I'll cut to the chase: The worst public sculpture in Chicago is the one of Harry Caray outside Wrigley Field. Runnerup is of Jack Brickhouse in the plaza between the Tribune Tower and the Equitable Building. Poor Harry Caray looks as if he's in Hades, howling in pain while the disembodied heads of other condemned souls at his feet join his chorus of lament. As for Jack Brickhouse, he appears to be auditioning for the part of Capt. Christopher Pike.
Did much thought really go into these sculptures? Who cares? Not me -- I didn't pay for this stuff. I just have to look at it. And I think it sucks.
MURALS ALSO SUCK
These aren't the only examples of fugly public art, of course. There are many, many others, especially if the definition of sucky art is expanded to include murals -- most of which the public isn't permitted to criticize because this "art" has either been created by kids as part of social-engineering projects to boost their self-esteem or depicts animal species supposedly in danger of getting sucked into the extinction vortex.
But not to worry: I'm just talking about sculpture that sucks, and Chicago has plenty of that.
I realize that some folks might be upset that I have the audacity to say so much of Our Fair City's public art stinks, but if artists and their patrons aren't willing to accept public criticism of works the public is obliged to drive past, walk past and sit near every day, then they ought to grow thicker skins or get jobs in the nonprofit sector.
Or at least accept the fact that if you shove something out onto the public stage, you're going to get public comment.
And that many people are going to think your artwork sucks.
Like I said, the Caray and Brickhouse sculptures aren't the only sculptures I classify as eyesores.
CHICAGO'S OWN THING
It's only fitting that one of downtown Chicago's fugliest buildings has one of the city's fugliest sculptures squatting in its plaza.
Yes, I'm talking about Helmut Jahn's State of Illinois Building, since rechristened as the James Thompson Center despite the fact that the former governor is still alive.
This building is done up in a color scheme better suited to an episode of the old "Miami Vice" television series.
And in fact, there was a cop movie shot at the building in the 1980s, a really sucky Billy Crystal vehicle only notable for creative use of the building's cavernous interior for a rappelling sequence.
But back to the building itself: All precious and pink and quasi-turquoise blue, this building also sucks -- although let's confine ourselves to the artwork in question, which is a funguslike blob outside the southeast entrance.
Like much abstract art, you'll never have any idea what it is. A cold virus? A sponge? A giant truffle that was unearthed by the giant pig that might be immortalized in sculpture on the other side of the building?
This sculpture is so odd, I can imagine it having been used as part of a tourist attraction in the Desert Southwest. You know ... THE THING? WHAT IS IT?
Who cares what it is? Cart it away!
THE DEVIL'S FORK
Then there's this thing by an artist named Miro that's right across from Daley Center.
I don't know what this is supposed to be, either. There's a plaque that claims it's a representation of a woman, but that's a stretch for me.
I've always thought it looked other-worldly and bizarre. The best I've been able to come up with is that it's supposed to be an alien probe or a satanic eating utensil.
Eating utensil is the better possibility, since there's clearly a handle at the bottom for easy grasping, and the forklike top has tines.
For all I know, a push of the recessed red button in the handle causes the fork to spin, making it a boon for spooling spaghetti.
This devil-fork piece of work has influenced a neighboring structure, as well, since just behind it a playground for a daycare center mirrors the tine projections on its fenceposts.
Hey! Do you suppose parents receive a discount for dropping off Rosemary's Baby at this place?
My conclusion is that although some art can get away with being thought-provoking, I shouldn't need to play "Where's Waldo?" with my imagination to figure out what something is, so ... get the hook and haul this one away, too!
BULLWINKLE'S HAPPY ENDING
Last but not least, our whirlwind tour of public sculpture I dislike brings us back to the Equitable Building, where tourists are being delighted by a stainless-steel moose with a big penis.
Some tourists, especially wild-and-crazy young ladies, even like to try helping this moose have a happy ending as friends document the levity photographically.
I'm not a prude and don't have a problem with realistic representations of human and animal forms.
But maybe the artist and his or her patrons should have found another animal to put on display here -- maybe a female one.
Certainly a work that invites giggly discussion and high-school silliness really isn't the best use of this public plaza.
Besides, if some family's most vivid memory of their vacation visit to Chicago has to be that of a wiener, let them enjoy a meal at Superdawg.
In this recording made Wednesday night, Sept. 12, by Tom Kim, our organizer, Stan & Terry reveal the secret of their interviewing technique, offer tips on how to maintain a professional radio voice, and provide motivation and inspiration to podcasters.
If India and Pakistan can get along so well as tandem cuisines on so many menus, why, oh why, do they want to nuke each other to tandoori consistency? Don't ask me. There's lots of stuff I don't know -- like why in France the girls wear scanties, but on lamb chops they put panties. And why (I know this sounds jerky) in Turkey, who eats turkey? I'm tellin' you, It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World!
Both subcontinental cultures peacefully coexist at Paradise, a restaurant in Hoffman Estates that Leah, Dick and I visited recently. We liked almost all the dishes we sampled -- and I even enjoyed the Bollywood movies and videos
plastered CinemaScope-size across a wall.
Other issues we address include Frozen Coke, Icee and Slurpee. Interestingly enough, according to this Wikipedia entry, Slurpee actually is Icee.
And for the record, the first Icee I ever had was at the UoteM convenience store in what was then unincorporated Jefferson County, Colo., at 20th and Wadsworth.
CONTACT INFO FOR RESTAURANT Paradise Restaurant, 721 W. Golf Road, Hoffman Estates (847) 755-9955
I missed yet another chance to eat insects when Leah, Dick and I went to Geno Bahena's Tepatulco, a restaurant in Lincoln Park.
Unless you count the random, accidental sucking-in of a bug while jogging or riding a bicycle, the last time I consumed insects was in junior high when, as part of what today no doubt would be a state-mandated "cultural diversity" program, our teacher insisted we sample taste treats such as palm-tree hearts, pickled grasshoppers and chocolate-covered ants.
I didn't like eating bugs in junior high and I don't like eating bugs now. So no way was I going to try the grasshopper appetizer at Tepatulco, but Leah and Dick are clearly made of sturdier stuff and they enjoyed the insect part of the evening.
As you'll hear, however, I enjoyed the rest of the food I ate. Leah and Dick were pleased, as well.
EDDIE ADAMS Here's the story of that famous photo I mention during the podcast. By the way, I got it wrong: Former South Vietnamese Gen. Nguyen Ngoc Loan didn't open a doughnut shop in Los Angeles, it was a pizza place in Virginia.
CONTACT INFO FOR RESTAURANT Tepatulco Restaurante, 2558 N. Halsted St. (773) 472-7419
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About Me
I'm Leigh Hanlon, a writer and photographer in Chicago. Before moving to the Windy City, I worked at daily and weekly newspapers in Arizona, Colorado and Wyoming. (Photo by Marty Larkin)
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It's only fitting that one of downtown Chicago's fugliest buildings has one of the city's fugliest sculptures squatting in its plaza.
Then there's this thing by an artist named Miro that's right across from Daley Center.
Last but not least, our whirlwind tour of public sculpture I dislike brings us back to the Equitable Building, where tourists are being delighted by a stainless-steel moose with a big penis.
Each month, the 
I missed yet another chance to eat insects when Leah, Dick and I went to Geno Bahena's 
