A Minor Adjustment

Now that we've all weighed in on the good riddance of Karl Rove, let's talk about me for a moment.

First of all, it appears the commute issue is going to be ok. I have figured out a very nifty route and, if the first business day of this nonsense is any indication, so has just about everyone else. Which also means that I just bought myself an extra 30 minutes in the morning.

People heeded warnings, planned ahead, stuffed what few commuter trains we have and generally managed without major tie-ups of any sort. Frankly, I'm surprised. And I couldn't help but wonder if maybe when all this is over some of those folks mght not stay on the trains instead of climbing into their cars again.

Although, before I start waxing to Al Gorian, please note that I was driving my car and not using public transportation, nor would I use public transportation to get to this particular job because "public transportation" in Seattle doesn't approach meaning what it means in a place like Chicago which has trains that run, all the time, in varoius directions, etc. etc. etc.

Oh, I'm quite sure that you in Chicago and NY and SF and London and Paris and other sensible cities with some sort of subway/elevated/tram/train system would regaled me with a ton of stories about how your system isn't all that great/convenient/etc. And all I would say in answer to that is, "You have no idea what you're talking about".

But instead of boring you with the paucities of our "mass transit" (and oh, those are some air quotes just dripping with sticky sarcasm so watch your shoes) I would like to celebrate a mass transit system that I am very fond of. Today we celebrate the trains of Chicago.










Funny you-had-to-be-there story: after we left the dinner party we, Buck and the Iwanski-party-of-four took the train back downtown. This was very, very civilized and cosmopolitan. Late night, a bit more wine indulged than would be reasonable if one were driving a car, but no matter. We walked a very civilized number of blocks to the nearest train station and waited for very little time before the train arrived. A train which deposited us another very civilized number of blocks from home. This is how it is supposed to work. Anyhoo, I was quite full of joie de vie and "Chicago is the coolest city evah" and still flushed with the general excitement of being in the presence of greatness and I said, as we waited for the train, "Hey, everybody! Act like you're waiting for the train so I can take a picture!"





See? Casual.

On another note: working is hard.

(I said that with a really whiny baby voice, in case you couldn't tell).

I realize that there will be little sympathy coming from this hard-working crowd. And I don't want any. Chasing after a kid/keeping a house/volunteering/blahblahblahblahblahblah is certainly work and all that hooha. Balancing that and persuing avocations while actually engaged however briefly in a vocation: not easy. You knew that. I knew it, intellectually. Now the reality is kicking my arse.


Part of the challenge quite frankly has nothing to do with balancing things and everything to do with the fact that I have a tremendous amount to accomplish in a mere 3 weeks. And atop the organizing I am, by title, the Assistant to the Interim Director, which means admin-y stuff like letters and answering phones and all that sort of office-y stuff. And I find myself trying to walk a very thin line between learning enough to do an effective job without immersing myself in the work because I'm outie at the end of the month. Which is all to say that my brain hurt yesterday. Not a headache, a head hurt.

Also, and I know this sounds like whining but really I'm not, afternoon has never been my optimal time of day. I get home during the lowest bit of my energy cycle, or whatever you kids are calling it these days. For the next few weeks I must figure out how to regard the work I need to do for my real life (writing content for a website, updating the food blog, tending to family matters that require actual brain cells, etc.) without thumb-sucking and drooling.

Here's a picture of a man on the train in Chicago:


Hee.

I was thankful to come home to a very clean kitchen, courtesy of The Child, who took it upon herself to hand wash all the dishes that were not cleaned by the less than stellar performance of the dishwasher (again), and a clean Dog, again courtesy of The Child. She seems to be owning this latchkey kid thing with a fair amount of apblomb at the moment. I expect she'll be bored out of her mind by the end of the month but for now she's managing beautifully and I'm very proud of her.

A Little Song

(tap tap tap) Is this thing on? Can you hear me back there? Good. Good. I'd like to leave you with a little song. Hit it, boys.

Now this could only happen to a gal like me

And only happen in a town like this:

So may I say to each of you most gratefully

As I throw each one of you a kiss...
This is my kind of town, Chicago is
My kind of town, Chicago is
My kind of people, too,
People who smile at you And each time I roam, Chicago is Calling me home, Chicago is Why I just brim like a cloud
Its my kind of town. My kind of town, Chicago is My kind of town, Chicago is My kind of razzmatazz And it has, all that jazz And each time I leave, Chicago is Tuggin' my sleeve, Chicago is The constant food, Chicago is The killer views, Chicago is One town that won't let you down Its my kind of town.

Thank you. Thank you very much. Try the veal and don't forget to tip your waitress.

One More Chicago Related Story and Then I'll Shut Up About it For at Least 2 or 3 Posts

Thursday last ended with a show and dinner, but it began with a reunion. As we were fixing on taking off, Nicole et famille arrived in the US for a 3 week holiday. And, in a display of rather incredible friendship, they drove the 45 minutes or whatever it is from Jolliet, where they are staying with family, to meet up with us at Navy Pier. It wasn't only the drive from Jolliet, either. It was that they had just arrived the night before, were completely jet-lagged and had been up since 5 a.m. That is some serious dedication.

Navy Pier is the quintessential tourist destination, with it's Disney-esque influence, people in pirate costumes, carnival rides that cost entirely too much for what they are, shops selling all manner of useless memoriablia and all sorts of restaurants and kiosks full of food, food and more food. It is, in short, absolutely the sort of place I hate most and have the least need to ever visit.

Navy Pier does, however, afford some pretty kickin' views of the city.
It was also a comfortable 10(ish) block walk from the apartment. When we arrived, there she was, standing at the gate, waving.

Nicole and I have known each other for about 15 years, meeting shortly after I was married. We became instant friends and have managed to remain close despite her falling in love with a Frenchman, marrying him and staying in France to raise 2 bilingual babies. She claims we last saw each other in 1999, after she was married. That's a long time. So it was positively heartwarming to see her beautiful face. Although, I'd best get this out of the way: she hasn't changed a bit. So I kinda have to hate her now.

We went to some jazz themed place for lunch. Which was, for The Spouse and I, just salad because we really were all et out. The Child succumbed to baby back ribs and it was fun to watch both Nicole and her cheri ordering their lunch. She went for a BBQ sandwich. He wanted something "very American" and opted for a hamburger. And then the questions started, because you can't ever just order a hamburger, can you?

"Cheese on that?"

"Sure".

"Cheddar, Swiss, American, pepper jack or blue?"

He looked at me with his tired puppy dog French eyes. (Oh, those wicked eyes of his. He turned them upon me many years ago and said, with thick French accent, "I know you are afraid to fly, Lorraine, but it would mean so much if you would come to our wedding". I am a sucker for zee accent and zee puppy dog eyes. I digress).

"You want Cheddar", I said.

"Cheddar".

"Onions and mushrooms?"

The eyes again.

"Go for it".

"OK, sure," he says.

Poor guy. As if he wasn't already tired enough. 'Cause he also had to decide between french fries, soup or salad.

Lunch was fine and then we wandered off. We pursuaded Boy 1 to try Dippin Dots. "Are they good?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied. "Everything in America is good". (He's 5. And lives in France. Moving on).

Boy 2, however, insisted on proper American chocolate ice cream.

We admired the views.


The menfolk decamped to a beer garden (where there was a live karaoke band who included "Twist and Shout" in their repitoire and The Spouse, who didn't have his cell phone with him, kept waiting for us to return so he could have his Ferris Bueller moment. It never happened. He was sad).

The women folk and children wandered off to look at arty things and poke around in tourist shops.
We took the children off to ride on things.

This is a very huge Ferris wheel that looks very frightening, which is why I enlisted Nicole's niece to ride with The Child. What I didn't realize is that it is a very slow Ferris wheel that makes one revolution and then you get off. Kinda lame for $6 if you ask me but The Child thought it was super fantastic to be up so high.

And despite the heat, the crowds and my general lack of affection for such places, you can't beat the sight of truly happy kids.


The environment and the situation were not exactly conducive to the sort of heart-to-heart I was hoping to have with Nicole. They were accompanied by family members, who were very nice but had their own claim to the clan plus she was dealing with very sweet but quite tired enfants. There really was no possible way that we could have any sort of deep, meaningful conversation in the midst of all that. Which made me a little sad, just because I never, ever see her. But even if we couldn't be ensconced, just us two, in some little sidewalk cafe with a bottle of wine and all the afternoon stretching before us, it was still lovely to see her again, to be with her and to feel the comfortable ease that has always been the tenor of our friendship, no matter how much time or distance has spanned between us.

Sometimes just being together is enough. And when it isn't, you talk to your therapist.

"And how do you feel about that?"
"'Twist and Shout'. I just wanted to sing 'Twist and Shout'".

Dinner and a Show; Only the Other Way Around

Last Thursday we had the great and grand privilege of attending a performance of the Broadway hit, "Wicked".
It was playing at the Oriental Theatre, which was just as ornate, grand and encrusted with all manner of architectural goo-gawery as the name would suggest.

The Spouse and I read Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire a few years ago. Upon hearing it was going to be made into a musical our mutual response was, "HUH?" Nothing about the book suggests singing and dancing. The book is dark and a little sordid, heavy on characterization and fairly light on actual story. This is going to work as a musical?

No. It couldn't possibly. Which is why Winnie Holzman, who wrote the book for the musical played very fast and loose with Maguire's text. How fast and loose? The characters have the same names and maybe 3 or 4 things that happen in the book happen in the play and that's about it. The result is 2 hours and 15 minutes of something entirely reimagined but excellent in it's own right.

The show opens with Glinda asking the musical question: are people born wicked or do some have wickedness thrust upon them?

The musical answer isn't very complicated. Elphaba, with her green skin, has been on the outside all her life; unloved by her father, nursemaid to her sister, racked by guilt about things for which she's not even responsible. But she is smart. She has conviction, loyalty and a pretty centered moral compass. Her choices end up putting her on the wrong side of the status quo and that's when labels like "wicked" start getting bandied about. A victim of politics, she is made into the "other" that the Wizard of Oz necessarily needs in order to keep moving ahead with his agenda. (Dang. That is sounding so familiar, isn't it? You know, like when you call someone a traitor because they disagree with your war policy?)

Elphaba's foil is of course, Galinda...a bubbly, air-head blonde who knows all about what it is to be popular, but isn't half as clever as Elphaba. The play is more focused on the relationship of these two than I remember the book being, thus becoming a story about friendship and all that goes with it: loyalty, betrayal, reconciliation. Galinda might not be as smart as Elphaba, but she knows how to get what she wants and is willing to make whatever alliances she needs to get it.

When they call this a musical they aren't kidding. The show runs for 2 hours, 15 minutes and there are 21 songs. There is not a lot of talking or straight ahead acting in this production. It is just one song after another. Good songs, too. Composer and lyricist Stephen Swartz, he of "Pippin" and "Godspell", has a gift for the grand and soaring as well as the quiet and intimate (which usually ends up become grand and soaring anyway). And if there is a smidge of schmalz to his style, he's got the chops to keep it from running roughshod. There are some imminently singable tunes in this show and a few that will give you chills. (End of the first act? Hello!)

The show is also abundant in pure, good old fashioned stagecraft. The sets are terrific, with fabulous details but a measured simplicity the evoke rather than describe the scenes. There are unbelievably quick costume changes. And snaps to whoever did Elphaba's makeup because I don't know what product there is that can withstand the heat of the lights, plus all the hugging, running, dancing, and generally sweat-inducing activity of being on stage for almost the entire production.

Theater is still fairly pure, virtually untouched by CGI and blue screens and all the rest of it. If someone rises up in the air, you gotta figure out how to hoist 'em. If they melt through a floor, well, someone is going down through a trap door. If there are smoke and mirrors, they are real smoke and mirrors and no clever chappie with his computer and animation program are involved. There is a magic to the theater that film, however much we love it, can never lay claim to.

The show has some serious, dramatic moments, to be sure. And "a message". It is also pretty funny. There's just a lot of inherent comedy in a serious, green witch being college roomies with a pretty, blonde, sorority type. Not to mention the usually quite amusing throw-away references to the movie.

The Child was just beside herself, she loved the show so much. (And here's another difference between the two mediums: the show is absolutely child-friendly. The book not so much. It'll be at least another couple years before I'll let her read it).

I, however, expect to re-read the book soon. I don't, for example, remember the politics being that profound in the book. Or maybe it's just that when I read the book we still had habeaus corpus and domestic surveillance was just an Orwellian fiction. Let's just say it was hard not to compare the Wizard and his agenda to the current administration. And that was creepy.

To sum up: terrific show. Loved. It. Quintessential musical theater experience. I frankly went to the show with a large grain of salt. Too many raves always make me nervous. In this case, the product lives up to the hype. No sooner was it finished than The Child asked, "If this comes to Seattle can we...."

"Yes!" I replied. It really is that good.

Apres theater we went to Smith and Wollensky, a classic steakhouse right off the Dearborn St. bridge, next to our apartment. Because The Spouse really wanted to have a Chicago steak. I, still being full to the ears from all the week's eating, settled for a bowl of soup. Which was only the most gorgeous bowl of black bean soup I've ever had and let me tell you, I have had some mighty fine black bean soup in my day. The Child opted for a Caesar salad, which was bigger than her head but she ate almost all of it. And we were very happy with our simple fare, even as The Spouse dug into a beautiful looking slab of porterhouse. He wanted to bring the bone home as a souvenir for The Dog. I don't think I was wrong to suggest that he not. Oddly, there was just enough room for a delicious bit of Key lime pie, which was a triumph of balance between the shut-off-your-airways tartness inherent in Key limes and just enough sugar to tame but not cloy.



Just another night on the town in Chicago.

There's No Place Like Home; Unless, Of Course, It's Your Home Away from Home

It is lovely to be home, to our silly little dog and our miffed cat (she only just came in this morning, because The Dog's sister was here until yesterday). It's good to see tomatoes finally on the vine and all the overgrown mint and chamomile and grape vines that are threatening to start their own country. It's good to be able to go have wine with The Neighbor and sleep in our own beds. It was good to go to church yesterday and be surrounded by our familiar community.

But.

And it's a big "but".

Last week in Chicago reminded me of something. I'm a city girl. More specifically, a downtown city girl.

Oh, sure, it's great that we have a little house within the city limits and that, if the traffic lights are cooperating, we're no more than 10-12 minutes from the downtown core. I am not complaining. I am grateful.

But I like downtown city living. I like the views and the architecture and the noise. I like the people on the streets and being able to walk out the door and be in a restaurant or shop or what-have-you within a couple of blocks. I like the throb and hum of urban places.

Every time I've ever been in a big city, I've felt the same way...at home. New York, London, Vancouver, BC, even Dallas (although I cannot see myself ever living in Dallas), San Francisco. And now, Chicago.

I don't know that I've expressed this strongly enough. I. Loved. Chicago. Loved. It. That whole condo in Chicago thing? All that stands between us and its realization is a bucket of money. Seriously.

And there's no question that some of what I'm feeling right now...a little yearning tinged with a little homesickness, has to do with the fact that we now have good friends in Chicago. Wonderful people who I miss already. Which is silly since I can visit on the front porch of their blogs any time I want. But still. I ♥ those Chicago bloggers.

It should be noted, however, that if we ever were to actually live in Chicago I would have to have a personal trainer. I came home with 6 pounds that I didn't leave with. And sure, a few salads and some vigorous walks with The Dog and it'll all be gone again. But here's the thing: what do I do about this insatiable craving for deep dish pizza?

Ok, so my title thingy isn't working. I find that exceedingly annoying.

Right.

We are safely home. All is well. I miss Chicago already.

Days of blog fodder yet to come, if you can stand it.

Take Nothing But Photographs, Leave Nothing But Footprints

No time for intensive blogging today. Must away to a breakfast spot called "Orange" that The Child is keen on. (French toast kabobs and fruit sushi. Well, of course). Then, finally, to the Art Institute. Then it's home to meet Jon for lunch, tidy up and get ourselves to Midway for the flight home.

There is still much to show and tell. Food. "Wicked". Food. But that will have to wait for home.

It will be good to be home. The Dog will, we're sure, levitate when he sees us. The Cat will, no doubt, shun us for several days to let us know how displeased she is that we abandoned her for lo these many days. And that's as it should be. It is always nice to get home from a long trip, to sleep in one's own bed, to be in one's own neighborhood. But even so, I feel like I'm leaving my other neighborhood. I know the fabled song refers to San Francisco but I'm leaving part of my heart in Chicago.

Hi. I'm Not Hungry.

We recovered sufficiently to have dinner at Lao Szechaun. Ouch.

The food was very, very good; the company even better. We met up with Harry, Jack and Steve (from the other night) plus their friend Ken and his buddy Euan. And then we ate and ate and ate and then I wanted to die. Mineral water is my friend.

Last night, while The Spouse and I were enjoying some wine on the Balcony of Terror, crazy weird clouds started billowing across the sky. It looked like the pipe smoke of a giant. The clouds massed together and came down to earth and for a little while there I think we both had visions of spending the night in the bathroom, hiding from a tornado. But it wasn't a tornado. Silly us.

The day has again dawned clear and warm. We'll be setting off soon to meet up with Nicole et famille for lunch at Navy Pier and then our fam will finally head to the Art Institute. Jon and maybe Iwanskis are coming for cocktails, then we go see "Wicked" and are planning on an apres theatre dinner at the steakhouse by our building because The Spouse has yet to indulge in a Chicago steak. I personally will be dining on 3 lettuce leaves dressed with salt.

Some Observations and Some Food

Yesterday we went out for lunch at Iwanski's favorite hot dog joint.

A classic Chicago dog. Yum.
Words to live by.

Then The Child and I went out and did a little shopping. It was a little warmer yesterday than it has been, but still lovely.


The afternoon was all about getting ready for the Trailer Trash party. Merlene Hogswaller, fixin' up some of her dandy devilled eggs.


'Cause any proper Trailer Trash party starts with real good horses ovaries. And Miss Healthypants brought the fried pork rinds to round out the spread.
Talk about good! Corn dogs, baked beans, tater salad and a nice red Jell-o.
Cousin John Bob brought his real fancy NASCAR cooler full of some right fine beer.
The Mouse family came on up 'cause ain't no party complete without 'em anymore. (I'm really hoping they'll come out for my birthday party in September. If you are looking for property in the Chicago area, please contact the Mouse and let her sell you something).
Since The Spouse's Trailer Trash name is Buck, we had to call the actual Buck Two Buck. (Did you know that if he'd been a girl his folks were going to name him Jacqueline Creama? Creama Wheat. Seriously. He even called his mom to confirm the story. And then we passed the phone around the room to tell her what a lovely son she has).
John Bob, posin' fer the Kodak.
MHP and The Child, doin' the Shimmy Shimmy Shake.
On the roof for the fireworks show.
Jon makes watermelon daiquiris. I'm not a fan of the watermelon. But his drinks were really delicious. Went down real smooth. Stubbed my head on 'em, but sometimes you pay the price. Paying the price. That would also be why after all this eating I look 5 months pregnant.

Climbed a grueling 11 floors to the roof to watch the fireworks (using the elevators wasn't even an option as everyone in the building plus all their guests were headed up there as well)and then came back down to sit out on the "front porch" some more and talk and laugh and call both The Neighbor and JP and pass the phone around so everyone got to talk to them.

Iwanski finally hit his wall and went home like a sane person. But Buck, MHP and the fam were just getting started. So we did karaoke until 4 am.

At one point, well before the daiquiris had kicked in, I announced that I felt truly blessed to be in Chicago with this particular group of people. It was just the truth. And later, in the midst of much conviviality, Iwanski said, "Can you believe we just met 3 days ago?". Because, you know, there we all were just hanging in that totally comfortable way that friends do.

And I observed that when I told people we were making this trip to meet people I knew from the interwebs, there were often those who would lift and eyebrow or make a remark like, "Wow. Hope they aren't serial killers". (Which was silly because what are the odds that they'd all be serial killers? I mean, really. The odds of that would have to be like, what? really, really high).

But here's the thing: we weren't the only ones taking a risk. Crikey, for all Buck knew we were going to come here and sell all his stuff on eBay. And it should also be noted here, since I noted it last night, that this trip could certainly have gone the other way. Serial killers and scam artists aside, we could have discovered that all we had in common was the fact that we blogged. We could have spent 2 minutes saying "Hi, how are ya?" and then just sat around awkwardly, wondering how we were going to stand to be around each other for a week. Or we could even have found each other really obnoxious.

JP and I have talked about this before, about this magical little circle of bloggers we've found and our friendly little virtual neighborhood. And we talked about it again last night and how superfantastic it is that our expectations about these particular people have been met and exceeded. If I lived in Chicago I would totally hang with these people. And I think they'd let me hang with them. It's just a gift, puppies. A sheer, unmitigated gift.

Oh, and a big storm blew in last night, as we sat out there on the Balcony of Terror, watching a million people trying to get out of the city. (Bwahahaha). We'd been hearing about these legendary Chicago thunder storms and it was impressive. The Child was inside when it started and came out at the first flash.

"What was that?" she asked, all saucer eyed.

"God's fireworks".

"Oh. Cool".

Today has been spent in recovery mode...cleaning up, resting our heads and watching what appears to be an airing of every episode ever of "Twin Peaks" (which was one of my favorite shows ever). There has been some napping. And mineral water. And The Child continues to explore the wonders of Easy Cheese.

In a bit we're going to head for Chinatown and a much ballyhooed dinner at Lao Sze Chaun

I will not be eating beef maw.

Oh, and happy birthday America.