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Influential Chicagoans Propose Converting Soldier Field Into Permanent Grateful Dead Tribute Following Bob Weir's Passing
The Municipal Equivalent of Still Having Your Ticket Stubs
CHICAGO — In the wake of Bob Weir's death last week, a coalition calling themselves "Really High Chicagoans" (meant to convey their success and influence while also signaling they're cool, like to party, and were super into the Dead—or at least were in college) has proposed converting Soldier Field into a permanent, year-round tribute to the Grateful Dead.
The coalition comprises an unlikely assemblage of civic luminaries: legendary Bulls coach Phil Jackson (participating via Zoom from Montana, possibly wearing tie-dye beneath his chambray shirt), Bill Murray (who spent most of the press conference doing bits), Wilco frontman Jeff Tweedy (who insists the project has "good bones" and offered to compose a 14-minute opening ceremony opus), former President Barack Obama (who wants Chicago to know he's still cool despite not being a twirly kind of dancer, and insists the Dead were originally a blues band when Pigpen was still alive), former Obama advisor David Axelrod (lending political gravitas while wearing Birkenstocks), several anonymous City Council members (who requested anonymity because "our constituents don't know we followed Phish for three summers"), most of Mayor Richard M. Daley's grandchildren, former Zoning Commissioner Dave Reifman, Sterling Bay's Andy Gloor, and Blue Star's Craig Golden.
"Chicago has one of the densest concentrations of Deadheads per capita in the world," Reifman told reporters at a press conference held in a cloud of patchouli-scented incense. "We've hosted dozens of sold-out Dead shows here over the decades. This isn't merely our civic duty. It's our karmic destiny."
The Vision: "A Living, Breathing Parking Lot Scene—But With Bathrooms"
The proposal envisions transforming Soldier Field into what organizers are calling "Dead Field." Key features include:
The Parking Lot Pavilion: The stadium floor would become a permanent recreation of a Dead show parking lot, complete with vendors selling grilled cheese, perpetual hacky sack circles, and drum circles that, legally, can never stop.
Snow Angels Arena: During Chicago winters, the field would flood and freeze, allowing visitors to make "cosmic snow angels" while listening to "Dark Star" on a loop.
The Good Vibes Casino: A gaming establishment where patrons gamble not for money, but for "vibes"—positive or otherwise. The coalition is currently negotiating with the Illinois Gaming Board and Bally's Corporation, which has expressed metaphysical concerns about eliminating the concept of "losing.""Loss is fundamental to the gambling experience," said a Bally's spokesperson. "Without loss, how does one appreciate winning?"The coalition has countered by suggesting: "Perhaps you can lose, but only temporarily, and the vibes return to you in your next life?"
Tribute Band Thunderdome: Grateful Field would host approximately 47 Grateful Dead cover bands performing simultaneously in different sections. In a nod to musical ecumenicalism, the proposal includes space for "a couple" of Dave Matthews Band tribute acts, and several Phish cover bands.
The Jerry Garcia Memorial Art Gallery: A gallery featuring Garcia's artwork that, per the proposal, "won't need to sell anything to remain solvent, because art is about the journey, not the destination, man."
The Dead Field Experience: Shops, Exhibits & Amenities
Dead-Themed Businesses
Touch of Grey Paint Store by Sherwin-Williams: Only sells subtly different greys and beiges. "It will all work out," promises the tagline, though staff cannot explain how.
Box of Rain Gutter & Drainage Solutions: Stormwater management specialists who promise to "believe it if you need it."
Casey Jones Railroad Museum: Featuring trains that are "high on cocaine" (for educational purposes only). Trouble ahead? Trouble behind. Ties into Chicago's Pullman heritage.
Eyes of the World Optometry: "Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world."
Truckin' Moving & Storage: "What a long, strange haul it's been."
He's Gone Insurance Agency: Specializing in theft protection. "Steal your face right off your head."
John Mayer Watch & Wellness Boutique: As a nod to Dead & Company's guitarist, a shop selling luxury timepieces, premium headphones, and high-end skincare products. "He wears an unconscionable number of expensive watches," explains the coalition, "so we figured, why not monetize it?"
The Music Never Stopped Hearing Aid Clinic: Offering complimentary hearing tests to aging Deadheads, many of whom stood too close to the speakers in '78.
Dire Wolf: A boutique for grooming malnourished "tour dogs" that require baths and several pounds of weight gain.
Permanent Exhibits
"I Know You Rider" CTA Redemption Campaign: An exhibit by Chicago Public Transportation designed to coax back riders who were robbed on the El post-pandemic and have sworn off public transit.
Ship of Fools Maritime Museum: Includes exhibits related to the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald and other nautical disasters.
Yoga Yogurt: A new franchise by one of Jerry Garcia's daughters combining frozen yogurt with yoga instruction. Classes are held in 32-minute intervals for reasons that are "spiritually significant."
Internal Strife: The Garcia Authenticity Tax
But it's not all love and flowers within the coalition. A faction of elder Deadheads has proposed what they're calling the "Garcia Authenticity Tax"—requiring anyone who never actually saw Jerry perform to pay significantly more for everything at Grateful Field.
"It's not punitive," insisted longtime head Margaret "Sunshine" Rodriguez, who saw her first Dead show in 1972. "It's pedagogical. These kids need to understand the transcendence of Jerry's guitar work. If you weren't there for the '77 run at Winterland—or better yet, Europe '72—you lack the experiential framework."
When asked if this might alienate younger fans, Rodriguez shrugged. "They can pay the premium or listen to their podcasts about the Dead. We were there."
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RELEASED!
Trump Frees Maduro After 'Productive' Session at
Walter Reed Elective Surgical Reconstruction Facility
WASHINGTON — In a stunning diplomatic breakthrough that has left international observers baffled, President Donald Trump announced today that he will release Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro and his wife after what the White House is calling "productive negotiations regarding matters of critical national importance." The nature of these concessions remains classified, with administration officials refusing to provide specifics beyond describing them as "personally significant to the President."
Sources close to the administration indicate that the negotiations were surprisingly brief, lasting only a matter of hours once Maduro agreed to the undisclosed terms. The talks took place at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center, specifically in a wing of the hospital typically reserved for reconstructive and cosmetic procedures related to burn victims—an unusual venue for diplomatic negotiations that White House officials attributed to "security concerns."
At the hastily arranged Rose Garden press conference, President Trump appeared in unusually high spirits, declaring the negotiation "one of the greatest deals in American history." Maduro, seated in a wheelchair nearby with some type of IV bag attached, appeared incoherent and very shaken, slurring his words when he attempted to speak. White House physicians attributed his condition to "the stress of negotiations" and assured reporters he was cleared for travel back to Venezuela but definitely had to buy his own ticket home.
Post-Op rendering leaked by Nancy Pelosi
DoorDash and Grubhub Launch Violent Opening Salvo Against Coco, Chicago’s Adorable Sidewalk Robot Pioneer.
CHICAGO, IL — For years, futurists warned that artificial intelligence would eventually confront humanity. They assumed the danger would announce itself. Loud, unmistakable, and impossible to confuse with convenience. Instead, it arrived smiling, blinking, and asking for the right of way. DoorDash and Grubhub are now engaged in an early-stage competitive war with Coco Robotics, the Chicago-based company that quietly pioneered sidewalk delivery robots and then committed the unforgivable act of making the system work. Coco’s cheerful, cute, cooler-sized robots have spent years gliding through the city with polite beeps and friendly lights, projecting harmless efficiency. That tone is now doing a lot of psychological heavy lifting.
The scene has become surreal. New robots are reportedly appearing overnight, delivered via Amazon’s package delivery drones and gently placed onto sidewalks as if this were a normal urban amenity rollout. In Daley Plaza, clusters of delivery robots have been observed gathering near the Picasso sculpture, chirping softly while repositioning around pedestrians and public benches. The moment resembles a Pixar film, rounded shapes, expressive lights, deliberate cuteness, except this is very much not for kids. The machines remain aggressively adorable, designed to lower defenses, while industry sources suggest many are now equipped with concealed lethal firepower intended strictly for rival robots. For now. Officials describe the situation as robot-on-robot violence, though even they concede that once a decisive victory is achieved, the scope of engagement may quietly change.
Inside the robots, the contents remain reassuringly mundane. Sandwiches. Donuts. Bagels. Outside, the implications are harder to ignore. “They can battle it out if they want,” said Jim Graziano of J.P. Graziano on Randolph Street. “Just make sure the sandwiches get delivered on time so the giardiniera doesn’t make the bread too soggy.”
Chicago Bears Winning Streak Triggers Mental Health Crisis
City officials confirmed today that Chicago is facing an unprecedented mental health emergency: the Bears are competent, and no one knows how to live like this.
For decades, Bears fans have clung to one dependable constant: sooner or later, it would all fall apart. Fourth quarter meltdown, catastrophic interception, field goal that hooks so violently it violates Geneva conventions, something. It was comforting, in a tragic, Midwestern way.
Now the team is on a winning streak, and the fanbase is unraveling.
“I have no framework for hope,” said Mark Marcus, 47, who spent the 2010s explaining that he “actually liked Cutler’s attitude.” “My body is calibrated to disappointment. I used to pass out peacefully right after the weekly heartbreak. Now we win and my brain starts running stress tests on reality.”His wife reports he paces the living room at 2 a.m., whispering things like “This is a trap. This has to be a trap..."
Family doctors across Illinois report the same pattern: elevated blood pressure, insomnia, and something they are calling “anticipatory collapse syndrome,” a condition where the patient is physically sure that the universe will eventually correct the error of the Bears being good, and is bracing every organ in advance.
Support groups for chronically traumatized fans, in church basements and bar back rooms, are quickly forming for people who accidentally started to believe. A typical meeting: “Hi, I am Tony, lifelong Bears fan, and I experienced a positive thought about the future last Sunday.” “How long has it been since your last bitter, defensive monologue about the front office?” Response: “…three weeks.”
Apple Watches are detecting “cardio events” every time a broadcast shows a graphic called “Here is how the Bears can clinch the 1 seed.”
Lake Geneva in advanced talks
to relocate itself to
Arlington Heights, Illinois
ARLINGTON HEIGHTS, Illinois.
Lake Geneva—not the town, but the actual lake—appears to be in advanced discussions to relocate itself to Arlington Heights, precisely the spot coveted, yet repeatedly fumbled, by Chicago Bears ownership.
A timeless summer getaway for generations of Chicagoans, Lake Geneva seems to have grown restless. Watching the Bears botch their multi-billion-dollar Soldier Field relocation, the 5,401-acre glacial icon has decided to make some nimble moves of its own. Sources say the opportunity surfaced during highly secretive—and occasionally blurry—late-night meetings at Chuck’s, the lakeside bar where many of the region’s worst ideas are born.
Though the lake has recently shattered records for mansion sales along its postcard-perfect shoreline, an increasing number of Chicagoans find its tranquil waters less than ideal. Long drives, distant parking lots, and a baffling shortage of shuttle buses have left many visitors content to sit at home on the weekends and surf the internet with their kids, many of whom can't swim.
“Relocating a glacial icon seventy-five miles south certainly won’t be cheap and may take a hundred years to finish,” said Arlington Heights Mayor Jim Tanalia, “but it should be worth it—depending on how you think about it.” Tanalia admitted he’ll likely be dead before the project gets permitted.
Despite the infinite challenges of moving an entire prehistoric ecosystem, Governor J.B. Pritzker appears fully on board. “If that lake wants to come south, we’ll make room—preferably near a train line,” he said, as if speaking about a beloved but demanding relative. Pritzker and several family members have reportedly secured prime lots along the proposed shoreline, though he declined to address persistent rumors of a heated dome covering the entire relocated 5,401 acre lake.
Meanwhile, the Chicago Bears are reportedly considering building a modest open-air stadium at the bottom of the vacated Wisconsin lakebed. Preliminary renderings obtained by Strains Chicago Business show a design nearly identical to the current Soldier Field, except this one sits hundreds of feet below ground to shield fans from cold winds off Lake Michigan.
Rendering of new residents waiting for the water to arrive.
Tourist wearingThrifted Nvidia Sweatshirt Sparks Hours-Long Chase by Desperate Downtown Leasing Brokers.
Chicago’s leasing community gave new meaning to the phrase “active lead” this week after a tourist in a thrifted Nvidia sweatshirt was chased through the Loop by brokers convinced she was scouting space for the trillion-dollar chipmaker. Witnesses said the woman, visiting from Iowa, had simply purchased the sweatshirt at a Goodwill store on Washington Boulevard before heading downtown in search of the long-shuttered Sears on State Street.
Instead, she found herself surrounded by sharply dressed brokers waving glossy marketing flyers and shouting about tenant improvement allowances, free rent concessions, and “move-in ready, amenity-rich innovation hubs.” Despite her repeated explanations that she worked in Allstate Insurance's claims department, not artificial intelligence, brokers insisted she was “clearly downplaying her role” in Nvidia’s global expansion strategy. The pursuit reportedly stretched across several blocks, from LaSalle Street to the Palmer House valet desk. Ironically, not far from the old Sears Department Store.
Market analysts said the episode illustrates the mounting strain of Chicago’s record-high office vacancy rate. “In this environment, a thrifted sweatshirt is a hotter lead than a cold call,” CBRE broker Mitch Adams remarked. The tourist was eventually rescued by police, shaken but unharmed. “I was just looking for Sears,” she told reporters. “Now I know why everyone shops online.”
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Steppenwolf Theatre Tapped to Transform Broken Campaign Promises Into Oscar-Worthy Budget Drama
Facing a $1.1 billion budget shortfall and a mounting credibility gap, Mayor Brandon Johnson and Chicago’s City Council have enlisted Steppenwolf Theatre Company to provide high-level coaching on how to sell a property tax hike as an act of courageous leadership—rather than a breach of public trust.
After months of categorical denials—“There will be no property tax increase”—the administration is preparing for a dramatic pivot. To help soften the blow, Steppenwolf has been brought in to teach the fine art of performative sincerity.
CHICAGO — As the city braces for yet another property tax hike, City Hall has taken a novel step to address certain public infuriation—not by balancing the budget, but by sharpening their performance chops.
Mayor Johnson, who recently denied plans for a tax increase, is widely expected to reverse course completely in the coming months as the city confronts a rather large budget shortfall, exacerbated by rising pension obligations, expiring federal relief funds, and declining commercial property revenues.
According to sources close to the Mayor’s Office, Steppenwolf Theatre Company has been quietly hired to coach city leaders in the art of appearing emotionally devastated while passing unpopular legislation year after year.
The partnership, described in internal memos as a “narrative engagement consultancy,” aims to prepare Mayor Brandon Johnson and select City Council members for what one aide described as “an emotionally complex role with hostile audience interaction.”
According to insiders, the working draft of the city’s budget presentation is already being rehearsed under lock and key in the council chamber, after everybody goes home at 3 PM. Final production is rumored to be a one or two-act civic tragedy, complete with original music and interpretive dance.
According to early stage notes, the show opens with Mayor Johnson at center stage, softly lit, passionately pledging never to raise taxes. Behind him, council members form a dimly lit chorus, murmuring a solemn refrain: “Never, Never, Never!” As the song builds, the mayor quietly exits, returning in dancer’s tights, launching into a tortured interpretive dance solo to symbolize internal budgetary conflict. He twirls, collapses, leaps, and stares into the middle distance muttering incoherently.
Meanwhile, the council choir enters a synchronized desk-slamming routine, chanting their commitment to fiscal restraint while slowly joining the mayor in a unified modern dance experience.
"The tax payers are going to be furious predicts some who've seen the Mayor's performance in rehearsals. Chicago voters, already carrying the highest effective property tax rates in the country, may not be in the mood for dramatic nuance.
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Saint Fritz of Iscariot, the guy who betrayed nice folks like Chicagoans, and enjoyed it. Definitely not going to Heaven.
Cook County Democrats Finally Realize Strangling the Tax Base Might Be Bad Politics
In a long-overdue act of political triage, the Cook County Democratic Party has yanked its support from Assessor Fritz Kaegi, whose crusade for tax fairness has left a trash heap of vacant buildings, decimated valuations, and institutional investors shunning Illinois like it's Detroit.
Instead, the party is backing Patrick Hynes—a man whose core appeal appears to be that he doesn’t treat every underperforming office building like a Midtown Manhattan cash cow. “Kaegi may have been right on paper,” said one party insider, “but it turns out you probably shouldn't collect taxes on properties you’ve just driven into foreclosure.”
For commercial real estate owners still paying full freight on half-empty buildings, the news landed like a cautious “high-five”. “It’s about damn time,” said a River North landlord who asked to remain anonymous so their lender wouldn’t know they’re still alive. “We’ve been underwriting taxes like they’re ransom demands for your favorite child. At this point I’d rather lease space to a drunken Romanian circus troop than try to explain Kaegi’s methodology to another investor.” Vacancy-adjusted value? Unrecognized Transaction comps? For years, the only certainty has been uncertainty—and a soul crushing tax bill that felt more like water-boarding than policy.
Fritz Kaegi’s romantic delusion that everything has hidden value didn’t start in public office—it started behind a row of used cars at Campus Motors. His old boss, who still winces at the memory, recalls: “The kid saw hidden value in everything. He’d swear a dented Toyota Corolla was a ‘heritage mileage edition’ and somehow get someone to buy it. Cars came back all the time. But he never stopped pitching. Eventually, we had to let him go.”
As a Boy Scout, Fritz once gave a troop presentation on his sand collection—dozens of meticulously labeled jars of sand from playgrounds, parking lots, and a Little League dugout. “He said they were ‘ancient deposits of historical relevance,’” his Scoutmaster recalled. “It was gravel. He was dead serious.”
While Assessor Fritz Kaegi has become the public face of property tax misery, the real culprit is Governor Pritzker—chief steward of Illinois’ pension inferno and architect of the state’s favorite fiscal strategy: raise property taxes until the building owners go bankrupt. With billions in pension promises and nowhere near the money to pay them, Pritzker keeps feeding the fire while pretending Kaegi lit the match.
Now, in a dazzling act of political jiu-jitsu, Pritzker has floated the idea of investing Kaegi’s entire pension in a boarded-up State Street retail property—just so the assessor can personally experience the tax death-spiral he helped create. When asked for comment, the governor was busy removing 23 toilets from his newly purchased “one-bedroom” penthouse condominium.
The Democratic Party seems to have finally noticed—whether it’s too late to repair investor trust is another story entirely.