Chicago’s fall lineup just got a whole lot louder, prouder, and unapologetically extra. The Emmy-winning World of Wonder is bringing its first-ever immersive fan activation, Drag Race: The Experience, to the city—transforming a stretch of Logan Square into a living, breathing episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race.

Opening this November, the limited-run attraction invites fans to step through the looking glass and into the high-glam, high-drama universe built by RuPaul. This isn’t just a photo-op factory—it’s a full-bodied dive into the franchise’s mythology, where charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent aren’t just catchphrases, they’re the price of admission.

Set inside a pop-up space at 2367 W Logan Blvd, the experience recreates the show’s most iconic environments with obsessive detail. Think the Werk Room buzzing with anticipation, the chaotic brilliance of Snatch Game, and the Main Stage runway where dreams are made—or read to filth. There’s a Confessional Room for your inner monologue, a real-life All Stars Hall of Fame, and interactive challenges designed to test whether you can actually back up your lip-sync-in-the-mirror fantasies.

And yes, there’s a twist of tech-fueled camp: the “Dragrulator,” a transformation experience that lets guests leave with a stylized portrait of their most fabulous alter ego.

“We’re untucking and taking you behind the one-way mirror,” said World of Wonder co-founders Fenton Bailey and Randy Barbato, leaning into the show’s signature wink. Translation: you’re not just watching the illusion—you’re part of it.

Tickets drop in two tiers, including a VIP option that offers flexible entry, a meet-and-greet with a featured Drag Race queen inside the Untucked Lounge, and a discount on exclusive merch that will undoubtedly sell out before you can say “shantay, you stay.” The activation will run weekends only, adding a sense of urgency to what’s already shaping up to be one of the season’s most buzzed-about pop culture events.

Beyond the walkthrough, the space doubles as a hub for screenings, premiere parties, and one-off events tied to the ever-expanding global Drag Race universe. It’s part fan service, part nightlife experiment, and part cultural flex—another reminder that drag isn’t just performance, it’s economy, identity, and community.

For Chicago—a city that’s long nurtured its own fiercely independent drag scene—this glossy, franchise-backed spectacle lands somewhere between validation and disruption. But one thing’s certain: come November, Logan Boulevard won’t just be a street. It’ll be a runway.

There’s a certain kind of confidence you need to remix a Chicago staple. Not arrogance—something closer to instinct. The kind that tells you a pastrami-topped pizza might actually work, especially if you grew up eating both sides of that equation.

Billy Litsogiannis—better known around West Town as Pizza Boy Billy—has spent more than a decade dialing in that instinct at Tortorice’s Pizza. His menu leans familiar at first glance—thin crust, hearty sandwiches, classic sides—but look closer and you’ll find the edges pushed just enough to keep things interesting. A drizzle of hot honey over pepperoni and sausage. A crust that carries more than it should. A willingness to experiment without losing the neighborhood.

His latest swing? A collaboration inspired by Manny’s Cafeteria & Delicatessen—yes, that Manny’s. The result is a pastrami-topped pizza that somehow feels less like a stunt and more like a natural extension of Chicago’s anything-goes food DNA. It’s salty, smoky, indulgent, and just a little bit chaotic—in other words, it works.

And now, Billy’s leaning all the way into the moment.

On March 26, in honor of March Madness, Pizza Boy Billy is giving away free slices all day long at Tortorice’s Pizza (West Town.) No gimmicks, no hoops—just walk in and grab a slice. It’s the kind of old-school neighborhood gesture that feels increasingly rare, and exactly on brand for a guy who’s built his reputation as much on generosity as on flavor.

That generosity isn’t new. During the height of COVID-19, Billy quietly funneled pizzas to hospitals and first responders, keeping kitchens running when the city felt like it might stall out. These days, he’s still showing up—donating meals to local schools, community groups, and Chicagoans who need them most.

For Billy, the pizza is the hook. The community is the point.

There’s a reason regulars keep coming back to Grand Avenue. It’s not just the crust, or the toppings, or even the novelty of a deli-meets-pizzeria mashup. It’s the feeling that this place—like the best Chicago spots—belongs to the people who walk through its doors.

And on March 26, it belongs to anyone who’s hungry.

There are films we admire, films we revisit—and then there are films that rearrange us.

For Daniel Kraus, Night of the Living Dead was never just a movie. It was a language, a mirror, and, at times, a lifeline.

In his haunting and deeply introspective new book, Partially Devoured: How Night of the Living Dead Saved My Life and Changed the World, Kraus delivers something far more expansive than film criticism. What unfolds is a kaleidoscopic meditation on art and survival—where the grainy black-and-white terror of George A. Romero’s 1968 horror landmark collides with the author’s own childhood marked by isolation and violence.

Kraus first encountered the film at five years old. For most, that might be an anecdote. For him, it became a lifelong obsession—one he estimates has spanned over 300 viewings. But repetition, in this case, wasn’t about fandom alone. It was excavation. Each revisit unearthed deeper emotional truths, linking the film’s stark, apocalyptic imagery to the private fears and traumas of his upbringing.

The result is a book that refuses easy categorization. Moving frame-by-frame through Night of the Living Dead, Kraus threads together cultural history, psychological inquiry, and memoir with an urgency that feels almost confessional. It’s a narrative that oscillates—sometimes violently—between screaming humor and profound grief.

Early praise suggests the book lands with force. Booklist has already called it “storytelling at its finest,” invoking the emotional precision of The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion. Meanwhile, two-time Pulitzer Prize winner Colson Whitehead describes Kraus as “a sly, sympathetic, and funny tour guide,” praising the book as both a tribute to guerrilla filmmaking and a meditation on the fragile miracle of artistic creation.

That duality—between grit and grace—is where Kraus thrives.

Already a literary force, Kraus has built a career navigating the porous boundaries between horror and humanity. His novel Whalefall earned a front-cover review in The New York Times Book Review and widespread acclaim, while his collaborations with Guillermo del Toro—including The Shape of Water and Trollhunters—have bridged literary storytelling with cinematic spectacle. He also co-wrote The Living Dead and Pay the Piper with Romero, cementing a creative lineage that now finds its most personal expression in Partially Devoured.

But this latest work feels different—rawer, riskier.

It asks a deceptively simple question: What happens when a piece of art doesn’t just influence you—but helps you survive?

In tracing the cultural aftershocks of Night of the Living Dead—a film that redefined horror, race, and independent cinema—Kraus also maps the quieter, more intimate terrain of memory. The monsters on screen may be fictional, but the emotional truths they unlock are anything but.

And in that uneasy space between fear and recognition, Partially Devoured finds its power.