I don’t know about you, but I used to get irritated every time I would visit my blog. There was no navigation structure and it just didn’t fit in with the rest of the site. Plus I would post articles on different topics, but there was no way to categorize them.

Ta Da!!!!

The new blog has categories, the same navigation as the rest of the site, a search function, and it just looks prettier.

I wasn’t able to import the old posts, so I’ve added some of the posts from the old blog. I’ll keep adding them but the dates will be incorrect. You can still access the old blog at http://www.thelocaltourist.com/blog.htm.

Restaurants open (and close) in downtown Chicago at an incredible pace. In the next couple of weeks we'll have three new culinary choices in the heart of the city:

CPK/ASAP, 30 N LaSalle, (312)920-9662: A quicker version of California Pizza Kitchen with a smaller menu

BB, 22 E Hubbard, (312)755-0007: Across from Shaw's and half a block east of the Hubbard Street bar & restaurant smorgasbord in the former Room 22 localtion. Gourmet comfort food in a pub atmosphere (sounds like it will be competing with Rockit Bar & Grill just down the street).

Zocalo, 358 W Ontario St, (312)302-9977: Mexican spot opening in the old Chilpancingo space. They're serving lots of small plates, but don't call it a tapas spot.

I just got back from the library. That statement, just the word library, probably brings to mind a geek wearing glasses and carting thick tomes of erudition, most likely wrapped in a flowing skirt and shod in Birkenstocks with her hair in braids, little to no makeup, and her eyes cast shyly to the ground.

Nope. I had on shorts, a short sleeved fitted shirt, running shoes, and a Johnny Walker baseball cap. Very little makeup, though; that part was correct.

I wasn't going to the library for any intellectual pursuit. Much of my day is spent working with HTML, PHP, Javascript, pdf's, jpg's, servers, databases and webhosts. I was going to the library for some entertaining non-challenging mysteries that would provide a few hours of escape from my think-think-think normal life.

Feeling slightly guilty at the stack of Iris Johansen novels I held closely to my chest like forbidden candy that some well-meaning adult would take away at any moment, I picked up several local periodicals on my way out. These are part of my "research" and how I keep up on all things Chicago. As a maniacal Type A person it is very difficult for me to indulge in a strictly pleasurable activity without some "redeeming" effort. Occasionally I have to force myself to read something whimsical, or listen to a song that increases my "cool" quotient with my 13-year-old son.

As I walked home I felt wise and intellectually enhanced just because I had accomplished an errand and I had simultaneously been in a building dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge. Yes, while there I could check out a score of formulaic, predictable novels that would take 35 minutes to read and 3.5 to forget. And yet...I could also learn about any conceivable topic. Any time I'm in a library I imagine my IQ has gone up a point, just by osmosis.

It was with this mindset that I approached the intersection of Belmont and Broadway. And heard: "Pull your sh*& up more closer, you stupid f*&#."

I've been angry in a car before. I've been tempted to scream, cuss, give the bird, whip around some obviously incompetent driver and then slam on the brakes. Two key points, though: I have not given into that temptation, and when I did feel it I was driving and therefore had the illusion of control. This "gentleman", and I use the word very lightly, was sitting in the backseat.

Angry or not, I have never said "more closer." Ever.

I wanted to say to him that he probably shouldn't be calling anyone stupid if he couldn't grasp basic grammatical structure and couldn't find more creative insults than the four-letter ones.

Even if I hadn't just left a library I would have shaken my head in disgust. Grammatical rules have been drummed into me since I was a wee tot. My mother still corrects my grammar (it's "I petted the dog," not "I pet the dog." "The comma goes before the closing quotation mark."), and I have extended the tradition with my son. Any time I hear "me and her" or any other flagrant misuse of the English language a chill goes up my spine and I have to clamp my jaw shut to avoid an unwelcome correction.

I frequently break the rules, but each time I do it's with purpose. Run-on sentences convey excitement, energy, nervousness, anticipation - they're mood-setters. Dependent clauses used as sentences make punchy statements. Contractions, misspellings, and slang all contribute to a colloquial sense of friendship and intimacy.

I suppose I should just relax. The primary purpose of language is, after all, to communicate. And this "gentleman" definitely communicated. Just not the message he was hoping to deliver:

"You haven't pulled up far enough for us to get around. We have a green light and the back end of your car is blocking the intersection. This makes me angry, especially since my idiot friend is driving and I'm stuck in the backseat with this bimbo, so the only thing I can do is shout expletives at you even though you won't hear them because your windows are shut, so only the people on the sidewalk will hear me, and they'll think I'm an idiot because I've screamed out 'more closer' even though everyone knows that's redundant. But I'm going to go ahead and scream it anyway because it makes me feel better. So there."

I'm a big fan of coffee. I drink about half a pot every morning. (That could explain why I get very little sleep and am a bit too chipper for most people at 7am and friends and family have to tell me "SLOW DOWN" when I speak.) However, I don't like Starbucks and even when I go to Intelligentsia or Caribou I tend to be a purist: large coffee. No cappucino, no latte, no fancy beans that are only grown on the south side of the mountain and picked by a fourth generation coffee grower who lives among the beans in a cabin built out of used coffee filters. Nope. Just coffee. That's all about to change.

Lavazza is a family-owned Italian coffee company that opened three cafes in the Loop last year. These are the only Lavazza Cafes in the world, and there are no plans to open any more any time soon. Which is a darn shame, because I would go every day. I'd start off with a muffin that's been baked in the store and a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. Their OJ reminds me slightly - and this is not a bad thing - of Tang because it's so incredibly sweet. I'd go back mid-morning for a Cappugiro, which is an "inverted cappuccino." Normally I have to add sweetener to any coffee I drink, but theirs is so smooth that it didn't need anything. Luigi Lavazza invented coffee bean blending (think Meritage if you're a wine lover) and apparently they've continued to hone the process of creating a non-bitter, smooth beverage.

Since service is key here, for lunch I'd have a seat while they brought me my Prosciutto Baguette or tuna salad. The prosciutto is, of course, imported from Italy (as is the tiramisu - don't get me started on that). The tuna is mixed with oil and vinegar instead of mayo so you can actually taste the tuna. Then I'd head out with my Berrissimo. I took one sip of this berry smoothie made with gelato and exclaimed "WOW." I couldn't help it. The flavor was so strong and clear it jumped on my tongue and made it do a little dance.

In the afternoon I'd stop in for a Caffe Shakerato. Who would think to take espresso and milk foam and flavored syrup, shake over ice, and pour them into a martini glass? This is just one of the many coffee "creations" they feature. Another, which really needs to be eaten with a spoon, is the Meringato. Espresso, nutella, meringue, and whipped cream. Need I say more?

Unless you're taking your drink to go it's served in a glass or a real coffee cup. You get to eat with real silverware on breakable plates. Unless they're super busy, they'll bring your order to you. This is not a dash in, run out type of coffee shop, although I could just run in for that no-frills cup I usually get. It's modeled after an Italian coffee cafe, where food and drink are meant to be experienced and not rushed through like a chore that needs to be finished before racing off to the next.

Obviously I'm a big fan. I suppose it's a good thing they won't be opening one in my neighborhood any time soon. I'd have to take a sedative to counteract all the espresso.

LAVAZZA
Coffee
27 W WASHINGTON
(312)997-9971
Hours: Mon - Fri 7am to 5pm, Sat 9am to 2pm
134 N LASALLE
(312)977-9701
Hours: Mon - Fri 6am to 6pm
111 W JACKSON
(312)447-0000
Hours: Mon - Fri 6am to 5pm

Well, now there can be! Or on your chest, your coffee mug, your bag...

Instead of hitting you, though, this red X tells everyone to hit The Local Tourist. YOU know it's a great site with tons of information; don't be stingy - share!

The Local Tourist's new store has hats, shirts, hoodies, and mugs. Send me a picture of you sporting our stylish logo and I'll post it on the site.

Taste of Chicago ends today. As I write this, the last concert of the 10-day food and music extravaganza is being performed in the Petrillo Band Shell.

Last Wednesday freelance photographer Jillian Dowd and I went to the Taste to cover the Anthony Hamilton/India.Arie concert.

We didn't stay long because we were a little miffed at the treatment we'd received, but what we did hear and see makes me wish we had stayed a bit longer. Both artists definitely have different styles and messages. Although one message they both delivered in the short time we were there: love yourself.

While the press were exiting the photo pit in front of the stage, Anthony jumped down from the stage. He tried going directly through the middle fence, but it was latched together so he (and the security detail) exited through the side and then snaked their way through the crowd.

It's a perfect Friday evening. There's a light breeze off the lake. It's not even strong enough to tussle my hair into my face. From the rooftop of my building the city is quiet and peaceful. I hear birds, the hum of the air conditioners, and the constant overhead drone of planes to and from O'Hare. But even that is a low crescendo and diminuendo, almost a soothing ellipse that leads you into another thought. That plane is leaving Chicago...This one is arriving...

I look around at the other rooftop decks. First, I'm amazed at how few there really are. Second, I'm disappointed that there are only two, no, four - just four other people outside enjoying this calm, peaceful, perfect summer night.

That thought didn't last long. I mean, come on Theresa, of course there are only five of you. You're in Chicago and it's FRIDAY NIGHT.

I still work part time at a restaurant (because it gets me out of the house and frankly, I'm not independently wealthy yet), so it's rare that I have a Friday evening free. Earlier, I ran some errands and as I passed by people eating dinner on patios and walking to parties and bars, I thought "I should be doing that." I thought about calling a friend who lives around the corner and extending a dinner invitation. I thought about calling Hainesville to see if he wanted to drive down here or vice versa, because landscaping business plus summer plus long distance = take what you can get. Essentially, I felt like I had to be doing something, and if I weren't there must be something wrong with me. A Friday night off feels akin to a field day to a 3rd grader and I should be Out There, for heaven's sake!

Being the annoyingly obsessive introspective psychoanalytical person that I am, I had to figure out why I was feeling so out-of-sync. And because I'm an annoyingly obsessive introspective psychoanalytical person, that didn't take too long:

Even though I'm around people at the restaurant and have a great social circle, there are times when I get lonely. Earlier this evening was one of those times. I'm at the computer all day, every day. I occasionally have fears that I'll turn into a cat lady. On days when I've talked more to Nina (my cat) than a human being I'm prone to being overly social in the cosmetics aisle at Walgreens or spending way too much time talking to my ex on MySpace. Today had the potential to be one of those days.

Then I went up to the deck. My original intentions were to 1) get out of the apartment so I didn't bore Nina, and 2) to finalize some details for a new feature I'm adding to the site. (Yes, I know that's redundant, which is why I feel the need to get out more.)

If I ever had any doubt I was a city girl it was taken care of tonight. I'm one of those people who see the skyline and all the activity it implies and sighs, calmly, "I'm home." In retrospect it doesn't surprise me that I saw the Hancock Building, the Sears Tower, glimpses of the lake and Belmont Harbor, and relaxed. I no longer felt the need to do something. I knew it was OK to just enjoy a calm, quiet evening. There are 8 million people around me, and I'm sure plenty of them are doing enough to make up for my chosen night of solitude and serenity.

There is always, and I do mean always, something to do in Chicago. If you're bored, it's because you're either not paying attention, or you choose to be. Sometimes, and this is almost blasphemy coming from my fingers, it's OK to choose to be bored.

Then again, there is this band playing at the Metro tonight...