A blushing rose in every cheek

Vegemite
Originally uploaded by Miss Gab.

I am not a diplomat. I can be diplomatic when I need to be, but I am not officially employed as a diplomat. And yet, I get very irritated at myself when I commit cultural faux pas, particularly in front of other Aussies.

Last night I went along to a board meeting of the Midwest's chapter of an expat organisation called Advance (HQ in New York) with a view to nominating myself as a shadow member. Apparently this means you go to meetings, eat the nibblies, and listen in on the conversation, without ever having to take an official position. Sweet.

So with my shadow membership supported by the majority of rather mystified co-members, I stuffed nibblies in my face, drank Aussie wine, and actually enjoyed the meeting. The membership is comprised of young professionals in really interesting jobs across Chicago. They are a lively bunch, with great senses of humour and wonderful ideas about how best to bring together the Aussies dispersed across the 11 States of the Midwest. I like these people.

And yet I couldn't resist throwing in a glib remark here and there. Bouncing off other glib remarks, naturally. One Aussie girl was commenting on social events the group could organise. We can invite our American friends too, she enthusiastically exclaimed, further adding that her friends really just want to meet Aussie guys.

Without thinking (evidently), I chuckled to myself and busted out with: Why!?

The silence that followed was deafening.

And then the boys in the group, by far the majority, retort with a rather offended (though equally belated) "Heyyyyyyy".

Bummer. By now I was red from head to toe, unable to back-pedal, even if I'd wanted to. But worse than that - it was abundantly clear that I would never, ever be dating any of THOSE Aussie guys any time soon.

Fortunately the bowl of pretzels was close by and I was able to shovel then in my mouth every time the urge to say ANYTHING tempted me. And thus I passed the rest of my first meeting. I did take on some action items though, which was pretty good for someone who isn't meant to even exist on the Committee. I think they call that person, sucker. I call it penance.

I vote for rain and lost luggage

bound foot
Originally uploaded by romana chapman.

Reading seems to fill my head with useless trivia and one such nugget is that you can really tell a lot about someone by how they handle three things: rainy days, lost luggage, and tight shoes.

Well I am convinced that the right shoe I wore today is a half-size smaller than the left one. As such, my right foot is substantially mangled. And so continues my long-running hate campaign with Nine West shoes, no doubt worn well by Lucifer himself. I should have known better than to purchase that pair of black leather loafers way back when. Give me rainy days and lost luggage any day - but you can keep tight shoes all to yourself!

And then Biggsy commented to me that only 'certain' women (insert raised eyebrow here in a rather leering gesture) wear fishnet stockings. I did not know this. I thought that French and other sophisticated women wore them too, not just women with nocturnal business interests. Why does "Vogue" not tell me so? I always thought that fishnets were rather chic. Thoughts?

Still, I'm sure that ANY stockings on my poor shrivelled feet would seem altogether unsavoury right now. So I'm just going to stuff my tender tootsies in a fluffy pair of bed socks and call it a night.

Whose finger is on the button now?

TruckeeA882c20
Originally uploaded by Michael Heilemann.

There has been a lot of news coverage lately talking about nuclear testing and bomb making and who is a threat to whom and all that malarkey. I have also just finished Bill Bryson's memoirs, and there is an entire chapter devoted to the nuclear capacity of the US and Russia in the 1950s, not to mention the Cuban missile crisis. So it has been tense few days for my subsconscious. And as a result, last night's dream was enough to wake me up in a cold sweat at 3am.

I dreamed that I was working in Chicago (no stretch there) but I caught a plane to Australia and ended up meeting up with my parents en route, in a airport transit terminal in Asia. While I was on the plane for those 11 hours, the US had detonated a nuclear bomb in Kuala Lumpur which, in my dream, was the capital of North Korea and actually more closely resembled a Thai beach setting rather than the urban metropolis it truly is. But dreams can do that, right? The point is, there was total annihilation of KL.

Anyway someone told me this awful news when I got off the plane. As my fellow passengers and me digested this nugget of info, we also became acutely aware that we were not only at risk of being overcome by the nuclear fall-out ourselves, but that the US could pretty much expect a retaliatory strike any time soon. And of course, the targets would be America's biggest cities - Chicago being one of those, naturally.

I was inconsolable for much of the dream, alternating between periods of stunned silence and raging anger. My new friends, my apartment, and my way of life was indirectly threatened and could end in a second, all at the whim of some lunatic with his finger on the button.

The airport was a mix of nationalities, all of us struggling to understand how the world got to this point. What could possibly be gained from nuking one another into a billion bits, and ruining the world's ecosystems for years to come? I understand the principle of building empires and the concept of occupation, where you take a nation by force, stick a flag in the ground, and claim it in the name of your homeland. It's brutal, but I get it. It's old-fashioned warfare that we're all used to and we know won't ever go away. But what I don't understand, and what my dream only further highlighted, was the futility of nuclear war and germ warfare and the literal total destruction that comes from it. It's sneaky and it's cowardly and it's just so very final. What's the point of being King of the world, when the world is uninhabitable?

It was a horrible, ghostly dream from which I woke up with such a start, that I was really quite distressed. So in future, I only want to be woken at 3am by benign disruptions such as a garbage truck or a barking dog. Threats of nuclear warfare are just too much to take without strong coffee.

Open sesame, dahling

A_
Originally uploaded by _youcandomath.

Lex's mum has been staying with us for a few days and we went out on Saturday morning for a late breakfast at a very cute little eatery called Minnie's. True to its name, everything at the diner is in miniature - bite size little snacks, teensy bottles of beer and soda, all served by little people. Okay that last bit wasn't true.

But after a wonderful brunch, the girls went off to see a musical performance, and I took myself off home. But rather than jumping on the bus straight away, I thought I'd walk a few blocks past some cute boutiques and eclectic stores along Halsted.

That street is a virtual treasure trove of one-offs and designer stores. I was in consumer heaven! I bought some bargain earrings at the first store I visited, and wanted to buy a whole lot more, but I exercised restraint - phew.

Finally found some flat brown boots to wear with my winter skirts at the next store I visited. I originally thought it was a 'grandma' store, cause the boots all look like Homeyped shoes but hey, they're comfortable and they were on sale and they were exactly what I wanted. So , cha-ching, I bought those too.

Wandering a little further down I entered Bebe, which retails back in Australia too but, from my recollection, is exorbitantly expensive Down Under. Anyway the poster child for Bebe right now is Mischa Barton, who is irritatingly gorgeous in Bebe's current collection. So I scored a very cute satin shirt/vest combo in wintry shades of black and grey. Chic.

And just as I was laden with shopping bags and chanelling a post-Hollywood Boulevard Pretty Woman, I approached Betsey Johnson's atelier. Now bear in mind I was in my Saturday best, which means jeans and sneakers and a puffy vest, so I was not boutique-ready. But I was certainly not ready for this boutique, as evidenced by my repeated tugging on the shop door in vain attempts to gain entry.

It wasn't until the shopgirl buzzed me in that I realised I had entered one of THOSE stores; this inner sanctum of boutique snobbery that only grants entry to those shoppers that either look easily swindled, or are too rich to care that the high price tag is not directly proportional to the quality of the clothes. I obviously fit into the first category!

A quick scout around the racks convinced me that I adored everything on offer but my salary would not allow me to indulge. And so, hoping against hope that I didn't need to be buzzed out to leave, I pushed on the exit door and found myself back on the pavement, and back in reality.

Reviving myself at Starbucks, I put myself on the bus back home and vowed to save my pennies and head back to Halsted some other time, very soon.

Celebrating Greektown

Greek Isles
Originally uploaded by StrudelMonkey.

I went along to the Cult last night for a celebration of Greektown in Chicago. This neighbourhood is out on the other side of town to me, but is a 3-block party central. Greektown is full of authentic restaurants, shops, and bars that celebrate the Greek community that has migrated here over the years.

Once I mentioned I was from the Australia, the old Greek couples on my table grew rather excited and asked me if I knew the Harris family from Sydney. Uh, no. But we collectively admired the Greek dancing and one guy next to me reminisced about how he, too, used to kick up his heels like that. I had trouble picturing that.

The buffet was wonderful - roast lamb that literally fell off the bone, hummus the likes of which I've never tasted, pita chips, and a delicious rice and feta salad made especially by my Cult sponsor, who invited me to the night in the first place.

Jenn and I equally admired the dessert buffet, and savoured the Greek coffee on offer. Man, it was all just so good.

But I didn't indulge in a spot of dancing, even though there was some audience participation encouraged. I made a very good spectator though, and enthusiastically applauded when necessary. I do however remember doing the zorba with George, Jems, and their friends around our house for my parents wedding anniversary a few years ago. I think I'll save my cultural dancing for when I'm back with family. Phew.

For pity's sake, get a room!

Russia
Originally uploaded by Barrybar.

I turned up at the Cult drinks last night with Jenn and we were both feeling a little out of sorts. We were perfectly fine with each other, but we had the sense that something was a little off-kilter with everyone else. Then it struck me what it was.

Firstly, the normally hard-drinking boys were exercising restraint on the alcomahol, owing to the Chicago Marathon happening this weekend. Half the bar felt like a dry zone, it was very weird.

And secondly, there was love in the room. I got stuck in a conversation with a guy and a group of giggling girls about this man's weekend-long bachelor party (from which he is still recovering), and the upcoming wedding that's happening in the same place in Mexico that Caro and I went to a month or so ago.

I found myself getting irritated by the ooh-ing and aah-ing on the part of the girls, and the soppy crap being spouted by the guy. I like them better when they all drink.

So Jenn and I left pretty much immediately and went to Gibson's in Chicago's dreaded "Viagra Triangle", that mystical intersection where old men try desperately to pick up nubile young women - who seem to let them. Weird.

As a rule, I normally hate this sleazy part of town, but I was hungry and still irritated from the Cult. So we bullied our way into the fabulously crowded eatery (where I'd never been before) and forced ourselves on the hospitality of George, a businessman here from California. He didn't know what hit him. But we had some drinks and some laughs, and then Jenn and I had dinner, and it was a fun end to the night.

Sometimes girls just wanna have fun, and fortunately we did.

What does it take to have nice stems?

her tights
Originally uploaded by kittynn.

So my stockings were bunching around my knees and ankles today in rather unflattering fashion. That was making me sad enough. But to top it all, the afternoon bus drove up to the bus stop, straight through a puddle, and unceremoniously splashed me. Jerk.

K and me were talking at work today about how hard it is to find cool opaque stockings in Chicago. We don't know what brands we like because Razzamatazz just doesn't exist here. Gone are the days when we could go to Woolies, straight to the type of tights we like, and scoop 4 pairs into the shopping basket. Now we have to review every brand, study each denier and fit, suss out the INGREDIENTS of the pantyhose just so we get something CLOSE to what we like. It's traumatic.

And that's how I chickened out at the last minute and bought a 'one size fits all' pair. You think I'd know that in terms of lingerie, NOTHING is one-size-fits-all, least of all stockings. And yet I marched up to the checkout to buy the stupid things. But I do reserve the right to whine about them bunching up and making me look like The Incredible Shrinking Woman. Unfortunately I drew attention to myself by continuing to hike them up AND try to walk down the street at the same time. Very 'Cirque du Soleil' of me. Dork.

Just a sip, and then it's gone

first taste
Originally uploaded by Lifeinfoto.

Tonight I dragged Jenn to an Aussie wine tasting at the lovely Tasting Room on West Randolph. I was taken to this bar on my second night in Chicago and I have never forgotten the impact that it made on me. The night time view over the city of Chicago is just breathtaking. Still, tonight was about business and Jenn and I were dedicating ourselves to the task of tasting the 30 wines for $30 that we were promised.

One of the tables was manned by a dork, so we steered clear of him and decided that none of the wines on offer were anything to write home about. But for every other table, we circled at least one wine we really enjoyed.

Would you believe it, I ran into my friend Tracy at the wine tasting?! I was only speaking with her on the phone last night, lamenting how long it has been since we caught up. We made plans to see one another on Sunday at Guthries, but I never expected to see her tonight - it was a lovely surprise indeed.

Then Jenn and I went back to the Cult for some champagne and catching up with friends before we retired back home. It has been a busy night but still an early one. It was lovely to sample Aussie wines that aren't necessarily famous back home (there is something to be said for the export quality wines with their very dodgy names). At the same time, it's nice to see familiar names like Peter Lehmann and regions like the Barossa Valley getting a chance to shine at wine tastings so far from home. Blissful.

What not to wear

stripes
Originally uploaded by Maditi.

I looked down at myself on the bus today and realised that I need a bit of help.

Proud as I am of this fact (or not), I have not ironed a single item of my clothes since I landed in Scotland - back in May 2005. I know, I know - lame. But honestly, with the exception of hankies, tea towels and pillowcases, I have no ironing skills.

And before you start harping on about bad parenting, I'll have you know that my parents tried to teach me to iron. I even ironed a few baskets of clothes in my time, but I think they would agree that I still do not do it very well at all. Hence my complete avoidance of the chore altogether.

Which brings me back to my earlier point. On the weekend I forced myself to accept the fact that we've seen the last of the sunshine for a while. And so I hurled myself into the hall closet to dig out my winter coats that Lexie had bullied me into stuffing into a suitcase some months previous. And of course there was no easy way to extract said coats from their luggage stronghold, and I was forced to empty EVERYTHING from the closet in order to reach the stubborn suitcase. By which time I was very put out.

But I was also resolved to rescue my coats and give them some time to unfold or at least, as far as possible, to resume a relatively normal shape in time for the new work week.

So this morning, proud that I have four new jackets to choose from each day, I selected my stunning red 3/4 length coat. Only to realise on the bus that it was perhaps THE most crumpled of the four. Stellar choice there Gabs. I honestly looked like I'd been scragged out from underneat the bus bench just in time for the arrival of the 135 Downtown Express. Cheers, thanks a lot.

I know I would learn to iron a lot faster if we actually owned an iron in this apartment, but we do not. So I am now required to commit to an outfit the night before I want to wear it, and make sure I smooth it down, or re-fold it, or hang it up to drop, or do SOMETHING.

Hmm or perhaps I'll just sleep in the darn thing and so I can proudly say to my fellow bus patrons, "Yes, Madam, in fact I DID sleep in this ensemble. Thank you for noticing". Good one.

The Last Kiss - a review

Blowing kiss
Originally uploaded by PinKy_BLu$h.

Yesterday was a super busy day Downtown when Lex and me basically decided we needed fresh air and a change of scenery. So we went to a sparkling wine tasting, trawled the shops for a new winter coat for Lex, and then retired with a late lunch. But we found sufficient energy to watch "The Last Kiss" with Zach Braff.

The movie has been getting pretty horrible reviews but perhaps the rest of the theater hadn't heard about that cause the cinema was pretty well full by the time the movie started. I think on reflection, the critics have been pretty harsh on the film across the board.

I found the story to be really sad but surely predictable. A 29 year old guy realises he's about to turn 30 and is able to look at his life and think he sees it pretty clearly into the future. He's got the girlfriend, good job, baby on the way, and friends all around him in various stages of settlement (or settled down-ness, if that's a word).

Enter the brunette temptation. What's a guy to do?

So the story unfolds amidst general relationship crumbling all around the main characters. Husbands are not what wives thought they'd be, and definitely vice versa. Men have second thoughts, and women mistakenly think they've got their men all figured out. Dishes are broken, doors are slammed, tears flow.

It's a pretty good movie to be honest, and Lex and me really enjoyed it.

But it's definitely not a movie for a first date, or for anyone who is in ANY WAY uncertain about a relationship they're in. I think the movie would have you looking at your boyfriend/husband and wondering what either of you would do if opportunity knocked.

The movie advocates telling the absolute truth, and doing everything that it takes to win back the love of your life. It's a pretty painful movie to watch in some parts, cause you start to wonder what you'd do in the same situation - both as the person that cheated, and the one that got cheated on. It's a tough call either way.

But the soundtrack rocks and the supporting cast are wonderful. Give me Casey Affleck over Zach Braff any day, sorry Lex.

Hallowed be thy...what the?!

Still growin'
Originally uploaded by wasta.

If anyone tells you that it is perfectly safe to eat Panang curry chicken right before bed, you should have them shot out of a cannon into outer space immediately.

I am here to tell you that last night's dream is proof that Panang chicken curry from the place down the road from me is the most powerful hallucinogen my subconscious has ever encountered.

Last night I dreamed that I was at church with K, my boss, and L, my colleague. But we weren't at a traditional religious service. We were at a mass of the new Marijuana Church.

Like all good followers, all the assembled faithful were stoned out of their minds. The High (pardon the pun) Priestess tried to enthuse one of the flock to approach the lectern and start his reading. But he stumbled through the sign of the cross, which began "In the name of the Karma...:" and he collapsed into a fit of giggles.

Not to be outdone, the next reader got up and I noticed his face was in a permanent pucker, from too much smoking - like the wind had changed or something, mid-puff.

Somewhat exasperated now, the Priestess called up the final contender to deliver the first reading. An affable chap duly approached the lectern, cleared his throat, and peed on the nearest candle.

I was appalled. My boss found it all hysterical, likewise my colleague. And then I woke up.

Anyone want the number of the noodle place?!

...and so it begins

More Snowy Steps
Originally uploaded by Canis Major.

Chicago still has to get through Halloween and Thanksgiving before we can actually celebrate Christmas, but the stores have already started hanging decorations by the chimney with care. In fact, in some stores, it's a veritable decorative bonanza and often it's hard to tell just what holiday the stores are more eager for us to support.

But quite aside from the visual symbols that the holiday season is upon us, the weather today was a clear indicator that autumn has been given an almighty shove by the winter muscling on in.

We had snow flurries today and a top temperature of only 42 degrees (that's a walloping 5.5 degrees Celcius for those of you joining us from The Land Down Under, where women glow and men chunder).

Fortunately, I guess, I made it to work at 8.30am and didn't set foot outside again until we left for the day at 4.30pm. But it was definitely a coat, scarf, and gloves day today. If I had a beanie-worthy dome, I would have worn one of those too. I wouldn't have been alone. Everyone was sensibly rugged up against the rather shocking cold snap.

People on the bus today and around the corridors at work were stunned to witness this morning's snow storms, checking the calendar twice only to realise that yes, we ARE still only in October. Something tells me this winter may just be the fierce one we've been due all these years.

Well I say, bring it. I own one coat for every day of the week and dammit, I'll wear them all at once if I have to. I will not be beaten by the weather, I simply refuse to be.

So, basketball is played in quarters right?

Jenn and I were so excited the other week when I managed to secure two box seats to the season opener Chicago Bulls game (versus the Washington Wizards, if anyone cares).

The Cult has a wonderful centre-court box and I wasn't about to miss out on seeing my friend Luke play. Actually, at the time I bought the tickets, I had no idea if Luke would make the team. Neither did he. But maybe my enthusiasm stirred up good karma points, because not only did he make the Bulls training roster, he got court time! We had been joking that I would slip the coach $5 to let him play a few minutes. Best $5 I never spent, as it turned out.

I picked up the tickets at the Cult on Tuesday afternoon and I asked the Events Coordinator who else would be sharing the box with us. I wanted to know how many basketball fans (particularly young, male, single ones) would be cheering the Bulls on with us. Diplomatic as ever, the Grande Dame of Events refused to tell me, for confidentiality reasons or so she said.

Well, that is Cult speak for "absolutely no one - you're in the box on your own".

Yes that's right friends. Jenn and I shared a centre-court corporate box at the United Center with absolutely no one. So we made the most of it, as you would, and we cheered on the boys with a bottle of champagne followed by some strong coffee. Andwe loved every second of it.

Luke played for about 10 minutes, on and off, for the match, and I was so proud of him. He was a little aggressive, pushing and shoving some of the players, but he's 7'1" so I guess he can get away with that. We even got to see him after the game (with media passes that got us into the post-game family & friends section) so I got to carry on like a demented fan in person. Lame. But he seemed pleased that we got to see his big Bulls debut.

Jenn and I had a great night and our soiree pulled me out of the funk I've been in all week. The weather has turned positively foul, so it's nice to know that the United Center and the Bulls (who triumphed by 1 point tonight) will always be there - at least until the end of January 2007. Let's hope Luke goes the distance with them. Time will tell.

Yo ho ho and a birthday dinner

Chicago Skyline and Boats 3
Originally uploaded by giramonda.

My Consulate Family went out for a communal birthday dinner tonight given that we have been, by and large, rather hopeless at remembering each other's birthdays over the course of the year. We enjoyed a wonderful dinner at the Chicago Yacht Club - Monroe Station.

The weather is turning foul so there aren't many boats around. Indeed within the coming weeks, all the boats will be stored at the mooring sheds in readiness for The Big Freeze. It's weird that we seem to have completely bypassed autumn in favour of a wintry chill already.

It was a lovely surprise to see Jenn there, and meet her lovely Mum, as they were both there to fix Jenn's boat that had been beaten up pretty badly by the storms we had a few weeks ago. Jenn had forgotten that I was going there, but I was so pleased that she came over to say hello when we arrived. It was great to introduce her to my work friends, given that they've all heard so much about each other but never really met.

The dinner menu was pretty extensive as far as I was concerned, so it was a tough choice. But in the end I chose delicious chicken tikka kebabs and a main course of warm, comforting meatloaf. It was just delicious and the sheer tradition of it got us all talking about the meatloaf we used to have as kids. Remember the one that had the boiled eggs in the middle of it? How the heck did we even make that?! But none of us forgot just how good leftover meatloaf on fresh white bread - plus the compulsory squirt of tomato sauce - could taste on a school lunch sandwich. Mmmm. Finished off with a strong espresso, I left the Club full but not stuffed. And very content.

Like any family dinner, we had arguments, changed allegiances mid-conversation, and had many laughs. But like any family dinner, we were also relaxed in each other's company and swapped tall stories and caught up on old news. It was a great night in wonderful company in an equally special location.

Why don't the perverts ever call me?

I don't think anyone likes receiving unexpected phone calls. I don't mean bad news phone calls though. I mean those calls from someone you don't want to talk to, or those calls that ask you for donations, or the calls from someone who's crying hysterically on the other end of the line.

I had an unexpected phone call today from a number I didn't recognise. But it was my work phone, so I had to answer it. And it was the gym bunny at The Cult, asking me to book in for a fitness assessment. I know, I laughed too.

But then I realised that he was actually serious and all new members who use the athletic facilities are encouraged to come in for a physical to get a better idea of their general state of health. I decided against telling the poor boy about my ankle injury that has made swimming impossible (thereby making me a few pounds heavier - medicinal eating, you understand). I have the impression that medicinal eating is an unconventional remedy I have enthusiastically embraced but is not otherwise sanctioned by the medical community at large.

So instead of boring him with the story of swollen ankles, I opted to declare myself generally unfit, hoping that he'd respect my frank self-diagnosis and leave me alone. Not so. In fact, he is now more resolved than ever to hook me up to an array of machines and test me rigorously, and not in a way I'm going to enjoy I'm sure. He even gave me his cell phone number so I'd find him anywhere and make my consultation appointment at any time. Gulp.

I wonder how long I can play phone tag with a guy from the Athletics Department. Something tells me that I'll run out of puff well before he does.

An evening in Cyprus

snail
Originally uploaded by lallou.

On the recommendation of a Cult member, I invited my friend Kerry to join me for dinner in Greektown last night. We went along to a beautiful restaurant called Venus, whose specialty is Cypriot cuisine - and live music on Saturdays.

The delicious Greek red wine was going down very well on top of the two glasses we'd already had at the Cult beforehand. When I heard myself ordering shots of ouzo for us, followed by a robust OPA!, I knew I was having a good time. On reflection, I hope Kerry was too.

We were looked after by a fabulous waitress named Eva and if you ever go to the restaurant, you must make sure you're seated in her section. Eva's suggestions for food and drinks were simply spot on every time.

I had Mesogiako Calamari, which is basically squid stuffed with spinach, shrimp, feta, and roasted capsicums. Drooool. Then for my main couse, I enjoyed Kleftiko, the restaurant's signature regional lamb dish that has been slow cooked for six hours. As a result, it was so succulent that it simply fell apart when I tried to eat it but I prevailed in the end, trust me. I toasted my success and my full stomach with a bitter Greek coffee. Blissful.

Emboldened by the ouzo and Eva's encouragement, I bought a couple of shots for the two musicians who had basically been serenading the restaurant the entire night on their bouzouki (that's the traditional Greek guitar to those of you playing along at home). One of them was young and very cute, but surely you could have guessed that. Anyway, an equally young and handsome waiter brought the two shots over, gave one to the cute guitarist and downed the other himself. Whatever, two shots for two cute boys - I was doing well. The poor older musician was not doing so well, however, as he unfortunately missed out. Too bad, so sad. But even though the cute musician knew I'd bought the shot for him, he never bought me one in return - and never came over to thank me. Nothing. I was a little surprised and just a tad embarassed.

As we were leaving I felt compelled to mention this travesty to the owner, though it was entirely in jest by this stage. He politely pointed out that the guitarist is in the US on leave from the Greek Army and he doesn't actually speak a word of English. Ahem. Darling Eva overhead all this and said she'd go on a date with us and translate every word. See what I mean? What a sweetheart she is. But Kerry and I were laughing too hard at my best laid plans to take Eva's kind offer too seriously.

The owner was so disappointed for me that HE bought us drinks each. And no, he was not young and cute. But he was a very sweet man nonetheless and because we have good manners, of course Kerry and I accepted his kind offer.

And so it was that I ended my Grecian odyssey sitting at the restaurant's bar enjoying my mute musician's tunes, and sipping slowly on a refreshing Baileys on ice, dreaming of the Aegean Sea.

What's that, Skip? She's posted photos?

Hotel Riu Jalisco, Puerto Vallarta
Originally uploaded by Miss Gab.

Finally I got my act together and marched off to Walgreens to get a CD made of many, many photos.

If you click on this photo you'll be able to see a (small) collection of shots taken in Mexico.

But perhaps a better idea would be to click on the link to MY PHOTO ALBUM down the right hand side of this web page and you'll see all the pics I've recently added, regardless of what photo set I've filed them in.

A reminder to please suspend judgement about the Oktoberfest pics. I maintain that when those photos were taken, the only things we were capable of doing were chicken dances, hugging each other, and drinking more beer. In that order.

Enjoy!

365 days and counting?

classic millenium park.
Originally uploaded by D.James.

Today is my one year anniversary in Chicago and I feel pretty good about that. For someone who was fairly nomadic in the early days, it is nice to look back having spent the last year in such a beautiful city. I've managed to amass a wonderful group of friends and I really enjoy my job and my home.

Every reason to smile, right?

Of course there is now the niggling thought in the back of my mind - where to from here? But this past year has come about because I just took a leap of faith - closed my eyes and jumped, as it were. Who's to say what the coming year will bring, but I plan to approach it the same way. Not too calculated, but still sensible. And with a touch of the 'what-happens-just-happens' philosophy with which I got to this point.

And hey, as long as I keep hearing feedback that this site has been fun to read, I'll keep writing it and ensure you're kept updated on this big, weird world of mine.

You know your beeswax? Why don't you mind it!

I have been reading Australian newspapers online lately, paying more attention to the “Opinion” columns than I otherwise might. Ever since Germaine Greer’s opinion column was absolutely savaged following Steve Irwin’s death, I’ve maintained a rather perverse interest in what columnists have to say on certain issues.

I understand the whole ‘freedom of the press’ and ‘free speech’ and such, but my mother’s advice always rings in my ears – if you don’t want anything read, don’t write it down. Or perhaps it was, if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

I have a new respect for opinion journalists, particularly those who go online, blog-style, and spill their guts about a whole range of issues, from the citizenship debate to whether unfit mothers should be neutered. It’s hysterical! And then net-junkies like myself can log onto the newspaper’s site and savage the columnist for putting their thoughts out there, however unpopular they end up to be. Tony from Tamworth praises one columnist for his hard-line take on immigrants, only to have Pamela from Perth chime in and deride him for being too blinkered and not caring enough about the ozone layer. No one said the comments had to be relevant or informed. Why should they be? The opinion pieces aren’t always great journalism either.

But the thing I like most about the opinion columns in the newspaper is that in 30 lines, the journalist does his or her best to summarise a topical or even contentious issue that I have neither the time nor inclination to read too deeply about. I may care about it of course, but my attention span is just too short to conduct my own research. So I care what the columnist writes, and I care what Tony and Pamela have to say about it. But just don’t ask me to have an ultimate opinion on those opinions, because when pressed like that, all I can do is defer to my mother’s ultimate sage advice, the non-committal “oh yeah”. Nothing frustrates a heated debate more than a resigned “oh yeah”. Try it some time – tell them my mother sent you.

A Girly Dinner is the Best Therapy

Beautiful invitation
Originally uploaded by cattycamehome.

I can look back on this week's diary and know why I'm tired, but today was a particularly tiresome day at work. So by 4.30pm, I could have very easily given up and gone home to bed. But I had accepted a kind invitation from my friend Jenn to come to her place for dinner. Not one to pass up a home-cooked meal (cooked in someone else's home, that is), of course I had to go along.

Jenn's apartment is not far out of the city, towards my place, and I'd been there before about two weeks ago. She lives in a one-bedroom apartment in a building run by a rather curious doorman who needs to know the ins and outs of all her guests. I certainly didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition.

Upon arrival on Jenn's floor, I could smell garlic and herbs and general deliciousness. After a cobbled-together appetiser cheese plate that I donated, and some delicious sparkly bubbly that Caro brought along, the dinner party was in full swing. We then sat down to a scrumptious main course of salmon stuffed with crabmeat, and mashed potatoes, green beans, and salad with poppy seed dressing. Delightful.

I don't know if Jenn slaved over that meal for hours but it sure seemed like it. We finished up with lemon sorbet (my absolute favourite dessert), and strong coffee with a dash of brandy in it.

And while I offered to help do the dishes, our gracious hostess politely declined and Caro and me left together to grab a cab. On the way home we reflected on how gracious a hostess Jenn had been, and how i could absolutely, positively, NEVER pull off such a meal. Salmon stuffed with crabmeat? I mean, come on!

Been there, seen all that?

It is no secret that Lex and I are big fans of musical theatre but I think she is quite possibly the most avid fan I’ve ever known. She has seen the major plays at least 3 times each, if not more. She knows the score, the lyrics, even the actors and their Broadway pedigree. She is definitely someone you want on your table a Quiz Night (especially the boozy ones I like to go to!).

So last night we scored some free tickets to the world premiere of The Pirate Queen, a new musical by the same guys that brought us Miss Saigon and something else, I can’t remember which one now. But in any case the talent was obvious and the buzz around the musical was electric. For months now the cast has been rehearsing in Chicago, mindful of the fact that last night’s public performance would be the first ever. The media hadn’t seen it, New York hadn’t seen it – Chicago was the guinea pig.

I had high hopes for the musical, I really did. But whether it was the weather (?!) or if it was just the end of a generally silly day, Lex and I were in the mood to speculate about what the musical would include. We didn’t know the story – perhaps the Pirate Queen of the title was in fact a campy transvestite seaman (ahem). In fact the title character was an independent and feisty Irish woman who leads an army against the British forces to liberate Ireland in the time of Queen Elizabeth I. Dare I suggest I liked our version better?

Anyway all the elements that Lex and I talked about were there:

• Large, dark sets and ominous boom-boom music at the beginning? Check.
• The actors in triangle formation marching down-stage? Check.
• A soppy romantic number where the leads sing cheek-to-cheek? Check.
• A heart-wrenching number by the female lead about lost love and futility? Check.
• A rousing all-hands-on-proverbial-deck number to close Act 1? Check.
• A ‘why-God-why’ number by the male lead? Check.
• A happy ending? Check.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed “The Pirate Queen”. I’m taking nothing away from the obvious talent of all of the performers; they had wonderfully strong voices and really great energy. But it was all just a little too familiar, you know? It’s like watching an episode of “Law & Order” and knowing who killed the victim before the first commercial break.

The most exciting part about the night was wondering why some Chicagoans came to the theatre dressed as pirates, when it was eminently clear that they were not in the least going to take the stage. Arrrrrrgh, me hearties.

Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain

Waiting for the Storm
Originally uploaded by Giant Ginkgo.

Chicago is normally a pretty peaceful city but last night, the skies unleashed a fairly nasty dump of rain, wind, and lightning that made Lake Michigan really angry.

The waves crashed onto Lakeshore Drive and "I know this because" my boss called and told me he could see them from his livingroom window. Granted this was not entirely responsible phone usage, but our conversation was short so don't worry.

Just as the first fat raindrops started to hit the pavement, I completed my umpteenth load of laundry to remove any telltale evidence of recent house guests (did we really use that many bath towels?!). And I settled onto the couch, Preston stretched out across my chest, to watch the lightning and listen to the rain thumping against the open windows.

What the?! Okay what followed was a race around the house to CLOSE all the windows but then resettlement on the couch ensued and there I stayed until 10pm. The TV kept reporting tornado watch after tornado watch, but I haven't found out whether rural Illinois got battered in that way. Chicago just suffered some felled trees, squished cars, and deep puddles.

And there is nothing like falling asleep to the sound of a thunderstorm, safe in the knowledge that you have clean underpants to put on the next day.

Carvin' it up for Halloween

halloween choice
Originally uploaded by marcel.ws11.

I'm coming up for my 1 year anniversary in Chicago (on 6 October, for those of us who are counting), and rather than focussing on how to celebrate that milestone, I'm obsessing about Halloween.

Last year was my first spooky party and it was a blast. This year Lex's boss told her that the party was at our apartment - how very generous of him, right? But he's agreed to mix up a lethal punch, and Lex's work is abuzz with costume ideas in a virtual cacophany of creativity.

The pervading theme seems to be celebrities, and I've been asked if I want to go as Nicole Richie. There will be a Paris Hilton at the party, and Lex has already scored the Lindsay Lohan nod. So perhaps I should help complete the It Girl set, by scrounging the op shops for a Pucci-esque dress that is about 6 sizes too big, plus I've already got the blonde bob and oversized glasses. All that's missing is the cat-like eyeliner, the ballet flats, and the guant expression of one who is perpetually hungry and voila - all done.

And let's face it, perhaps given how Ms Richie is looking these days, it's about the most ghoulish costume anyone can come up with!

Happy Days in Milwaukee

Having got to bed at 3am the previous night, it is still a miracle to me that I was up in time on Saturday morning to meet Caro, Brad, Rak and Nic, and make the Amtrak train from Union Station to Milwaukee. We were headed for Oktoberfest, one of the many US-based beer festivals being held to coincide with the real deal in Germany.

I've never been to the German equivalent, but I would imagine there'd be more people there than there were in Milwaukee. The only advantage that we could work out from such poor attendance in Milwaukee was the lack of lines at the food stalls, and the pristine condition of the portable toilets. Two very big thumbs-up in my book really.

We were booked into the Holiday Inn, because marathon runners and conference delegates had nabbed all the other hotel rooms in the city. But the Holiday Inn was clean, quiet, and in close proximity to Oktoberfest, so it wasn't bad at all.

We met up with Rak's sister and her husband at a nearby beer hall, and we had our first German beer of the day. It proved to be the first of many. Whether we were motivated by alcoholism or just a sense of responsibility to drink our share of the kegs, we sunk a hell of a lot of beer in a very short time.

Let's just say that our afternoon of beverage consumption ended back at the beer hall, with dancing on tables and Gab doing her very best oompah-arms as we did the best chicken dance we could do. When Caro started falling asleep at the Indian restaurant, she and I threw money on the table and went back to the Hotel. Collapsing into bed in a fuzzy drunken haze, I got a text from a Chicago friend and so I grabbed my phone.

It was 8.20pm.

The next time I opened my eyes it was 7.45am. Meeting up with the rest of the crew for breakfast at a nearby diner, we swapped funny stories about the things we remembered (and puzzled over the things we didn't) and laughed loudly much to the bemusement of other patrons.

We spent the rest of a Sober Sunday in the sunshine, visiting the Art Museum and sitting on the banks of Lake Michigan watching the celebrations for the marathon that was being run today. We grabbed some lunch at the Irish pub and then made it back in time for our 3pm train to Chicago. We were all asleep before the train pulled out.

I can't tell you the relief we all felt when we woke up and saw the imposing John Hancock tower piercing the Chicago skyline. We all just relaxed and felt at home, it was an unspoken collective thing. Milwaukee was fun, and the beer drinking was awesome (photos will be testament to that), but be it ever so humble....well, you know the rest.

I see your true colours shining through

For most Chicagoans, this past Friday was just like any other. But for the Aussie expats living in the Midwest, Friday was the biggest day of our sporting year, because it was the kick-off of the AFL Grand Final.

I hadn't seen a professional game of 'aerial ping-pong', as rugby fan Mero calls it, for nearly 2 years, so I was really looking forward to the celebrations and theatrics. Being an Adelaide girl, I did not have any particular allegiance to either team, though I donned the red & white of the Sydney Swans in deference to my work colleagues, and also to Pete who went along to the pub with me.

The Globe Pub is the local watering hole for the Chicago-based AFL team so it was the perfect home to host the AFL Grand Final on 17 widescreen TVs in an audio visual spectacular.

Attendance was capped at 150 around 10pm, and there were some grizzly footy fans left out in the cold because they got there too late. Some sad Aussies rang my cell phone and I tried to negotiate with the bouncers and club owner to let them in. Fortunately I can be quite persuasive and managed to grant them admission. I got to know the owner very well that night, let me tell you - he really was overwhelmed by the whole attendance!

I was fortunate to know quite a few of the Aussies in the pub and I had a great time mingling and catching up with people. First bounce wasn't until 11.30pm so it's no wonder I got home at 3am. But the best part about hanging around until the ened was that one of the footy boys gave me an ice-cold can of VB; truly the rarest Aussie beer in Chicago. The only importer we know of is on the east coast and I believe only looks after the Embassy. Not fair. But I didn't question how the footy boys ended up with a slab. I just enjoyed being one of 24 lucky footy fans presented with a cool can at the end of the night. Sweet.

Perhaps my wannabe team support was bad luck - wearing red & white didn't exactly guarantee victory for the Swannies. But the Eagles scored a one-point win right at the last minute, and doesn't that always make for a superb game?! It was golden footy.

It ain't over till it's over

chicago,
originally uploaded by dcodez.

I think one of the best things about having out-of-town friends come to stay is that you get to mix things up a bit. You get to show them places that you like, as well as trying out new places that you both get to discover. Courts and Ell have been such wonderfully brave house guests, gleefully allowing me to drag them across the Windy City in search of fun places to write home about.

Last night we intended on going to the Signature Room on the 96th floor of the Hancock building, where the views from the ladies toilets are the best in town. Honestly. [And note that I did say from the ladies room, and not in the ladies room]. But when we got there, the line-up for the elevators stretched nearly into the lobby, so it just wasn't worth our wait. My lovely friend Jenn came along too and recommended NoMi at the Park Hyatt Hotel, arguably the very best cocktail lounge/restaurant combo in town.

So off we trudged to the shiny and fabulous Hotel, wiggling in the door in our girly dresses and heels (yes, I squished my fat foot into heels for the first time last night - and consequently am back to hobbling in Doc Martens today). Straight up in the elevator to NoMi with no wait necessary, we ordered Cosmobellinis (a blend of my two favourite cocktails du jour) and Courts had a mojito which she declared to be delicious. Given that we were ravenous, the poor waiter had a hard time keeping up with us to refill our nibblies bowl. After two cocktails (and a civilised fight that broke out when Jenn decided to pay), we conceded defeat but wouldn't be silenced until she agreed to join us at Bin36 for dinner.

I love Bin36 cause it's a funky yet very elegant wine bar and restaurant right next to the House of Blues. It's menu is contemporary and the staff are all really educated about the wines that they recommend pairing with the foods. But the girls and I all decided to have flights with our meal. I had a champagne flight, where I was given 3 different champagnes and one rose, and each glass sits atop its own little circular coaster with a description about that wine's characteristics. Presumably this is so you can feel like an educated alcoholic hehe. But in any case, the food and champagne were simply delicious and we were well taken care of.

Jenn left us at that point and the girls and I jumped in a cab to head to Buddy Guy's, a blues bar that the boys at work have been recommending to me for weeks. The bar is on a side of town that I have not been to before and, though I knew the area, I didn't know what to expect of the bar. But my god it was awesome. The sheer talent of the musicians was infectious and the singer was so powerful. She belted out numbers so soulfully, a la Aretha Franklin and her band played along skilfully and I couldn't work out whether the crowd was fuelling the band, or the other way around. I had a wonderful time and I can't wait to go back. My colleague told me that Monday is Open Mike Night, where amateurs and wannabes can get up and jam with a 'professional' band to gain confidence and skills. He did say that no one he's seen has been crap, so obviously you've got to come along with some degree of ability, for which I'm sure the audience is grateful!

But I fell into bed at 2am and on the bus this morning, I somehow calculated that I have had 9 hours sleep in 2 days. How I have typed any of this blog post in complete sentences is beyond me. All that said, I would not have had this week any other way. It has been such a joy to see the girls again and to show them this beautiful City. And fortunately I've also seen some new things that I can share with the next lot of house guests...whoever they might be.

At the old ball game

Pretty Good Seats,
originally uploaded by christopherdale.

I bought a diary several months ago, in an effort to get my own life organised. Given that I get paid to organise someone else's busy life, I figured it wouldn't be a stretch to get myself sorted out too. Wrong.

It has been easy to schedule things, but not so easy to remember to be disciplined enough to check where I'm supposed to be and when. And I'm notorious for accepting a social invitation without first confirming my availability in my paper diary. As a result I get double-booked, and irritated at myself.

So imagine my smugness when I got myself rightly sorted out for Courts and Ell's big trip to the Windy City. I cleared my diary of any extraneous appointments (which included my tutoring buddy Kev - sorry man) and set about filling my/our diary with cool and local things to do.

Last night's trip to Wrigley Field saw the Chicago Cubs take on the Milwaukee Brewers. While I did tell the girls that we should wear something blue in honor of the local team, none of us ended up doing that. It wasn't until we were walking to the stadium that we started to question what colour Milwaukee was - perhaps we were decked out in their hues by mistake? We weren't, as it turned out.

Courts declared that Cubs fans are like Crows fans - they take a while to warm up to the game but when they do, they go off. We were on our feet as some Cubs guy belted a home run and then when another Cubs guy slid onto 3rd base and was declared SAFE, in a controversial call that prompted some very colourful protests from nearby Brewers fans. The girls and I sat quietly and sipped our overpriced Bud Lights in rather non-committal fashion.

At the seventh inning stretch, we did our best to sing along to Take Me Out To The Ball Game (thanks Grandma for sending me the words) and then we took off to Guthries to play a board game with Pete and his friend John.

Crash-landing into bed at 1am was an ideal time to reflect on another good day spent with my girls.

This is a bigger, weirder world than I thought

This morning I started raving on to Josh about how the Midwest is chock-full of Aussies that have achieved admirable career highs. We ranted further about how great it is to catch up with these Aussies whenever possible and reminisce over a beer or three about the homeland. Little did I realise just how close to home my day was about to get.

At 11am today, security phoned to tell me that a visitor had arrived at the Consulate for her meeting. The lady's name was just too unusual to mistake. Sure enough, an old high school classmate showed up at the Consulate to have Biggsy authorise a document for her. What a small world this really is! The girl and I had lost touch at the end of Year 9, when she moved away to another school. But up until she left we had been good friends and been in many of the same classes together.

Together we talked about the old days, while Biggsy just marvelled at our collective ability to remember back that far. [Fortunately my long term memory is OK, it's the short-term memory that is suffering these days]. We agreed that our friendship group as it was pretty much disintegrated after high school and we seem to have lived rather parallel lives in terms of travelling and seeking fulfilment in far-flung places across the globe.

Now this girl is working for a multi-national corporation and is living in a beautiful new apartment on the east coast. I have even been invited to stay at her place in Seattle if ever I make it over to the rainiest city in the country. You never know your luck - I just might take her up on that offer.

And you never know when a piece of your past is going to jump out of the shadows and surprise you.

Ohhhh look what you've done...

cw.jet.003,
originally uploaded by freschwill.

Well Reg, you asked for the blog post and you're gonna get it.

Last night's Jet concert at the Vic Theater in Chicago was simply awesome. I hadn't been to the theatre before but it was perfect for the guys - a little old and grungy but with loads of character. And it was packed. We got there a little late, owing to a delicious dinner and beers at a nearby pub called "Matilda's" (the Aussie reference is just a coincidence). We walked into the theatre to the strains of this post's title song, and we didn't miss out on "Are You Gonna Be My Girl?", for which I was very grateful. Don't worry Katie, I rocked out for you. I was a one-woman mosh pit.

The boys were fabulous but in some of their songs, I was having 12th-grade flashbacks to Oasis (whose "What's the Story, Morning Glory" album really was the soundtrack to my final year at school). I don't know why it was, but the songs from Jet's new album have some real Gallagher-flavours running through them - but in a good way. I will buy the new album of course, I'm such a groupie for Aussie bands when I'm away from home it seems.

Unfortunately we didn't get to do the 'meet and greet' after the show, but it didn't matter. Instead, we headed back to "Matilda's" for some cocktails, beers, and mild flirtations with a very handsome bartender named Calvin. Gab had her groove on, well and truly.

The weary travellers take Chicago

Courts and El,
originally uploaded by Miss Gab.

Well the girls have arrived and we're getting ready to go and see Jet. Travelling up from Champaign with Ell's friend Josh (also an Adelaide guy - yay us), we're hungry for burgers and a dose of Aussie music. I'm so glad to see the girls looking so refreshed after their worldwide adventures - though minus the fancy hat and dresses they're donning here at last year's Melbourne Cup...

More news of our crazy exploits to follow in the coming days.

A weekend taken one step at a time

DSCF4762,
originally uploaded by thushara_sl.

This weekend was rainy and dreary in Chicago, so I could be forgiven for living the life of a hermit. Only, I didn't quite do that as it turned out.

Friday night was drinks for Lexie's boss to celebrate his 21st birthday (again) and so Saturday morning was a rather slow one. We have finally go our cable connected, but we neeed our digital recorder so we had to line up at the Comcast store to get it. ARGH that was a nightmare, given that there were no soda machines or buffet tables and me, Lexie, and Tim were all rather hungover and sluggish.

Then it was off to IKEA where I bought a rather fancy bedspread to add a touch of va-va-voom to my room, which I believe I have now accomplished.

There is something fabulous about being in one's pyjamas by 5.30pm on a Saturday night - takes you back to primary school days. But it was lovely to have the rain bucketing down outside, and me curled up in flannelettes with a steaming cup of strong coffee on my lap. I can't even tell you what we watched on TV, I think I was asleep in literally minutes.

Today I did laundry and went to the grocery store, to make the final preparations for my Adelaide visitors who arrive tomorrow. Then I made time to share a bottle of wine at Jenn's place and back home to clean the bathroom and tidy my room. Where did the weekend go?

Does anyone even care what "x" equals?!

Poor Kev lucked out at tutoring last night. The kid had math homework and I was his only hope. We both feared for our mental stability, and I was pretty much freaking out when he opened his text book to reveal algebra homework. Oh man. What kind of school gives 4th graders algebra homework?! Bullies, the lot of 'em.

Then I realised that we weren't doing algebra at all; rather, we had to answer 6 questions about rounding up or down to the nearest ten, hundred, and thousand. Slightly simpler you'd think, right?

But just like in all things, math is one of those subjects where things either click for you or they don't. And if they DO click for you, sometimes you just can't explain them. You don't know WHY you round up, you just do. But when a sweet Puerto Rican fourth grader looks up at you with his brown eyes, pleading with you to explain the fundamentals of the solution, you become resolved to find a way to explain the phenomenon. And somehow I did, and he got it. I think I even heard the 'click' when it all fell into place. I even tested Kev with some other examples just to make doubly sure he got it. And woohoo we got gold stars all round. If you want something rounded up or down, my mate Kev will do it for you.

It was when Kev brought out the old chestnut, "if a train leaves San Fransisco at 10am travelling at 40,000 million miles an hour and has to be in Denver by January, what time should Betsy wake up and curl her hair?" that I called it a night.

Tastes just like home

I went along last night to an event run by our Austrade team called OzFest 2006. In the early days, the event was a small affair, just a couple of tables offering Australian wines and cheeses to our American industry clients. Then something happened and the event grew wings and just soared.

The venue was Casa Monde, a design showroom in Chicago that imports Australian bathroom fixtures from Melbourne. The showroom was soon full to the brim with Aussie companies showcasing beer, wine, cheese and crackers, macadamia nuts, lamingtons, pavlovas, and moreton bay bugs. We had Aussie chefs whipping up Aussie imported produce including Tasmanian trout tartare, deliciously tender lamb coated in bush spices and even ostrich (tried that for the first time last night - delicious). The whole evening was a feast for the senses.

I even tended bar for a few hours, along with our Adelaide Austrade contact. We served up so many bottles of Coopers beer, it was just awesome. And now I know where I can buy cases of it here in Chicago, so look out fridge - make some room!

Given that my ankle was pretty much ruined by the end of the night, I shared a cab home with the parents of our Trade Commissioner, who basically brought the whole night together. They are visiting him from Queensland and his mum just about cried when she told me just how proud they were of him. I could honestly say that we were also proud of him, and for all the Aussie companies that came together and wowed the crowd. They're already talking about OzFest 2007!

But where does THIS cord go?

At the risk of shocking you speechless with an understatment, I'm going to put forward that I am not technically-minded. I know what an ipod is, and I even know how to put songs on it. But I am not sure how cable works and I certainly can't unravel the mystery of the cable TV remote. To me, the concept of a little set-top box that also allows you to record several TV programs, not only digitally, but simultaneously, is something that makes my brain hurt.

And here we are in our apartment, sans cable for the first time since moving in. And it's all the fault of the evil ground floor she-hags that have since been thrust into homelessness by our clever landlord. You may remember these girls caused me many sleepless nights with their carousing and partying and general foulness at all hours of the (school) night. Fortunately they've now gone and I don't care where, but for the fact that they took the cable connection with them.

So when Lex got the Comcast people out to hook us back up, we realised that our initial cable was being supplied by a complex web of split wires and half circuits coming up through the floor boards. Tricky. And also rather illegal. Whee. Fortunately for us, the Comcast nerds knew we had nothing to do with it but they didn't exactly know how to fix it either.

As a result, we're going to remain without cable until this Friday. And normally that would not be a drama in and of itself. Except for the fact that this Thursday marks the season premieres of House; CSI; and - most importantly - Grey's Anatomy.

So I'd like to put a special shout out thank you to Pete, who is giving me his house keys so that Lex and I (and a pizza and beer and plenty of Kleenex) can crash at his place on Thursday evening before he gets home, and cue up the episode of Grey's. Poor Pete will no doubt return home to two women sobbing on his sofa, swooning over Dr McDreamy. But god bless him for letting us crash all the same. And please let the Comcast crew hook us up on Friday, and please let the TV remote be something I can work out.

Celluloid wedded bliss

Here comes the bride......,
originally uploaded by Terry_Lea.

Lex took me to see "Confetti" tonight, which many people in Australia have already seen, as it has been out there for a while. But the US is a little slow on the uptake when it comes to British films, and "Confetti" is about to jettison into theatres later this week.

I really did love it. I don't think that Martin Freeman (from the British series of "The Office", "Love Actually", and also "Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy") can do much wrong on film. He is just so adorably off-beat and uncomfortable that you have to love him. And in this movie he is no exception.

Lex loves British guys and I think her crush was just confirmed tonight. Lex and Marty sitting in the tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

I get to be bridesmaid.

The definition of irony

A Pathetic Clown,
originally uploaded by *Irina*.

For the past few weeks, I have been looking forward to the Cult's annual party, called "Homecoming". This year's theme was Las Vegas, and the Club was planning to decorate 4 floors with showgirls, Cirque du Soleil performers, and even a Chapel of Love with an Elvis tribute artist (not impersonator, thank you). Honestly, the party was all I could talk about for weeks. My friend Kerry and I were all set to go there on Friday night.

But Thursday night after the UNICEF benefit, I got home and took off my 4" heels to get ready for bed. I took my make-up off, brushed my teeth, got into my pyjamas, and then stood on my bed to turn off my light. My bedroom light is actually the ceiling fan, but I can't reach the switch just by standing on the floor, so I either leap to turn it on/off, or I can do what I did on Thursday night and stand on my bed to do it.

Anyway - and keep in mind I was barefoot while doing this - I slid off my mattress and landed the wrong way, rather heavily, on the side of my foot crashing onto my floorboards. And you guessed it, I have sprained my ankle.

The only shoes I can wear are my pink pumas (yay) and my Aussie flip flops (double yay). But the most distressing thing was that I could not wear the gorgeous black slingbacks I'd bought to wear to the Cult party. Not only that, I could barely put my weight on my foot. So I had to bail on the party of the year.

Fortunately I was able to do all that without financial penalty - the Club graciously cancelled my tickets at no charge. Phew.

But I'm just bummed you know? I walked around all Thursday night in 4" heels without incident, only to bust my ankle when I was barefoot. Where is the justice?!

Stepping Out for UNICEF

Red Ultra Hi Heels,
originally uploaded by shielaannkeller.

This post is actually dedicated to my sister, who has been on my mind all week as I gear up for a BIG night tomorrow. I'm going to a fundraiser benefit for UNICEF. It's title? "Wine, Women, and Shoes". It's title? "Wine, Women, and Shoes". My sister's idea of heaven.

The invitation specifies a dress code that is "Business Casual - but your shoes must be fab". Given that none of my shoes fit such a description (other than the silver sparkly wedges Joshua picked out for me), I took myself for an adrenalin-fuelled shopping trip after work. And I came home with some red peep-toed satin stilettos that I can actually walk in (phew) which I will team with my new black shirt-dress. I hope that will conjure the appropriate degree of 'fab' and see me photographed at least once.

But best of all is the silent auction. One of the items is a pair of Celine pumps (that's shoes, Dad) signed by Sarah Jessica Parker. So exciting. I am not going to bid for them of course - since the auction catalogue dares to suggest the item is 'priceless' - but I can't wait to sit back and see just how much they fetch. Sigh.

Who's the teacher here?

I had my first official night of tutoring and I was just really excited to find the place on public transportation! I took the Pink Line train out to the station and then walked the three blocks to the school. I was the only white girl in the whole neighbourhood, but most people were just curious to see me and I wasn't nervous or afraid at all. To be fair, I was a little too distracted for that. I needed to make sure that I had my bearings. After all, I'll eventually be doing this in the dead of winter, so I need to know exactly where I'm going.

I got to the school around 5.45pm and was put to work straight away in the library/tutoring room, and was asked to help one of the girls with her reading. She's only 11 years old, so I didn't think it was too advisable that she read to me a chapter about finding love and marriage in the early 1700s America. A little too heavy for all of us I think. So we switched to read Disney's "Dumbo". Much more appropriate. Still, my student is not the best reader, so I don't think we fully captured the simple beauty of the pachiderm parable. I still enjoyed it though.

While we were finishing up, a little champ named Kev came up and asked if he could read to me next. So we started out with a book about Spoonbill parents trying to find food to feed their hungry chicks. The perils that the mother bird faced as she fished in the swamp; so close to being devoured by a family of alligators. It was intense! But at least Kev was getting into it too and making a lot of sense of the story, which was good. Then we switched and read some wildlife books where we oohed and ahhed over photos of bobcats tearing the heads of rabbits - that sort of thing. But Kev's mother was in the room the whole time, so he was allowed to look at that sort of material.

Then we just chatted for a bit about our mutual love of animals and the various pets we've had in our lives. He was really good company, and we've agreed to bring each other a book next week that has some fun animals in it. I have 7 days to find such a thing. Help.

Your call will be monitored for my own amusement

A fellow Cult member approached me last night while I was sitting with Jenn and he was introduced as somewhat of a property tycoon, whose most recent acquisition is a very snazzy building on the other side of the Chicago River from my office. He is also a first-class art collector (by his own humble admission) and now he's in the process of decorating his newest real estate purchase, and setting up his offices.

One of his top jobs is to make sure his phone system is up to date, and he's asked me to record his 'telephone tree' for him. You know the phone system menu you hear when you first dial into a large corporation? Press 1 for Company Directory, Press 2 for take-out pizza, Press 3 to hear these options again - that sort of thing? Anyway that's what he wants me to do for him. He wants me to help out particularly because my accent projects an easily-understood and crystal-clear professional image for his organisation. Uh huh. I didn't have the heart to tell him the awful stories of just how many times I have been misunderstood in this City because of my accent. Oh well, let him find out...

In any case, I was going to do the phone recording anyway. He didn't have to lay the compliments on so thickly! I'll be warming up my vocal chords for him in a few weeks time.

Cheers and Chin Ups

There is something really great about catching up with a friend for a few drinks after work in the aptly-named "Rendez-Vous Room" at the Cult. Jenn and I had a lot of catching up to do after not having seen one another in over a week. This was a serious lapse in time for us and we hardly touched our Pinot Grigio before we had at least dished out one decent story each.

My first thought when I saw Jenn was how great she looked. I did the standard "wow, have you lost weight?" but I meant it this time. And fortunately for me, my observations were correct. She had lost some 8lbs in only 4 weeks - thanks to the Cult's personal trainer, Armando. I am seriously considering going to visit him a few times a week, if I could possibly have the same success as Jenn has had.

Swimming is all well and good but to have such dramatic results in such a short time - this is amazing. Jenn said that Armando shuns traditional gym equipment, instead relying on resistance training and lifting your own body weight. Jenn used the words "push ups" several times, and I don't think she was talking about underwear.

So we'll see. I'm not sure what Armando's consultation hours are. Jenn sees him around 3pm or 4pm during the week, but I can't get out of work at that time. For once I can actually blame a slack gym routine on the office, and it won't be an excuse. Sweet.

Still, today was the first "sweater day" at the office but I just know it's the first of many. No one will notice stomach rolls and flabby bingo-wing arms underneath bulky winter clothes, right? Just as long as I'm in shape for bikini season again, right?

Gab and Goliath

I like to think that I am a reasonably intelligent person, capable of multi-tasking and ensuring that I get my jobs done successfully. So when my capacity in this regard is challenged, and yet I know I've done the right thing, I get a bit irritated.

This morning at 10am, just as the delicious caffeine was working its way into my blood stream, my boss challenged me about a meeting he'd had with Uber-Corporation X recently. I knew that I'd spoken to them and made necessary arrangements but the Corporation complained to my boss (in person) that I hadn't informed them of the arrangements. [The fact that their ignorance of the arrangements did not inconvenience anyone is apparently immaterial].

So my boss believed the Corporation and challenged me about it. Now I hate when the fat cats pick on the little guys, especially when the little guy is me. So I wasn't having a bit of it. I knew I was right and I told my boss so. I stood there and parroted the conversation I'd had with Corporation Exec Assistant and concluded with a rather emphatic, "so it was their mistake, not mine".

I was not hearing another word on the subject. The only thing I did hear after that was the apology from my boss. I think it was an all-encompassing apology - for underestimating me, for not defending me to the Corporation and, most of all, for breathing. Apology accepted.

Is it just me, or is it warm in here?

Last night was Pete's housewarming and now he only lives about 3 blocks from me. Perfectly stumbling distance, as I might have said when I was 17 or so. Ahem.

But it was very amusing to see just how many people can squish into a 1-bedroom apartment at one time, even though that does sound like the start of a very bad joke. Armed with a bottle of champagne and a good attitude, I joined good friends at the party and had a great night.

To be fair, I had a good early morning, cause I didn't get to bed until 3am. Pete's reflections today were rather blah, but I guess you never have a good time at your own party. It was left to me to reassure him that everyone I spoke to (and that was pretty much everyone - at length) was having a blast. Me included.

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, the jury is still out), Pete has no room for food in his fridge right now. He will have to survive on clever rations of Chinese take-out (his only fast food menu so far) and a large assortment of bottled beer. The house is well and truly warm, and our job here was done well.

A home cooked meal just for me

the dinner party (before)
Originally uploaded by JKonig.

Okay so this photo is not really representative of last night's dinner, but I just liked the colours and the glassware, so give me a break.

Last night I went to the home of "Aussie Mel & Tongue-Ring Dave" to enjoy a delicious home-cooked meal. Mel had been keen to thank me for giving she and Dave some concert tickets a few weeks back and while I said a thank you wasn't necessary, she persisted.

And so it was that I ended up at their beautiful apartment, in a refurbished carriage house just outside of Downtown, to enjoy some 'experimental' bruschetta and delicious pasta bake. Dave also generously opened their impressive wine cellar too, so the dinner was really rocking. Rather uncharacteristically, I turned up empty handed, so I felt rather awful and will probably do something to remedy that bad karma soon.

Last night the weather was just ideal and so we took our wine glasses up to the building's rooftop and enjoyed beautiful views over the City of Chicago. It looked so peaceful from up there. Lake Michigan looked so calm, and the imposing Field Museum and The Spaceship (aka Soldier Field) just completed the view.

Great food, great friends, and great location. And I was spoilt rotten - it was a real treat.

Am I really better naked?

I left the house in a bit of a rush this morning and even though I freakishly made my bed, I neglected to slip my cell phone (oops, mobile - sorry Jems) into my handbag. As a result, I am feeling positively naked today. And not in a good way either.

During a normal work day, my phone lives on a shelf by Biggsy's desk. Each time I head to the kitchen for a drink refill, I'll stop by Biggsy's desk as a reflex and check for phone calls or messages. On the off chance that my phone rings during the day, it will blast out a number of equally obnoxious ring tones that I carefully selected to represent my friends. For those unlisted numbers, it's a Missy Higgins tune (but you could have guessed that, right?).

So today when I lamented not having brought my phone, and making likely distasteful comments about my nudity, Biggsy declared that he preferred it when I went sans phone, as it meant some bloody peace and quiet. No Missy, no INXS, no nothing. Even when Mero and I reminded Biggsy that he has 70s porn music as his ring tone, somehow my musical choice still ended up to be the dumbest. Sigh, I just can't win.

Lettuce be glad for a cast-iron stomach

I had yesterday off work owing to a rather horrible bout of post-Mexico stomach "issues" that left me feeling rather seedy. In any case, I only trusted peppermint tea, small cups of coffee, and water to nourish my system. Given the obvious light-headedness in which such a diet resulted, I figured staying home was truly the best medicine.

I've come to work today, feeling a little thinner to be honest (woohoo) but managed to have a rather surreal remote conversation with my boss, the essence of which follows:

Boss: Are you feeling better? What did you eat?
Me: Yes, much better thank you. Not sure what I ate, but I will try not to do it again.
Boss: I bet it was the lettuce. Did you eat the lettuce?
Me: [slightly shocked that this would be his first go-to gastro nastie] Uh, yes I had salad on the buffet but they would have been careful not to wash that in tap water.
Boss: You can't be sure of that; you should have asked. Did you drink the water?
Me: Oh no, I know better than to do that [I omitted sharing with him the amount of tequila I drank]. After the travelling I've done incident-free, perhaps it was just my time to get sick...
Boss: Nonsense, it happens all the time. Right well it's good that you're good, you should count yourself lucky. Now, anyway.
Me: Yep, I do. After yesterday's efforts I'm just grateful to be alive. Groan.

Nerds are people too

Originally uploaded by DG N.

I started my volunteering gig today, helping young kids through the Union League Boys and Girls Club. The Cult, as you and I have come to affectionately term it, owns several properties across Chicago, that offer after-school care activities for local school kids. The idea is that the Clubhouse offers the kids a place to come, primarily to do their homework, but also to do arts & crafts, sports classes, and generally just to just muck about in safety after a day cooped up in classes. A cool concept and I am pleased to be part of it.

So tonight I met a Cult representative and we travelled out together to meet the organisers of the Clubhouse that I will be visiting every Tuesday night for the forseeable future. My job will be to supervise "Power Hour", the 60-minute window where I'm supposed to focus the kids on doing their homework. At any one time, I will be supervising 20+ kids aged between 8 and 16. I was joking at work today that I will be fine, just as long as no one asks me any questions about American History. Or Geography. Or Politics. Or Science.

I only spoke to two of the kids today, adorable little girls about 8 years old, and both of them gazed at me open-mouthed, as if I was from another planet. Then they collapsed into a fit of giggles that did not subside until I left the room. Not an altogether unusual reaction by any means, but it made me smile nonetheless. This is going to be a very "interesting" volunteering experience.

The organisers assure me the kids will warm to me. Even more when they get comfortable enough to ask me questions about Australia. My secret mission is to have them all speaking Aussie slang by the end of the year. Or maybe I'll be a bit of a covert Australian Tourism representative and get the kids interested in Aussie animals and plants - I can see papier machied eucalypts and egg carton koalas hanging up all over the art studio already.

And there is an upside for me too, you know. I'll be working in a largely Hispanic neighbourhood. Do I hear "Free Spanish Lessons"?! Muy bien, senorita!

RIP Fearless Steve

Crikeysteve
Originally uploaded by Mr Nylon.

For a long time I was very anti-Steve Irwin. For me, his ballsy and over-the-top antics were almost too Aussie and in a way I thought he was doing our national image a disservice (think "Crocodile Dundee" for an older, but equally cringe-worthy, example of this).

But as time dragged on, and particularly when I came to the States, I realised that Steve Irwin was a real asset to Australia and particularly helpful to our image overseas. Sure he was loud, brazen, and audacious but he was also a family man and a savvy businessman who knew how to work the American public and at the same time showcase the uniqueness of Australia and our wildlife.

And the American media is remembering Steve fondly as news of his tragic death reaches us. America had embraced him as that very quirky but really loved Aussie ambassador. And for all the people saying "well, he died doing what he loved," it still seems an awful shame (if not particularly grisly).

For fear of getting bogged down in melancholy, check out Harry's take on Steve's passing for a more "Aussie" reaction (which is not bad at all really, considering Harry's a Brit).

Hasta la vista, amigos!

Originally uploaded by st_gleam.

I'm sitting here on my bed in Chicago, wondering where the last four days went. Caro and I had an absolute ball sunning ourselves in Puerto Vallarta, even though the presence of Hurricane John just further up the coast from us was never out of our minds for long.

When I started thinking about what I was going to blog about this vacation, I was going to take a day-by-day approach. But on reflection, that would read rather boring. Given that we were on an all-inclusive vacation, we didn't pay for the tequila and beer that we started drinking at 11am. And as a result, sleeping became a regular feature on the day's agenda. Falling asleep on a beach chair under the hot Mexican sun is not something I'd immediately recommend. Tequila has some sort of sedative property I'm sure.

But Caro and I did get ourselves organised and left the resort for one of the days. We put ourselves in the capable hands of Vallarta Adventures, and took off in one of these open-sided vehicles to go smashing and crashing into the heart of Mexico on a Sierra Madre adventure. I actually went hiking in a forest! And no one carried me! The day ended with a late lunch on the beach and, true to form, I slept a little on the beach chair (post margaritas of course). Then on the vehicle back to our resort, the tour guide encouraged us all to have two shots of really good quality tequila. Arriba! Then it was back to our room for yet another sleep.

Are you getting the (restful) picture here?

I didn't take as many photos of Mexico as I'd intended. Partly this was due to my narcolepsy, but also there was just so much relaxation to be had at our wonderful hotel, I didn't want to interrupt the serenity. Honest. So just take my word for it when I say that I am healthy, happy, tanned, and rested. And I'm not entirely ready to see another bottle of tequila just yet.