel like this, become a modern day Eloise. I promise I would work out every day. There’s a spa where I could get my hair and nails done, there is food and drink and shopping and what in the world more do I need? The occasional trip to the rooftop to get some air and see the sunset over the Mississippi:

Sunset over the Mississippi

 I read that the Peabody's lobby is “the living room of the mid-south" which has been visited by “some of the most influential and famous people of the world.” A Southern historian called The Peabody “the Paris Ritz...the  London Savoy of this [Delta] region.” Well no wonder I loved it.

"The living room of the Mid South"

Just off the red carpet, vogueing

The Ducks

If you have ever heard of the Peabody, you have heard of the ducks. The expression “ducks in a row” may have started here in the 30’s. The duck procession occurs every morning at 11 where they come down the elevator and march in a row on a red carpet into the beautiful marble fountain topped by a flower arrangement the size of a washing machine.

Who gets this floral contract?

There is much pomp and circumstance leading up to the arrival of the ducks, there is a man in a red uniform who tells the legend and history of the ducks. Everyone must be seated in the lobby, no standing is politely enforced and then once the ducks splash in, it is photo opp time. The same ritual goes on at 5 p.m. when they return to their penthouse enclosure.

No Exit at the Gift Shop       

My son needed a sweatshirt so we popped into the gift shop. Let me back up by saying that my son has incredible blond curly hair that has drawn attention from strangers since he was a toddler,-stop-on-the-street attention. So much attention, in fact. that the tiresome question of “where did you get that curly blond hair” forced me to become a blonde. Here it is: 

The famous hair

But never has it attracted as much attention as it did by an employee in the Peabody gift shop who had her hands in my son’s hair in minutes, was raving about it and said it was so pretty she had to put a bow in it. She went behind the counter, cut a blue ribbon and and sat him down and fixed him up. Talk about your Southern hospitality.

Franky Bowed

I pledge my allegiance to the Peabody. I expect to be going to Memphis several times over the next four years and I will stay nowhere else. I will just pack, quack and go. I encourage you to do the same.

Home Schooled at Graceland

We felt most welcome.

Over Parents Weekend in Memphis, my husband and I went to Graceland. Upon arrival we learned that it was home school day which brought out a big crowd, eager for learning about the King.

The Princess and the King

The business model at Graceland has been elevated to a fine art. Stand in line to get a ticket, which allows you to wait in an area teeming with gift shops. Then wait in the line to board a bus that will take you to the front door of the mansion. For the tour you are provided with an iPad on a strap, and a large headset. John Stamos was our “guide” and walked us through Graceland. Why John Stamos? Have they ever heard his bit in The Aristocrats? For a tour that is completely devoid of scandal and negativity, Stamos seems an odd choice for Graceland. His voice also bears an uncanny likeness to George Clooney’s.  Must be the universal sound of the extremely-good looking male.

Well done Graceland! This recorded package tour is excellent, it lets you go at your own pace which avoids bundling and crowding around a talking head. The information is interesting and the visuals are good. Nothing like the real visuals however…

The striking thing I noticed about the mansion is that Elvis found himself stuck in one of the worst possible decades for style, smack dab in the seventies. With all the money in the world at his disposal Elvis still could not break out of the thought that his “jungle room” would look best in green shag carpet on the floor and ceiling; that faux fur was appealing; that a room covered in 300 yards of busy fabric would be a nice game room; and that a porcelain monkey would be attractive addition to the coffee table in the TV room.

The monkey in the TV room.

But it’s not what’s on the outside that counts, right? It’s what’s on the inside. And Graceland is content rich. The trophy rooms are rich and deep truly astounding and deeply informative. 

Some trophy room!

If you go in knowing nothing about Elvis, you will not come out that way. Elvis’ early history, his gold and platinum records, his film career (31 movies); even his hideous Vegas outfits, and his astonishing good looks are wonders to behold.  And the tour builds to a great crescendo on the “racquetball court” which brings us to the tragic end of Elvis at age 42.

The racquetball court.

From there with many tear-filled eyes, we go to the meditation garden and the final resting place for the Presleys. Poor Jesse, Elvis’ stillborn twin brother; beloved parents Vernon and Gladys who had their own purple parent room at Graceland, The King, and the great survivor, grandmother Minnie May who outlived them all and died at 90.

The Presleys rest.

Elvis was never my guy. By the time I came alive musically I had John, Paul, Ringo and George and I eschewed Elvis. But thanks to Graceland I now understand that Elvis' musical contribution is undeniable.  And he was an amazing looking character. As my husband always reminds me, the Beatles wanted to be Elvis. Hence his regal title. And when many of the Graceland pilgrims got misty- eyed in the racquetball court and at the graveside, I wondered why there wasn’t a Graceland for John Lennon where I could wallow and cry. But Elvis has his; and the millions and millions of fans who come to see him are well served.