Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

So, as I venture home this weekend, I would like to reflect back on the weekend before and my adventures in Washington, DC. Now, it was a weekend filled with seeing my sister, throwing a party, attending a party, messing with cats, shopping for things I don't need, having lunch with busboys and poets, seeing old friends, watching movies, reading gossip magazines, rolling in the Goodwill van, and finding out that I don't really miss the city aside from the occasional visit.

But what will make me remember this trip a year from now, was the massive effort it took to get from O'Hare airport to my apartment the Sunday I arrived back in Chicago. Let me preface this tale of woe with the fact that it took longer for me to get from the northside of Chicago to the southside, than it did for me to travel from DC back to Chicago in the first place.

Let's start with the ill-begotten notion, when talking to my Dad, that it wouldn't take more than a little over an hour, maybe 1.5 hours to get home from the airport. I hop on the blue line ready to zone out until we hit the loop when suddenly, post-departure, someone from the CTA announces that the blue line is under repair and everyone has to get off at Cumberland (about 2 stops from the airport), board a shuttle bus that will stop at Harlem and then drop us off at Jefferson park (2 stops down) to reboard the train. Fine, whatever - I only had carry-ons with me and was traveling light. Too bad the princess in front of me decided that she had needed two huge suitcases, and a bag, and decided to throw a fit all they way to the bus, on the bus, and during the entire bus ride, and again afterwards. She can't handle all of her crap and halfway back the bus announces that she can't go any farther. She kept going, though. I'm not sure why, maybe in the spirit of goodwill, maybe due to the fact that one should always head towards the back of the bus, maybe because I was right behind her glaring like I was a serial killer - not sure, really.

Anyway, 30 minutes later, we're back at the train station and 20 minutes after that the train actually arrives. I get downtown, go above ground and race towards my bus stop - yes, so close to home, and warmth!

Except for the fact that as I was rounding the corner, my bus flew by and I had to wait another 20 minutes for the next one to come. By this time I was tired and had salt all over my jeans from the various transfers in the snow.

Anyway, my ambitious plans of flying in, making some dinner, cleaning, and doing laundry turned into a $2 slice of pizza, messing with my cat, and going to bed early. I know, you're jealous, right?

In the end it only took my almost 2.5 hours to get home - that's not bad right.

Oh, and to the princess on the bus - one word for you - taxi.

Things Remembered

So, Christmas always makes me nostalgic. Not necessarily for past Christmases, but for growing up in Indy. Knock Indiana if you like (and many moviemakers/songwriters/TV writers do), but it's truly good times. So in honor of my nostalgia, and of Christmas, here is my Top 10 things I miss from growing up (not necessarily in order).
10) Shooting hoops with my Dad in the evenings - and him waiting 30 minutes until I could make a hook shot.
9) Coming inside the house to the air-conditioning after a long tennis match.
8) Christmas bazaars at my church and the high school with my Mom and Sis when I was younger
7) 4-H County Fair - mmmm....elephant ear with extra butter
6) The smell of the grass right after it was cut
5) Breadsticks and cheese at the Noble Romans with friends
4) Thursday night marching band practice in the fall
3) High school basketball games in the winter
2) Getting up on 5am on Saturdays to go to speech contests (bonus points for Mom getting up with me to clear the ice from the car)
1) Laying in the bench swing as the sun sets on my Grandparents' farm

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

So, yesterday, bright and early, I packed for the day including gym clothes for when my work day was over. I had gone the day before and was determined to overcome my overwhelming hatred of everything gym-like and actually make use of my year membership. I'm not sure what it is about the gym that I dislike so much - I've tried for years to adjust. Maybe it's the mass of people on quasi-torture like machines stuffed in spandex looking like they're in pain or having birth. Maybe it's knowing that I have to wait in line to actually become that person myself. Maybe it's just aesthetically crappy.

Either way, by the end of the day yesterday, I had completely talked myself out of going to the gym. The weather was crappy and I was tired. Yet as I hopped on the #6 bus, the guilt began to gather. I had promised myself that I would really try to keep going, and here I was on Wednesday skipping out. So as soon as I got to my apartment I changed into workout clothes, and spent 1/2 hour doing lunges, situps, medicine ball work, and pushups. Yet, at the end, the guilt was even worse - saturating my comfortable apartment and forcing me into my warmest clothes to go for a run/walk outside in 3 inches of snow. As I grabbed my Ipod, I looked over to my chubby kitty. He was on his back, tummy in the air, licking his favorite green fur toy - oblivious to my need to exercise.

It started, really, as an exercise in futility. Snow and ice everywhere. But stubborness prevailed, and I managed a workout of about 40 minutes - I decided when two cars slid on the ice and collided about 5 feet from me, that I'd had enough.

I also had a minor, if significant, epiphany. A major reason that I detest the gym so much is because of the monotony. You run, but you don't go anywhere. You don't talk to anyone really, but there are people everywhere. Last night, I had good tunes, a beautiful night sky, and great scenery - I enjoy seeing the people out and getting to know my neighborhood. I like running and actually going somewhere. Granted, those preferences will probably play second fiddle when the snow reaches over a foot and the temperature dips into the negatives numbers. Then, off to the gym. Maybe I'll get used to it, or then again, maybe I'll just whine about it until the spring..haha.

Tiny Dancers

The Nutcracker - who's excited? This girl right here.

Went home to Indy for the aforementioned Christmas tradition of seeing Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker with my dad. I took the Megabus home on Friday (don't knock it 'til you've tried it). Saturday during the day I just goofed around with my mom - hit up Target, checked out a great new dollar store, saw my grandmother - good times. Laid around on the recliner for a good two hours reading a John Grisham book and discovered that I really like his stuff - The Broker is the first one of his that I've read.

Finally, time for the show. My dad and I set out for Butler University where we were seeing the ballet. Luck would have it that there was a Butler basketball game the same night at the Fieldhouse which is about four blocks away from the theater - eek! Yet, I have to give huge props to BU for making the wickedly brilliant decision to not allow anyone without ballet tickets to park in the lots around the performance hall - we got to park close:)

The performance itself was great - wonderful choreography, orchestra was brilliant, and the costumes had been updated a little bit, but looked great! One little angel (she had to be about 4 or 5) unfortunately wiped out at the beginning of the 2nd act, but she popped back up like a champ and kept dancing.

Post-The Nutcracker, we hit up a White Castle (I know, you wish you were classy like me) for hamburgers and mozzarella sticks - tasted so good!

I have to say, the best part is, though, knowing that my dad and I have this great tradition together and that it's is definitely something to look forward to each year.

Favorite Nutcracker memory # 2: The year that the Nutcracker's head popped off after he was supposed to be fixed, the Nutcracker dropped the Sugar Plum Fairy, a snow angel almost popped out of her costume, and at least 3 other dancers wiped out. Note to self - no more opening nights:)

Slacking

When it comes to blogging, that's EXACTLY what I've been doing. No excuses - I know many doubt that I can stick with such a venture, but I'm here for the long haul, folks. Or, at least until my old computer overheats and dies - which could be in a matter of minutes given that I pretty much have 2nd degree burns on my legs from having my computer on my lap. I hope you all enjoy the new format of the blog - I need something more aesthetically pleasing as I write my musings on the world and life - or create lists because I really have nothing of value to add on that given day:) Such is the case today...nothing special - just a busy day, messy apartment, chubby cat sleeping - pretty much same old, same old.

Except this is the weekend that I go see The Nutcracker. I know it's the White Zin of ballets, but I love it. More importantly, this performance is a Christmas tradition for my Dad and me. Since sixth grade, each year we have gone to a performance, mostly favoring the excellent production put on by Butler University in Indianapolis. Performed at Clowes Hall, the dancers are always excellent. When I was stuck in DC last year and couldn't make it back, Dad flew out for less than 48 hours, so we would still be able to see a Nutcracker together - if that isn't Christmas spirit, I don't know what is:) So, I'm off to Indy this weekend and will report back.

Favorite Nutcracker tradition #1: One year, the Arabian Dance in the second act was hot. As in not child appropriate, slithering dance moves, sensual costumes, asking the person next to me for a cigarette hot. Unfortunately, hasn't happened since then - ha.

Top 10 Scary Movies of All Time (Sort of)

In honor of laziness, here is a top 10 list instead of something profound...my Top 10 Scary Movies of All Time (without any research done)...enjoy:

10) House of Wax (New version): Paris Hilton acting in a movie with other people and a budget over 1 million...scary
9) Rumor Has It: I think Jennifer Aniston gets it on with Kevin Costner who actually had sex with her grandmother also...not sure, haven't seen it...too scared to see if the "rumors" are true.
8) National Treasure: Nic Cage gets the girl - the former Helen of Troy - no way - and the impossible is scary.
7) Alien vs. Predator: Scariest feeling from that movie was the fact that well, that someone made it, and also end up feeling the pain of the the Predator! This guy ripped a guy's spine out in the first movie and then let "Ahnold" live!!! And I feel sorry for him? Scary.
6) The Bone Collector: Forget the murderer - what's scary is that at the end of the movie, it takes the NYPD over 10 minutes to respond to an emergency call and still not make it until after Angelina Jolie's character arrives even though they were all at the same place, working off the assumption that no cops were closer. Sucks to have an emergency with that response time.
5) Vanity Fair: Reese Witherspoon as a temptress - I'm scared that somewhat thought that was a viable concept that could be sold.
4) Van Helsing: Werewolves? Check! Vampires? Check? Frankenstein's Monster? Check! Dracula's Brides? Check! Vampire Hunter? Check! Eerie, semi-inbred villagers? Check! Monk, no, I'm sorry - friar, with a sex scene? Now that's scary!!
3) Pirates of the Caribbean III: Orlando Bloom procreating...yeah, that's scary enough - all I got.
2) Exit to Eden: Rosie O'Donnell in tight black leather, flashing skin...must get image out of head.
1) At Play in the Fields of the Lord: Kathy Bates...naked...rolling around in mud...'nuff said.

3 shows, 2 days, 1 mom

So, as I sit here in pain from my free personal training session, I would like to look back to happier times when I could still raise my hands above my head...this weekend. So, you know when you hits your mid-20s and it's absolutely great to have your parents visit - often. Well, I am definitely at that stage. The past few years, I been both in Texas and Washington D.C. which are technically not in the vicinity of Indianapolis, so I've really enjoyed being closer to my family and seeing them more than 2-3 times a year. Especially since I have a wanderlust and 2 years from now could be in Instanbul for all I know. So, let's take advantage of the time we have, shall we??? Anyhoo, onwards and upwards. This past weekend had been planned for awhile, I got comp tickets to see Frederica von Stade in concert a couple of months ago. Then, when my mom said yes to coming with me (von Stade is one of my fave singers), then I got tickets to Wicked for another night. A couple of weeks ago, I found out I had to work this weekend at the CSO children's Halloween concert, Hallowed Haunts - The Composer is Dead. Kind of hectic weekend, but fantabulous nonetheless. Friday night was homemade Mexican and the movie Pan's Labyrinth - super fun night in. Saturday was the Halloween concert, an amazing show that will be published as a book/CD next year - written my Lemony Snicket!! Wicked was great - I had seen the show a couple of years ago in NYC, but wanted to share it with the mother figure, another great lover of musical theatre. Sunday morning was brunch and walking around Hyde Park, and then the von Stade concert. Can I just say how amazing she is? Because she is amazing- amazing voice, great entertainer. Some weekends, I like to play hermit, but it was great to get out these past few days and tread the pavement in the city. Now if I could only feel my legs.

Passion

So, haven't managed to blog in awhile, but it has been crazy lately! A couple of weekends ago was the Macy's Day of Music here at the CSO and we had over 10,000 people show up! Needless to say - it was a long day. But, I did make time last week to go see a show with a friend from grad school. She got reduced tickets to Sondheim's Passion which is playing at Chicago Shakespeare Theater starring Ana Gasteyer (of SNL fame, although she did premier, as Elphaba, in the Chicago Wicked). I didn't have huge expectations, Sondheim is often hard to pull off, Passion was the shortest running Best Musical ever, and Ihad my doubts about Gasteyer's singing. Oh, and how wrong I was - the show was amazing! Very intimate setting, great voices, really tight staging, strong chorus - loved it. I'm not a diehard Sondheim fan - I have really fond memories of Sweeney Todd as the first show that I worked on in a professional setting and now I love it. Sunday in the Park with George (ahhh, Mandy Patinkin) and Into the Woods are other favorites. Passion, will not, I think, be a show that I listen to repeatedly, but it is in and of itself a very dark and gripping story: unrequited love, adultery, isolation, ugliness, betrayel, and sickness. Those elements make for a great Law & Order:SVU episode, but aren't something I typically look for in my musicals. The stars aligned for this show, however, and Ana Gasteyer's realistic, incredibly believable performance as Fosca really brought the show to a higher level and I have to say, although rather depressed as the last note was sung, Passion lives up to its name.

Saturday Night Fever

In my never ending quest to avoid the gym, but still stay in shape, I got it in my head to take dance class once a week. In order to get variety, I took a basic jazz class. During most classes, it's the normal, Broadway-esque moves to music. This past Wednesday though, we danced to a blast from the past, and it was once again confirmed for me that I just might have been born in the wrong era.

Picture this, you're in a club, shakin' watcha mama gave ya and rockin' it right. Suddenly, some guy is behind you grinding like it's going out of style and any aspect of "personal space" is a thing of the past. Not cool...and not hot, either...Seriously

Now, picture this, the music's hot, everyone is rockin' out with smooth moves and some kickin' threads. Suddenly the floor lights up and Donna Summer is dancin' her last dance'. Oh yeah, I'm saying it...disco, my friend. Love it or hate it, no one can stand still when the music comes on.

How is this all connected? Because this past Wednesday, my jazz class ended with some mad disco moves. We did it all - guns at the hips, strutting, posing, the crossed arms while pointing with two fingers, and yes, the infamous hip thrust/point the finger up made famous in Saturday Night Fever. While visions of John Travolta danced in my head, the class learned the routine, and not ONE person could finish it without cracking a big grin - who doesn't know disco? Who isn't at least somewhat impressed with the moves and the music that goes hand in hand? Who isn't impressed with Travolta's moves in Saturday Night Fever and his hot pants in Staying Alive? The best thing since Sean Connery in Darby O'Gill and the Little People.

But I digress...what I'm trying to say is that the disco finale to my Wednesday class made me yearn for the time when "clubbing" didn't mean getting drunk, rubbing against total strangers, or music that can sometimes make the ears bleed. Don't get me wrong, I love to hit the dance floor as much as anyone else, but I have to say, sometimes I wish that disco might not have had to have it's "last dance."

You know you've had a crazy family weekend when...

Usually, when I go home for the weekend, which isn't often, it's fairly relaxing and uneventful. This past weekend, that was totes not the case. So, I bring to you, as I'm tired and feel that listing is currently my bff:

10 signs you've had a crazy family weekend:
1) Your mom cooks - I don't know about you, but my mom only cooks when it's gettin' crazy.
2) You ask your grandmother for any LPs she has - and she breaks out a huge stack of records that cost less than $1 each.
3) You watch your youngers cousins, and then JOIN your younger cousins in doing the "Soulja Boy" dance.
4) Your grandparents are watching during the above said dance...although I'm confident that my grandfather had no idea what he was listening to/watching.
5) You see more than two people you know at Red Lobster.
6) You almost adopt another cat.
7) Your mom is wearing red glitter heels to church.
8) You managed to stop at the Tasty treat before it closed for the season.
9) You hang out with your best girlfriend from junior high who is married, bought a house, and just had a baby (hey, that's mad crazy to me).
10) You are more tired after two days with your parents than you are after an all-nighter of partying.

This ain't your high school French

I decided several weeks ago that I wanted to whip my waning French skills back into shape. So, I went to the Alliance Francais de Chicago (part of a worldwide system of alliances dedicated to sharing the French language and culture) and took a verbal/written test. Shockingly, I remembered more than I thought I had from high school and one year of college French. I signed up for level 4 twice a week. And has it been hilarious/nervewracking/really great. In school, French class revolved around workbooks, pop quizzes, bad French-Canadian music videos ("Bonjour la police!" anyone?), sing La Marseillaise in front of the class, and cultural videos where everyone wore clothes made popular sometime in 1983. Now, everyone, for the most part, are working adults with very different goals - we've voluntarily signed up and paid for classes. Some come just to enjoy another language or to improve their business skills, and for myself, I'm working for my French language certification. As a result, the classes are smaller, students seem more creative and open to making mistakes, and the conversation varies wildly. In the last three weeks, in various tenses, we have discussed prostituting oneself to pay for vacation, the lack of attractiveness of Madeleine Albright, and how Coco Chanel was a Nazi symphathizer. I sincerely don't remember these topics coming up before. And covering major questions like "Qui est le chacal?" during our movie discussions. And, while some of my friends can't fathom why I want to return to the classroom twice a week on top of a full time job, for me these few hours a week are a respite from reality and a chance to delve into a beautiful culture and language and to bond with my fellow students who otherwise would have been strangers. Viva la difference!

The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round

My personal message to my fellow CTA bus riders:
-If you are sitting next to me talking to your boyfriend, please do not cover the following topics: your last argument, why you don't feel he cares enough about your day, how much you love him more than his last girlfriend, sex, and how he is too close to his mother.
-Pushing directly on the person in front of you does not by default make everyone on the bus move to the back.
-If you have the skill to paint your nails bright red while riding the bus, then keep on, keepin' on.
-The advantage of you having headphones on is negated if you sing outloud, just sayin'.
-Cussing out the bus driver makes the ride equally uncomfortable for everyone.
-I am all about preaching the gospel, but there is definitely a time and place, both of which is when I am not there.
-I respect the fact that you hate your mother, but telling her in no uncertain terms what you think of her while she is sitting next to you and I am sitting in front of both of you is definitely not cool.
- I understand that you are elderly and should have priority in seating, but asking someone to get up out of there seat (while there are a ton of other empty seats) because it's your favorite and standing right in front of that said someone until s/he gives in and gets up is not part of the deal.
-If you are the same person who painted your nails flawlessly and then reached in to your bag to put lotion on while NOT messing up your nails, then I still have a lot of respect for you, because you have produced a miracle.

Back to the Midwest

So, really, I'm a failure when it comes to blogging. BUT with a new city, a new job, and a new apartment, I feel (wait for it) newly inspired. Winding down my almost two-month stint as the posterchild for wild happiness, I am settling down in Chicago and figuring out what exactly I'm doing - yes, who's excited? Between moving, figuring out the bus system, and vainly teaching Sugar that Taco Bell's idea of fourthmeal does not apply to cats, it's been a little crazy. My ND friend, we'll call her Sarita, has been visiting these past couple days and reminded me how far I've coming from the Domer life - 3 years and counting. And here I am now, starting my second year in corporate development after swearing up one side and down the other I would never be a fundraiser. Note to self: no more swearing. When I tell people that I work in arts administration, I find myself continually trying to explain exactly what that is and why I would choose that career, and does that mean I'm a performer? I'm sorry to say that no one wants to hear me sing/play an instrument unless some sort of alcohol is involved - on their part:) But to continually be intertwined into the world of performance and knowing that I raise money that makes it happen is why I do what I do. I may not be able to call a show, direct a scene, or lead a rehearsal, but I can write proposals, conduct research, and whip up final reports like a champ. And yes, it's thrilling, and don't knock it 'til you've tried it:) Plus, sitting in an empty box watching the CSO peformance, led by Riccardo Muti, of Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 6 (my personal fave) just makes it all worth it.