Chicago, Chicago, that toddlin' town

A couple nights ago we were at dinner with a friend and he asked me how I liked Chicago. I opened my mouth to answer him, and 5 minutes later I finally took a breath. Because I liked Chicago. A lot. It felt like home, and the thing is, I knew it would, and at the same time was sure it wouldn't quite live up to my expectations. A little like Paris, which I just absolutely knew I would love love aimer, all the while being terrified that the Paris I loved was in books and movies and maybe the 1920s, and not at all in reality. It's terrible to be disappointed in something you've built up in your mind, but in some ways it's worse to be vindicated, to have the place you've exalted actually be just as amazing as you pictured. Because now all I want to do is move there. Immediately. I'm talking about Chicago, but it could just as well apply to Paris, actually.

So I'm crossing it off my list.

72. Live in Chicago.

I've done it. I've lived right in the middle of Chicago, with Millennium Park as my backyard and the Art Institute and Symphony Center right down the block. I've ridden the El and the Metra to the neighborhoods and the suburbs. I've eaten deep-dish pizza more times than I'd like to admit. I've seen theater both big and small. I've complained about the winter and crowed about the fall. I've walked the Magnificent Mile and been to the top of the Sears Willis Tower and had cocktails at the top of the Hancock Building and taken an architectural boat cruise and eaten funnel cakes at Navy Pier. I've lived in Chicago.

And, like the best items on my list, now that I've crossed it off, all I want is to do it again.

My kind of town, Chicago is.