It occurs to me that it has been almost a year since I last posted on this site. In that time, I’ve come home to Australia; completed a university course; and (saving the best till last), I’ve caught up with much-missed friends and family.
Why, might you ask, am I breathing life back into the blog? Well, I’ve accepted a job overseas and so I’m on the move again. This time next week, I’ll be on the plane to London where I’ll be working with an Australian organisation, in an Events Coordinator role.
This is an exciting piece of news of course and I’m really looking forward to the adventure, but I’m not jumping out of my skin just yet. In fact, once the job was offered to me I didn’t accept it straight away. For several sleepless nights after I knew the role was mine, the battle between heart and head raged and my mental list of pros and cons was disturbingly even. Taking the job would mean leaving my family (again). Was that really something I wanted to do? And if I wasn't ready to leave my family, what kind of idiot applies for a job overseas? Backwards and forwards it went; you get the idea. In the end, I could not ignore the amazing career opportunity to work in London as the city prepares to host the summer Olympic Games 2012 – a textbook case of head trumping heart.
As my rational mind basks in the glow of its victory, my heart is focussed on the social advantages that this new challenge will bring. This move to London is a unique chance to discover a new city, a new country, and new friends – and you know how my heart loves all those things. Slowly but surely I'm making peace with my decision and I'm beginning to look forward to the good times ahead.
In the same way that you have been with me on previous adventures, I look forward to sharing London with you. If you want to recommend anything that I should see and do while I'm there, please leave me a comment because I'd love to share the fun and games with you.
I probably should have dyed my hair blue this morning, to be adequately prepared for today's theater adventure. The average age of the audience members would easily have been 85. But it's little wonder really - the star of the show was the one, the only TOPOL in his farewell tour of "Fiddler on the Roof".
My sister was never far from my mind as I watched Topol shimmy across the stage in "If I were a rich man" (do be do be do) - Jem's version of this number is rather like the Sugar Plum Fairy on crack - yet she will perform it upon request...and sometimes completely impromptu.
Topol has performed the role of Tevye over 2500 times and you've got to give props to a guy that can do that. I don't know how old Topol is for sure, but the man still has "it". The energy is boundless and the deep, booming voice is at once calming and commanding. In some scenes, he sounded like Andre The Giant and so I got the giggles. The old ladies tsked me all around. More giggles from me.
I was not laughing, however, during intermission when I tried to get to the bathroom. Trying to get 3,000 eighty-five year old women to pee in the space of 10 minutes is like herding cats. This time it was MY turn to tsk. I am so impatient when I need to pee.
After the performance I was in the mood to be indulgent, so I called into the iconic Petterino's and had a cosmo. The barman was a genius, mixing up a delicious shaker full of pink fabulousness just for me - and while I thought better than to tell him about my afternoon spent with the Blue Rinse Brigade, I sat alone to savour my cocktail as the old ladies around me enjoyed their dinner. At 5pm.
In one week, I will finish work. I am very nervous about this for a number of reasons.
Firstly, I haven't been unemployed since I was 17. I'm not sure I'll be too good at it. Sure, I like slothing around as much as the next girl, but I get tired of it pretty quickly. And there's only so much daytime TV even I can take (sorry, Food Network, even you bore me after a while).
Secondly, finishing my job means that I'm almost leaving Chicago. One does not exist without the other. And the closer I get to my last day on the job, the closer I get to the last time I take the bus along glassy Lake Michigan, and the last time I stroll down the Magnificent Mile and the last time I...well, you get the picture.
My situation is nothing to pity of course. I chose to be in this situation - I'm not one of the unlucky ones to lose my job because of the financial slump the world is in, nor was I booted out for being naughty. I elected to put myself in this position - mea culpa and all that good stuff.
But don't the faceless "they" always tell you that you should leave a party while you're still having fun? Well that's what I'm doing - getting out while the getting is good.
I just wish my list of things to say goodbye to wasn't quite so long...
Once I'd made the decision to resign from my job and move back home, I had thought the worst was over.
Then I started to have anxieties about not being able to sublet my apartment and that I would end up having to pay rent from overseas, financially bound to my gorgeous place until the end of my lease on November 1st.
After many weekends of showing my apartment to potential subletters (subleasers?), I got a call from my building manager to say that an applicant had been found. I was thrilled but the manager cautioned me against getting too excited. "Nothing's formalised until we approve them financially and you co-sign the papers," she said. There was that anxiety again, gnawing at my stomach lining.
Walking into the building office this afternoon to do my part, my head was spinning.
Who was the mysterious applicant, I wondered? Had I shown her my place on one of those crazy Saturdays when my apartment looked like a Chinese laundry, and dust balls swirled around our ankles like tumbleweeds? Or was the new tenant somebody who had seen the place when I wasn't here and when I didn't know they were coming; when I later went postal at the maintenance guys for letting her in without telling me? [Okay so that only happened once but it annoyed me.]
The sublease papers arrived in a fluoro pink envelope and were placed in front of me to sign. I read the name of the woman who would soon call my bachelorette pad her home, and I drew a complete blank. I had never seen that name in my life. My apartment was about to be signed over to a stranger.
I asked the building manager about the person, and she wouldn't tell me anything other than that they had been financially approved. Is that all people care about? I would have found out heaps more than that!
As I co-signed my name on the dotted line, I thought about my time as tenant in my lovely 1-bedroom from September 2007 up to now. This place gave me my first experience at living alone and having a bachelorette pad that I loved coming home to every day. In the heart of Boystown, my apartment was a quiet refuge for a crazy city girl.
Sure, the place may be beige, and it may be the very embodiment of Japanese minimalism (paricularly right now with the furniture all but cleared out), but I have loved it dearly. And I only hope that this complete, but financially-approved stranger will too.
I'm a bit too young to remember "Miami Vice" so my story today starts with a TV show from my youth, shown in a more PG-friendly timeslot. Some of you out there may fondly remember the variety show on Australian TV called "Hey, Hey It's Saturday!". And before you ask, there are no prizes for guessing which night of the week it screened....
Anyway, one of the segments on the show was called "Red Faces" and contestants of all ages and all "talents" competed against one another for cash (I think, or maybe it was just prizes). The whole point was to get through your act before Red Symonds (of "Skyhooks" fame) hit the giant gong and struck you out.
I must have watched so many contestants on "Red Faces" in my time, but one that will forever stick out is a young boy who decided he wanted to sing Will Smith's hit - of the time - "Going to Miami". The boy had the audience vote already because he was adorable but unfortunately for everyone, he was also tone deaf and had absolutley no sense of rhythm. And being the complete sadist that he was, Red Symonds refused to gong the kid. So we all had to sit there and endure the wailing, off-beat, off-tempo, and generally just OFF performance.
But even a tuneless kid on "Red Faces" in the early 90s couldn't have put me off going to Miami. I just hadn't had the occasion until this past weekend. And so to put us all in the mood for the rest of this post, do yourself a favour and click on the "Going to Miami" video - the way Will Smith intended it be heard...
There now. Don't you feel better already?
The first thing that hit me about Miami was the heat. Then the humidity and then possibly the heat again. Flying in from a city that has 'enjoyed' a winter that doesn't seem to want to quit, the intense heat of Miami was a really welcome change. I'm not one to enjoy humidity really but after Chi-town's cool, I wasn't going to complain.
But my weekend did not give me a single thing to complain about anyway. I met K at Miami airport around 2am (her plane had been delayed and it was nothing to just wait around) and we shared a cab to our fabulous accommodation, the Gansevoort South. There we met up with three of K's other NYC-based friends (2 Aussies, one Swede) and we crashed fast asleep. No surprise there.
I had battled a nasty cold last week and the air con in our hotel room left me congested and snuffly come the morning. So I woke semi-early and took myself off in search of coffee. Thankfully Cafe Bustelo had set up shop right next door to the Hotel, and I made myself at home to people-watch and ease into the weekend's warm weather.
One by one the other girls surfaced and joined me at coffee. When we were all assembled, three of us made the plan to find brunch. Off we went down Collins Ave (lined with every manner of gorgeous boutique and art deco retro hotel) and we turned onto Lincoln Avenue Mall. The pedestrian mall was overrun with restaurants, but not many of them served breakfast or brunch. Perhaps Floridians don't know about brunching, we mused. But we finally found a place and settled inside (under the air conditioner) to enjoy our first meal in Miami. It was so large, we almost didn't feel like ANOTHER meal in Miami! The portions were huge and none of us ate everything on our plates - but we agreed across the board that everything was delicious. Particularly the fruit juices - must be all that sunshine.
As the grey clouds and thunderstorm rolled in, we walked back to the Hotel with a view to swimming around for a couple of hours in the gorgeous pool - conveniently located on the same floor as our hotel room! Self-conscious as I was about laying around in a bikini, I have to confess I was very interested in being a sloth on the pool chairs with my large fashionista sunglasses and a good book (and a great margarita, if one could be arranged).
And so it was that I donned the bathing suit (and old grandma cover-up) and blazed a trail out to the pool. The heat was intense but the pool offered welcome respite and I rejoiced in the knowledge that it was perfectly okay (nay, EXPECTED) to consume one's cocktail while partially submerged in the cool waters. It was blissful.
Some minutes later, and wrinkled like the satisfied human prune that I was, I retired to the pool lounge to dry off, read my book, and close my eyes to the sensation of freshly-made strawberry margarita working its way through my bloodstream.
I found it rather amusing that the pool had a sign that said, "No Lifeguard on Duty"; however there were several pool attendants bearing cocktail trays milling around the guests. Miami is a town of interesting, if not inspiring, priorities. And really, when you're in the market for a restaurant recommendation, isn't it easier to ask a pool cocktail waitress than a lifeguard? I think so too.
Fast forward a couple of hours and we ended up at Sardinia Enoteca & Ristorante in Miami Beach, a place that boasts traditional southern Italian cuisine and great service. We didn't have a reservation and that seemed to anger the hostess, but no one else had a problem with it, and we had a wonderful dinner together.
By the time we got back to the Hotel, we were all exhausted. The combination of sleep deprivation, sun, fresh air, cocktails, great food, and big laughs had knocked us all out. So we retired to our rooms and got some sleep.
Awoken to my last day in Miami, I was again all stuffed up and snuffly thanks to an over-zealous (but highly necessary) air conditioner. K headed off to the beach for a while and I got re-acquainted with the coffee shop. Only this time, I also tried some croquetas, basically just Cuban croquettes that are quite delicious. I bought them at the coffee shop, so I'm positive they were not the most authentic or tasty morsels available in Miami; however I wanted to say I'd tried them. I had one filled with chorizo and one with ham and cheese, and coupled with my enormous coffee, they constituted quite a nice breakfast.
Having checked out at 12.30pm, we left our bags with the concierge and walked along Collins Avenue to Ocean Road, the haunt of the rich and truly fabulous. Yes we walked in the searing heat and sweaty humidity, but it was totally worth it.
We took the advice of a couple of friends and ate at The Front Porch Cafe, which is a dining institution in South Beach and located in the lobby of the Penguin Hotel. Again, we didn't have a reservation but the crowd moved fairly quickly and we were seated in less than 10 minutes. Feeling restored by a delicious cocktail and a huge breakfast/lunch, we headed off for a walk along Ocean Road, past the Versace Mansion and restaurants, bars and cafes galore.
Being bikini-phobic, one of the things that struck me almost immediately was just how confident people seemed in Miami, to walk around semi-clad and strutting their stuff - whether they had stuff to strut or not. Even the mannqueins in the store windows had larger-than-normal boobs to show you just how those skimpy fashions should be worn to best effect. It's terrible when you're envious of a store mannequin.
Reminiscent of the end of "Oceans 11", the girls left one by one, and pretty soon only Kate and I were left. Without the supervision, we were resigned to bar hopping along Collins Ave, escaping from the heat into the cool of the cocktail lounges in the art deco hotels we had admired so much from the street. It was a lovely way to spend the afternoon.
As we got back to the Hotel en route to the airport, the weather turned ugly again and we were worried our flights would be delayed. As it turned out, we got to the airport just fine and my flight was the only one with problems - somebody left the heaters on in the plane and the whole aircraft became unbearable and needed to be aired out. Figures. But I was home in bed around midnight, so happy that I got to spend a wonderful couple of days in the Miami sunshine. I may even have got a bit of a tan for my efforts and with any luck, I may have bought some of the good weather back to "sweet home Chicago" with me.
I don't tend to go in for any of that fear mongering when it comes to disease outbreaks or global epidemics. In the case of the current H1N1 influenza outbreak, I have been taking good care of myself and so far, things have been coasting along well.
So last Friday when I swallowed some Diet Coke and my throat started to hurt, I knew I was coming down with something, and admittedly my thoughts didn't turn to the piggy flu until I wasn't able to get out of bed on Monday morning. Tuesday rolled around without much improvement and I guess I figured it would not surprise anyone in my life to find out that I had indeed succumbed to the stinky pig flu.
I took myself off to the doctors this morning and had an ill-timed coughing fit on the bus. The man opposite me regarded me rather suspiciously, removed his handkerchief from his pocket and proceeded to cover his face with it.
Way harsh.
So try as hard as I might to stem the cough, it would not be silienced. More mucus, more heaving, more watery eyes - I was one sexy bus passenger, sitting all alone in as much quarantine as the Chicago Transit Authority will allow.
After a painful blood test and an even more invasive throat swab, the diagnosis from the doctor is that I simply have a very bad cold. Fortunately I'm no longer contagious and I'm 100% cleared to travel to sunny Miami this weekend. More on that later.
Wouldn't you know it? The positive visit to the doctor, and the subsequent mass medication purchase at Walgreen's has left me already feeling a great deal better. It's back to work tomorrow but at least this little piggy is feeling a little more like her old self again.
I haven't started counting down the days yet but I will be heading home for good on July 7 and so little by little, I've been wrapping up my life here. It's hard to believe that I've amassed so much stuff in the nearly 4 years that I've lived here, but it's true.
After much to-ing and fro-ing on the advertising front, I believe I've finally sublet my apartment but I'm just waiting for the paperwork to arrive. A little while ago I made the decision to sell off or give away anything in my apartment that wasn't a gift, and thus began a steady revolving door of furniture removals and cash-in-hand purchasing. Although it sounds like it went rather smoothly, it was pretty exhuasting trying to manage all of the moving. And I still have some items to sell and an apartment to clean from top to bottom before I can, in good conscience, clear out.
Resigning from my job brought its own angst too. I had never resigned in person before and was not really sure what I was going to say, what the bosses were likely to say, or what would happen once the proverbial cat was out of the bag. As it turned out, the level of support has been great and so I'm in the real home stretch to tie up all my office-based loose ends too.
Amidst all this change, my system has decided to freak out and I've been at home the last 2 days with a really bad cold. I'm hoping it's not the dreaded oink-oink flu that's been going around, partly because that would be really embarassing, but also because I'm supposed to be flying to Miami this Friday to spend the weekend with Kate and a couple of her friends from NY. If I get diagnosed with the flu, I have to go into quarantine and I won't be allowed to fly. That would suck on so many levels, I can't even begin to describe them. So let's just hope that the doctor's appointment tomorrow will yield happy news - and lots of delicious pharmaceuticals!
So barring weeknds away, for-sale furniture, and suspect germs circulating in my system, I am making final plans to leave this wonderful City. I've even made a list (in pencil) of the must-see and must-do things. Hopefully over the coming weeks I'll be able to write postings - and even include photos? - of my efforts to work through the list...bring it on!
It was Mero's birthday last week and so on Sunday, she got a bunch of friends together to go bowling at Southport Lanes & Billiards. Even though I only live 10 minutes from the bar, I had never been there before. But I remember Mero once saying to me that the bowling alley is so old school, even employing people to score for you, and to clear & set the pins - wonderful!
So off I went, and the fact that my bowling shoes matched my top was obviously a great omen. I got a strike all on my own, and then a couple more - when the boys clearing the pins kicked down some stubborn skittles for me. And bless her, the scorer counted it as a strike!
Fortunately for me, everyone was pretty on par in terms of bowling ability (aka we were all equally terrible) so I felt pretty good at strutting my stuff. We were distracted by birthday cake at one point, so I'm not even sure if we finished our game - but it was lots of fun all the same.
There are few things in life more comforting to me than a bowl of pasta and glass of red wine. It is not necessary for both to be of superb quality either; a good wine is enough to wash down a so-so pasta, just as much as a rustic pasta dish is enough to mask any sub-par wine. They help each other so perfectly, and that makes them my ideal food therapy.
It's not so much that I needed therapy tonight, but I was longing to see L&D as it had been months since we had caught up. I was craving a hearty pasta/wine combo meal, so I asked the boys if they'd like to meet me at "Angelina's", which is equal distance from each of our apartments. Coincidence?!
As with any reunion, there was much to talk about and so much news to catch up on. We toasted the rendez-vous with some prosecco to start, and then the main meals came out.
L chose the mushroom risotto with a healthy dollop of goat cheese on top (I coveted it almost immediately) and D selected the eggplant parmigiana that had so much mozzarella oozing on top of it that I was suddenly so happy. On D's recommendation I selected the linguine mare, with such generous portions of shrimp, mussels and calimari, I was well pleased. And the delicious Chianti Classico that D selected complemented our dishes perfectly.
I regretted not owning any elastic pants after that meal, but I'd like to think that I ended things well by having an espresso and lemon sorbet for dessert - moderation in all things, as they say!
I think a lot of people love the pasta/wine combo as a comforting meal. Granted it's easy to prepare in your own home, but there is something special about having someone else make it for you too.
I am quite relieved that I decided not to make any resolutions with the dawning of this New Year. Not only am I not dedicated enough to keep said resolutions; rather I appear to be completely unable to resist temptation of any kind.
Case in point, today's eating habits. The day started with a Potbelly breakfast sandwich (a personal indulgence and quite yummy); then I returned to Potbelly for lunch (and tried a new sandwich option which I found to be so delicious I fear it will quickly became a favourite); and now I am ending my day with cereal for dinner. And raisin toast.
I don't know why I feel obliged to tell you about the toast. Perhaps it's my vain attempt to round out the meal, and (in a way) make it OK that I'm living my day in reverse and having 7 whole grains for dinner.
All this weirdness is my own fault, really. I forgot to defrost any of the alarming amount of food in my freezer. So for dinner tonight, I can either have an iceblock that looks and tastes alarming like beef stew, or I can enjoy cereal and raisin toast. It's scary that I can explain this to you.
Now before you coming rushing over bearing casseroles and potluck dinners, let me assure you that I do have salad ingredients in my fridge. However, when I opened the door to get the milk out earlier, the mixed lettuce greens growled at me, and I believe that the tomatoes are currently waging a turf war with the cucumber for ultimate supremacy over the bottom shelf. It's like "Lord of the Flies" in there right now and much like this entire posting, it's pretty scary stuff.
The first day of a new year always makes me wonder whether my energies are better spent looking back over the year that was, or looking ahead to the year that will be.
And so I find myself sitting at my computer table overlooking the Chicago neighbourhood below, in the manner of a Midwestern Carrie Bradshaw, not quite sure where I go from here. When you've got so many options, and so many possibilities, I couldn't help but wonder: can you really have it all?
By choice I had a very quiet New Year's Eve. In fact, I was asleep by 11pm. But I awoke with a headache, and I was tempted to see that as a rather ominous start to 2009, but instead I decided to distribute the blame on my over-zealous heating system and very fluffy winter quilt. In any case, the headache was nothing that a strong coffee and raisin toast couldn't fix!
All the same, I'm a bit restless today and I'm not sure why. It could be early onset cabin fever brought on by the cold wind outside and no real desire on my part to go out. Or perhaps I am anxious about something....but I'm not sure what it could be. Knowing me, it is probably something lame like all the unread magazines that have piled up over the last few weeks - perhaps I'm worried that I'm missing out on so much trashy gossip. Oh the hardship! Yep, these are the things I think about.
Maybe I'm not actually restless; rather, perhaps this is 'contentment' that I'm feeling. It's a strange sensation, that's for sure. No pressure to go anywhere, do anything, be anything. My entire day, indeed the entire year, is ahead of me, with no expectations or obligations. That in itself is kinda scary though.
Perhaps I should just go and do what I told my mother I would do - open up the baby bottle of Veuve in my fridge and toast the new year, toast myself, toast my unread magazines, and even toast the piles of laundry I am trying to ignore.
Doesn't that sound like a splendid way to start ANY year?!
It's hard to believe that the holidays are over and despite my initial reluctance to put up my tiny little Christmas tree (with even tinier ornaments), I have to say that I am sad to say goodbye to the yuletide celebration.
Last year I spent the majority of the holiday in booze-fuelled revelry which, in its own way, created some very funny Christmas memories. This year however, was always going to be a different story. Because THIS year, I was getting out of Chicago and spending "Christmas in the Country" at the Lake Geneva Resort & Spa in Wisconsin.
K had decided a couple of months ago that it would be a blast to spend the holiday season together. So that prompted my November excursion to New York for Thanksgiving, and then K visited me here in Chicago for Christmas. We spent a couple of days in Chi-town because I still had to work, but it was a good opportunity to bid farewell to the Chriskindlmarket in Daley Plaza as well as catch up with a few friends before they too left town for the big day.
Pete was kind enough to lend us his car for the road trip and I have to say, Kate was the perfect highway driver - alternating as she did between appropriately aggressive overtaking, and fantastic duet partner for radio karaoke. Even when I talked her ear off so we missed the toll booth exit, she never once seemed irritated. And despite the ugly weather on the drive from Illinois to Wisconsin, we made it to Lake Geneva with both the borrowed car, and our long-time friendship, intact.
We had a lakeview room, though you wouldn't know it because of the near foot of snow that had blanketed the landscape outside. Most of the snow had fallen over the golfcourse and surrounding property, so it was untouched by human feet (though some deer and rabbits had obviously left some prints behind).
The hotel itself reminded me a bit of "The Shining" at times, simply because it was so deserted. And then at mealtimes, people seemed to surface out of nowhere, to the point that it was often quite tricky to get a dinner reservation at a "usual" time for America, so me and K instead had to revert back to our European roots and dine in a more continental timeslot. No harm done for us, let me assure you.
Our retreat to Lake Geneva was never meant to be one of those non-stop vacations of frenetic activity and action. The whole point of the trip was to get a White Christmas and enjoy some down time from the City, our offices, and our lives. And given how much we ate, drank, and slept over the weekend - I think you could easily say that we achieved everything we set out to do.
We even sat through a floorshow called "Hooray for Holidays" which, now that I think about it, defies explanation. Suffice to say it featured high-kicking legs, vocal arrangements of "power ballads" and men in turtle necks under their unitards. You know what I'm saying; thank god for open bars.
Always one to make a scene, I fell out of the trolley car that ferried resort guests around the property to the various buildings on the campus. The bruise that developed on my butt over our weekend was pretty impressive (but in the interests of all that is holy and decent, no one but me can verify that statement).
It didn't actually snow on Christmas Day, but I don't think that really mattered. After all, there was so much snow on the ground, and chill in the air, that the holiday itself was the very embodiment of the "winter wonderland" we all sing about.
Lake Geneva itself is a very pretty town, with beautiful weatherboard houses and charming antique stores and gift shops. Not a dynamic place by any means, so living there might be a bit of a yawn, but as a tourist destination it is just lovely. And at under 2 hours from Chicago, it is a perfect weekend retreat.
We were treated very well at the resort, pretty much left to our own devices, until it came time to enjoy afternoon high tea in the Lobby Lounge, wasabi snacks & vodka at the bar ("Evolve"), or big fat steaks in the Chophouse. Delicious.
It was a shame that I did not get to do the sleigh ride but that will teach me for not booking in advance. Lesson learned. If I loved massages and/or facials, I would certainly head back to Lake Geneva and take full advantage of their spa facilities.
But even without all that pampering, I still walked away from my Lake Geneva Christmas Vacation feeling relaxed and ready to face 2009 in the big city.
I had a really unsettling dream last night, and it was enough to wake me up, which was an annoyance in itself.
My dream was chock-full of family members back home, about to undertake a camping trip to some really funny-sounding national parks in Australia.
In my dream, I watched my first and second cousins, pack huge deep-freezers full of camping provisions. They divided the tasks, having paired up to share camping tents and brave the Aussie outback.
As my cousins loaded toilet paper by the armload into the deep-freezer storage containers, I realised that I wasn't going with them. I wasn't paired with anyone, because I wasn't going on the camping trip. They loaded the freezers into the back of their minivan, took their seats inside, and I was left on the side of the road to wave goodbye.
I peeked at today's forecast and didn't really like what I saw. It was supposed to be -5 degrees Farenheit but, with the windchill, we were looking at temps around 30 below zero (that's nearly -40 degrees celcius). Hmm.
And you wouldn't think that this kind of weather would be very conducive to doing anything except lying very still under mountains of blankets, right? Well that's what we thought too.
However.
K and I decided to visit "Table 52" today, the restaurant owned by Art Smith, former personal chef to Oprah Winfrey. I had wanted to visit the restaurant for ages, and I figured their online brunch menu looked just tempting enough to bring us outdoors. And indeed it was.
We started our meal with a couple of pink mimosas, and a breakfast pizza to share. The freshly-cracked black pepper, meaty ham, and just-cooked egg on top was an amazing combo. Then K had an eggs benedict and I had the crab cake with poached egg on top.
It was an amazing meal and the heat of the wood-oven fire in the kitchen was enough to keep us all toasty and warm throughout our visit.
It was not possible for us to wait for the bus afterwards though. That windchill crept in and literally chilled us both right to the bone. We are expecting similar conditions until about noon tomorrow - not for the faint hearted, that's for sure!
Ever the procrastinator, I am sitting here thinking about Christmas, rather than actually getting my apartment ready for it. No, I'm not preparing from Santa; rather K is coming today and I'm so far behind it's laughable.
I have mounds of laundry to do, really dirty floors and so much drycleaning to pick up, it's probably easier to rent a truck to collect it.
K's visit here is obviously to celebrate Christmas and I am really excited because we have booked accommodation at a gorgeous resort in Wisconsin. We've been beaten around by cold and snowstorms in the last few days but I bet Wisconsin will be a whole lot frostier - maybe I will get that famous White Christmas after all this year?
Right, enough dilly-dallying. I gotta go start this list of chores - I'm sick of waiting for the little elves and fairies to do the work while I'm sleeping - they never show up for their shifts. Only in stories, I guess.
I had a bit of a festive weekend as it turned out. I got a bit more Christmas shopping done (almost finished), I toured the Chicago Chriskindlmarket, and even had my office Christmas party. And yet I am STILL in the Christmas spirit - it's pretty impressive I think.
Me and Lex are crazy for the German Chriskindlmarket that has been held in Daley Plaza every year for the past 12 years. That doesn't sound like a long time, but the event still packs some impressive crowds, braving the freezing cold temps to stuff themselves with warming spiced red wine, bratwursts & sauerkraut, and even hot cinnamon & sugar almonds (my favourite).
We didn't stay at the market very long. The crowds were pretty intense, but nothing on what we experienced last year. We were just eager to keep going with the flow and getting all our shopping done before we had to be back in our hood.
I am not sure whether this economic downturn is making things tougher on people at Christmas. You wouldn't know it from all the people Downtown carrying armloads of shopping bags on Saturday. All the stores seem to be having crazy sales to suck you in, but they do that every year around this time, don't they?
I think I might have to call back to the Chriskindlmarket again before it packs up for another year. I gotta get me some more of those sugar cinnamon almonds before they all sell out! Yummo!
Before I left Oz in 2005, I got a new pair of glasses - cute pink frames with zebra print on the insides. I love them still. But my eyes are getting cranky in their old age and the glasses aren't as effective as they used to be. So I went in to the optometrist today for an eye exam and to search for some new frames.
For me, buying new glasses is like buying a swimsuit; something that I put off as long as humanly possible. It's not like you can just walk in, take something off the shelf, pay for it and leave. You have to sit in the chair, read charts, have someone squirt air in your eye to test for glaucoma, and then somehow make a snap decision about what frame you want. The whole thing is daunting.
But I bit the bullet and went into the store today and after the routine tests (though the glaucoma thing was eyedrops this time - a bit unexpected), I got the "I have good news and bad news" speech.
Good news - I have 20/20 vision. I never knew that before. But it turns out I am far-sighted, meaning when I try and focus on close-up work like reading and computer stuff, and then look up to see someone or something, my eyes spasm and can't deal with it. So then I get headaches and eye twitches. Not cool.
Bad news - the glasses I've been prescribed are all-purpose; so where before I only had to wear the things at work or when I was reading, these ones are for all the time.
So do you see what pressure I was under to pick the right ones? The wrong choice and I end up looking like a geek all the time, not just some of the time.
But I found the right ones and as usual, they were the first pair I tried on. Cool red frames with fancy light blue metallic on the insides. I can't remember the brand otherwise I'd paste a pic for you to see but take my word for it, my glasses embody 'geek chic'.
For many people in the US, the great turkey coma that is the Thanksgiving Holiday is probably still wearing off. I was jolted out of mine by a flight cancellation, a new flight delay, and then lost luggage. But more of that later.
Miss K and I had long ago agreed to spend this year's turkey fest together at her place in NYC. I flew in at midnight on the Wednesday, and got back in the wee hours last night. So in the Von Trapp Family style of story-telling, let's start at the very beginning for I suspect that it is, indeed, a very good place to start.
Day One - Gobble, Gobble
The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade is an institution in NYC and is pretty amazing because the sky is dotted with (seriously) impressive balloon figures. In some cases, I saw about 20 people tethered to the balloons - or maybe the balloons were tethered to them, I didn't really notice. Suffice it to say that the balloons were big. Click on the Brooklyn Bridge photo above to see my album, if you need further proof.
By contrast, what is not impressive about the Parade is the D-list celebrities that flank the floats or (in some cases) tramp all over them. K watches a lot of reality TV and I read a lot of trashy gossip mags and between us, we couldn't work out who some of these 'celebrities' were. Except Rick Astley of course- yep, we were all over that one!
At one point, a float went past that featured a couple of skinny hipster boys and I innocently queried (to no-one in particular) whether these were the infamous Jonas Brothers. That faux pas got me a walloping death glare from the pre-teen girl in front of us. If looks could kill! Of course I was only kidding! I know very well who the Jonas Brothers are (no big deal if I can't name them), but frankly I care very little about them, though I kept that to myself. The pre-teen girl in front of me would probably have punched my head in, had she not been forceably restrained by her friends!
Leaving the Parade, we walked up the street to The Australian, a cute little pub that (joy of joys) serves Coopers beer. Not only that, it had two empty barstools just waiting for us when we came in. Well, perhaps they weren't just for us, but they might as well have been for how happy they made us!
Having stuffed in a three-course Thanksgiving pub lunch, and the obligatory bottle of Jacob's Creek red wine, we shuffled back to K's place for a "quick lie down". Hours later, with pillow creases on our faces and impressive mops of bed hair, we hurriedly dressed for a Thanksgiving dinner with two of K's friends.
I don't know how people survive two Thanksgiving meals in one day - I know it just about killed me. As soon as someone invents cute elastic-waisted pants, I'm getting multiple pairs for occasions such as these. I felt like I could have used them. I'm still not 100% sure how I managed to ingest two helpings of turkey, vegetables, stuffing, wines AND dessert all in the space of a few hours. Some mysteries are better left unsolved, I guess.
Day Two - no more Gobble, Gobble (for which we are truly thankful)
The good thing about overindulging on Thanksgiving is that you have the next day to sleep it off (and eat leftovers, but fortunately this did not apply to us). After a late sleep-in, we decided that we needed to get out and walk. We didn't care where, we just needed fresh air and some exercise.
We wandered for hours, through K's neighbourhood and into the East Village before stopping for another Aussie staple lunch item, a good old meat pie & (another) Coopers Beer. Tuck Shop is a great spot for a quick fix of Aussie essentials. Just look for the Vegemite window display; you'll know you're in the right place.
After the refreshments, we kept walking, all the way down to Chinatown and around to the East River waterfront, under the Brooklyn Bridge and around to the South Street Seaport (Pier 17) - which I discovered is very similar to Navy Pier here in Chicago. But still we walked, through the City to the subway, alighting at Union Square, for a brain-frazzling tour through DSW (shoe mecca) before declaring never ever to do that again, and heading for home.
But we were not done yet. Friday night's dinner was at the stunning Eleven Madison Park restaurant. There is no way I could fault any aspect of the menu or service that we experienced - everything was just first-class; I loved it. K made some perfect wine selections that just complemented the meals we chose. Well worth the money, let me assure you.
But we were STILL not done. Into a cab we flew, and made it to a midnight screening of "Rocky Horror Picture Show". Can you believe that we are both such huge fans of this show and we had yet to see a midnight screening? It was a pity that we had to sit up the back, for we were within earshot of some of the most foul-mouthed, homophobic representatives of NY's youth community. We knew the movie would feature heckling, but we figured it would be the clever, all-in-good-fun, and SCRIPTED shout-outs that fans obsess about the world over. Not so. These guys were crude, crass, and terribly inappropriate. They really did spoil our enjoyment of the experience and I was glad K didn't deck them, though I would have backed her if she'd started somethin' all up in their business.
Day Three - Still upright...somehow
The next morning, we slept late but got up in time to eat a light lunch at Rice, around the corner from K's house and then it was onto the subway to get to Studio 54 in time. But as this was the daytime, we went to Studio 54 in its current state - a hugely popular Broadway theater space. Nubile Bianca Jaggers on horseback have been replaced by wrinkly octogenarians enjoying live musicals, but the experience is still something to be had.
"My Pal Joey" was a fantastic production, not least because it stars STOCKARD CHANNING (yes Jems, RIZZO RIZZO RIZZO). I thought she was just wonderful, but then who didn't?!
After the performance, we caught the subway to Grand Central Station and K took me to an amazing little bar that is not well-known, so I'm not even going to name it here. Let me just tell you that if you know it's there, you are a lucky ducky. Wood panelling, ornate ceilings, low-slung couches and an open fireplace create the most decadent environment in which to sip cocktails while you wait for a train. Presumably.
But our schedule waited for no-one and pretty soon we were off again for our next adventure. We stopped by Ricky's to stock up on tacky costume items to prep for The Awesome 80s Prom. I giggled just writing that.
Set in 1989, participating in the senior prom and interacting with the stereotypical cast members was a lot of fun - and lots of laughs too. When the real MC Hammer came out to sing "You Can't Touch This", I was sold. Whatever he had, the man's still got it. Here's a sample of his work, in case you're trying to pretend you have no idea what I'm talking about.
Yeah, you know you love it. Stop, Hammer Time.
Day Four - All good things must end
We had packed so much in to the Thanksgiving Holiday, you could hardly blame us for sleeping late on Sunday morning. We emerged to play Wii Fit (I was terrible), and eat pizza (I am very adept at that).
I made it to La Guardia with plenty of time to spare, only to discover that my flight was cancelled due to bad weather. I was the last person to be assigned to another flight out on Sunday night, but even THAT was delayed, and so I ended up waiting around in the airport for just over 5 hours. On reaching O'Hare, I had to go on a wild goosechase for my luggage, but managed to track it down riding a far-off carousel, all on its own and completely mis-labelled. I didn't even want to work out the "What, Where, and How?" of that one. I was just grateful that at 1am this morning, I was safe and well at home again. Be it ever so humble, and all that Kansas sentiment.
Phew, that was a bumper posting - even for a blabbermouth like me. But now you're all caught up and you can see why I am very thankful for a truly wonderful weekend. Just let's stick to one turkey meal a day next time, shall we?!
After Day 1 back at work, I can categorically tell you that my holiday is officially over. I know, it kills me to even think about it.
I'm not quite sure where most of my holiday went of course, as I was very remiss in blogging all the dirty details. But I will give you an insight into the little memories I have been cherishing ever since my crazy house guest disappeared through airport security yesterday. [And now that I mention THAT, it will probably be easier if I work through the holiday in reverse.]
The day before J's departure was pretty much a write-off. The cold snap had come in and neither of us were feeling up to traipsing around the City doing any last-minute touristy stuff. We had wanted to do the Architecture Boat Cruise but had been otherwise occupied in the window of fine weather we had, and I guess it's fair to say we missed the proverbial boat.
Sunday morning we met up with Coco for brunch downtown at a cute place in the West Loop called Wishbone. We'd indulged in a little too much juice the night before and didn't feel up to eating much - but I am vowing to return for the crawfish cakes. [Just as an aside, I've decided that I don't care much for grits and even though it's only cornmeal, I prefer to eat it in usual polenta consistency so in future I will forgo it at brunch and save it for Italian cuisine instead.]
The Friday night was an art gallery exhibition for a Chicago-based Aussie group (and I'm this month's poster child on the website - can you believe it?). Anyway the indigenous art gallery was full of amazing and colourful works and I think we could declare the evening a success.
We did well to make it to the gallery on time actually because we'd just come back from an overnight visit to Milwaukee. A friend of mine lives up there but we were really motivated to go just for the excuse to get out of Chicago and see something else.
So we caught the Amtrak train from Chicago's Union Station and ended up in Downtown Milwaukee, a short taxi ride from our 4-star hotel, The Ambassador. Selected as much for its decor (art deco) as its location, The Ambassador was a perfect home base for our city exploration. We walked through the Marquette University district and arrived at the Milwaukee Public Museum, where we spent a happy day browsing the exhibits and the IMAX theater.
We should have given ourselves more time in Milwaukee of course. We hadn't anticipated the Museum's "Titanic" exhibit to be quite so engrossing. It really did just suck all our time away. And the post-museum drink at the cute wine & piano bar called Centanni could not have been more timely.
So you can see on a reverse reading of these adventures that my holiday wasn't entirely about resting and relaxation - we really did get out and do stuff. Which is probably why J's cold germs are rearing up and attacking me with a vengeance now. I'm dosing up on all kinds of pills and potions to stop the onslaught but I think that this is what happens when you stop moving.
Maybe I should invite another house guest to come and stay. Any takers?
When I moved to Chicago in October 2005, the Chicago White Sox were playing in the World Series - a tournament they ended up winning. As I got more and more into baseball, I remained surprised that Chicago really does get divided by its baseball allegiances. In your heart of hearts, you can really be only a Cubs fan OR a Sox fan, not both.
And I am a Cubs fan - not just because I can see Wrigley Field from my living room window, but also because their fan base is amazing. All ages, all sizes, Wrigley Field really does become a microcosm of society during Cubs games - and it cracks me up.
Yesterday we called in to see my friend who works at the Cubs, as I needed to return some tickets to her. As a special surprise, she gave me and Jems a guided tour of the sacred ground. Mind you, it was just us and the ground crew there - so it was the quietest I've ever seen or heard Wrigley Field. But there is no denying that the stadium is amazing, and even Jem loved it. We got to sit in the dugout, stand on the bullpen where the players warm up, and we got to see the scoreboard up close and stand in the bleacher seats. It was an amazing way to appreciate the place, and I loved it.
If I couldn't take Jems to a ball game, at least I could take her to what has become my favourite ballpark.
