Bad karma notwithstanding, the building is apparently the last vestige of the World's Fair, originally constructed as the Fine Arts building. One of the many lagoons that dot the surface of Jackson Park, all so meticulously created by Frederick Law Olmsted to ensure a visual harmony between the landscape of the Fair and its gleaming white buildings, laps against the back entrance of the Museum. It's a peaceful scene, only punctuated by the sounds of people bickering at the barbecue behind me – “I wanted a brat.” “No, you said a hot dog.” “Brat.” “Hot dog.” – and my profanity from stepping in goose shit. Otherwise, it was a moment of total consciousness.

People barbecuing, or make some noise for freeballin’. Rating: 7.1.
As I said above, literally every square inch of available park surface was covered by a person, a tent, a cooler or a grill. And this was not my usual hyperbole: This was legit. There were tents erected simply to house tables of food while people lay in the sun. There were gas-powered generators to ensure the refrigerators could run and keep beverages cold. There were grills larger than my desk.

It was a liberating experience. While walking along, wishing I weren't doing research for an article and could be sitting and enjoying the weather, I noticed a bumper sticker: “HONK if you're not wearing underwear.” I had literally nothing else to say. I didn't fit the two implicit criteria here, namely 1. I wasn't driving a car, thus had no horn to honk, and 2. I was wearing underwear. I was out of my element, so I decided it was better I couldn't stay around and party with the barbecuers. They may be more than I could handle.

The statue in the roundabout, or a faked site marker. Rating: 6.9.
A golden statue that towers over what is in actuality an intersection – rather than the rest of this review, which discusses an area of Chicago park– I was in awe of such a huge statue that I forgot for a moment that I was in the middle of a road.

For those that have driven on a European road, you've been treated to the distinct pleasure that is the roundabout . Rather than a crossing of streets, you find yourself trapped on a seeming interminable circular road, trying in vain to get from the inner lane to the outer so you can get off this godforsaken European road – think National Lampoon's European Vacation for the visual – and you'll get what I mean. I'd never encountered a roundabout on this side of the Atlantic, and I found myself standing in the middle of one. To make matters worse, there was traffic coming in both directions, and it's near-impossible to see through a solid object – in this case, the statue smack in the middle of the roundabout – to see the traffic coming from one direction. So you do the next best thing: You practice a technique best reserved for bets made in a game of high-stakes Truth or Dare when you choose “dare,” and you dart across the street blindly.

For such a life-threatening risk, you're rewarded with a closer view of a statue you could have seen from five miles away. However, the inscription on the statue's base is at least slightly interesting:

THE WORLD'S COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION / AUTHORIZED BY ACT OF CONGRESS / AND GENERALLY PARTICPIATED IN / BY THE NATIONS OF THE EARTH / WAS HELD HERE IN 1893 TO CLELBRATE / THE FOUR HUNDRETH ANNIVERSARY OF THE / DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. ON THIS SITE STOOD / THE ADMINISTRATION BUILDING.

So not only did we have a short history lesson, the more perceptive readers among us will notice that statue stands where the Administration Building used to stand. By extension, then, the statue most likely isn't the original, either. So much for that whole “historical accuracy” thing.

The intersection that's actually a park, or World's Fair circa 2004.
Although you wouldn't get the idea from waltzing around Jackson Park, you'd be surprised at the amount of history contained there. Now it's just another silent testament to what made Chicago great in its long history. And don't forget to honk, because I know you're not wearing underwear.

Final rating: 7.5 (mostly for the history, though)