nimhly

From the archives of These Times

The Windy City. Chicago. The BIG CITY.

MY ASS Shitcago, more like it. Crazy drivers, toll roads on every exit, and oh, did I mention that no one seems to speak english in this god-forsaken town?

So we went to Chicago this weekend, trekking three hours to reach Billy Corgan. No problems, we only had two tollways, and the www.randmcnally.com directions served us well. our hotel was reached with a minimum of fuss.

But things went downhill from there. The directions that had so guided us like the star that guided the three wise men to Jesus betrayed us. They said "bear southwest". Bear southwest? Were we in danger of a omniverous mammal native to Upper North America?! Then "southwest". Where the hell is southwest? OH I get it! The bear has a compass to lead us southwest! But how were we to know that?

So We asked the front desk man at the Hilton. "Yeah, you're gonna wanna go left on the southwestern corner of the Maine bound highway of the sarcophagus of King Tut. Then find the bear with a compass and ride the Pony Expressway. Ten miles, and you're there.

...Nothing is ever easy.