Category: Chicago

The bicycle’s plea

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What if there were bike lanes along the train tracks?  How would that change the biking scene in Chicago?  Frankly biking in this city sucks.  Yes there are a few bike lanes, but hardly any are protected lanes- where the bike lane is separated from the direct traffic, tucked in between parked cars and the curb.  Within this great and grandiose city there are the very few that do exist, and those teases lasts for but a short spell, like a lack luster summer romance.

Riding next to full blown rush hour traffic, squeezed in between semi trucks, garbage trucks, and food service trucks, and stopping every 20 feet for a stop sign or traffic light, is not fun.  It used to be thrilling, but now it is just straight up annoying.  Do I want to ride my bike everyday?  No because it is not fun anymore.  Stopping that precious momentum just to rebuild it again to that coasting status takes a lot of energy.  Then stop again as soon as you get going.

Regaining this momentum is a lot different from the experience in the car.  Yes start and stop is annoying, but on the bike it is downright challenging.  This, my driving friends, is why we cyclists cannot stop at every stop sign.  Not only the force required for the sake of movement, it is also the time involved.  In the time it takes to complete the stop, then to go, and finally to pass through the intersection, we are looking at a solid minute.  If instead, I look at the intersection and make sure all parties are reaching their stop, I will continue on my journey.  This agreement saves everyone time.  We are all in a rush.  So please cars, understand that we bikers have already seen you, and are not being jerks if we glide by seemingly unknowingly.

I am not justifying this agreement as a viable solution, do not get me wrong. It is clearly not working.

One ideal solution to the bike conundrum would be to make use of the avenues that already exist in the city: train tracks.  There is one old track line that has been reinvented as a bike and walking path: the 606.  This is a great solution and I want to see more types of this sort of innovative city structure to help carry us into a modern and green city, the type of city that Chicago is promoting, the type of city that adapts to the modern man’s hustle.  I want cycling to be a viable solution, an easy and stress free form of transportation that is not a life and death scenario, as it is now.

The advancement of the traffic jam

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Dear Chicago,

Why are we stuck in a Jeffersonian era of traffic control? This constant stopping is slowing down progress, making all commutes much more cumbersome than necessary, creating a road rage anger that is deep-rooted and raw, superbly aggressive and panic-stricken.

The first traffic light was invented in 1868, and after 1920, the design has largely not changed.  Since Woodrow Wilson was president, the traffic light has not been upgraded, the flow of traffic has not been improved upon.  The only update we have gotten in 150 years is that there is a countdown for signal change.  This is not revolutionary, but it is included on the Wikipedia page because there is nothing else to say about this highly important societal tool that impacts just about everyone.

It is beyond time for a change, a drastic change, one that incorporates all this technology to help ease the burden of stopping and starting at regularly controlled intervals. The flow of traffic is not natural like the rushing river, it is sporadic like the ever changing Midwestern weather.  We need a system where the signals monitor the accumulated cars and then makes an informed decision on when to change.  Yes, an informed decision that accounts for multiple aspects, a technological decision based on data and real life events, not arbitrary parameters such as every two minutes regardless of the situation.  A scenario where they don’t blink on set schedule just for the sake of changing.  This is not a difficult or expensive fix, I bet the city could do it on its smart phone.

Same for the stop sign.  Lets make then digital so that you only have to stop if there is another car registered. The sign always says slow, but can change to stop when it is needed.

There needs to be bus priority lanes and traffic signals so that riding the bus is not so slow. Taking the bus is hardly a viable option because of how terribly slow the travel is.  The forever bus, that is what it is commonly referred to. The bus needs to travel faster than the flow of traffic, not slower.

Daylight Saving’s Sunset

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The street light shines like a false moon, highlighting the lovers on the beach.  Lovers in the autumn are different from lovers in the spring.  It is less flirtatious and random, more established and deep, like the matured color of the autumnal leaves.  Chilled walks along dimly light beaches, enjoying the empty landscape void of curious spirits and energetic footsteps, the mood is subdued.  It is not the beachfront of summer, where adventure and the impressionate beauty of the natural world create a flutter of intrigue in the heart.  This early sunset, and the long still night ahead, is for lasting lovers, it is for those who are not reliant on the inspiration of the environment to spark the beauty in the scene.

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Art and Science in the City’s Sky

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I am overwhelmed by the beauty of the modern night, by the complacent dance of airplanes in the big, open, uninhabited sky.  I am astounded by the unnatural movements that dominate the once whimsical night.  The crafted zig zag pattern of overhead headlights feels like science fiction eerie in harmony, amazing with the complete overhaul of world above.

Nature has been transformed away from lure of the night sky mystery into a different meaning here in the heart of the city.

The patterns of the airplanes are distinctive, not abstract like the twinkle of the starry night.  Art is about making mistakes, science does not understand this concept.  Art is messy and bold, physics is well defined and stubborn with its limits.  Science has definitive rules, natures is creative in breaking these carefully ordered and well orchestrated structures of definition.

It barren up there now, in the lonely sky, save for the flying machines.  Modernity and technology may be convenient, but they lack the luster of the dreaming night, the spontaneity of the stars spark, the complexity of astrology’s secrets, the depth of the canvas that looms above.  The nation of galaxies that had been a part of humanity’s eye is now a series of dashes.

Fall Inspirations

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Although I am currently struggling with the complications of Autumn, when I think about the warming and comforting fall flavors, I get those good Goosebumps.  The chill is coming, but warming up with food is amazing.  This is the definition of comfort food, it is a feeling of safety, it is a physical reaction of an internal hug.  It warms you, calms you down, makes you forget about the harsh reality of daily living, transports you to serenity, if even for a moment.

Maple, caramel, clove, allspice, ginger, bay leaf, molasses

Pears, apples, pumpkin, squash, grains, beets, brittle, fennel, saffron, persimmon, bananas

Spiced rum, hot apple cider, dark roasted coffee, oatmeal stout, caramel

These are the flavors on my mind, and nature is my tool of inspiration.

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This dish is to remind you of fall at a Midwestern cider mill.  Apple cider doughnuts tossed in a rum-maple glaze, squash mousse flavored with chai spices, bacon brittle, dried apple shoe strings with sage.

Why Eating in America Sucks #5

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Recycling is a concept.  It does not actually exist. Yes there are those blue bins dotting down the alleys, but is the trash even sorted in this great large city?  I have my doubts.  Remember when you were supposed to put your recycling in a blue bag, tie it up, and throw it in with the rest of your trash?  Yeah, that happened.  That was the city’s solution to the recycling problem for years.  Yeah right like somebody actually sorted the trash and picked out those gross blue bags.  This is why I have my doubts that the new recycling program with those fancy blue bins are actually getting the job done.

Unfortunately the full and disturbing extent of the issue does not stop here.  With the alleys full of blue dots, at least we are pretending to care.  Not in food service.  Here, we don’t even pretend to try to recycle.  There is only one bin, and let me tell you it is black.

Not even cardboard boxes are recycled.  It is truly sick.

Even the places that say they do, it’s about a 50/50 shot.   Don’t be fooled, recycling is not happening.

Yes, this is part where you are supposed to get angry.

The Garden’s Song

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I am sorry, but I cannot hear you over the siren of the cicadas.  It’s like a beat getting funky in your head phones, the right side on, then the left.  Not at the same time, usually, both sides, but they respond to each other’s echo, playing a game with their percussion melody.  The loud siren fades out, only to come back stronger again.  The symphony of their song overtakes the neighborhood, leaving a dent of solitude when they lull into silence.

The magical Garden

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The banana peppers are hanging out like two chartreuse hammocks.  Lazily they sway in the wind, unaware of the battle cries of the cicadas raging on all around.

The collard greens are building a metropolis with their towering height and visual domination.  Collards always seemed so calm to me, but they certainly are focused on supremacy and upward mobility.

The kale is crazy with curls, filling in vacant spaces between the monstrous collard greens, mimicking a city block.

The squash vines are threating to lace over even the neighbors yard, to twine each living thing together like a raft lost on the oceans waves.

The ruby red gems of the tomato plants are quickly stolen by the garden robbers, with traces of their juicy insides strewn about the yard.  Red pieces of dead soldiers dot the green grass.

The herbs are like a buzz cut covering their wooden container beds.

Dichotomy at a Stop Sign

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I work in a very strange spot, where old industry meets new technology.  It’s at a crossroad that sounds more like a metaphor than a real spot, an unassuming corner that brings old school Chicago together with business for the new millennia.

You cannot even squeeze a tiny bicycle down Fulton Market street during the early morning to late afternoon.  The street is packed with tall men in long white coats, running to and fro, bringing stacks of brown boxes to idling trucks and muscular forklifts.  The street is littered with men and machines, anxiously filling orders and ready to scurry at a moments notice.  It is a public street, but there is no room for cars, pedestrians, let alone bikes.  Enter at your own risk, you will be the frog leaping, the chicken wondering if it can cross the road.

The meat-packing district of Chicago is an industry staple, and this intersection is where it was born.  This trade formed the identity of this Midwestern metropolis, molded it into the meat-centric, gastro-destination of the nation.

IMG_0145At the end of this meat-packing row, at the corner by a stop sign, sits a small restaurant, serving up Brazilian influenced and locally inspired food.  It’s quaint, it’s unpretentious, it strives to make good and simple food day in and day out.  It is innocently unaware of the power struggle raging on outside, blissfully happy in the crossfire between the old world and the new regime.

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After the stop sign, past the meat empire, sits the new google building.  This will be the hub for the technological overlord that will be the new master of Chicagoans, representing the new direction in industry.  These modern offices will shape Chicago in many ways that are just as meaningful as the meat-packing legacy, but oh so completely different. This is not the physical labor of men in uniforms, trucks almost running you over in their physical hurry.  Here, the work is conceptual, all the running around will be done with fingertips instead of fork lifts.

The restaurant is the twilight of these two worlds, and I am caught in the transition.

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The Charming Train Car

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Third time is a charmed chance for a mundane train ride to work.  I hardly take the train with the option of riding Turnip, but I have been lucky enough to have experienced an acapella song from two young aspiring singers 3 times.  Of all the passing trains, of the long line of train cars strung together for the journey across town and back, of all the varying times in the late morning, these two musicians have chosen my ride 3 times now.

They introduced themselves, sing an oldie but goodie song, filling in the beat with snapping fingers and the thump of a tapping foot.  These two young men look nothing like the part they are singing.  They don’t dress the part, they don’t look like a typical musician, and they don’t demand anything.  They have a cd, 4 songs for $5.  They give a short spiel about themselves, and then sing a song.

Three times on the short green line train ride for the 3 quick stops, they have serenaded me, started my day out brilliantly, delighted me with their talent, their inspiration to sing in front of strangers, and to passively ask for money to in order to pursue their dreams.  They have a great song, I hope they keep on singing, and I hope they keep on finding me on my short green line journey to brighten my day with their muse.