On the days when Chicagoist indulges the little ten-year old boy inside of our collective self (we call him Renaldo), we like to pretend that we have a secret identity that allows us to roam the city at night and fight crime. We put on a cool mask and cape to hide our alter ego and run around our apartment yelling “Have no fear, citizens! The Blogger-er is here!” until our significant other gets home and tells us to cut it out or there will be a revocation of carnal privileges. more ›