Last year we sent a man to the White House. This year, we dragged a governor from office. But 2009 wasn't all shattered Olympic dreams and parking meter fiascos—some other craziness also went down.
No one ever saw this coming: Heidi and Spencer showed up at Alinea sans reservation. Politely rejected, the duo made a scene before stomping off. When they eventually returned (reservations in hand), they charmed and delighted everyone with their graciousness. (We assume.)
After a certain tart-mouth former First Lady joined "I'm a Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here," she said she did it for the money. But when the F-word-spewing Lady Macbeth turned into a calm big sister, it proved the old axiom that if you want people to like you, hang out with Z-listers.
Chef Andre Christopher claimed that Grocery Bistro, a seemingly innocuous little dining spot in West Loop, stiffed him for nine weeks of wages. So his parents employed a tool known to parents everywhere: the leisure van. They parked it across the street for weeks, with a poster urging patrons to boycott.
Within 24 hours of the tragic death of the most beloved entertainer the world has ever known, quick-thinking Gary, Indiana, mayor Rudy Clay asked the question everyone was wondering: "How can we make a buck off of this?" His answer: turning Jackson's boyhood home into a Graceland-like tourist attraction.
After a hot dog stand called Felony Franks—home of the Misdemeanor Wiener—opened in a, let's say, not-yet-gentrified part of the West Side, neighbors and activists didn't exactly relish the name. Or that the owner was only hiring ex-cons. But the place stuck around, and the owner's even been asked about franchising the concept. Cereal Killers, anyone?
Chicago's great history of raids on bootleggers got a new chapter when state inspectors confiscated 80 pounds of illegal bacon from Frontera Grill. According to reports, authorities saw his name in a Reader article about a pair of underground charcuterie makers from Wisconsin. Just goes to show you: Don't mess with the pigs.
