Jon had to work for a few hours Friday morning so the kids and I needed to get out of his hair for a couple of hours before meeting up to go to the baseball game. In retrospect I should have just gone to the art museum (it was on our street, 4 blocks over). As good as my kids generally are when I go to the Met, I really wanted to reward myself with an hour at the museum by myself while Jon watched the kids the next morning. Alas, this didn't work out, and I'm kicking myself for missing a chance to go.
At any rate, I thought about going back to the Museum of Science and Industry because it was free and awesome, but then Jon decided he wanted to meet us earlier and go walk around the neighborhood he checked out 18 months ago when he was interviewing for a job out there, Roscoe Village (we went, I liked it. I could survive there. It was like a boring Brooklyn). My point is I suddenly had to kill like two hours in the early morning. So I jokingly looked up the location for the firehouse from Chicago Fire (if you're not watching it, you should. Get caught up on Hulu, people. This is the first time I've been in love with a fictional character since Gilbert Blythe himself. Or Tarzan. Or Frank Hardy. Or Mr. Darcy. Okay I guess it's my first time in adulthood. Point being, I love you Matthew Casey. He's this dreamy Dudley Do-Right out saving lives, getting angry, and being smoldering. Sigh. I hope you're laughing Kari because this paragraph is for you). Anyway, turns out it was really close to the hotel so with Jacob's new Chicago Fire Truck (looked everywhere and finally found one at Walgreen's) firmly in hand, we were off to look for Lt. Casey.
Seriously though, I wouldn't have gone there if it were far away, or if there was a remote chance that they would really be filming. I'm not crazy.
It really was a busy station. This truck came and went twice while we were in the neighborhood.
My truck matches it, Mama.
CPD. No Detective Voight though, thank goodness.
Wandered through an increasingly run down neighborhood to get to the el Train. We decided to ride it to the end of the Pink line and back just to kill time. This is where I met the old lady who was concerned about Disney having a black princess. I didn't even know how to respond to her. I just turned to Jacob and told him to take his finger out of his nose.
Cubs game
Firehouse across from Wrigley Field.
This is the second place I was amazed by the lack of security measures. Guy scans our ticket, I notice the lack of metal detectors and assume they'll wand us and since I'm wearing Rebecca they''ll want to pat me down. So I walk up to this girl, spread my legs with one food forward, hands out to my sides and I lean forward so they can feel between me and the baby. She just looks at me. I wait a beat then say, "Are you gonnna pat me down?" "No, I'm just passing out coupons." What the what? They just let you walk in here? Why are the Mets a target, but the Cubs aren't? I just assumed security was the same at all sporting events post 9/11. There was more security at the New Kids on the Block concert I just went to, and I'm fairly certain NKTOB isn't a terrorist threat.
Found a safe place for his fire truck right away.
The seats were really good. In fairness, the stadium is really small so I don't think you can go wrong here. See the bleacher seats on top of the buildings across the street? We looked into getting seats there just for the novelty of it, but they weren't cheap for crappy they actually would be.
Jacob called it the Cubbies game.
I don't know why this macaroni noodle is there.
Wrigleyville really is a giant bar. We walked a long way after the game before hopping on a bus and it was bar after bar after bar filled with people on a Friday afternoon.
0 comments:
Post a Comment