Recalling My Journey to Chicago

It was unavoidable, come March 12th, I was to board a plane headed for Illinois. A sales seminar in Highland Park had my name printed on a placard at a place-setting within the conference room of the Highland Park Marriott. This was in fact, an all-expenses–paid voyage, but my excitement was lacking. To make up for it, I had adjusted my itinerary to stay a few extra days in Chicago following the events in Highland Park, just to make this bullshit “business trip” worth the while. Indeed, the latter segment of my journey was worth the while.

I refuse to discuss the events that took place during the “Sales Conference” in Highland Park, though I will admit I met a few fellow managers whose company I enjoyed very much (Jack[New York], Meeps[Boston], Sam[Los Angeles], Erin[Oakland] and Sarah[Berkeley]), and I hope to see them again under any circumstance (except aggravated assault and/or on the stand for kiddy porn).



The highlight of my first true journey to middle America was my time spent in “Chi-Town”.

I endured the attendance of futile company funded enlightenment, don’t get me wrong; I absorbed some meaningful data, but overall, I feel it was a waste of company time and bread. On the day of closing, I jumped into a cab destined for the windy city.

My ride from Highland Park to Chicago was strangely wonderful, the incredible evolution of boxy, interspersed office buildings and occasional gas stations slowly swelled into taller and taller structures as the cab rumbled on. Billboards began to grow larger and larger and more inane as the city drew near. Finally, Chicago teetered upon the horizon and its silhouette crisped into focus. Before I knew it, buildings were towering higher than I could see from the backseat of the cab, and a warm feeling of arrival became apparent.

Then, an abrubt halt, I opened the car door, my view from inside the taxi framed the entryway to what would be my home for the next two days smack-dab in the middle of town, kitty-corner from a 7-11 and a view of the "Corncob" towers. Perfect.



The duration of my trek from Highland Park via taxi had been clocked at one hour and 18 minutes, which amounted to $62. A bit hard on the pocketbook, but I’ll honestly state that it was worth every last penny. The cabby pulled my duffel from the trunk, and with his right hand, placed the handles in my right hand as his left hand took the fare (and tip) from my left hand. I turned to face the hotel, then walked in through the revolving doors.

After checking in, I stepped into the overly decorated elevator and pressed my thumb upon the button bearing “14”: the top floor (awesome). After much anticipation and whirring noises, the doors opened after the line of numbers above stopped and illuminated “14” in addition to emitting a gratifying “bing!”.

I approached room 1415, slid the keycard in to the lock and gently thrust the door handle downward, cued by the little green light, verifying that this was indeed my room. The door swung open without a creak, and revealed my temporary Chicago abode.

Here I was in this incredible city, a city historically made famous by the infinite stockyards along the tracks, the mob, jazz and baseball, but I was going to ignore it tonight. Due to my hangover from the previous evening of beer and dominoes amongst co-workers in my hotel room in Highland Park, I was exhausted. Room service delivered a hamburger and a miller light (eewww) while I watched a recent episode of “The Sopranos”. I slept like I hadn’t slept in years, the flicker of the television being my last memorable vision of the day.

Warm light streamed in through the blinds, 7:26am. I sprung from the bed ready to explore the city, but first, a shower was in order.

I choked down a cup of the crappy coffee that came with the room, grabbed my camera and wallet, hopped in the downward elevator and thrust my palms against the brass bar of the revolving doors leading out into the diffused sunlight of the Chicago streets.

It was overcast and quite shitty weather-wise. No wind, but no sun either. No matter, I’m here for two days, the camera is going to flash no matter what, I really don’t give a fuck. I strolled down North State Street leading to The Loop and Millenium Park. Along the way I framed intriguing scenes within the viewfinder and pressed the button atop my camera.



Most visually enticing besides the architecture along the way was “The Bean” in Millenium Park, in the words of a good friend: “It’s near impossible to take a bad picture of that bean thingy”. Many pictures were taken of both the Bean and it’s surroundings within and beyond the park.





I then made my way towards the Art Institute, the building was massive and intimidating as viewed from the outside. I soon became aware of a similar feeling once inside, standing afoot the great staircase leading to an incomprehensible multitude of art, antiques, artifacts, dioramas, and historical items that prove specific reigns, dynasties, and campaigns by way of visual expression. Incredibly glorious yet overwhelming, I wandered about for nearly five hours and only digested a quarter of what laid graced upon the walls, pedestals, and atriums of such a colossal collection of visible artifacts. I was impressed by the Girodet exhibit (closed April 30th). Incredible, romantic canvases from a French painter active in the late 1700’s to early 1800’s. Spectacular.

The rest of the day was spent roaming the streets with a keen eye behind the camera, some good shots were taken, others fall into the category of “snapshot”.









I'm still in the process of writing this, so the phrase: "to be concluded" is in order. I just blew my wad in regards to posting what I had so far. I hope it's been enjoyable thus far, just remember: more to come.