Invasion of the Body Snatchers

I am under voluntary house arrest this holiday weekend and I usually get cabin fever by the second day, but this time around I've found so many odd jobs to keep me busy.

Yesterday I got an uncharacteristic burst of inspiration to clean, and now all my clothes, sheets, and towels are clean and the hardwood floors are shiny and sparkling. I know, who am I, right? It's like my body and mind have been taken over. Read on, it gets worse...

I also dug out all the photos I've been meaning to display. In my previous apartment, I created a photo collage on my bedroom wall, just sticking them up with blu-tack and while they looked good, they weren't protected by frames and anyway, it was only ever meant to be a temporary display. Now that I'm somewhere a little more permanent, I figured it was time to get some artwork on the walls and what better artwork than my own stash of family photos and arty postcards?

As luck would have it, I have photos and cards of all different sizes, so I need to get an array of frames (matching of course) and devise a scheme to get them up on the walls in a way that will look good - and not messy. I think that's where Lex might come in - she has an amazing eye for these things. And she's also given me a piece of her own college artwork that I really love and I'm looking to display.

And there are a few things from back at home that I miss so terribly and I'm eager to create over here.

For instance, I have a huge Audrey Hepburn print that weighs a ton but looks amazing on the wall we've chosen at home. It's this print here:



I was browsing on the Home Depot site yesterday and they have very inexpensive poster prints that are laquered up and framed to give them a more professional look. The exact same poster I have back home is available in the HD store closest to my house so I'm going to check it out there today. I was going to just buy it online but I'm more concerned that the frame might be a bit cheap-looking so I want to see it for myself first. And the slogan for Home Depot is "you can do it - we can help". I wonder if that extends to helping me get it home on the Number 8 bus and putting it up on my wall?! Something tells me, no.

The second thing I miss from back home is my Indian wall hanging that is so colourful and sequinned, and takes pride of place on my bedroom wall (though not usually with the "Welcome Home" banner attached!). I have not had much success in US shops finding something the same size.



When we were in Toronto in October last year, I got a smaller version that has pinks and reds through it, but I really want something larger that I can hang in my apartment - not sure where yet. So again, on a website affiliated with National Geographic of all things (http://www.novica.com/), I found a bunch of hand-made Indian textiles including the amazing wall hangings that I love. These ones even have the rod loops sewn into them, so they are purpose-built to hang (whereas mine at home is actually a bedspread so it's hanging my castiron clips instead). The prices online are quite reasonable so I'd like to get one. But as is the case with Audrey, I'd really like to see the wall hangings before I buy them - I will keep looking online to see whether National Geographic/Novica (or other) has a Chicago storefront or supplier.

After the cleaning & organising spurt was over, I fell into my rocking chair by the window, and read for the rest of the day. I had a couple of glasses of wine, curled up like a cat, and just enjoyed being on my own (well it WAS Independence Day, after all).

I've got rhythm, I've got music...

The other day I posted about people around the world losing control of themselves - their minds mostly, but then their bodies follow I guess. The news that day had been full of murders, murder-suicides, and just about every form of craziness in between.

So you can imagine my relief when I was sent the link to the Where the Hell is Matt? website. I'd been following Matt's dancing travels in the early days of his site, but admittedly my interest dropped off when it all got a little 'same thing, different day'. But it seems people around the world have really danced into the spirit of things, and it made me really happy to watch it.

Kids, dogs, bearded guys, men in suits, pregnant women, all kinds of people with all kinds of rhythm - check it out. And if it doesn't make YOU think there are still good people in this world, then I don't know what will.

Oh say can you see?

Stars and Stripes
Originally uploaded by lelisa.

Come October 6, I will have been in the US for three years and even though I feel very comfortable here, I still feel like a fraud when I join in the national celebrations. July 4th is the case in point.

It's not that I consider the Americans to be an exclusive bunch - far from it in fact. I mean, hotdogs, burgers and fireworks are for everyone. But July 4 marks such an important, defining moment in the country's history that to me, it feels more appropriate to take a step back and let the party rage without me.

I'm not being a party-pooper of course; I have plenty of opportunities to get out and about this weekend. But tonight, rather than braving the crowds and being part of a rowdy, patriotic celebration, I'm choosing instead to stay at home and relish the chance to relax and unwind after what has been a really busy week.

And if three years in Chicago has taught me anything, it's that the Americans will be up for hotdogs, burgers and fireworks with me any time I'm ready.

A watery end

thankfully his feet were clean
Originally uploaded by ratterrell.

So Mero and Biggsy were giving me grief the other day when we were talking about slip & slides. I was telling some silly story about how when we were kids, my cousins would put washing detergent on the backyard slip & slide to make it extra slippery (and extra soapy). But I was always too afraid to go running and sliding on my belly for fear that I'd bash up against the garage wall, or skin my elbows, or something like that.

And the chorus of "oooh you're such a princess!" began. And then somehow it morphed into me not liking waterslides, which is not something I ever said.

So maybe I had waterslides on the brain because last night I had a great dream about being at a waterslide theme park and it was towards closing time. There was only a handful of people there but I dont' think I was actually with any of them - I was there by myself.

I went down the huge chute slide a few times, and really enjoyed it, and on my last climb up the stairs, the attendant told me that the slide had been turned off. I refused to climb back DOWN the stairs, but he assured me there was enough water on the slide to take me down to the pool at the bottom.

So I sat down, pushed myself off, and started to slide. As I got to the flat bit right before you plunge into the water, I stood up and ended up almost barefoot water-skiing across the pool. I looked and felt coordinated - and totally awesome!

But then some woman on the slide behind me crashed into me at a cracking pace, and sent us both straight to the bottom of the pool. My glory day was short-lived, but it was good.

Does the 'Last One Standing' get the last laugh too?

I've long carried on here about my love for going to the hair salon. You can keep your mani-pedis or your deep-tissue massages, give me a haircut & colour any day and I am one relaxed lady. So normally a three-hour appointment would not phase me. But tonight it was a little more draining than usual.

This is all due to the excessive trashiness of the trashy magazines on offer.

Most of them were full of that talentless pair Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt. Don't ask me who they are or what they do, I just know they are being given tons of cash to parade around together smiling a lot and generally being irritating wannabes.

Normally I would flick through the magazines and stare at the photos, occasionally pausing to read the captions or admire the fashions. But tonight, given the sheer abundance of references to the Montag & Pratt train wreck, I started reading about them in more detail. The various tabloids are convinced that the 'romance' is a complete sham, but who cares because between them, they've pocketed $3+ million for in-store appearances, openings of envelopes, and all that crap. Nice "work" if you can get it I guess.

And what's more, the 'journalists' that write these 'articles' seem to be obsessed with the horrific idea that the twosome will not only get married but they will also breed. Give me a break.

So I started feeling really sick at the idea from an ethical standpoint (if I want to see sham marriages, I'll watch "Bold & The Beautiful" every day on CBS at 12.30pm!). But then I got annoyed because on a closer reading, I learned that Heidi is 21 (let's face it, aren't we all?), and Spencer is not much older. And people are speculating about their marriage prospects?!

OK so I know I should have stopped reading at this point, but as I said this twosome are a train wreck, and I am a gullible average consumer and as such, I simply cannot get enough.

Just once I'd love for a Hollywood 'celebrity' to own up that they're actually too young for something. I want someone to screw up her surgically enhanced nose at the mere suggestion of marriage, and confess that they're happy to just enjoy their 20s and just have fun for a while.

Maybe then I can start to enjoy my trashy mags AND my hair salon visits all at the same time.

Doing my bit for humanity

I spent yesterday getting re-acquainted with my sofa, having spent a wonderful weekend with JK who was here en route to a study course in Boston.

We celebrated Thanksgiving in June on Friday night (yes, I cooked turkey); we overdosed on steak and other carniverous delights on Saturday night at Fogo de Chao; and so by the time he departed on Sunday, I was knackered and just wanted to lay down all day. So I did.

But I got mesmerised by some useless program on VH1 that did a countdown of the 20 (or was it 30?) most shocking Hollywood murders. The Mansons took top honours (DUH) with the Nicole Brown-Simpson crime in second place. Generally the show was crap, and it depressed me for a while, so I closed my night by ogling Colin Firth in "Nanny McPhee".

I got to work today and the news was full of more murders and mayhem. Not necessarily based in Hollywood this time, but I read about an axe murder and murder-suicides in Australia, as well as some nutjob in Texas that (surprise, surprise) shot a bunch of people for one wacky reason or another.

I suspect that what we have here is a wonderful collection of psycho nutcases, which makes my mental actions today all the more defensible.

Coming home on the bus tonight, very late for any day much less a Monday, two girls were across the aisle from me. One of them was talking very loudly - so loudly that I had to lean forward several times to see whether her unfortunate travel companion was wearing two hearing aids. She wasn't; Chatty Kathy was just a loudmouth jabberjaws.

And she was talking utter rubbish. Crapping on at ever-increasing volume about her theater shows, and her literary prowess, and how the recent car trip she took was oh-so hilarious because she was reading to the captive audience from her collection of trashy romance novels. [Side note: Why her travel companions didn't leave her at a truck stop after filling up with petrol is beyond me.]

So on and on she droned, and I was simultaneously wishing for death, and a new set of I-pod speakers, neither of which materalised.

I texted Lex and asked if I was allowed to hit the woman, and Lex gave me permission, but only if I took a photo at the same time. Hmm I'm not that clever.

But surely smacking a noisy commuter upside the head would not result in me taking first place in a VH1 Top 20 countdown of public transportation outbursts. Rather, I would probably be given a street parade, or at least a hearty round of applause. Or something. Right?!

It's not a question of where he grips it...

Feed
Originally uploaded by Diana Pinto.

An article on today's Reuters news online left me quoting Monty Python for hours, and soon you'll see why. I guess we should just be grateful that Brazilian pigeons, like African swallows, are non-migratory.

"A sharp increase in drugs and mobile phones found inside a Brazilian prison mystified officials - until guards spotted some distressed pigeons struggling to stay airborne.

Inmates at the prison in Marilia, Sao Paulo state, had been training carrier pigeons to smuggle in goods using cell phone sized pouches on their backs, a low-tech but ingenious way of skipping the high-tech security that visitors faced.

"We have sophisticated equipment to search people when they go in, but they avoided this by finding another way to bring in cellphones and drugs," prison director Luciano Gamateli told Globo TV.

Officials said the pigeons, bred and trained inside the prison, lived on the jail's roof, where prisoners would take their deliveries before smuggling the birds out again through friends and family.

The scheme was uncovered when guards on the prison walls saw some pigeons struggling to fly."

Duck...duck....GOOSE!

Back home, it's quite the norm for the staff at fast food joints to be pimply-faced juniors in the full deathgrip of puberty with amusing crackly voices and a general ambivalence toward everything. Especially customers.

Here in the US however, the demographics are quite different. The fast food counters here are, in large part, monitored by much older people, sometimes even senior citizens, many of whom are not native English speakers. It's not a bad thing of course, but it's just different. And watching a much older person flipping burgers and shaking fries sort of redefines 'fast' food...

Anyway this morning I was craving a breakfast sandwich so I went to Dunkin' Donuts and got served by a lady who was not only ancient, but also a trainee. Oh boy. I placed my order in typical American fashion (aka quickly and no-nonsense, straight to the point to minimise confusion).

Or it was SUPPOSED to minimise confusion.

The woman rambled at me, and the Dunkin' Donuts trainers looked up at me expectantly. I literally had no idea what she'd just said. I wasn't even sure it was English.

So I asked her to repeat it. Again with the rambling. Again with the expectant looks.

So I had to get a translation from the coffee dude. Who then just burst out laughing at me.

It was then that I regretted wearing a white top, because it only further highlighted the fact that I was blushing from head to toe.

I was so eager to just get out of there that I mumbled something incoherently, which seemed to satisfy everyone in question, and I slunk out of there. Miraculously with everything I ordered (or thought I did).

Was there life before Pixar?

Pixar Wall-E Poster (7)
Originally uploaded by divxplanet.

I recall a night out in North Adelaide when a certain pair of Aussie adults were deciding whether or not to go and see "Finding Nemo".

"Sure, we should go," one said "but we should find some random kid to take with us."

"You're right," agreed the second "do you know any?"

The first girl shook her head sadly. "You know what that means," she said, "we're easily going to be the oldest people in the cinema."

The second girl looked up, the light of inspiration in her eyes. "You know, it would kinda be bad parenting if people bought their kids to a 9.30pm screening on a Sunday...."

The heady smell of potential hung in the air. Or it could have been chicken tikka. At that point, after that many bottles of red wine, it was pretty hard to tell.

Buoyed by their own genius, the girls shoveled in handfuls of garlic naan and creamy butter chicken, downed the last of their quality Aussie reds, and made their way to the cinema across the street.

And realised, to their hysterical amusement, they were actually the YOUNGEST people in the cinema. The night was a riot.

[And almost funnier than bringing garlic yiros into the cinema, being the only 2 people in the cinema, and then trying to pretend they couldn't smell garlic when the usher came around. Priceless.]

The thing about a tipsy trip to the movies, late on that balmy Sunday evening in Adelaide is that Pixar never gets old. The humour is as much for the kids as it is for the adults, and my own love of the studio shows no sign of letting up.

And really, when they keep putting out adorable gems like "Wall-E", why should it? Definitely not one to miss.

You quack me up

I haven't told you yet but my favourite barista left my coffee shop to work at the yoghurt place next door - don't ask. I'm not quite ready to have yoghurt for breakfast yet, so I let him leave and waited with baited breath to meet his replacement. Who turns out to be cute, but dumb as a stump.

I have been training him for the last 2 weeks or so, and he's only screwed up twice, which is pretty good. But this morning, he made an absolute cracker.

There are two types of filtered coffee on the go every morning - light, and dark. Clearly being the caffeine freak that I am, I need to order the dark otherwise my old heart simply does not start pumping like it should. Dependence issues? Probably.

Anyway, the rookie calls me up to the counter, and I place my usual order for "a large dark with room for cream". Bear in mind that I very rarely deviate from this order. So he says, "a large latte?". I breathed in patiently, "Uh no," I replied "a large DARK with room for cream".

"A large duck?"

I wanted to die.

So I stared at him for a second and let it all sink in.

Then the dude making the coffees (who I think owns the place) says to him "No dummy, why would she order a duck? She said dark: D-A-R-K."

The rookie barista didn't even look embarassed that he'd misheard me. And even though I roll my r's when I say "water" or "whatever", I just can't bring myself to roll them in the middle of a word. Not yet, anyway.

But in future, perhaps I should stay out of the barnyard and just order light coffees from now on.

What does B.S stand for?

Allison III
Originally uploaded by Sara Heinrichs (awfulsara).

In my case, BS stands for BABY SHOWER - and I'm off to my first one today. I've been invited to a few in the past of course but, for whatever reason, I have had to put in my apologies as the date got closer.

But today I'm really looking forward to catching up with my Aussie friend S, who is not much taller than me and is, by all accounts, absolutely ready to give birth any second now. Let's hope it doesn' t happen today, purely from my selfish standpoint!

I am well acquainted with the SATC episode where the girls drive to their friend's baby shower and, with the exception of Charlotte, feel like square pegs in round holes. All the baby talk and the goo-ing and gaa-ing was a bit too much for them all. The fact that the mother-to-be served cocktails at the event was the only way I think the girls got through it. Hear, hear!

Like bachelorette parties, baby showers always seem to be organised by the friend of the special woman in question. As a guest, you find that invitations come from people you've never heard of, and so the party itself is a real unknown quantity. Who else will be there? What is expected of you? I mean at a birthday party, you can safely assume that there will be cake and decorations - two traditional components that just about everybody can abide. But a baby shower? There are usually no babies and certainly no showering, so what to expect? It seems that baby showers do, however, bring with them a certain sense of pomp and ceremony.

Case in point, I hear that baby showers feature games that the assembled women are encouraged to play. They're supposed to be games about kid-related things, or story-swapping opportunities where we all sit around regressing to childhood and sharing things about ourselves. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I don't mingling with strangers, and swapping conversation and stories, but game-playing? Hmm. And if anyone mentions the words "breast pump", I am leaving.

I do think that I'll be OK today though, for two reasons. Firstly, the inside scoop from another guest (and friend of mine) is that the mother-to-be is not the game-player type herself. With any luck, she'll have vetoed any storytime or group games straight up. Secondly, S and her husband run my favourite wine store in Chicago, so chances are there will be plenty of bubbles and wine to bolster my spirits. Fingers crossed on both of those fronts, I think.

All jokes aside, I am so excited to meet this baby in a few months time. His parents are two of my favourite people in Chicago so it makes his birth a much-anticipated event for me. What's not to look forward to? I mean, for the past 9 months I've been spared the bloating, pressure and pain, but at the end of it all I'll still get my fair share of cuddles with the little guy. Sounds perfect to me! And maybe even worth playing a game or two...

We've NEVER been in Kansas, Dorothy

The US Midwest has been battered by some pretty horrible weather the last few weeks and I'm dosed up on hayfever meds and having that daily "umbrella-no umbrella" argument with myself before I leave the house to go to work.

The office offers shelter from the elements but it's been a whirlwind of meetings, farewells & welcomes, and a general rollercoaster of emotions. Somehow we all made it to Friday though, and I'm enjoying a weekend of strong coffee, DVDs, and Aussie music blaring out of my computer speakers.

I'm looking forward to having JK back to stay with me next weekend, as he's en route to Boston to become an even more brilliant Uni student. I got an email from him the other day that presented a rather lengthy list of pre-course readings and writing tasks so as he said himself, sometimes it's a good thing that the flight from Oz to the US is so long and boring. I wonder if he'll get any (or all) of it done.

I was talking to Lex the other week and we agreed it would be fun to have a "Junesgiving" dinner for JK - after all, if he can't be here for the real Thanksgiving, maybe we could bring it to him. So I'm cooking next weekend - yes, you read that right. I'm cheating with the turkey of course, opting for a seasoned rolled turkey rather than a whole bird that would just go to waste. But otherwise I'm going for the traditional fare - green bean casserole (which I love), mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and Lex is bringing the sweet potato casserole. I can't allow pumpkin pie in my house (it's a phobia), but I'm happy to admit pecan pie so that's our dessert. I've also got creamy limoncello in my freezer courtesy of Coco and while it's not traditional at Thanksgiving, it's delicious and a fantastic digestif so I'll bring that out too.

But as I have had my windows open all week to let the howling winds blow through and keep me cool, my apartment is full of dust and fluff and I even saw spider webs in the loungeroom so I think it's probably about time I got busy cleaning.

The things we do for friends, eh?!

A victory for the little people

letter clutch - front
Originally uploaded by ::sämyii::.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that US Postal Service employees are the most disgruntled you'll ever find. They pass on their workplace frustrations directly to their customers which is both unfair and unpleasant. By and large, customer service simply ceases to exist once you reach a USPS counter.

And I think one of the biggest bummers about the whole thing is the fact that we NEED the postal service, and the employees know this. So there is no incentive for them to cheer up and actually be helpful, because as customers, we're going to keep coming back regardless of the treatment we receive.

So with all this in mind, I trudged over to the USPS after lunch thinking that the lines would be smaller and I could get in and get out quickly. Not so.

Round One with the USPS employee began with her annoyance that I couldn't find an appropriately-sized mailbox for the gifts I needed to send. In typical Goldilocks fashion, one box was too small, but the next size up was far too big. No mailbox I could see on the shelves was just right.

Faced with the option of splitting the gifts into two smaller boxes, I instead opoted to shove the whole gift collection into one big box and bravely approached the counter for Round Two.

The USPS employee was now deliberately being useless, and she looked at me like I had the plague when I queried whether she might have spare newspaper behind her desk so that I could pad the box out a bit.

She seemed to think that newspaper was a ludicrous suggestion, and instead wondered why I couldn't clearly see that the USPS sells bubble wrap for that very purpose. Now I understand the concept of up-selling, but as I was now so irritated by her, all I wanted to do was wrap HER in bubble wrap and mail her somewhere far, far away.

But I am also good at picking my battles, so I let the USPS lady win that one, and instead I duly opened a pack of costly bubbly plastic and stuffed the box with it. Once I had ensured that the enclosed gifts were safely protected, and all the necessary customs forms filled out, I returned to the counter for what I hoped would be the final round.

Round Three began with much huffing and puffing on the USPS employee's part, trying to fathom why I would send such a huge box to such a far-away land. By now I was quite happy standing in utter silence and just letting her do her thing. And clearly silence was not something that this woman was used to. Realising that our transaction was nearing its close, she tried to make up some ground with me.

To my complete surprise, she said "I'm really sorry if I was mean to you before," and yet made no additional excuse as to why she was mean, or why she was now sorry for it. And by way of reply, again to my complete surprise, I simply uttered "Uh huh". And nothing more.

So this annoyed her because I was now playing hardball (and I was past the point of caring) so she was blathering on about Australia and my family and whether it was hard for me to adjust to living in a new country.

And what did I say?

"Uh huh."

And I manged to maintain this frosty silence until she had finished processing the transaction. Completely out of character for me, but on a steamy Friday afternoon, I was completely over it and not in the least interested in putting up with her crap any more than I had to.

So once I was certain that my gifts were correctly bound for Australia and not, perhaps, Austria, I gathered my things, cordially wished her a pleasant weekend, and left.

And even though statistically the USPS woman won 2 rounds out of our 3, I nevertheless felt that I had ultimately emerged the victor because after all, she was the one who ended up apologising. And in the case of USPS, everybody knows that that NEVER happens.

Fugedda-boudit

There is a construction site across the road from office with, quite honestly, the best looking crew I've ever seen.

In the absolute absence of any kind of OH&S policy, they bash and crash to build some sort of eyesore that will hopefully not block too much of my view over the Chicago River. They dangle from the lofty heights, with no harnesses or safety nets, or even hard hats (in the case of some). They have even put up a cheeky chalk sign on one of their steel thingies that says "We do all our own stunts" - they are classic.

The other day I learned that it is quite uncommon in the US to have office buildings with a 13th floor (superstition is alive and well here), but the construction workers are basically working on what would be the 13th floor - so they're basically eye-to-eye with me all day.

Of course I'm too shy to open my blinds, because I know that they can see me - and with so many of them looking like the Diet Coke man, I can't say I'd get any work done if I got to watch THEM all day too.

But yesterday I was walking to work and stopped in at the pharmacy first. I crossed the road when the lights changed and ended up on the same side of the road as the construction site. A bunch of construction workers were lined up outside the site, enjoying a cup of coffee and the warm sunshine. As I walked past, the cute one in the green cut-off shirt (who I had noticed maybe once, yeah right) smiled at me and said "How YOU doin'?".

Totally Chicago.

And what did I do? Yep, I giggled like a bloody schoolgirl and kept walking.

Hopeless.

Oops, I did it again

Gab chills out in Burano
Originally uploaded by Miss Gab.

I am heartily apologising in advance for the fact that by the end of this month, I will be completely and utterly obsessed (again) with Venice.

This is not the first time that such an obsession has overtaken me. I have been to Venice three times and with each visit, my love affair just grows stronger.

I'm not in Venice right now of course, but I feel like I'm there because I'm reading "The City of Falling Angels" by John Berendt - the guy who wrote "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil". All the characters in the book are real, and not at all difficult to imagine.

With each page I read, I am trying to imagine how I can get back to Venice and its islands and, what's more, how I could stay there at some length. Is there a job for me there, or should I just be a professional house-sitter in an ancient, crumbling palazzo and putt-putt up and down the Grand Canal all day?

Either way, the book is fabulous and even though I want to punch Mr Berendt for being the type of guy whose trip to Venice has introduced him to the Mayor, City officials, faded aristocrats, genteel English expats, and other toffy types, it is the fact that he writes about Venice with such genuine affection that striking a chord with me.

Venetians love melodrama and exaggeration is the norm there. If you are too 'normal', they will dismiss you as being a bore. The absence of cars means that everybody walks everywhere, and 'being seen' is what Venice is all about. So in that sense, Venice is a level playing field (socially-speaking) and I love that idea.

So if you don't mind, I'm going to keep reading, and daydreaming, and maybe one day I will find myself back there living the high life amongst the rats, pigeons, and tourists - and loving every minute of it.

The urban rainforest

taxi manhole steam
Originally uploaded by countchomkula.

This weekend I was all set to be a social whirlwind but instead, my efforts were hampered by crippling lethargy caused by the weather. I have been really struggling because of the humidity. I don't remember being this knocked out last summer, but the last two days I've been sleeping during the days, and feeling really sluggish when I do make it outdoors.

I looked after DB yesterday who is originally from Adelaide too, and now works in our California office. We went to brunch in the morning, took a long walk to the famed Viagara Triangle in the afternoon, and then met up again last night for dinner and a few drinks about town. I didn't make it to our evening meeting on time, as a freak thunder & lightning storm made it difficult to even get outside. I had to wait for a break in the nasty weather so I could walk to the main road to grab a taxi. And even that turned into a rushed mercy mission. But I made it Downtown and we had a good time catching up.

Today I have been a couch potato and have had little energy for anything beyond channel surfing and sleeping. I slept through a rather nasty rainstorm and awoke with a start when I remembered that I hadn't closed my bedroom window before the nap. Consequently my floorboards were soaked, ditto the bottom half of my bed quilt. Whatever. In this icky heat, everything dried pretty quickly.

Right, I've been sitting up for way too long typing this - need to get back to the reclining position. How do people in Florida and even Brisbane handle this weather?! I'll never understand it.

Turn the heat down will ya?

So the winter chills have given way to a burst of spring (complete with sneezing fits) and in the space of only a few days, spring is being given the royal shove by a summer that seems way too eager to get started. Personally I'm finding it very tricky to keep up, if only from a fashion point of view.

One of the great things about the warmer weather's arrival is that Chicago socially springs to life, and I'm ready to embrace that for sure. This weekend I plan to take full advantage of the annual Blues Fest in Grant Park (which is celebrating its 25th year), and also Ribs Fest up in the Lincoln Square neighbourhood, not too far from my house. I have no idea how many years Rib Fest has been going, and I do not care to know - the fact that I will be able to buy my body weight in baby back ribs slathered in an array of sauces makes me so happy I could pee.

Last night I finally caught up with the lovely Bork and we tried out a brand new bar called "Potter's" which is part of the historic Palmer House Hilton. Can you believe I've never even been inside the Palmer before? What the?! It used to be a private residence way back in the day but what with all the Hilton add-ons, it's hard to tell where the original residence ended and the newer renovations commenced. No matter really, "Potter's" is 100% new and it's actually quite nice. So much better that we went on a weeknight too because we got to sit right at the bar and had the full attention of the bartender, whose Cosmopolitans were divine.

So you can see that a cracking pace has already been set for the summer social season. I'm almost even able to handle the blessed humidity that comes with a Chicago summer. I must be getting used to this place or something...

Lazarus at the Ballpark

I have been a bit of an invalid this week, struck down by a pretty nasty case of pharangytis. The good people in the ER at Northwestern dosed me up with some antibiotics and pain meds that took a few days to kick in, but I'm now doing pretty well on the road to recovery.

And it's just as well that I've rallied from my deathbed so well, because it's the Memorial Day long weekend and Miss K has come into Chi-Town to spend some time with me. She arrived on Friday evening around 9pm and we chatted a bit and watched some TV and then crashed.

We were up early-ish yesterday and enjoyed a nice breakfast together at home, walked around the neighbourhood in the beautiful Saturday sunshine and browsed the market garden set up at the primary school on Melrose. Then we met Dr G and spent a lovely afternoon watching the White Sox play at Cellular Field. It was Miss K's first baseball game and aside from the cold winds whipping around us, she enjoyed the experience. I am not sure that Miss K will ever forget the fluoro hot dog relish (direct quote, "Eeek - that colour does not occur in nature!!").

After the game, we took the El back downtown and got off in the City (leaving Dr G to head home for a much-needed nap), and me & Miss K watched the new Indiana Jones movie. We both really enjoyed it - lots of the good old stuff and it was nice to see Harrison Ford back in his famous role.

Today we slept (really) late and we've had a leisurely breakfast at home, and we're about to go and meet Lex & C for a visit to Lincoln Park Zoo. My mission? To finally find the meerkats. I know they're there but in the three or four visits I've made to LP Zoo in my time here, I've never seen them. Today will be a different story entirely!

Now I know how the caterpillars feel

FaLLing dreamS ..
Originally uploaded by COLoriya.

For months it feels like all of us in the City have been hibernating, cooped up indoors and only venturing out to go to and from work. If we've headed out for social pursuits, it has been done with some reluctance because it has brought with it the need to lug around a raincoat, umbrella, and other such water-repellant accessories. And speaking for all of us, we've had enough.

So it's a welcome surprise to see some sunshine today, and feel genuine warmth to go along with it. I walked to my hairdressers today, rocking out to my ipod, and genuinely having a great time. Buses sailed by me, but I wasn't having it. People were driving past me, with dogs hanging their heads out the window, smiling goofily. It seemed that everyone, whether on two legs or four, was having a great time outdoors today.

And this has come at the end of a pretty good couple of weeks, all things considered.

I have gone out socially a few times this week, continuing my 'culture vulture' tendencies by going to the theater. I went to see Eddie Izzard in his latest show, "Stripped" and it was a hoot. He just has great timing, such a creative brain, and wonderful delivery. I've now seen Eddie 3 times and I think he's great.

Then last night I went to see "Shout", a musical with amazing songs from the 60s (think Dusty Springfield and just about anything that Burt Bacharach ever wrote). It isn't a musical that will change your life in any way, but it was still very well done and the girls in the show are very talented (you'd have to be, to be on stage full-time for 90 minutes - yikes!).

With the weather still so unpredictable, the theater is still the best place for me to hang out and I have a few more shows I want to see in the coming weeks.

But next weekend is the Memorial Day long weekend and K is coming to town. We have baseball tickets (I'm going to see the Sox - shh don't tell my Cubbies), but all I want is for the weather to hold out for us so we can walk around and enjoy Chi-Town some more. Fingers crossed!

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

Dad's birthday - the basics for a mexican style dinner
Originally uploaded by tg81.

Today I was excited because KH had just become a grandmother for the second time, but otherwise Monday-itis had threatened to creep in and devour me.

But today is also Cinco de Mayo ("5th of May") and it is a time when pretty much everyone around my neighbourhood commemorates an 1862 battle in Mexico between the Mexicans and the French. Today it is standing-room only in the Mexican restaurants around town, as everyone finds a legitimate reason to slam Patron shots on a school night.

As for me, I've decided to stay home and start my own tradition. I am making my inaugural Cinco de Mayo beef chilli and so far, it's working a treat. I've even found a cable TV station that is broadcasting amazing Mexican tunes [I have no idea what they're singing of course but they sound very happy and it's really feelgood, mariachi-style music.]

My apartment smells so great and even though I suspect the aroma of chilli powder and smokey cumin and jalapenos is going to take FOREVER to come out of my sofa, I am loving it.

And don't worry, I don't have any Patron in the house - or any alcohol at all for that matter. So clearly I did not plan this little one-woman fiesta too well after all, did I?

Happy Cinco de Mayo!!

At least it's not Gwyneth's head in a box

If you've seen the movie "Seven", you're unlikey to ever forget the full list of the 7 deadly sins. After my relatively action-packed Saturday, I was the very embodiment of SLOTH yesterday and I was absolutely thrilled about it.

I got up early and did some loads of laundry, and felt a bit of a lame rush of excitement when I put brand new sheets on my bed. Come 11am, I had clean sheets, towels, and clothes, and I was ready to stare and the wall and wonder, "What next?".

Then I came to my senses and realised that I could quite comfortably lie down on the sofa, and stare at the TV instead. And so that's what I did. After a couple of "Food Network" shows, and an old Eric Bana DVD, I had a snooze for a while.

I had opened my windows up nice and wide yesterday so my apartment was full of honey-coloured light and the most relaxing soft breeze blowing through. It was impossible NOT to be relaxed.

When I woke from my nap, I realised that I had slept more heavily than I'd intended, and so I was feeling pretty out of it. But I forced myself to eat a small dinner (my first and only meal of the day), and then I watched a bit more TV before putting myself to bed.

Now of course Kevin Spacey doesn't need to bust into my apartment and bolt me to my bed for a year to demonstrate the folly of SLOTH. I needn't be punished for enjoying a bit of downtime now and then - and if you can't chill out on a sunny Sunday, when can you?!

The gift that keeps on giving

I headed out yesterday morning to buy Jammin' Jems a birthday present. Feeling well chuffed that I was motivated so early, I stopped by Borders to get "Sundays At Tiffany's", the new book by James Patterson that has been getting rave reviews.



Then I called in to Aveda to get some hair product because at this point I hate my hair so much I just want to shave it off. This pomade is my last-ditch attempt to salvage a haircut that is driving me crazy (and now I think I'll last until my appointment with R-r-r-r-raoul next weekend).



By that time I was exhausted, and it was only 11am, so I paused for a few hours and watched the new Helen Hunt movie "Then She Found Me" at the cinema. Of course I cried. In retrospect it was Helen's own fault - she cried onscreen a number of times and I'm a sucker for that. Plus I love Bette Midler and would watch that woman in just about anything. But of course Colin Firth was just dreamy and had some truly beautiful lines in the film and said things to Helen that every woman wants to hear at least once in her life. If someone says those lines to me one day I will be a happy girl. So yeah, it was a good Kleenex day.

So the lights came up in the cinema, I was emotionally spent, but ready to face the shops and get the birthday present. And so once more into the fray.

"Victoria's Secret" yielded a body lotion and fragrance I had been meaning to buy. I think there is something conceited about a scent called "Very Sexy Hot" but hey, it suited my skin and was an inexpensive summery smell, so I think I can deal with it.



The clothing store saw me load up on a summery dress, a couple of tops, and some spring jackets for work and by then I couldn't carry much else. It was fortuitous I guess that PL called up and offered to buy me a Turkish coffee at the store nearby.

Coffee turned into a burrito and a margarita, which turned into a quick shower & change to head out to a wine tasting and then onto "Rise" for sushi and more Aussie white wine. That turned into red wine at "Coobah" and then more red wine at "Eno" downtown. Somehow we switched to white wine at "NoMi" and then I had to lie down and sleep for a very long time.

And so Jammin' Jems, you'll have to forgive me but I have not bought your birthday present yet. By contrast, I did very well out of this weekend hehe.

It just slipped out, I swear

When I was living back at home, I house sat for a former boss of mine when he and his wife went on holiday. Fortunately I only had to look after myself and the house, as his dogs (who I suspect he loved more than the house) were on their own holiday with Grandma & Grandpa.

Taking me on a tour of his house, showing the locations of lightswitches, and demonstrating the finer workings of the hot tub, we ended in the kitchen. He smiled wryly and told me how he'd taken the liberty of stocking the fridge with milk, eggs, and butter to get me started - and he'd also bought a few extra goodies for the freezer. He opened the freezer door rather theatrically and pulled out a single-serve lasagne. "Spinster Lasagne!" he declared, and chuckled to himself hysterically. I had to admit it was kinda funny.

Cooking for one has become my strong suit and I love being able to cook what I want, eat what I can, and freeze the rest. It's a routine and it works.

But tonight I knew the weather would be bad, I desperately wanted a night in, but I was craving steak and vegetables. So off I trudged in the high winds with the greyest of grey stormclouds rolling in overhead, and into the supermarket for a turbo shop.

Getting to the register, I chose my favourite 'checkout chick', who is actually a transvestite. I adore him because he is so friendly and charming and compliments me all the time. Looking at my meagre order, clearly identifying that I was cooking steak and veggies, he smiled at me conspiratorially and said, "ahh, is your baby at home then tonight?".

And I said, "yes".

No sooner was it out of my mouth than I realised what he'd said. And how I'd responded. I'd basically just invented a relationship. By then there was a queue behind me, and I knew everyone had heard, so I couldn't very well correct myself.

So there I was, rambling on about my plans for me and my home-alone baby (who I hope wasn't actually meant to be a baby, rather a grown up man), and dribbling a whole bunch of rubbish about what meal I was going to cook. Naturally the fact that I bought Ben & Jerry's icecream PLUS two boxes of muffin mix only further compounded my domestic bliss lie.

I know that in the scheme of things, this was a white lie, and doesn't count for much, but hey - I even surprised myself about how quickly I fell into this relationship fairyland.

Something tells me though that if my 'boyfriend' happened to see just how quickly I devoured my steak & veggies tonight, he probably wouldn't have been all that attracted...

Spring has recoiled

Contrary to Oswald's comment on my earlier post, I do not plan to write this blog in German, or any language other than English, though I appreciate his confidence in my multi-lingualism (hmm and my penchant for creating words perhaps....). But I digress.

I have a bad case of the irrites today and responsibility for this lies entirely with the weather. My apartment was really warm this morning, and in the absence of seeing any day forecast, I did this "should I, shouldn't I" thing with wearing my scarf and raincoat. I split the difference, and decided on the raincoat, but no scarf. Plus my office heats up to a million degrees these days, so I had a short-sleeve shirt on underneath.

So I get to work, shivering as I go, and the topic of conversation on everyone's lips is: SNOW.

What the?!

It would seem that some clever little meterologist had forecast snow today - and not just fluffy feathery stuff either - sheets of snowy rain would be added later in the day, just for good measure.

So on the way home today, I not only froze my a$$ off, but all the steady rain made me need to pee really bad. Anyone who says that the weather in Chicago doesn't play with your mind is kidding themselves. It certainly bested me today.

But I know where I've been...

It has been yet another long time between posts and I really don't have any excuse, save for a healthy dose of disinterest in being online these days. I am quite the creature of habit now. I log on, update my Scrabble games, check my email, and log off. Bo-oring.

And just when I get a crippling 'attack of the guilts' for not updating this blog site, I pour myself a Starbucks and try to stocktake the last few weeks of activities to at least give you some idea of how I'm filling my days. Alrighty, let's see here. [Note that this list will be in random order, because I have not been very good at remembering to bring my diary to work either so I'm relying on the old noodle - and that is never a good idea!.]

• Saw "Sweeney Todd" at the theatre with my good friend Miss Fitz;
• Visited the giant jumble sale that is IKEA - and loved it;
• Enjoyed amateur theater with my friend in her one-woman show;
• Brunched a bunch of times;
• Slowly worked my way through my Netflix queue of movies;
• Bellinis at Pops;
• Won a couple more games of Scrabble against RG (but not quite enough to redeem myself);
• Did tequila shots on a school night (and lived to regret it); and
• Made a list of summer time adventures I need to partake in, and at the very top is a kayak trip down the smelly Chicago River (they don't tell you it's smelly, I just know it is).

Work has been busy because I have a new boss, but as we settle in to each other's way of working, things will get easier. And not before time too - as the warm weather in Chicago brings festivals, outdoor dining, and all-round good times to be had.

With any luck, I'll also have some time to update this blog before I forget how to do it!

In the dating world, the truth is out there...

So I'm absolutely sick of spring. Oh sure, I love the weather, and the blossoms, and the ducklings and lambs and all that crap. But I do NOT love the fact that people, particularly big-business dating sites, associate spring time with humans falling in love.

Because what that association inevitably brings with it is an utter onslaught of dating site advertisements polluting my email system. And now the toxic gunk has infected my Facebook.

Every screen I open, some wide-eyed and nubile woman (who has probably never been single in her life) is asking me, "Who's looking for you today? Find him online!". Uh-huh.

I check my email and instead of the latest scam from Nigeria or the most up-to-date cure for erectile disfunction, I have a classically handsome (and definitely gay) fellow with his shirt open, practically begging me to instant message him now.

But the piece de resistance is clearly the ad for e-harmony, with a photo of David Duchovny gazing sexily into the camera, inviting me to jump in to the dating pool.

The deluded types over at E-Harmony seem to think that Fox Mulder himself is gagging for a date. I wonder what Tea Leoni (David's wife of the past billion years) thinks about this?

But hey, if I missed the memo and in fact he IS single (and free on Wednesday), I make a pretty good lamb roast...

...and they lived happily ever after

...
Originally uploaded by paul veraguth.

I am what you might call a 'freestyle dancer', and only if you're feeling generous. It's not that I am devoid of rhythm, it's just that I don't have a great deal of confidence in being able to stick to a routine, that I am better off just disappearing into a crowded dancefloor where my movements can be swallowed up.

And I really do admire those people for whom dancing is not just enjoyable, but is a profession - a way of life. I guess I'm like that with anyone who makes a living doing something that I simply could not, or maybe would not.

I took myself off to a matinee performance of "Sleeping Beauty" at Chicago's Lyric Opera House. I expected the theatre to be full of grannies but instead, the place was packed to the rafters with wannabe ballerinas; little girls of 8-10 years of age, wearing home-made tutus, white stockings and little patent leather shoes. They were all, in a word, adorable.

Before the show, the excitement of the little girls was palpable. And when the live orchestra broke into Tchaikovsky's beautiful score, they hushed and then gasped when the curtain rose to reveal stunning costumes and a group of principal dancers in tutus every colour of the rainbow.

Of course the older kids amongst us were marvelling at the athleticism of the dancers. Even the man in front of me, so obviously dragged along by his near-hysterial wife, was ooh-ing and aah-ing when the jumps were particularly high, or the ballerinas remained 'en pointe' for longer than you expected humanly possible.

And given that the story of "Sleeping Beauty" is so well-known, it's easier to sit back and enjoy the spectacle, because you're not required to learn the plot at the same time.

Towards the end of the second act, when the prince had woken Sleeping Beauty, and the kingdom was celebrating, I got a bit bored. The prince and his future bride had a bit of a dance-off, and then the King of the Fairies and the Queen of the Fairies joined the troupe, and I thought that whole bit went for too long. But I was just a bit impatient for the happy ending that I knew was coming.

Sure enough when the guy FINALLY got the girl, the place erupted and little wannabe ballerinas around the room leapt to their feet and applauded. It was all very cute.

Sometimes if I got to something like this, where I'm ignorant about the artform, I can feel like an intruder. But I was vindicated on my way down the stairs today when a father scooped up his little ballerina and said, "you know what sweetie? I liked it best when the guy lifted the girl up in the air and he caught her right before she hit the floor". And the little girl shook her head sadly at the poor ignoramus of her father and said, "well yes Daddy, that's obviously what he's SUPPOSED to do!".

The straight flush...of capitalism

So I am worn out. I have shopped until I dropped. And as I am such a big baby, it only took two stores to tire me.

I dislike those loud, twenty-something chain stores that pipe irritating music through obnoxiously large speakers in an effort to make patrons feel hip enough to be shopping in there. And I really dislike those stores that have more shop assistants than customers, and every one of those shop assistants absolutely have to put something away right where I am standing at the particular time.

And despite my hefty dislike for both of these things, you're getting an accurate picture of the two stores I patronised tonight.

So my go-to strategy was to try on a shirt, assess the size I needed, and then proceed to grab armloads of the same style shirt in different colours and then get the hell out of there. Fast.

Needless to say I have to take half of the crap back. So the warm flush of capitalism may well be overcoming me, or it could well be the Italian red wine I am quaffing in an attempt to recover.

Yep, it's the wine.

The Four Seasons in one day

Jersey Boys Plays In Chicago
Originally uploaded by Somewhat Frank.

A couple of days ago, my good friend Fitz called up to say she had a spare ticket to "Jersey Boys", the show-stopping Chicago spectacular, and she asked whether I would like to go with her. Or that's what I imagine she would have said, had I allowed her to finish that sentence.

I had been wanting to see the show since before it opened but demand for tickets surely has matched (if not exceeded) "Wicked" and so you have to get tickets well in advance if you want a decent seat - particularly on a weekend. As it was, Fitz had bought these tickets late last year. Had that been me, I probably would have forgotten that I owned them - until after the show had passed!

But Fitz was on the ball, and she invited me along to join her and two friends who live in her building. She kept blathering on about 'bad seats' and 'way in the back' and whatever but hey, I've got little legs and a big imagination - so I knew I'd love it.

I started buzzing with real excitement on Friday morning and I emailed Fitz to that effect. We agreed that we would meet for dinner at "Vivere", part of the gorgeous and historic Italian Village on West Monroe in the theater district.

So I was buzzing about a show I hadn't seen, and now I was doubly excited to go to a restaurant I'd never been to before. I will not keep you in suspense - the waiter was hot, the food was divine, the wine was even better, and the espresso was Illy. Enough said, don't you think?

Bellies full, we wandered down the street to the LaSalle Bank Theater, and took our seats (which turned out to be 'limited view' but I was okay with that). I was blown away by the production. No one sings like that anymore, do they? Or at least no one writes songs like that anymore. I was brought up in a home where bands like the Four Seasons leapt from Dad's vinyl collection and later, CD collection, and busted out of the speakers. So when 'Frankie' sang "My Eyes Adored You" on the stage tonight, I just loved it - it took me right back. And so what if I was showing my age.

I've blogged on here before that Chicago is a 'standing ovation' kinda town, and that used to throw me a little. But tonight I think I was one of the first people on my feet, whooping and carrying on like a porkchop to show my appreciation for the talent up on that stage.

George & Brad were hands-down the best dressed cast in the Ocean's movies - but from where I was sitting tonight, Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons take the cake for the best dressed theater cast in town. Those boys wore those suits, let me tell you.

After the show, I felt like I should have a cocktail, or smoke a cigar, or something - I was right in the zone. But instead, I took a cab home with a driver who wanted to take me to a 24-hour diner and buy me meatloaf.

Sigh.

Sinning never looked so good

Hairdresser Scissors
Originally uploaded by © Lars Fotografie.

I cheated on my hairdresser today.

I'm not proud of it. I know it's wrong, but I had to do it. I love my hairdresser but she moved to a new salon that is staffed by incompetents (not her of course). I made repeated calls to her new establishment and the receptionist disconnected me once, and couldn't hear me the second time. To avoid the receptionist altogether, I tried to make an online appointment but found that my hairdresser had not yet been added to their online list of stylists. To borrow from salon vocab, I was 'foiled' at every turn!

But my hair is like a bowl of fruit. It looks great for a while but then overnight, it turns - and you can't do a thing with it. This was the position I found myself in this week. So to resist having a Britney-style meltdown and shaving my head, I had to find another stylist to take care of me.

And today I met Raoul.

I fell for him immediately. He is, in every sense of the word, fabulous.

Raoul assured me that I had never TRULY had a haircut until I'd been styled by a Latino. I had no idea what that meant, and admittedly I still don't, but the man had me hooked. I think it's because he told me I look 25. That usually does it for me.

Anyway Raoul told me all about his childhood in Mexico and his early years as a stylist in LA, and how the last 10 years in Chicago have been the best in his life. Conversation flowed as he wrapped colour around my hair, neatly packed it all in foil parcels, and left me to cook.

A little snip here, and a little pomade there, and voila - I was done. And I'm seriously happy with the end result. Raoul gave me the modern, chic and purposely non-European haircut that he'd promised. And best of all, my VISA card is not crying.

And I've made plans to cheat with Raoul again in about 5 weeks time. As I left the salon, I got a hug, two cheek kisses, and a "you're fabulous", which was just lovely. Sometimes it's all a girl needs to hear to make her sunny Saturday complete.

Well it's cheaper than crack, I guess

Throwing Tiles
Originally uploaded by powerbooktrance.

I can remember when I was at high school and Tetris was all the rage (ugh I'm showing my age here, I know).

Anyway the point is that I became so addicted to playing Tetris on the computer that whenever I'd close my eyes, I could see little rotating block shapes, all desperate to seamlessly fit together as they rapidly descended.

There was nothing I could do to get the blocks out of my head.

And so it is with my latest addiction - Scrabulous on Facebook. Fortunately I'm a multi-tasker, or I would never get anything else done!

As with Tetris, I'm not even particularly good at Scrabulous and yet I can't stop playing it.

And like all addictions, you feel so much better for finding someone who is just as drawn to playing it, as I did today. And so me and my 'Fabulous Scrabulous' chum have been playing game after game - reassuring one another that there really isn't anything wrong with our latest obsession.

Nothing wrong, but maybe something geeky?!

A tin can full of crazy sardines

sweet dreams
Originally uploaded by unfocused mike.

If I was so inclined, I bet I could devote every posting on this blog to stories from my daily public transport commute.

In the mornings, most of us are pre-caffeinated which says it all. And in the afternoons, we're all so world-weary that we all seem to have our ipods in, but I bet none of us could list the last 3 songs we heard.

Tonight I watched as a young guy, eyes closed, nodded in that half-sleep common amongst public transporters, as he leaned this way...and then that way...and then forwards, all the while threatening to topple over onto his adjacement passenger (who pretended not to notice, though I am sure she did).

And then there's German Lady, who has been my public transport nemesis for nearly three years. Only ever on my afternoon commute, she always pushes in front of me in the bus line, even though we both know I got there before her.

German Lady usually sits across the aisle from Crazy Hair Lady who is a) deaf as a post, and b) always sick - so you can imagine the delight my bus takes in listening to their banal chatting and constant sniffing the whole way home.

Let's not forget Young Gay Man With The Italian Handbag who (again) pushes in front of me, though this time to get off my morning bus. He is therefore ahead of me in line for a coffee. I can't decide whether to trip him, or offer him my sympathies for the way his coffee deprivation makes him such a jerk.

And of course, last but never least, is the swarm of accountants that floods my afternoon bus ride. They all seem to carry about 4 heavy bags each, and one of those bags is usually a company-issued backpack that I really hope they are obliged to tote (otherwise, why would you?).

Despite all our differences, I'm sure that if I canvassed the opinions of my fellow commuters - morning or night - we'd be united in our common frustration with bus drivers.

They jam 500 of us into a bus that is (I'm sure) only designed to carry a fraction of that amount, and then they ride their brake and accelerator all the way into the city. Except, that is, on the strech of Lakeshore Drive when the traffic lets up and they can careen at break-neck speed until they have to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting anything - or anyone.

And so we grip on for all that we can, slipping and sliding in unison, crashing into seated or standing passengers, making polite apologies and collectively rolling our eye-balls in the direction of the lovechild of Sandra Bullock & Evil Kanevil in whose very hands we have commended our lives.

But don't misunderstand me.

I'm not complaining about any of these things; quite to the contrary in fact. The only thing I really dislike about public transport in Chicago is waiting in the rain - and that's not really something that anyone can help....but until they can, I'll blame The Young Gay Man With The Italian Handbag. Just for fun.

Shape up or ship out

I don't know whether it's Monday-itis, or just being a grouchy cow, but this morning I absolutely meant it when I uttered that famous female phrase: I simply don't have a thing to wear.

Now of course I don't mean it literally - women rarely ever do (except the nudists I guess). But I seriously hate my work clothes. One look at the shirts and tops hanging in the closet will tell you that I can't decide whether to be corporate or trendy, casual or sloppy. I somehow managed to have simultaneously covered all possible fashion bases.

And so I'm resolved to get out this coming weekend and find some new items to jazz up my ensemble, and lift my mood.

Of course it's times like this though that I wish I had a work uniform - if they're cute, they make things so much easier. But they are rarely, if ever, cute. So scratch that idea.

And I am in love with my new black patent leather pumps and so I don't really want to get rid of them. But admittedly they came close to being pitched this morning when one of them flew off my foot into the middle of a pedestrian crossing. I nearly cried as I hobbled through the puddles in front of a bustling rush period crowd to go and fetch it. I am not sure how loudly I was cursing (thanks to my ipod blasting in my ears) but I'm sure my fellow office workers were treated to a couple of gems from my vocabulary!

Let's just hope that between now and the weekend, I can commit to a fashion style, find everything in the one store - in my size - and have no line up at the fitting rooms or registers where I'm ready to rock & roll.

Clearly I am not a girly-girl when it comes to shopping.

Coming up for air

While Coco has been going ahead in leaps and bounds with her blogging, I have been disappointingly recalcitrant. And it's not because I haven't been out there creating stories to share and whatnot, because I have. But I have been suffering rather crippling procrastination lately so I'm deliberately stealing an hour from my Sunday to bring you up to speed on the last few weeks. [And in so doing, I am putting off doing housework - do you see how my life is now?!]

My story starts just before St Patrick's Day - yes, we're going back that far, and me and Dr G headed into town early to participate in an annual tradition - the dyeing of the Chicago River. We found a great spot pretty much right in front of where the little men with the drums of orange powder set off in their boats to putt-putt along and dump gallon after gallon of said powder into the murky depths. The process is slow, but the end result is quite dazzling. Very "Emerald City".



But the winter in Chicago just won't go away, so it was not long before me and Dr G decided we were too cold to stay Downtown (contending with the crowds AND the cold was a bit too much to bear). So we went back to Boystown and had Mexican food for lunch before heading home to thaw out.

Life progressed rather normally for a few weeks after that, and then it was Easter and I decided to visit K in New York City, her new home away from home. The view from her living room window is just breathtaking - Empire State out one side, Chrysler Building out the other:



Naturally I didn't get to appreciate this stellar view until the morning after my arrival, owing to a 3-hour delay at O'Hare. I guess the silver lining is that the sky was this blue in NYC for the duration of my trip, and who could ask for more than that?

I felt fairly confident that I would be spending a few more long weekends in the Big Apple before I leave Chicago so I told K that I didn't care about doing too many tourist things on my first visit. So we walked around everywhere and spent our first full day following K's cousin in and out of fabulous vintage stores to browse the racks of hidden treasures.

We wandered through SoHo, Little Italy, China Town, stopping on the way to see the site of Ground Zero. We walked past a great spot to get a photo of the Brooklyn Bridge (though I resisted taking a photo because I will get a better one up close next time).

On Easter Saturday we lined up for an hour with fellow tourists from across the world to appreciate the Big Apple from on high. We went up to the viewing platform on the 86th Floor of the Empire State Building. Owing to the clear skies, the panorama was amazing. In every direction the view was gorgeous. I don't know the city well enough to know what I was looking at exactly, but you get a real appreciation for just how big New York really is.

We had tickets to "Xanadu" on Broadway and we got to sit up on the stage and be part of the production. When the stagehands issued us with glow sticks at the beginning of the show, I just knew it was going to be a blast. And sure enough, "Xanadu" was as campy and crazy as I remember the movie being. It was difficult not to sing along - but I figured I had better try to keep my mouth shut as this was my first (and probably only) chance to be on a Broadway stage.

On Easter Sunday we walked down 5th Avenue which was closed to vehicle traffic for the Easter Bonnet exhibition. Residents were parading up and down through the crowd, showing off their home made Easter bonnets and it was a wonderful atmosphere. Me and Bec bought a hot dog from a street vendor (so we could cross it off our 'must do in NY' list). We watched the ice skaters in Rockerfeller Center, and then we walked past Tiffany's (surrounded by ugly scaffolding and not worth having breakfast at on this occasion). Past the Plaza Hotel, we wandered through Central Park and saw the tribute to John Lennon (Strawberry Fields - a designated 'silent area' for reflection and quiet contemplation).

We spent a happy few hours absorbing some culture at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, and then we had some down time with one of K's friends at a coffee shop in trendy Union Square.

I have not heard anyone say anything bad about New York City. My friends and colleagues love it for its diversity and its diversions; there is always something to do, all the time. The City is not for the faint hearted though, because it's hustle-bustle constantly. But I thrive on that sort of energy and I find it fascinating to people watch. In my experience over the weekend, New Yorkers were polite and obliging and friendly and I would go back to the city in a heartbeat (whether or not K was there). Fortunately I have some pretty generous frequent flyer miles now, so I guess it's just a matter of seeing whether I have any annual leave left....I don't like my chances there!

Want some coffee with that sugar?

Espresso cream...
Originally uploaded by try to touch.

Even after 2 and a bit years living in Chicago, people's coffee-making habits still defy explanation and manage to make me smile.

I do not frequent Starbucks these days, unless I absolutely have to, so I'm spared the mind-bending orders issued by impatient customers that need their fix of wannabe coffee and sugar-high syrups. For my way of thinking, syrup of any kind has absolutely no place in good coffee. [Fortunately Starbucks cannot really be called GOOD coffee to begin with, but you get the point.]

I've come back to having my weekday heart started at Lavazza, home to the second-best coffee in the City (first place is still Intelligentsia). Of course the intensity of the caffeine trip makes me vibrate around the office for most of the morning but, on occasions, that is entirely the effect I was going for in the first place.

After getting off the bus this morning, I followed a fellow passenger into Lavazza and waited for my turn in line. Both of us ordered your basic run-of-the-mill coffees with some room for cream in the top. "Ah," I thought, "a kindred coffee spirit".

Not so, as it turned out.

The chap ahead of me, regular untainted coffee in hand, wandered over to the 'condiments' station (for want of a better description), and proceeded to pollute his perfect beverage with any and all of the sprinkles, sugars, flavours, and preservatives on offer. WTF?!

While the very sight of the travesty burned my retinas and scarred my very soul, I was able to stare open-mouthed long enough to notice that he dumped AT LEAST 5 packets of artificial sweetner into his cup. When he reached for the cinnamon and began to liberally douse the drink with it, I had to look away.

I mean seriously, if you don't want to taste coffee in your drink, don't order coffee. Am I right?

Anyway while all this process was playing out, the fellow was hogging the whole condiment station - there was no room for me to sneak in, do my thing, and leave. So my only option was to stand there, take up space, and endure the longest 4 minute coffee preparation I'd ever (not) been involved in.

When his theatrics were nearing their conclusion, I wandered over to the station, sloshed the tiniest amount of half-and-half into my pristine cup and dashed out the door.

Ahead of him.

A chemical flashback

Bottles
Originally uploaded by Rune T.

On the way home in the taxi tonight, I was thinking about this blog posting and giving myself a hard time for not quite wrapping up my Las Vegas trip. "What is the point," I mused, "in writing about tonight, when I am about 3 weeks behind in blogland to begin with?".

But then I figured that this is MY blog and hang it if I'm three weeks behind. I think we can all accept that I made it back from Vegas safely, had a great time with JK here, and somehow lived to (soberly) tell the tales. I just choose not to tell them here!

So in the manner of Scott Bakula in his "Quantum Leap" role, let's time travel forward to tonight, so I can give you an idea of what I've been up to.

A shameless plug must first be inserted here for Just Grapes, who threw me a free ticket for tonight's wonderful Wine Blending seminar at their Downtown Chicago store premises. Turning up solo for an event is never my first choice, but tonight I really didn't have any options - everyone I asked was either not interested, or had plans. So I took myself off to the class because the opportunity to be a winemaker for a night was just too tempting to let pass by.

Sitting at my place (at the very front of the room no less), I was confronted by 5 half-glasses of wine, a blending glass, a pipette, and a beaker. I started having flashbacks to Year 12 Chemistry class and then my palms got all sweaty. Winemaking as a science? Who knew!

But I paid attention and understood the basics of how to make sense of the "Fusebox" product released by Crushpad Winery in the Napa Valley. So the challenge became how to make my favourite wine blend from the following Bordeaux wines:

• Cabernet Sauvignon;
• Merlot;
• Cabernet Franc;
• Malbec; and
• Petit Verdot.

I have to say that I was very conservative with my blending, partly because I wasn't sure what I was doing, but also because I am still not sure what I really enjoy the most. But I walked away from the 2-hour class confident that I very much enjoy Petit Verdot. And of course, I also learned that Petit Verdot is very seldom seen on wine lists on its own - fabulous.

Still, I am no wine sissy, and I love heavy Australian shiraz but tonight, the Cab Sav was just too overwhelming for me so my blends featured more of the Merlot and Petit Verdot than anything else. Oh and Cabernet Franc just doesn't do it for me - too spicy and dominant.

The beautiful thing about Crushpad is that if you come up with a wine blend that you really like, you can arrange for the winery to produce it for you, and you can buy a case of it with labels that you can print up. What a great idea, huh?

I can't imagine that any of my "Gab's Blends" that I made tonight would ever make to the bottle, but at least I got a good feel for what's involved in winemaking, and another assurance that the ultimate test of a good wine is what you enjoy the most - there is never a right answer.

Up High, Down Low, Too Slow

Las Vegas is the sort of town where fun doesn't just happen at street level. Way down The Strip, past the biggest gift store in the world (where a ridgey-didge uniformed sheriff patrols the entrance), you reach The Stratosphere Hotel and Casino.

The place is home to three death-defying attractions - "X-Scream", "Big Shot" and "Insanity". Check out the website to see what they're all about, and trust me when I tell you that you could never, ever hope to persuade me to even go on one of those crazy rides. Call me a nana, but simply taking the elevator 866 feet to the top viewing platform was all the white-knuckle excitement I needed for one evening! The view from up there IS gorgeous though, especially at night when all the lights are twinkling beautifully (I wonder if you can see the Vegas lights from space?).

Having left the lofty heights of Vegas and the stunning panorama behind, we took 'The Deuce' past a bunch of sleazy motels and drive-thru wedding chapels (no kidding!) to Fremont Street, to get an appreciation for old Vegas in its heyday, when the Rat Pack (and the Mob) really did own the town.

The blessed internet tells me that the Fremont Street Experience, as it is officially known in the guidebooks, boasts a $70 million light canopy, which is basically a pedestrian promenade covered over by a domed canopy that has a 550,000-watt LCD light and sound system built in. Every thirty minutes or so from 11pm each night, the lights come on and screen a short display of colour and sound designed to stimulate your senses (or hypnotise you to spend more money, I am not sure which).

Either way, Fremont Street is an assault on your senses. It's non-stop action just like The Strip, but it's also chock-full of street vendors like The Chippendales, who tried to get me to pose for a photo with them but I modestly declined! I am not averse to having very well-built men drape themselves over me, but in full view of tourists? And I have to pay them at the end? No thanks hehe.

So me and JK wandered up and down Fremont Street, and went into The Golden Nugget, one of the most famous original casinos in Vegas. The decor was kinda 1960's (think oranges and browns everywhere). It's old school, and not as flashy as the newer places on The Strip. But neverthless, the Golden Nugget (and other places just like it on Fremont Street) was stiill making a lot of money out of people that night - the tables and machines were pretty much full.

I'm not even sure you can stay at the casinos on Fremont Street anymore and even if you could, I'm not sure you'd want to. It's a decent Deuce ride from the Strip, but it also seems to be just another place you have to check off your list when you come to Vegas, a must-see attraction to get an idea of how things used to be in Sin City - and I really am glad I got to see it.

What happens when the sun comes out

Okay so I should have posted a post-script to yesterday's entry because I completely neglected to comment on the spectacular light show that we watched on the lake out the front of Bellagio after the Cirque show. I mean, it's only one of the most famous attractions in Vegas after all!



Now that picture of course shows you the fountains and light show from the FRONT of the Hotel, but me and JK didn't want to have to stand in a crowd three people deep in order to appreciate the view. So being the clever chap that he is, JK suggested that we view the spectacle with a glass of champagne, from INSIDE the Bellagio's Fontana bar. They have a beautiful terrace that you can go and stand on, to fully appreciate the enormity of the fountain sprays, set to music (just like fireworks might be). I tell you, after that experience, and the Cirque show, I was on overstimulation-mode. Thanks be to God for the champagne.

[Now we can move to the morning after.....Saturday, Part 1]

Las Vegas is a round-the-clock town, indoors particularly. At any time of day, the croupiers are 'dealing' with patrons at all stages of intoxication, and the bars and restaurants and full of tourists re-fuelling for the next round of partying.

And during the daylight hours outdoors, there isn't much to do on The Strip other than walk around and get a grip on the adult wonderland you've landed in.

So when Saturday morning rolled around, and the sheer scope of the previous evening's Cirque de Soleil show was still seeping in, Gab the Goldfish took a shower and prepared to face Daytime Vegas.

We scrambled aboard 'The Deuce' and rode it to "New York, New York" casino to appreciate their breakfast buffet. The restaurant we went into was in the casino's China Town, so I scooped some BBQ onto my breakfast plate but stopped short of spring rolls and wontons. I have to tell you, BBQ pork for breakfast was pretty darn good. And with my belly full of the rather noxious combination of BBQ pork, orange juice, and filtered coffee, we set off.

JK played the tables for a bit and I wandered around the cheap souvenir shops upstairs. When he'd finished, he tried yet again to convince me to ride the huge roller coaster at the "New York New York" but naturally I didn't budge.

I think you could probably convince me to eat or drink just about anything from any culture around the world. You could talk me into travelling just about anywhere or talking to just about anyone. But don't ask me to pay to sit in a tiny carriage up monstrously high above street level, and then speed around a narrow track at break-neck speed for three torturous minutes. It's just not gonna happen. And so JK had to abandon his idea for the Rollercoaster of Death ride. Too bad, so sad chum.

Then we crossed the road to a cheap souvenir shop to assess the postcard situation. I'm a big postcard person, and am constantly on the lookout for the glitziest, most hollogramic postcards I can find. And if they were going to exist anywhere, it would be Vegas - right? Sadly I was let down on this front. Most of the postcards I found were simple location shots of sparkly night scenes, or daytime location shots of the Casinos. So having selected some of these cards, the cash register lady told us that we could buy postcard stamps in a vending machine at the 7-11 adjacent to her store.

We found the machine and I started ferreting through my purse for the required number of quarters. Then JK, the numbers man, did a quick calculation and stopped me. "How can a 90-cent stamp cost you $1.75?". And sure enough, the machine advertised 90-cent stamps but required you to insert 7 quarters ($1.75). WHAT THE? Another example of Vegas trying to take our money. So we left the 7-11, scratching our heads.

A quick wander through M&M World and Coke Land - or whatever those too emporia were actually called, and then we rocked up at Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum. Fabulous ability to get up close and personal (and even rather grabby) with some celebs. Anyone who tries to tell me that Marilyn Monroe was a US size 14 is a smelly liar. I don't think the dress she was wearing at the museum would have even zipped up on me! But she still looked pretty great. And just seeing the wax figure of Lucille Ball cracked me up.

We wandered past "Treasure Island" casino, and I had a couple of margaritas at their bar where I was pretty much mesmerised by the bartenders who were flipping bottles in the manner of Tom Cruise in "Cocktail" - it was all pretty impressive. But then I was tired and we decided that an afternoon lie-down would be a good idea in preparation for our big night of activities.

Which I will blog about tomorrow bwahahahah (evil laugh).....

Las Vegas and the big "O"

So if you're paying attention to posting dates, you might think that I have been on the biggest margarita bender known to mankind. After all, I only suggested I'd be popping out for a few quick ones. But truth be told, I have been putting off the Las Vegas re-cap. There was so much that happened, writing it all down seemed like a really daunting concept. But here I am, at my computer in the manner of Doogie Howser, all ready to lay out the high points of the holiday. And don't worry, I didn't learn anything worth sharing with you all...

The first thing I have to tell you is that the flight from Chicago to Las Vegas is about 4 hours long. And with a little bottle of cheap red wine on top of a couple of beers from earlier in the night, I arrived in Vegas absolutely shattered. Not drunk by any means, but simply exhausted. I just wanted to discover some sort of Quantum Leap style time travel and beam myself directly into bed. Fortunately I didn't have to worry because JK had been very clever and booked us some bus transfers from the airport to the Hotel.

But it's true what "they" say - Vegas doesn't sleep. Even at 1am on a Friday morning, The Strip was a living organism. There were people of all ages wandering around and through the little slits in my eyes, I could make out people drinking on the streets, lots of big-haired tourists, and best of all - tshirts! That meant that I had finally left behind the frosty streets of Chicago and entered some sort of desert oasis wonderland. Finally!

And as the opulence of Bellagio greeted me, I assumed my soon-to-become permanent facial expression of open-mouthed goldfish. I suspect that expression is rather common on first glance at Bellagio.

Not to be snobby about the whole affair, but I have been to the real Bellagio, a small hamlet off Lake Como in Italy - something that now reminds me of Rivendell from "Lord of the Rings". So even though I was initially concerned that Vegas would bastardise all the gorgeous things I love about Italy, I have to say that Bellagio the Hotel is an escape to the sort of Lake Como villa you can only dream about. It is stunning in every sense, and nothing is too much trouble for any of the staff. Like the rest of Vegas, Bellagio is open 24/7 so it is always "on", but I never noticed any of that on my first night. Once I got upstairs and took a "before" photo of my gorgeous queen sized bed, I face-planted on it and fell into the sort of blissful sleep only reserved for holidaymakers.

JK had been to Vegas before so I was more than content to rely on him to make sure I saw everything I was supposed to see. And our first port of call on this 'must see' list was the Bellagio Breakfast Buffet. I can't even remember how much it cost, but I will say that the excess of the smorgasboard was really just a food-filled metaphor for the whole town! After a filling breakfast pitstop, we commenced our day's journey.

We caught 'The Deuce' (the double-decker Las Vegas shuttle bus that put-putts tourists up and down the Strip for $5 per day, unlimited travel). JK and I realised that 'The Deuce' is a very cool mode of transportation, but naturally only when you say 'The Deuce' like some sort of Robert De Niro gangster hitman. We were so awesome.

'The Deuce' dropped us off at the Las Vegas Outlet Center first of all, and we spent just over 90 minutes wandering around the suburban strip mall. It wasn't a shopping mecca by any means, though I did score a cute dress and top for about $25 all up, which wasn't bad. Vegas had already begun to take my money it seemed!

Returning to The Strip (via 'The Deuce' of course), we wandered through a couple of the larger casinos down the opposite end from where we were staying. We walked through "Mandalay Bay" (and visited its impressive Shark Reef exhibition), then through "Luxor" which only references Ancient Egypt from the outside, and then across to "Excalibur", which is a knock off of King Arthur's times. The interior of these casinos all look fairly similar but they are all worth seeing. The sheer scale of them all nearly blew me away.

Before long, it was time for a margarita and we hailed 'The Deuce' to take us to Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville, which had come highly recommended to me. And after an Ultimate Margarita and an amazing creation called Volcano Nachos, we returned to Bellagio for a quick nana nap before heading out again.

Ahead of time, I had bought us tickets to the Cirque de Soleil show called "O", which is a spin on the French word for water, so much of the show focuses on diving, and swimming, and waterplay. It is positively breathtaking. I had never seen a Cirque show before, so I strongly suspect that I was again very much the gaping goldfish (although perhaps appropriately this time), as I marvelled at the athleticism and choreography of the artists. To call them acrobats or (worse) circus performers doesn't do them - or the show - justice. They are just amazing and while Americans seem quite at home doing standing ovations after just about every show, they're not something I'm usually comfortable with. But this time, I was on my feet almost immediately, and was just so impressed. From the murmurs of my fellow theater-goers after the show, my reaction was a fairly common one.

I have just scrolled up this post and seen how lengthy it is, and I've only recapped Day 1 of my Vegas Adventure. Perhaps I should pause here then and give it a day or so before busting out the news and fun of Day 2?

It's Vegas baby, Vegas

Close-up of the Bellagio lobby ceiling
Originally uploaded by Miss Gab.

There is a lot that I need to catch you up on, but my desire to have jugs of margaritas at my local Mexican restaurant has overriden my desire to write.

Check out my photo album from Las Vegas by clicking on the photo of the gorgeous multi-colored ceiling at Bellagio.

I promise I'll write soon.