Its name is at odds with its elevation, occupying as it does a second-floor room in St. Peter's Episcopal Church in Lakeview, and this fact has probably been fodder for jokes since the Chicago Underground Library moved to its current location about a month ago. But though it now has windows overlooking the street below, the library is still adjusting to the above-ground life -- when I visited the volunteer staff apologized for the church-basement air the lumpy, mismatched furniture gave off and promised that improvements were in the offing. It's no Mansueto, it has no state-of-the-art robotic appendages to probe its unseen depths, but since that gaping pit of scholarship is at least a year off, let's focus on this rather less literal take on the underground library motif.

The Chicago Underground Library occupies an admittedly different niche than the Mansueto, or the University of Chicago Library system in general. Its underground is cultural rather than spatial, and its collection of self-published pamphlets and zines far outstrips the Reg's. The two may differ in focus, but the Chicago Underground Library is an equally serious venture, dedicated to preserving the written record of Chicago -- all written records of Chicago, however inconsequential, ephemeral, or tangential they may seem in light of the established narrative. To this end, the library accepts anything published in the city, from university press monographs to DIY mimeographs. A once-over of the shelves picks out such titles as "My Pre-Trial Detention", a nearly complete run of Lumpen Magazine, Tie-Dyes & Color Lines: Life in the Calumet Region during the 1970s and Maritime Chicago: An Illustrated History.

The library began four years ago with a bang. Over baklava I talked to Nell, one of the founding members of the project, and this is the way she explains it. She had the idea, talked to her boyfriend, they decided they'd get some friends together to discuss it, one friend mentioned the meet-up on the website Gapers Block, The Reader picked up the announcement from Gapers Block, and by the time the time the friends met at the café, whether Nell's idea would be realized was no longer in question -- that question had been answered in the affirmative by the appearance of forty plus new faces and the reams of material they had brought to contribute.

Since that fateful day, the Chicago Underground Library has continued to be met with unsolicited donations, people who had been hording books or magazines from years back and didn't know what to do with them, or people who wanted to open their personal collection to a wider public. Things that when stacked under a bed seemed to have aged beyond their relevance in the context of the CUL now show a picture of a city with many voices and many stories to tell. It's unfortunate that the voices currently shout over each other with little coordination, as they are shelved in a more-or-less haphazard fashion, but that should change when the new cataloging system is unveiled this month. The library also hopes to acquire flat-file storage and other curatorial tools needed to take care of older documents, audio-visual material and storage capacity, and of course new furniture.

The arched windows and chandeliers that come with being in a church annex already bring a library feeling to the CUL's new home. Nell wants to select furniture that will bring a unified and warm feeling to the space, just the kind of place you'd like to curl up with a good book. They're making sure not to go all-out library though -- lest the anarchist punk pamphlets turn over in their shelves -- and to signify their distinctness, the CUL recently inaugurated its Loud Library event, because in this library you don't have to whisper. Among the performers to take the stage -- and these guys seem really cool, I wish I had been there to hear them - was a group called Chicago Phonography, presenting unprocessed recordings of soundscapes from Chicago's neighborhoods. The group hopes that in listening to their work you'll think about the city in a different way, which is exactly what the Chicago Underground Library is attempting with their work.

Nell hopes to get the library registered as an official historical archives by the city, which would allow one volunteer, a schoolteacher, to bring her students here to do research for the annual Chicago History Fair. Already the library has seen students and scholars come by to do research, though that's not its only use, she points out. The CUL is a great place for newcomers to Chicago to get acquainted with the city, or -- and she says she gets a few of these every year -- graduates from the University of Chicago who say they've lived in the city for four years but have never before had to leave Hyde Park.

Submitted by Lauren Makholm

For most people, the end of college brings not only a release from the pressure of academic excellence, but also an anxiety about what to do next. Freedom from the rigid structure of schoolwork can seem as constricting as it is liberating. Such was the case for Andrew Cone, who graduated from the University of Chicago in 2006 with a math degree and a desire to have a positive impact on the world around him.

"We wanted to be awesome. We wanted to do something really awesome," said Cone, looking over my shoulder at the street outside, "I wanted to be part of people's lives."

Cone and his partner, Steven Lucy, AB '06, opened Open Produce in 2008 in an attempt to bring ethics back into modern-day food consumption.

The store began with two goals: transparency and fairness, and still attempts to live up to each goal every day.

After Cone graduated, he worked various jobs. He worked as a freelance computer programmer, and a programmer in a U of C lab. He worked at a proprietary trading firm, where he was treated well and paid well.

"I found myself feeling very anxious though, being anxious about the direction my life was going because I just didn't see where it was ending up, because there were these people who were my bosses, you know, very intelligent people, successful people who I got along with. But despite all that I just didn't really see myself as wanting to have their life."

Discontent and unrest led Cone to speak seriously with Lucy about changing careers.

"We felt restless. The restlessness that you're not building towards something you're going to be proud of.

In the talks that followed, the idea of Open Produce grew from an idealistic banana importing company into a real storefront on 1635 E. 55th St. A notice on the window asked customers what hours they would like to see for the new store, and the interior came alive in yellows and greens.

But, why food? Cone, a good University of Chicago student, used philosophy to explain.

"Voltaire or somebody said, about going to the bathroom, it's the one unifying experience of all of humanity because all of humanity experiences it basically the same. Well, you know, we can't go into business doing that. So, food is also a fairly universal experience, except that some people eat better food than others, or different food but nonetheless, the act of eating is sort of a fundamental human experience."

Cone and Lucy strove to bring an encyclopedic set of knowledge and an air of transparency to food buying in a new and innovative way.

"We have a generation that feels more than any previous generation entitled to know things. We believe, 'information should be at my fingertips.' That becomes an expectation."

The movement to know where one's food comes from is much like the movements toward fair trade items, organic items, or vegan items, Cone explained.

"I try to buy fair trade things, I try to stay vegan," he explained, "And generally, I try to have my consumption patterns reflect the ethical changes in the world I want to see."

Despite the dream-like ethical optimism that surrounds Open Produce, operations have been less than perfect.

"Well, we've lost money so far, I can tell you personally on my 2009 taxes, I filed a $25,000 loss. My net income was negative $25,000, including having worked some [other] jobs," Cone said.

He works other jobs, such as tutoring math at Columbia College, to bring the store's debt down.

Cone estimated the debt at around $9,300 to the store credit card, and about $40,000 to his father, who loaned Cone and Lucy money to open the store.

"Yet, we have never taken money from the store we hadn't already put in and it's not clear when we will and if we will. It could be a labor of love."

But Cone, a self-proclaimed young optimist, stays positive by looking backwards and forwards.

"These are some numbers that are really important to me," he said, "I can tell you that last year in February, I believe our average daily gross was about 580 dollars. This year, I expect it to be about 1,075 dollars."

He also sees possibilities for the future in order to make Open Produce more stable and profitable, such as beginning to accept food stamps or acquiring a liquor license. Food stamps, he says, would probably increase the daily gross by 50 to 200 dollars, while a liquor license would make Open Produce the only licensed store east of Lake Park and south of 51st Street.

Although there are many numbers involved, especially when talking to a math major, it is clear that Cone's focuses are ethics and good food.

Open Produce prides itself on interesting and unusual produce. Early customers to the store remember hearing Cone's excited voice as they walked in, asking them to try a new fruit or vegetable. Longans, relatives of the lychee; grapefruit-like polmelos; and honey crisp apples from Washington State are just a few favorites.

And though ethics are often rigid, Cone admits to the necessity for small compromises.

"If you want to stay in business there's a limited domain you have to express your own ethical problems," he said.

"It's one thing to not want to be excessively capitalistic or materialistic and say I'm going to make all the money I can," he laughed maniacally, "but it's another to say, you know, we need to survive."

Although Cone follows a vegan diet, and does not agree with eating meat on account of the unethical treatment of animals, Open Produce has begun to sell small quantities of meat.

Open Produce has also lost some of its transparency due to difficulties in accounting.

"We just realized that keeping track of what we paid for everything and then writing it somewhere was a major accounting headache and time is scarce when you're running and operation like that, you have to pay for labor..."

"We have not forgotten about the goal of transparency," Cone insists. "It is important for my own psyche to believe that I have not sold out."

There is one major area in which Cone and Lucy have stood firm, and this is pricing. Rather than prices ending in .99, as they do in most supermarkets, all of Open Produce's prices end in .00 and include tax, so customers always know what they're paying.

"For Steven and I this was a very important ethical point. I really feel very strongly that it's very important to be honest with the customer. Even if we can't always meet our goal of being completely transparent about everything, telling the customer everything we might want to tell them. For me, it is very important that nothing I do is the slightest bit misleading, and I think it's hard to argue that ending prices in nine isn't a misleading thing to do."

Cone insists that despite the increased revenue that uneven prices might bring to the store, which is badly in need of increased daily grosses, he will not budge on this issue.

"I just wouldn't feel good about it anymore, you know?"

For now this imperfect experiment in ethical living continues on 55th Street, east of the tracks, and even if Andrew Cone and Steven Lucy do have to close up shop one of these days, they have a lot to show for it. Cone mentioned humility, boldness, and money awareness as a few gained traits, but he's also gained something else.

"The first person we hired was Beth," he said, smiling, "Who became my girlfriend-- and I'm now engaged to [her]."

Submitted by second-year Alison Howard and first-year Charna Albert

At the Woodlawn Collaborative Open Mic Night, they don't take no for an answer. At least not if you don't want to offend Travis, the 64-year old, white-braided and bearded life force behind this monthly event. Travis himself is enough entertainment for one night. In fact, right after we got there, he announced free pizza and grape juice and then promptly took off his pants. Underneath, all he had on were a pair of white tights but any unseemly bits were soon covered by the red, sheer double-breasted cape he soon put on.

And then his noise band performed.

We'll back up. The Woodlawn Collaborative Open Mic night is the brainchild of a coalition of students and Woodlawn community members, and takes place in a Church on the corner of 64th and Kimbark once a month (the next one is March 19th.) Last Friday, we decided to check it out. This is a part of town that will provoke a "you be safe now" from the SafeRide driver, but don't be intimidated; just be smart. It'll be more fun in a group anyhow. It will also be more fun if you come in with an open mind and probably a song or two, or maybe some beat poetry. At the event itself, participation was low but spirited. Which leads us back to the noise band.

As the night began, Travis informed us that his noise band would be opening. This consisted of 15 minutes of... well, noise. It was kind of an acid trip, if you're into that sort of thing. Wearing latex gloves adorned with plastic flowers, Travis shook a gigantic piece of sheet metal and screamed unintelligible, yet most likely profound words into a microphone set on echo. Six minutes in, our hippie friend from San Francisco screamed, just to be heard over the music, "this is so cool!" If you are less of a hippie, this may not be for you, but never fear; there is more to Open Mic night.

One of the highlights included a group of UChicago students who Travis referred to as "the Phoebes." They, however, insisted that they had no name, and that their lead singer, who signed them up, was just named Phoebe. Basically all you need to know is that their version of "Like a Prayer" was played with a cello, a trash can, a violin, a guitar, a keyboard, and a combo fork knife and empty wine bottle. They were awesome.

If you're intrigued (as you should be) note that this event is free and open to the public. It's definitely worthwhile if you're looking for a venue to practice your creative talents... and your creative tolerance. We're for sure coming back with this beat poem: Don't judge us, and we won't judge you. Also, the first two lines can be attributed to my good friend Teddy.

This poem should be read aloud, with two people alternating each line.

Jesus
Cheez Whiz
Gee Whiz
Cheez-its
Bop-it
Pop-it
Lock-it
Drop-it
Stop it

No
Start over.

(Repeat as necessary. But probably not as long as Travis's noise band performance)

Here's a short piece about the Communtiy Service Leadership Training Corps: a group of 20 first-years and 20 second-years who travel around the city conducting service projects and learn about urban issues non-profit administration while there at it! They've recently visited the Gary Comer Youth Center and Jane Addams Hull House garden.

by second-year Julia Pei, for the University Community Service Center Newsletter

Officially, the Community Service Leadership Training Corps (CSLTC) is a "two-year intensive service and leadership training program run by the University Community Service Center". However, the 20 first-year students who are selected annually to become a part of CSLTC would agree this modest description doesn't do the program justice.

During their first year, students engage in weekly issue sessions on various areas of service and participate in related, biweekly service projects in the Chicago area. During their second year, students use these experiences and discussions to focus on a year-long internship with a nonprofit organization or community service RSO on campus.

However, CSLTC is much more than a group of people gathering to discuss service and leadership. For many, CSLTC becomes a unique and close-knit community as dynamic and organic as the individuals who comprise it.

On Tuesday nights, CSLTCers arrive early to meetings to catch up with friends. Conversation is not only governed by their shared interest in service but also by the personal connections they have forged. It is out of this unique group dynamic, bursting with passionate and engaged individuals that something wonderfully rare and influential evolves.

Fourth-year Hannah Taber, one of the three program coordinators this year, reflects, "I was very excited to work with CSLTC this year because of the enormous contribution that it has made to my education and overall experience at the University of Chicago." All three of the current program coordinators, Prakriti Mishra, Aviva Rosman, and Hannah Taber, are former CSLTCers.

Beyond the current CSLTC coordinators, many other CSLTCers maintain close relationships with the University Community Service Center. Of the twenty current second-years, five are current UCSC program coordinators. Many CSLTCers have also founded community service RSOs including UChicago Mentorship by Correspondence (UMbC), International Volunteer Initiative (IVI), and Global China Connection (GCC). These groups all grew out of the collaboration of several groups of current and former CSLTCers.

Perhaps such a close-knit and multidimensional group dynamic is driven by the wide range of majors and interests that the group represents. Beyond the expected public policy and political science majors, the current second-year group also includes computer science, English, economics, interdisciplinary studies in the humanities, biology, and anthropology majors. CSLTCers' interests within service are just as diverse, ranging from refugee work to domestic violence to environmental sustainability.

Perhaps CSLTC is driven by the fact that it is still a young program directed by three program coordinators per year who all leave their own footprints on the program. Perhaps it is driven by the passion and enthusiasm of the individual CSLTCers.

Or perhaps, as second-year Swagateeka Panigrahy reflects, it is driven by the mere simplicity of the program. "What I love is that CSLTC doesn't make too much of itself. At first, it may seem like a group of people who get together for service, but it quickly becomes a collaborative and diverse environment where you really begin to work through the consequences of service and your place in it. That's why these bonds are so strong."

For some of us, the Chinese New Year is a much awaited time of year. Mid-February means homemade dumplings, red envelopes filled with spending money, family and friends and an outburst of nostalgia for Chinese customs. But living on campus away from our families didn't stop my friends and I from celebrating the new year in our own way!

Arriving in old Chinatown around 11am on Sunday morning, we watched as the different restaurants, athletic and cultural clubs, employment unions and public schools put the finishing touches on their respective floats. The old men were beginning to light the fire beneath their drums, unwatched groups of little children were excitedly throwing handfuls of celebration sparks, and the crowd was already beginning to form, chattering together in Mandarin, Cantonese, English, Spanish, and all the languages in between.

Just as we were about to get lunch, the Chicago Chinatown Dragon Society appeared on the avenue, complete with drums, fire, and costumes. A huge crowd formed as the dragons danced right there on streetwalk in front of the Chinatown Public Library branch. Tommy Wong, the owner of Lao Sze Chuan in new Chinatown, conducted the performance and finished it off with a traditional flag dance.

Walking up and down Wentworth Ave, there wasn't a single bakery or restaurant that wasn't chock full with local Chicagoans. So instead of a deliciously cheap Chinese bun or an opulent dim sum brunch, we opted for a small restaurant tucked away in one of the side streets. New year decorations lined the windows, a freshly roasted duck hung next to the cashier, and green onion pancake upon green onion pancake sat along the front counter. Despite the huge influx of customers from the festivities, my friends and I enjoyed a huge family-style meal of spicy tofu, Chinese sausage, garlic spinach, and of course, rice, for just $12 total.

We finished lunch just as the parade was beginning. Approaching Wentworth, we could just see the color of red as it flickered above the heads of the spectators. Having made our way to the front, we could see the many different groups represented in the parade, waving, tossing candies, and wishing the new year luck. The parade didn't just include Chinatown organizations but several Chicago High School marching bands, a group of bagpipe players, the Taiwanese and the Korean cultural chapters of Chicago as well.

Returning to Hyde Park, we gathered in a friends' apartment with a big group of other UChicago students to make dinner dumplings from scratch. Together, we finished the night eating and toasting the new year.

I fell in love with Chicago long before I came to Chicago.

It was through Chicago writers like Nelson Algren and Carl Sandburg that I discovered its scruff, waste, and growth. It was because of their Chicago that I left everything behind for this city.

2 years ago I saw Chicago, the real Chicago, for the first time. Everything that I imagined so romantically was suddenly replaced by clean counters, glass doors, shiny cars and shiny tall buildings. Living here over time, I've forgotten the sadness that I felt when my naïve Chicago first started fall away. But that Chicago of mine, of Algren and Sandburg, was the very Chicago that came back to me Wednesday night from the stage of American Buffalo.

I've seen Steppenwolf productions before, but never on Chicago's Lincoln Park stage. The set was thoughtful and intricate, as conscious of the play as the actors themselves. Cluttered like your favorite junkshop with props from the Steppenwolf closet, the cashier read $5.20 and wooden chairs hung from the ceiling.

While the visual atmosphere was one of browsing and lingering, the dialog was light, crude, comic and fast-paced. The actors carried the audience quickly through subtexts of emotion, hinting at remorse for a city that was showing signs of change. Don, the aged and struggling owner of the junkshop, constantly watches over Bobby, the kid that loves him. Teach, their flashy poker friend, is frustrated and crude from always losing. These three were the only three we saw, the only actors on the stage. Each acting off the other, they stirred in us a certain timidity and fear. Afraid to be alone, afraid of change and new things, we all felt together as though our lovely shop of pastimes was threatened by the ruthlessly coming world outside.

Pushed by their surroundings to reveal their honest selves, Don and Teach worked themselves into a chaos, culminating with Teach ripping the calm, nostalgic, hovering atmosphere apart and supplanting their own atmosphere of anger, fear, and loneliness. It was in this state that Bobby, the kid that never did anything wrong and tried so hard to do things right, was the only one to say "I'm sorry."

And suddenly the play ended.

In the after-show discussion with assistant director Jamie Abelson, the audience members voiced their praise and their inquiries as well as their obvious love of Chicago. As Steppenwolf staff quietly put our favorite junkshop back together, we spoke of the Chicago World's Fair, the pigsticker, the accents and regional colloquialism.

We were Chicagoans and Americans, teenage, middle-age, and over-age, but all the same there was a strong sense of Chicago in the air. Together we revived our nostalgia for the same Chicago that I once fell in love with, that Teach violently missed and Don carefully watched over... that all of Chicago remembers.

Submitted by third-year Michael Carwile

I'm going to be direct and to the point - go to the Garfield Park Conservatory.

That means you, you student at the University of Chicago, you owe it
to yourself to get out there. It's simple, get on the Green Line, get
off at the stop called Conservatory. You'll see the thing from the
platform, you can't miss a 184-acre greenhouse. For all you folks
living in B-J and the new dorm, the 63rd and Cottage Grove stop is
half a mile a way. That's just half a mile you have to walk to get to
a land that's a perpetual seventy degrees. When the wind is freezing
your face off in February, the Garfield Park Conservatory is seventy
degrees and full of palm trees. When you're stuck in the slush and mud
in March, the Garfield Park Conservatory is seventy degrees and full
of palm trees. When it's April and still nothing is green outside, the
Garfield Park Conservatory is seventy degrees and full of palm trees.

Just so you know, the northern end of the natural range of the palm
tree is the South of France. And unless you're studying abroad in
Paris, you won't be going to the South of France any time soon. So get
yourselves out to the Garfield Park Conservatory!