The best thing about large cities is that you can visit them several times and still not experience all they have to offer. During my first stay in Chicago, I had no idea that I was literally staying just three miles from two of the greatest movie landmarks imaginable, both of which need no introduction. Upon arriving at 671 Lincoln Avenue in Winnetka, IL, I tried my hardest not to speed into the driveway and knock over the solid steal, knee-high statue as so many others have. It was surreal to think that I was actually sitting on the same street where the “wet bandits” plotted a neighborhood wide stash and dash. The only thing that would have made the moment better would have been to see a young Kevin McCalister come flying out of his front door atop an old snow sled. It was amazing to think that I was actually in front of the house that made history (or at least influenced mine), but, somehow, at the same time it was depressing. Realities became intertwined just for a moment: one being my once perceived childhood notion that a witty, MacGyver-like eight year old can out smart a couple of silly burglars, and the other being the now, the recognition that things aren’t as they once seemed. All the cinematic wonder and nostalgia created by the film was suddenly deflated by the reality of the situation: there were no wet bandits, no pimple-faced pizza delivery guy that would be fooled into believing he was being shot, and no eight year old genius. Don’t get me wrong, having a flashback of my youth, even if for just a moment was remarkable, but the descent back to earth was intense.
After gathering my thoughts I decided I desperately needed a photo of myself standing in front of this house. As I stood there
contemplating a witty pose for my picture, it didn’t at all occur to me that placing my hands on my cheeks as if I had just applied Brut aftershave would be quite possibly the most unoriginal idea imaginable, so that’s what I went with. Google Images later informed me that I was in fact not the first or even fiftieth goober to make that face in front of the actual Home Alone house…oh well.
After the Home Alone adventure, I was pretty sure things couldn’t get any better, that was before my friends and I realized we were only a few miles from one of the houses where Ferris Bueller’s Day Off was filmed! It was the house and garage where Cameron’s dad’s Ferrari smashed through the window and plummeted to its death. This was another surreal moment that almost overloaded my brain, especially since it happened the same day. This certainly makes me cool, right?
As we approached the house, we noticed it was for sale…for $1.65 million! So naturally, we decided it would be best to explore as if we were interested buyers. While browsing the property I started to chuckle about the price because the house itself was in questionable shape and severely dated, with some sort of Asian-themed, exposed crawl-space base sitting on stilts. The real magic, though, was the garage. I was standing in front of another landmark where cinematic excellence took place. What stupid picture should I take this time? I decided to keep my goofy face out of it and just snap the scenery…good choice for sure. But then again, the picture itself only serves as a way to prove I was actually there. The true value comes from my personal recollection of being there. I suppose I can chalk this day up as a win.
The first plan of attack was to buy groceries every week, and ration my meals. Depending on the hotel, one can create a full “home” cooked meal within the comfort of the room, not to mention save time and money. Plus, grocery shopping provides a much needed moment of reflection to consider what to purchase. This approach helps avoid the last second meal shift. You know the scenario: sitting in the restaurant booth, completely set on the grilled salmon salad, but just as the waiter asks for your order, a flash of indecision and doubt directs you into ordering the double bacon, ham, and beef stuffed oink burger with a side of cholesterol battered fries. Halfway through the meal you realize this was a mistake, but by then it’s too late, the comfort once found in consuming this monster of a meal is replaced with regret. This may not be the case for everyone because individual self control plays a huge part in meal selection. I’ve discovered, though, that I’m the type of person who likes to be rewarded; the goal is to protect myself from myself.