Snowy sleet
My three-year-old son today exclaimed “Look Mommy it’s snowing and raining at the same time.”
If I were there I would have informed him that this meteorological phenomenon is known as “sneet” or, more simply, late winter in Chicago.
Where do you want to go today?

That’s funny. I consider this to be a problem. Note to O’Hare and/or the city government. Quit quibbling about whose is bigger with Hartsfield and build a spaceport for god’s sake. Take one of these, float it out into the middle of the lake, launch stuff into LEO. Why? Because launching from the middle of the US obviates these.
Why do I not work for NASA?
Smell me a story

Febreze, makers of perfumey aerosols that I associate with covering up the stench of cat urine, have a pretty interesting product on the market. ScentStories is their attempt at creating narrative through smell alone. The ScentStories gizmo lets you pop in discs that contains five odor zones, each of which is wafted to you in sequence every half hour. As far as riveting narrative goes you’ll probably want to stick to other media, as the ScentStories are basically meant to calm you and/or put you to sleep. “Wandering barefoot on the shore” (well, of course having your shoes off creates a different smell), “relaxing in the hammock,” (I’m visualizing Homer Simpson) “shades of vanilla,” (sounds like a painting — talk about synaesthesia!) and so on. I wonder if there’ll be third-party discs to explore the full spectrum of stink? “Trip to the farm,” “trying not to touch the sleeping guy next to me on the subway,” and “discovering you used the last diaper two hours ago” — these would be fascinating explorations of stinktales.
Still, I think this is an interesting idea. Certainly narrative can be embedded in anything, the arc of a musical composition, the flow of a buildling facade. But visiting the Febreze website you get the sense that they don’t believe they can actually pull it off. The site is drenched in ethereal, blissed-out visuals. Don’t know what a walk on the beach smells like? Well look here. This is what it smells like. And their model is clearly musical. The wafter mechanism looks like a CD-player and they’ve recruited Shania Twain to “compose” a disc of scents. I think if anything ScentStories are to traditional beginning-middle-end narrative what ambient music is to, say, sonata form. I’d have called them ScentScenes, I suppose. More like an odor tableau than a linear experience.
But then, I haven’t tried this. And I’m really tempted. I wonder if I could purchase and play a disc without knowing which story I had. To smell the next chapter and declare “why, yes, I am exploring a mountain trail!” without having previously encountered a visual or tagline to set the scene for me psychologically would be the true test.
See also: Sensory deprivation
A CTA Map for 2055

Proposed Roscoe Village Brown Line spur that would make my life approximately 1000 times easier
Craig Berman, author of the wonderful Fueled by Coffee blog, has a great piece up at Gaper’s Block. Using the CTA’s proposed Circle Line as a starting point, he meticulously outlines a subway plan for the future of Chicago.
The CTA needs to form a mass transit network — as opposed to the current radial commuter rail. Right now, all lines lead to the Loop in the morning and back out in the afternoon — these lines don’t take into account that a lot of living happens outside of the skyscrapers of the Loop. What happens when I want to get from Bucktown to Wrigleyville? Andersonville to the West Loop? Hyde Park to Pilsen? Little Village to Logan Square? These rides are a pain in the ass — they’re slow, indirect, and require multiple bus transfers. Why can’t you move from the North Side to the northWest Side without going downtown first? I want answers, dammit!
Amen, brother. Where do I sign up to help digging?
See also: Art of the subway
Subcontinental divide
A word problem for you, dear readers.
You are on Harlem Avenue in Chicago driving south near Ogden Avenue going approximately 35 MPH. You’re sipping (rather enjoying) a piping-hot venti half-decaf no-fat latte with a shot of sugar-free hazelnut when a billboard for a rock station depicting a sweaty lady in a tank top grabs your eye. You fail to see the car in front of you slow to make a left turn onto 39th street. You look up just in time, slam your brakes, crushing your latte between your sternum and the steering column, spilling hot liquid (no fat, though!) into your lap which causes you to recoil and inexplicably hit the gas again. As you look up again (crotch still ablaze) you swerve the car right (west) to avoid hitting the damn car that still has not turned left. You nail the curb, pop up briefly, and land squarely on a fire hydrant. Which explodes in two directions (roughly straight up and west-southwest) spewing a great geyser of water onto Harlem Avenue at a rate of approximately four liters per second.
Will the water that is dumping into the road end up in Lake Michigan or in the Gulf of Mexico?
A few tracks from the iTunes store for whomever gets this right first.
(Thanks for this one, Dad!)
UPDATE: Here’s the solution.
Blog readers be afraid

I now own a camera phone.
Mainly I bought it for the relatively high-res cam (1.3 megapixel) and the EDGE network access. I like poaching WiFi nodes as much as the next guy, but too often I find myself away from a jack and not in a cloud. This should solve that.
More at Engadget.
Umbrella locker in Nanjing

Note the drip runoff troughs. Nice design.
Travel tip
When the desk agent at the airport prefaces anything with “The computer says …” you can pretty much bet that your travel plans are hosed.
An example from La Guardia:
Agent: “Your flight is delayed 20 minutes.”
Me: “No problem, flight late?”
Agent: “Yeah, the inbound flight just pulled back from the gate in Chicago.”
Me: “Just left? Unless it’s a Concorde that’s a two-hour flight.”
Agent: “Well, the computer says it will be here in 20 minutes.”
At this point you can:
(1) Express overt indignation attempting to rally those around you into some kind of mini-revolt by the sheer power of your expression of can-you-believe-thisedness.
(2) Pull out your calculator and present the agent with the purported actual speed of the incoming plane and expound on the physics behind the inevitable disintegration of its airframe if it continues at Mach 9.
(3) Blame the computer and ask the agent out for a drink.
(4) Sit in the gate area and quietly fume.
That was fun, now everybody start sweeping
Though there’s still a corner of the building sticking up ominously from the rubble (bearing an unfortunate similarity to the shards that remained of the WTC after 9/11), the Sun-Times building is effectively no more. Mostly the activity outside my window is just cleanup of the mess. And ripping a building down does make one hell of a mess. I don’t need to pull the shades on the windows in the office there is such an impenetrable layer of filth on them.
My sons came with me to see the heavy machinery this weekend. Predictably, they could not be pulled away. Not only was there blow-torching, aggressive hole-digging, and manly rubble-scooping going on, but they were constructing a mighty, towering crane which to me means that construction is soon to start. I swear we saw them dig out an old train car undercarriage from the muck. (Might make sense. Train tracks used to run along the north edge of the river.)
Here’s a video timelapse of the deconstruction through Feb. 11. Is it possible that I actually miss the jaw-jarring din of the last few weeks?















