I am totally unathletic. Do you see that tree stump over there? It is more athletic than I am. When I was a kid, I took gymnastics classes at the park district for like, a minute. I liked tumbling and stuff like that, but I remember walking across a balance beam and in the back of my mind, I'm going, yeah, this is nice I guess, but wait - I'm sorry? You want me to what now? On a four inch wide piece of wood? But I'll fall on my head and DIE! Do you want me to DIE? And, oh, what are those things? Uneven bars, you say? And what does one do on those? Hahahahaha, yeah, right, pull the other one! I don't suppose I need to tell you, but I didn't stay long in gymnastics class.
Also as a kid, my parents attempted to get me to do swimming lessons, but it was more of same. It was okay at first, in the water with a kickboard, all like, yeah! Splashy splashy! I'm liking this, sort of, but why does it smell so weird? And then, I'm like - I'm sorry? You want me to put my face where? Under the water? I don't think so! It really, really freaked me out. I didn't actually learn to swim for a very long time, because I was (and still am) afraid of going under water. No thank you. So, you guessed it - no more swimming classes either.
In grade school, I HATED gym class. This class was pretty much MADE for people who were good at sports. So I fit right in. Ahahahha. No, not really. The teacher's pets were all the kids on the sports teams (which those teachers coached) and the rest of us shlubs were pretty much useless. While I liked playing silly games, I wasn't very good at organized sports. I was okay with soccer and floor hockey, but I didn't like playing basketball or volleyball. I wasn't good at them, I wasn't coordinated in the right way. It was not a very fun 40 minutes for me. Gym class can be scarring anyway, because kids are little assholes, and all gym class did for me was expose all my weaknesses to my enemies. I mean, sure, I rocked it out in actual academic classes, but what are brains next to athletic prowess? I remember very clearly being chosen as team captain for volleyball (not because I was good at it, I hasten to add, but everyone got a turn at being captain) and it while it wasn't like back in the day, when everyone lined up and teams were picked humiliatingly in front of everyone, it was still kind of a process, because you went into a room with the other captains and a list and chose teams that way. I chose my friends, because the ONLY way to make the combination of volleyball and gym class any more bearable was to have your friends on your team. Can I add here that EVERYONE did this. Everyone. All the little jocks chose their little jock-style friends to form one super-team. And they never got in trouble for it, even though it was, like, obvious. Do you want to know the ONLY person who got told off about it by their crazy bitch of a gym teacher? Yup, it was me. So it was like that.
High school was a little bit easier, because after 2 years, you could choose what things you wanted to play. So for two years, we'd have to do the usual basketball, volleyball, soccer, baseball, swimming thing. I had a really good strategy for baseball, though. I'd go stand out in the field as far away as possible so there was NO chance I'd ever see any action. Because during those odd times I'd actually GET the ball, I'd have no clue what to do with it, so I'd make the wrong choice and lose the game for us. Batting was also a disaster, because I'm a lefty and no one had any idea what to do about that, so I solved that by going to the end of the line for batting. Then I'd keep cycling myself back to the end. Voila!
When we were able to pick, I chose stuff like team games (with silly games like pillow polo and badminton) and social dancing, tennis and step aerobics and archery and cross country skiing. The high school gym teachers were nicer and not as obviously biased towards the jocks in the class. I'm pretty sure I got pity A's for effort from most of them. And sometimes we'd get male gym teachers who pretty much did not give a shit. I kid you not - I remember once during a tennis unit, the teacher would spend all his time at the front court with the gym "peer leaders" (aka his jock-style pets - I never did understand what these "leaders" were "leaders" of actually) leaving the rest of us on the back courts, casually whacking our tennis balls over the fence and going "oh, dang" and then ambling off the court to fetch the ball and starting the process all over again. None of this taught us a lick about physical fitness, which I gather is the point of these classes. If they had tried to teach us anything about being fit and taking care of ourselves, it would have been more useful that forcing unathletic square pegs onto the basketball court to be mercilessly mocked by their peers. (Ah, but that's another story).
All this is really building up to tell you that despite my obvious lack of athletic ability, and the deep, deep psychological scars that I have gotten from my youthful athletic endeavors, there are sports I do like to watch, if not play, and every four years when the Olympics roll around? I am glued to the screen, watching everything and anything that happens to be on. Which is a little bit weird to me.
The first Olympics I remember watching were the 1988 winter games in Calgary. Since then, I've been hooked. This London games has been no different. Since the first moments of the (long, kind of strange) opening ceremony, I have been a slave to the NBC tape delay, staying up till all hours, watching Olympic coverage, trawling the web during the day to find the all-important gymnastics results. One of my coworkers called me an Olympic junkie and it's true, I am. At no time in my regular life would you catch me turning on the tv and settling in for a game of beach volleyball. Like, never. Ever. But during the Olympics, I will sit and watch with avid interest.
I'll watch ANYTHING during the Olympics. I remember one snowy winter day, I turned the games on, just to see what was happening and I found myself getting sucked in to a cross country skiing event, of all things. There weren't even any Americans participating, but I watched anyway, all in suspense. I also tuned in for a gold-medal hockey game once, with the Swedish team playing. This summer, I've sat and watched diving and swimming of all kinds, gymnastics, cycling, volleyball, basketball, water polo, track and field, tennis, some equestrian jumping stuff, pretty much whatever's been on.
I don't know what it is that I love so much - the pageantry of the opening ceremonies? The feeling of coming together with the world? The rampant patriotism, shouts of USA! USA! (even if it's just me doing the shouting?), watching young people so amazingly skilled chase their dreams? Watching them stand on the podium with a shiny medal, singing the Star Spangled Banner (shoot, that makes me cry every time). I don't know what it is, but I love it. So, so much. I am glad that there are people so different from me, who are bold and brave and unafraid of death on gymnastic apparatuses (apparati?) or in the pool, or jumping off of three storey high platforms, because they have been thrilling to watch.
London, this has been a wonderful games. I've loved every minute of it. You should be so proud of what you've been able to do. I will miss these games when they are gone.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Ravinia's Dueling Divas
So... when I was in New York last month, I saw Ms. Patti LuPone at 54 Below. More on this later, I promise. When we arrived at the club, the hostess asked me how close to the stage we wished to be sat. I said as close as possible without, you know, actually being on stage. Wish granted! While we were sitting there, the couple next to us wondered if it was too close. To which I replied (even though they were not speaking to me, per se) that, in the case of The Patti, there is no such thing as too close. She's Worth It.
Fast forward to last night - Gala Night at the Ravinia Festival, featuring Ms. Patti and soprano Patricia Racette. A totally odd and incredibly random pairing, but whatever, She's Worth It. (I am reasonably sure that I have actually seen Ms. Racette perform at Lyric Opera - although I am not officially sure any more what opera I saw her perform in. I think it's either Tosca or Madame Butterfly. Whatever. I had heard of her, knew she was pretty good, even if I couldn't remember specifics, so I was happy at the prospect of the concert). Thanks to some wonderful friends, I had tickets in the pavilion in Row X, dead center, with no one in front of me.
The concert was billed as "The Leading Ladies" but I instantly renamed it "The Diva Duel" - and it was time for Round 1. It kicked off with the National Anthem (despite the fact that the Pretty Party People had not entirely taken their seats), and then the CSO played the overture to Rosamunde.
Then Ms. Racette came on, in a lovely dark blue dress (So.Much.Fabric. I was sitting there in a slip dress and I was hot. I don't know how all the Pretty Party People (PPP) were surviving in their tuxes and fancy dresses, let alone how the orchestra, conductor and soloists were coping in the heat). She sang a few arias - one from La Boheme, Un Bel Di from Madama Butterfly, the Song to the Moon from Rusalka, and Ebben? Ne Andro Lontana from La Wally. And I'm really sorry to report, she was kind of boring. The arias were beautifully sung but just a bit bland. She performed the best in the Butterfly aria, but the others were kind of blah.
Then came Patti. This one knows how to command a stage - it took her a matter of moments before she had the entire audience right where she wanted us. She looked glam and divalicious in a strapless red dress (That's right red - as if to remind us exactly whose house this is, thank you very much, and you'd best not be forgetting it!) and some insane wrist bling, and sang Don't Rain on My Parade, Easy to Be Hard, Don't Cry for Me Argentina, and Being Alive. The audience totally came alive, and as she left the stage with a little wave, it was like, don't go, Patti! Stay and sing a while! Please??!?!!
Round 1 of this Diva Duel went easily to Patti.
How does one follow that? One sends the orchestra out with some Wagner. No kidding. The overture to Tannhauser. It put me in the mind of hell's waiting room - dark and hot, with Wagner playing in the background.
Out comes Ms. Racette, this time in black. She took the mic, and said "How about some Piaf?" To which we in the audience responded (mentally, anyway) Sure, what the hell! This program really couldn't get much weirder, right? But the Piaf medley she sang was really lovely. Much more interesting, strangely, than the arias. The medley included Milord, Padam, Padam, La Vie en Rose nd Mon Dieu! for those of you keeping score at home. This would have been a great opportunity for Patti to join her, since she's got some Piaf up in her bag o'tricks, but no.
She did come back, though, in black this time, and launched into another section of Broadway selections - As Long As He Needs Me, Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered, Everything's Coming Up Roses (with a special shout out to the Ravinia Festival and to Mr. Kauffman) and Ladies Who Lunch (a rather interesting choice, I thought, given that this gala was, in fact, celebrating 50 years of the Women's Board, the very embodiment of the song). On her last "Rise!" she flung the water out of her glass onto the PPP in the front row ("It's just water!" she said to the patron(s). I can't imagine that a little dousing wouldn't have felt good, since it was 2000 degrees in the pavilion, so hopefully they were cool about it, since it was just water, not battery acid, and there probably wasn't much of it. Being the North Shore and all though, I guess you never know how people are gonna react.
Then the two divas made an appearance on the stage together, singing Get Happy/Happy Days are Here Again. And there the concert should possibly have ended, but the orchestra played a (long!) interlude from Ravel's Daphnis et Chloe (which I initially read as Dolphins and Chloe, which is a different story all together!)
Whatever. Round 2 - also went to Patti.
She clearly won this Diva Duel - I don't know why they didn't have her alone on the bill in the first place, or pair her with someone with whom she could have truly shared the program (Audra? Mandy? Laura Benanti? Someone a little less random?)
Fast forward to last night - Gala Night at the Ravinia Festival, featuring Ms. Patti and soprano Patricia Racette. A totally odd and incredibly random pairing, but whatever, She's Worth It. (I am reasonably sure that I have actually seen Ms. Racette perform at Lyric Opera - although I am not officially sure any more what opera I saw her perform in. I think it's either Tosca or Madame Butterfly. Whatever. I had heard of her, knew she was pretty good, even if I couldn't remember specifics, so I was happy at the prospect of the concert). Thanks to some wonderful friends, I had tickets in the pavilion in Row X, dead center, with no one in front of me.
The concert was billed as "The Leading Ladies" but I instantly renamed it "The Diva Duel" - and it was time for Round 1. It kicked off with the National Anthem (despite the fact that the Pretty Party People had not entirely taken their seats), and then the CSO played the overture to Rosamunde.
Then Ms. Racette came on, in a lovely dark blue dress (So.Much.Fabric. I was sitting there in a slip dress and I was hot. I don't know how all the Pretty Party People (PPP) were surviving in their tuxes and fancy dresses, let alone how the orchestra, conductor and soloists were coping in the heat). She sang a few arias - one from La Boheme, Un Bel Di from Madama Butterfly, the Song to the Moon from Rusalka, and Ebben? Ne Andro Lontana from La Wally. And I'm really sorry to report, she was kind of boring. The arias were beautifully sung but just a bit bland. She performed the best in the Butterfly aria, but the others were kind of blah.
Then came Patti. This one knows how to command a stage - it took her a matter of moments before she had the entire audience right where she wanted us. She looked glam and divalicious in a strapless red dress (That's right red - as if to remind us exactly whose house this is, thank you very much, and you'd best not be forgetting it!) and some insane wrist bling, and sang Don't Rain on My Parade, Easy to Be Hard, Don't Cry for Me Argentina, and Being Alive. The audience totally came alive, and as she left the stage with a little wave, it was like, don't go, Patti! Stay and sing a while! Please??!?!!
Round 1 of this Diva Duel went easily to Patti.
How does one follow that? One sends the orchestra out with some Wagner. No kidding. The overture to Tannhauser. It put me in the mind of hell's waiting room - dark and hot, with Wagner playing in the background.
Out comes Ms. Racette, this time in black. She took the mic, and said "How about some Piaf?" To which we in the audience responded (mentally, anyway) Sure, what the hell! This program really couldn't get much weirder, right? But the Piaf medley she sang was really lovely. Much more interesting, strangely, than the arias. The medley included Milord, Padam, Padam, La Vie en Rose nd Mon Dieu! for those of you keeping score at home. This would have been a great opportunity for Patti to join her, since she's got some Piaf up in her bag o'tricks, but no.
She did come back, though, in black this time, and launched into another section of Broadway selections - As Long As He Needs Me, Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered, Everything's Coming Up Roses (with a special shout out to the Ravinia Festival and to Mr. Kauffman) and Ladies Who Lunch (a rather interesting choice, I thought, given that this gala was, in fact, celebrating 50 years of the Women's Board, the very embodiment of the song). On her last "Rise!" she flung the water out of her glass onto the PPP in the front row ("It's just water!" she said to the patron(s). I can't imagine that a little dousing wouldn't have felt good, since it was 2000 degrees in the pavilion, so hopefully they were cool about it, since it was just water, not battery acid, and there probably wasn't much of it. Being the North Shore and all though, I guess you never know how people are gonna react.
Then the two divas made an appearance on the stage together, singing Get Happy/Happy Days are Here Again. And there the concert should possibly have ended, but the orchestra played a (long!) interlude from Ravel's Daphnis et Chloe (which I initially read as Dolphins and Chloe, which is a different story all together!)
Whatever. Round 2 - also went to Patti.
She clearly won this Diva Duel - I don't know why they didn't have her alone on the bill in the first place, or pair her with someone with whom she could have truly shared the program (Audra? Mandy? Laura Benanti? Someone a little less random?)
Saturday, July 07, 2012
to rome, with love
it's a good thing they're all so pretty
Not as much fun as I'd been led to believe.
Rather a disappointment.
abraham lincoln, vampire hunter
Went to see Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter last night. It was...well, yeah. Don't get me wrong - I read the book, and I enjoyed it very much. It was like a little hidden part of history, that was kind of like, you think you know what happened during the Civil War? Well, you don't. This is what really happened, and here is the never-before-heard-story of Abe Lincoln, who was much more kick ass than we were ever led to believe in school. So I had high hopes for the film, especially given the fact that it stars Ben Walker, who I was extremely fortunate to have seen making history all sexy-pants (what?? that's what the poster said!) as Andrew Jackson in Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson on Broadway (again during that fateful trip a few years ago.). Yeah, he was awesome in that. So much so that I was sort of calling it Andrew Jackson Vampire Hunter. Whoops. Wrong presidential mash-up.
Anyway, Mr. Walker was really good as the ax-spinning defender of human kind. And really? Was the ax spinning really that necessary? It looked really cool, sure, but did the vampires get any deader after watching Lincoln twirl the ax like a baton? Did they get impressed to death? Abe survives just about everything in this movie - he gets pounded by the vampire who killed his mother (don't ask), he gets a crazy-looking wild horse thrown at him (really, don't ask) in a looong sequence that looked really crappy, during one of his vampire hunting escapades, the tables are turned and he finds himself hanging upside-down in a dungeon - and escapes! Unharmed! With another notch on his ax handle, of a vampire vanquished. And then, towards the end of the movie, there's a super long, extremely pointless sequence on a flaming train. Oh and the (long, tall, wooden) tracks have been set on fire too! And they're on the side of a cliff on the way to Gettysburg to deliver silver weapons to the union troops to defeat the vampire rebels on the confederate side (I told you not to ask). Super Hero in Chief!!
But aside from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you enjoy the show? (Ha! Sorry, couldn't resist). I think it could have been better. If it had been done in a sort of (don't laugh) more realistic way, like it was giving you a glimpse of an untold story, it might have worked better. As it was, people went into it (not many, though, from the look around the theater) thinking the premise was crap and then having that belief confirmed by flying horses and flaming trains. I didn't hate it. It was enjoyable in a WTF is going on here, unintentionally funny kind of way. If you're interested in it, I'd suggest reading the book first.
Tuesday, July 03, 2012
a note about shopping
When I was in New York, as I mentioned, I went shopping. I love shopping. But I tried to go places that I can't go to here in Chicago. I went to Uniqlo (two branches! wheee!) and the Strand, and the HBO Experience Store for True Blood stuff (whee!). But what I really, really wanted to find was New York Giants merchandise.
I am a converted Giants fan. I have divorced the Bears (and it wasn't me. It was definitely them.) and cheered on a new team to super bowl victory. When I was last in NY, all of the stores were PACKED with Giants gear. Packed, I tell you. And it wasn't just jerseys and boys' shirts. There were scads of cute shirts and gear for ladies. But at the time, I decided not to buy (I had a worrying feeling and was trying not to spend crazy amounts of money).
This time, I decided to right the wrong. I'd get a cute ladies t-shirt! Maybe a pillow pet! Maybe another cute t-shirt.... except I couldn't. I went into several sports stores and all kinds of touristy I love NY stores, and NONE OF THEM had Giants gear worth mentioning. One of the sports stores had men's shirts and jerseys, and a shirt Victor Cruz wore (designed? Something?) for something (Puerto Rican day parade? Maybe?) but that was IT. It was wall to wall Yankees. A little bit of Mets stuff. Some Rangers some Knicks stuff, and some Jets stuff (mainly Tebow jerseys. Don't even get me started on him). But I hate baseball, I don't care about basketball and Tebow? How about Te-NO?). But it was all guys' stuff. None of the adorable Alyssa Milano touch stuff. At all. It was baffling.
I was left wandering Times Square muttering "But... Super Bowl... WON... they did!" (in my confusion and angst, I had somehow turned into Yoda).
But for real. On Navy Pier, you can buy sports gear for ALL the teams, including the Bears. And they aren't even GOOD, people. But you can't find cute Giants gear for love nor money in NYC. Don't people want to support their team during the summer? It's a mystery to me. In the end, I gave up. I guess I shall have to buy my gear (AND my pillowpet) on the interweb. But really New York? Why are you making it so hard for me to be a Giants fan? Don't you think I'll have trouble enough without you giving me problems too??
I am a converted Giants fan. I have divorced the Bears (and it wasn't me. It was definitely them.) and cheered on a new team to super bowl victory. When I was last in NY, all of the stores were PACKED with Giants gear. Packed, I tell you. And it wasn't just jerseys and boys' shirts. There were scads of cute shirts and gear for ladies. But at the time, I decided not to buy (I had a worrying feeling and was trying not to spend crazy amounts of money).
This time, I decided to right the wrong. I'd get a cute ladies t-shirt! Maybe a pillow pet! Maybe another cute t-shirt.... except I couldn't. I went into several sports stores and all kinds of touristy I love NY stores, and NONE OF THEM had Giants gear worth mentioning. One of the sports stores had men's shirts and jerseys, and a shirt Victor Cruz wore (designed? Something?) for something (Puerto Rican day parade? Maybe?) but that was IT. It was wall to wall Yankees. A little bit of Mets stuff. Some Rangers some Knicks stuff, and some Jets stuff (mainly Tebow jerseys. Don't even get me started on him). But I hate baseball, I don't care about basketball and Tebow? How about Te-NO?). But it was all guys' stuff. None of the adorable Alyssa Milano touch stuff. At all. It was baffling.
I was left wandering Times Square muttering "But... Super Bowl... WON... they did!" (in my confusion and angst, I had somehow turned into Yoda).
But for real. On Navy Pier, you can buy sports gear for ALL the teams, including the Bears. And they aren't even GOOD, people. But you can't find cute Giants gear for love nor money in NYC. Don't people want to support their team during the summer? It's a mystery to me. In the end, I gave up. I guess I shall have to buy my gear (AND my pillowpet) on the interweb. But really New York? Why are you making it so hard for me to be a Giants fan? Don't you think I'll have trouble enough without you giving me problems too??
i love new york in june...
So I was in New York a few weeks ago - the first time I've been back since that ill-fated trip I took a few years ago in November (okay, I guess the trip itself was fine. It's what happened after the trip that was ill-fated. I don't hold New York responsible for that flaming psychotic bitch I used to work for, even though I worried obsessively the entire time that something bad was going to happen, and I was right, as it happens. What a time for me to be right, huh?).
Well, quite. I sometimes think that I've de-bittered from that experience just a little bit, but I guess not. Anyway - THIS trip to New York was wonderful. Here's a little summary (pictures to come!)
Day 1 - I arrive! Awesomeness ensues! And then - a show!
woke up disgustingly early to get a 7:00 am flight. You know the worst part? I am not able to have coffee due to some gastric problems I have. My doctor said "you could try decaf" but WHY WOULD I DO THAT? I'm drinking it for the caffeine, silly man! Arrrgh. So I had breakfast and some orange juice and spent the flight reading celebrity magazines and also the SKY MALL catalogue. Some of that stuff is SO ridiculous, I swear.
Anyway. Land, get bag without any problems. Cab it to the UWS, only slightly thrown by the car with the Illinois plate that was ahead of us on the road. I was like, but wait!?! Didn't I leave? Was all this just a dream? Got to the hotel (it's a sweet little gem and I'm not telling you the name of it, because I am keeping it all to myself!) on broadway and 70-somethingeth, dumped the bag, did a brief but complete bed(bug) check, and hit the town for some lunch and, naturally, some caffeine.
Stopped at the Shake Shack. Had a plain hot dog, fries, and an extremely large coke. Took a walk - did I mention the weather was gorgeous? In the 70s and low 80s the whole time. Stunning, it was. Then I did some shopping. You know, like you do. Ended up in Times Square and I swear, it was like Navy Pier times a million zillion. People everywhere, most of them tourists, the Naked Cowboy, assorted people dressed up as assorted Disney characters... I was bored, so I went and high-fived Grover. You know, like you do. Went back to the hotel, showered, changed and headed out to dinner. Did that great thing you can do in New York, just wandered the street until I came upon a suitable looking restaurant. Had a salmon burger. I didn't even know they could make salmon into a burger. Delicious.
Headed out to Show #1 (but of course!) - Anything Goes. I know, I know. It's been around for a while (but closing this weekend - glad I had the chance to see it!) and the delightful an extremely talented Sutton Foster is no longer in the show. But I wanted to see it. Nothing else was really calling to me when I was making my plans, and I booked this one first. Well, okay, second. I'll give you a guess as to what I booked first.
And it was a wonderful show. Stephanie J. Block was good as Reno Sweeney (I'll give you a guess as to who I wished I was seeing... but I would have needed a time machine for that) and Joel Grey was hilarious. Also in the cast was Robert Petkoff who had recently graced the stage at CST as Buddy in the exceptional production of Follies. (I have such wonderful happy memories of that show and being in the same building as that great cast, I was happy to be able to cheer him on in a really awesome comic performance). The whole cast danced their collective faces off, it was so much fun to watch. I had never actually listened to the whole cast album, or known anything about the plot, which if you think too hard about it... well, never mind. It doesn't matter, because it just makes you feel good. It was delightful. It was delicious. It was delovely.
Well, quite. I sometimes think that I've de-bittered from that experience just a little bit, but I guess not. Anyway - THIS trip to New York was wonderful. Here's a little summary (pictures to come!)
Day 1 - I arrive! Awesomeness ensues! And then - a show!
woke up disgustingly early to get a 7:00 am flight. You know the worst part? I am not able to have coffee due to some gastric problems I have. My doctor said "you could try decaf" but WHY WOULD I DO THAT? I'm drinking it for the caffeine, silly man! Arrrgh. So I had breakfast and some orange juice and spent the flight reading celebrity magazines and also the SKY MALL catalogue. Some of that stuff is SO ridiculous, I swear.
Anyway. Land, get bag without any problems. Cab it to the UWS, only slightly thrown by the car with the Illinois plate that was ahead of us on the road. I was like, but wait!?! Didn't I leave? Was all this just a dream? Got to the hotel (it's a sweet little gem and I'm not telling you the name of it, because I am keeping it all to myself!) on broadway and 70-somethingeth, dumped the bag, did a brief but complete bed(bug) check, and hit the town for some lunch and, naturally, some caffeine.
Stopped at the Shake Shack. Had a plain hot dog, fries, and an extremely large coke. Took a walk - did I mention the weather was gorgeous? In the 70s and low 80s the whole time. Stunning, it was. Then I did some shopping. You know, like you do. Ended up in Times Square and I swear, it was like Navy Pier times a million zillion. People everywhere, most of them tourists, the Naked Cowboy, assorted people dressed up as assorted Disney characters... I was bored, so I went and high-fived Grover. You know, like you do. Went back to the hotel, showered, changed and headed out to dinner. Did that great thing you can do in New York, just wandered the street until I came upon a suitable looking restaurant. Had a salmon burger. I didn't even know they could make salmon into a burger. Delicious.
Headed out to Show #1 (but of course!) - Anything Goes. I know, I know. It's been around for a while (but closing this weekend - glad I had the chance to see it!) and the delightful an extremely talented Sutton Foster is no longer in the show. But I wanted to see it. Nothing else was really calling to me when I was making my plans, and I booked this one first. Well, okay, second. I'll give you a guess as to what I booked first.
And it was a wonderful show. Stephanie J. Block was good as Reno Sweeney (I'll give you a guess as to who I wished I was seeing... but I would have needed a time machine for that) and Joel Grey was hilarious. Also in the cast was Robert Petkoff who had recently graced the stage at CST as Buddy in the exceptional production of Follies. (I have such wonderful happy memories of that show and being in the same building as that great cast, I was happy to be able to cheer him on in a really awesome comic performance). The whole cast danced their collective faces off, it was so much fun to watch. I had never actually listened to the whole cast album, or known anything about the plot, which if you think too hard about it... well, never mind. It doesn't matter, because it just makes you feel good. It was delightful. It was delicious. It was delovely.
Friday, June 29, 2012
invisible me
so if you're on an empty street
and you hear the tapping of high heeled feet
or you hear a heart
like a phantom beat
or the scream of a woman
left incomplete
well, don't fear what you can't see
the odds are good
that it's only me
i'm invisible
i've vanished
in thin....
- from Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown
When I was in high school, I found my dopelganger. I didn't realize it when we first met. I think we must have been freshmen. We had a getting to know you thing in homeroom, and our counselor (a kindly old lady, played in the movie version of my life by Angela Lansbury) introduced me to Min (not her real name, short for "Mini-Me"). We got to be friends, and I guess we were kind of alike. Both small, petite girls, blonde haired (mine is more ashy, Min's is like crazy bright, you'd think she dyed it that way blonde) and quiet. We were both in honors classes (but we didn't have many together) so we were smart, and we had similar tastes in tv shows, music, clothes (we had a few of the same Express sweaters and stuff like that).
We didn't really look alike, but somehow, we started getting mixed up for each other. Or, more accurately, I was being mistaken for her. Constantly.
We had Theater Workshop class together. We had to act out scenes of our own choosing (don't get me started on this class. We learned exactly zero about acting. I took three years of this bozo's classes. And I am in theater - administration - but no thanks to him.) and she had one from the Secret Garden. He looked at me and said "How about the Secret Garden?" And I looked back at him and said "Do you mean me? Or do you mean you want to see the Secret Garden? Because I'm not doing that." And he said he meant me, but I really think he meant her. (I knew then I wasn't cut out for acting, BTW, since I clearly wasn't memorable. No star qualiteee here, unfortunately. Plus, even though I can sing, I can't dance at all.) Whatever. One teacher, a few times in one class. No big. He was burned out and kind of a dope.
But it kept happening. All four years, different classes, different occasions. I got cut slips when Min was absent. I have never cut anything in my life. I even called in on Senior Ditch Day. And then it turns out the cut slips weren't even for me. I had to have the teachers sign off on the slips to prove i wasn't absent. One time, the gym teacher looked at me puzzled and said "I thought you wouldn't cut!" through gritted teeth I agreed that I hadn't, in fact, cut, but Min, who sat behind me, had been absent. "Ohhh, right." she agreed and signed my slip.
My counselor/Angela Lansbury called us the Dolly Sisters (I don't know why) and then SHE started mixing us up, too. She asked me once how AP Biology was going. I wasn't in AP Biology. I got out of the sciences as soon as I possibly could. And I'm smart, okay, but not smart enough for that class. I gave her a blank look and was like "I'm not even in AP biology, you crazy woman! That's MIN you're thinking of!"
The worst part though? Was when our HOMEROOM teacher did it. He gave me a cut slip when she was absent. Dude, come ON. You had us for four YEARS. You had me in CLASS. Arrghh.
Needless to say, I have a little bit of a complex about this now. Because, let me add, it always happened to ME. I'm the one who got called "Min". I'm the one who got the cut slips. It never, ever, ever happened to her. Am I that unmemorable? Have I become invisible?
I'm better about this now than I used to be. I think it must have gotten to her too, though, because after high school we sort of stopped being friends. Creepily enough, we were both in education for a while, but she actually has a job as a teacher, I think, whereas I jumped that ship a long time ago. I still kind of feel like I am not memorable, or if I see people around, that they would not be interested in talking to me, and stuff like that but, as I say, I'm much better about it now.
Taaaa-daaaaaaaa!
and you hear the tapping of high heeled feet
or you hear a heart
like a phantom beat
or the scream of a woman
left incomplete
well, don't fear what you can't see
the odds are good
that it's only me
i'm invisible
i've vanished
in thin....
- from Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown
When I was in high school, I found my dopelganger. I didn't realize it when we first met. I think we must have been freshmen. We had a getting to know you thing in homeroom, and our counselor (a kindly old lady, played in the movie version of my life by Angela Lansbury) introduced me to Min (not her real name, short for "Mini-Me"). We got to be friends, and I guess we were kind of alike. Both small, petite girls, blonde haired (mine is more ashy, Min's is like crazy bright, you'd think she dyed it that way blonde) and quiet. We were both in honors classes (but we didn't have many together) so we were smart, and we had similar tastes in tv shows, music, clothes (we had a few of the same Express sweaters and stuff like that).
We didn't really look alike, but somehow, we started getting mixed up for each other. Or, more accurately, I was being mistaken for her. Constantly.
We had Theater Workshop class together. We had to act out scenes of our own choosing (don't get me started on this class. We learned exactly zero about acting. I took three years of this bozo's classes. And I am in theater - administration - but no thanks to him.) and she had one from the Secret Garden. He looked at me and said "How about the Secret Garden?" And I looked back at him and said "Do you mean me? Or do you mean you want to see the Secret Garden? Because I'm not doing that." And he said he meant me, but I really think he meant her. (I knew then I wasn't cut out for acting, BTW, since I clearly wasn't memorable. No star qualiteee here, unfortunately. Plus, even though I can sing, I can't dance at all.) Whatever. One teacher, a few times in one class. No big. He was burned out and kind of a dope.
But it kept happening. All four years, different classes, different occasions. I got cut slips when Min was absent. I have never cut anything in my life. I even called in on Senior Ditch Day. And then it turns out the cut slips weren't even for me. I had to have the teachers sign off on the slips to prove i wasn't absent. One time, the gym teacher looked at me puzzled and said "I thought you wouldn't cut!" through gritted teeth I agreed that I hadn't, in fact, cut, but Min, who sat behind me, had been absent. "Ohhh, right." she agreed and signed my slip.
My counselor/Angela Lansbury called us the Dolly Sisters (I don't know why) and then SHE started mixing us up, too. She asked me once how AP Biology was going. I wasn't in AP Biology. I got out of the sciences as soon as I possibly could. And I'm smart, okay, but not smart enough for that class. I gave her a blank look and was like "I'm not even in AP biology, you crazy woman! That's MIN you're thinking of!"
The worst part though? Was when our HOMEROOM teacher did it. He gave me a cut slip when she was absent. Dude, come ON. You had us for four YEARS. You had me in CLASS. Arrghh.
Needless to say, I have a little bit of a complex about this now. Because, let me add, it always happened to ME. I'm the one who got called "Min". I'm the one who got the cut slips. It never, ever, ever happened to her. Am I that unmemorable? Have I become invisible?
I'm better about this now than I used to be. I think it must have gotten to her too, though, because after high school we sort of stopped being friends. Creepily enough, we were both in education for a while, but she actually has a job as a teacher, I think, whereas I jumped that ship a long time ago. I still kind of feel like I am not memorable, or if I see people around, that they would not be interested in talking to me, and stuff like that but, as I say, I'm much better about it now.
Taaaa-daaaaaaaa!
summer time, and the livin' is...busy
Wasn't summer better when we were kids? School was over, so there was a feeling of accomplishment like, yes! I've finished my freshman year (or whatever!) and something to look forward to Hooray! I'm a senior (or whatever!) and you had several glorious months to do absolutely nothing.
When I was a kid, the big thing was going to the pool to hang out. I'm not much of a swimmer, personally, but it didn't matter. You had to go. It was the Thing to Do. Everyone at our grade school/junior high school ended up at Harrer Pool in the summer - we even wrote about it in our yearbooks "See you at the pool. Hope you get some guys! XOXO!" We all wrote the "hope you get some guys" bit, too. Not that we would have known what to do with the guys once we "got" them.
So we'd go to the pool. We'd have the ritual of buying a new swim suit at the beginning of the season, we'd fill up little plastic beach bags with toys and towels and sunscreen. We'd swim and splash around and play and go down the water slide, until they blew the whistle for Safety Break. All the kids had to get out of the pool for 15 minutes or something, and that's when the adults would swim, and the life guards would change shifts (maybe? I'm not entirely clear about the mechanics of Safety Break, because I was out of the pool, see?). I'd go with my friends to the concessions stand and we'd get chocolate chip cookies warm out of the oven (or microwave maybe? I don't know that there'd be an oven, but the cookies were always warm) and an ice cold cherry coke.
Looking back, it seems like the perfect time. We didn't care about the economy, or global warming (90 degree weather just meant it was perfect pool weather, duh!) or terrorism, or who was president, or the price of gas, or the unemployment rate or any of those things. It was the summer time.
Now that I'm OLD I have to worry about that stuff. I have a job, and I spend my days, 90 degrees or otherwise, in the (nice, cold) office. There is never any time to do absolutely nothing, not like there was then. Even if you take vacation, it is not as strings-free as it used to be. You make plans, you worry about your flight, if you're me, you worry about bedbugs in the hotel, getting lost, getting mugged, spending too much money.
I have not been to our local pool in years and years. I think I stopped going once we hit high school. Every so often I think about going back there and doing something I was not allowed to do back in the day - swim during Safety Break, obviously.
Monday, May 21, 2012
he's back and so helpful!
Some of us have scheduled themselves two big back to back meetings tomorrow. Wouldn't it be nice to have some help? Maybe a cup of coffee before things get going? Sigh. A girl can dream...
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Why Should Ryan Have All the Fun?
I love Ryan Gosling, but he's been so busy as a fearless advocate of the arts, he needs a little company. So many arts administrators, so little time, yes?? So therefore, ladies and gentlemen of the arts, I give you: Alexander Skarsgard, Arts Administrator (You're. Welcome).
(for the record, I would LOVE IT if someone would write my meeting minutes for me....)
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Midnight in Paris
Best PictureQuest - Film #6
Midnight in Paris is, again, a movie I'd been interested to see when it first came out. I was curious in a mild sort of way - it looked good, it seemed funny, there were lots of good people in it, etc., but in the way these things sometimes go, the chance to see it passed me by, until...Best PictureQuest 2012.
So Gil (Owen Wilson) and his fiancee Inez (Rachel McAdams) are in Paris. Gil is a screen writer, working on his first novel, and Inez just seems to be the daughter of snotty rich people. She doesn't appear to do much of anything except whine and wear pretty clothes. They meet up with some of Inez's friends, the pedantic Paul (a very disguised Michael Sheen) and his wife? Girlfriend? and what started out as a romantic getaway before their wedding turns out to be dominated by Paul, a droning intellectual. Poor Gil just doesn't seem to fit - he doesn't get along with his future in-laws (daddy is a Tea Party Republican on top of it), and he doesn't get a long with wind bag, know-it-all Paul, who argues with a docent on a Rodin tour. Yeah, he's one of those. All Gil really wants to do is let Paris inspire him. Oh, yeah, and he wants to walk around in the rain.
Is it any wonder that Gil longs for the nostalgia and simplicity of an earlier time? He longs for 1920s Paris, and one night, following a wine tasting, he gets lost on the streets of Paris and is picked up by a carful of noisy Parisians. He gets swept along - into the past. Glorious Paris of the 1920s, into the world of Cole Porter, Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, and Pablo Picasso. He goes to a party there, spends some time chilling with the Fitzgeralds, and Hemingway agrees to show his novel to Stein, and then Gil wakes up back in 2010.
Why he doesn't think that this is all a crazy kind of dream, I don't know, but he is determined to share this glittering world with Inez. He drags her back to the place where the car picked him up and.... nothing happens. She thinks he's nuts, with a possible brain tumor, and gets a cab back to their hotel. He hangs around, and at the stroke of midnight, the car comes back, taking him back to the 1920s. He meets Picasso's mistress, played gorgeously by Marion Cotillard (in beautiful, beautiful 1920s flapper style dresses) and kind of falls for her. It turns out that she is longing for the simpler, more glorious era of France in the Belle Epoch. He figures out, after a while, that everyone thinks their own time sucks and wants to be in what they perceive as a golden age. But is anyone happier about it? No. Stein and Hemingway have read his book, which he seems to be basing on his real life, because Hemingway wonders why the protagonist has not figured out why the fiancee is having an affair with her pedantic friends. The light goes on, Gil confronts Inez about it. They split up, Gil goes walking and meets up with a shop keeper he's been chatting with - a Cole Porter-phile named Gabrielle, who also likes to walk in the rain, and they walk off together, hand-in-hand through the rain soaked streets.
Aaaaannnd, that's it. This film was notable mainly for its gorgeous footage of Paris. It had snappy Woody Allen sounding dialogue, and was funny in the way Woody Allen movies are funny, you know? I didn't quite understand why Gil and Inez were together in the first place, because there was absolutely nothing likeable about her. Nothing. (But I still love you, Rachel).
I am also a bit lukewarm on Owen Wilson as a leading man. I think they were going for a sort of every man vibe with him, and he wandered through the film kind of baffled. It worked, I guess, but I didn't care very much about him as a character, so by the end I was kind of like, oh. Okay. Well good for you, but why didn't you dump that bitch sooner? And I know the trips to the past were the whole point of the thing, but it became a little too much, like, here's Dali (even though Adrien Brody was a hilarious high point), and here's Toulouse Loutrec, and let's cram as many references as we can into here even though it's getting kind of annoying now.
Still, it was enjoyable. Was it Oscar worthy? I don't know. What I can tell you, is that I am not a huge Francophile - and this movie made me want to go to Paris. I think there should totally also be an Oscar category for that.
I have three more films on the list to see - Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (still in theaters), Tree of Life (red box) and War Horse (I fear I've missed the boat on this one). I guess we'll see how close we get to the goal by the time the broadcast comes along.
Moneyball
Best PictureQuest - Film #5
I'm going to be honest. I don't like baseball. I think it is probably the most boring sport on the face of the earth. I live in Chicago, and we have 2 teams here. If pressed, I'd probably pledge my allegiance to the Cubs, for no other reason than my family are Cubs fans, and I went to college on the North Side. Not very good reasons, but the truth is I just don't care that much. And I'm fine with that. I think it might be fun to go and sit at Wrigley and watch a game, and I have done that. I'm just not much of a fan.
Naturally, baseball movies aren't my favorites either. I stay away in droves. This was the case with Moneyball when it first came out. I had no interest. Zero. Nada. But I was told by several people that I like very much that Moneyball was really very good and not all about baseball, and then I saw an interview with Brad Pitt where he talked about the movie, and damn it, I decided I had to give it a try. Plus, it was part of the all-important Best PictureQuest, and so there was really no other alternative.
I got it out of a Red Box (thank you, Red Box!). It is the true story of Oakland A's GM Billy Beane, a former baseball player himself, who has to find a new way to scout players on the A's slender budget. He uses statistics, rather than other generally accepted scouting methods, to create his team, much to the dismay of the scouts who have made their livelihoods in finding quality players by, you know, watching them play and assessing their potential.
I had never really thought a lot about Brad Pitt as an actor - since his work has sort of been eclipsed by his personal life, but he is a fine actor, and does a great job with Billy Beane. I mean honestly, he made me CARE about a baseball story. The man should get an Oscar just for that.
Hugo
Best PictureQuest - Film #4
This is yet another film that I'd wanted to see when it was first released, and another one where I have read the source material. Hugo Cabret is a young boy left orphaned and living in a Paris train station, ostensibly with his uncle. His father is a clockmaker, and his uncle is responsible for setting all of the clocks in the station, and he teaches Hugo to do the job. Once his uncle disappears, this job is all that stands between Hugo and a trip to the orphanage. He keeps the clocks running and stays out of the sight of the Station Inspector (Sacha Baron Cohen, delightfully diabolical). He is caught attempting to steal from a toy booth owned by a cranky old man (Ben Kingsley). He is forced to turn over his notebook, filled with drawings of mechanical looking devices. The old man demands to know if Hugo made the drawings, but Hugo will not give away his secret. The old man threatens to burn the notebook and report Hugo to the Station Inspector. The boy flees and we learn his secret - he is trying to rebuild a mechanical man, abandoned in the museum where his father worked, and rescued by Hugo when a fire that claims his father's life destroys the museum. He is convinced that the mechanical man, when fixed, will contain a message to him from his father. He meets the old man's ward, Isabelle (Chloe Grace Moretz), who promises that she will prevent cranky old Papa Georges from burning Hugo's necklace. Together, the two of them uncover the secret of the mechanical man - a secret that is connected to Papa Georges himself.
It's another very faithful adaptation of a book - The Invention of Hugo Cabret, told in both words and beautiful pictures. It was fun to watch this book come to life on the screen, in vivid detail from director Martin Scorcese. We saw it in 3D which didn't enhance it much for me (but maybe I was just cranky because I had to wear the 3D glasses over my regular glasses which was a little bit awkward).
The Help
Best PictureQuest - Film #3
This is another film that I'd wanted to see when it was first released, but that I missed. Do you see how this quest could have been so much easier if I had just seen these things when I first heard about them?? But anyway, thank you, Village Crossing Blockbuster store.
I had read the book "The Help" right before the film was released. The film was a fairly faithful adaptation about a group of African American maids serving white families in Civil Rights Era Mississippi. A young writer, Skeeter Phelan (the awesome Emma Stone) wants to write a book from the point of view of the help, talking about what it is like for them to essentially raise white children and keep house for their families, while being kept completely separate. The real reason to see this movie is for Viola Davis's performance as Aibileen and Octavia Spencer's performance as Minny, the two maids at the center of the story. They breathe life into the movie, which is otherwise somewhat uninspiring.
I liked this movie, although I found the book to be more powerful.
The Descendants
Best PictureQuest - Film #2
This is one of the movies that I'd been wanting to see since it was released.
It's just another day in paradise for Matt King (played by George Clooney) - but don't let the stunning Hawaiian setting fool you - even though he lives in a beautiful tropical setting, his life is far from trouble-free. His wife is in a coma, following a boating accident. Things haven't been going too well between the two of them, but the accident has made him realize that he is ready to refocus on this relationship. As we will see, it is a little late for that - not only is his wife in a coma, it's unlikely that she will ever wake up. Just as we're starting to think that the film will be about Matt as a kind of clueless dad to rambunctious Scotty and wild child Alexandra, dealing with the whole coma situation, we learn something else: Matt's wife has been having an affair. As a successful, workaholic lawyer, Matt has no clue about this either. Everything he thought he knew has changed in an instant.
It's a pretty film to watch, first of all for the exotic location, and secondly for the performances put in by George Clooney, Shailene Woodley and the rest of the cast.
The Artist
Best PictureQuest 2012 - Film #1
I had heard so many good things about this movie, even though I knew next to nothing about it. I watched as it won piles of awards and decided to see what all the shouting was about. The Artist is a black and white, pretty much silent movie. A beloved silent screen star (played by the incredibly charming Jean DuJardin) finds himself losing his fame as silent films are being taken over by talking pictures. I had wondered how a silent film would look and feel in 2012, and it felt incredibly fresh. DuJardin is joined by a solid cast, including guardian angel Berenice Bejo as Peppy Miller, and the smartest, cutest little dog ever. It was an unexpected delight. This one is my personal favorite of the films that I have seen, and my frontrunner for Best Picture, AND Lead Actor.
It's still in theaters, so go see it while you can. It's amazing everything these talented actors can project without saying a word.
Best PictureQuest 2012
Every year I say I will see all of the Oscar Best Picture nominees before the broadcast. Every.Single.Year. And it never ever happens. This is party due to laziness, and also partly due to the fact that the Best Picture nominees are usually films that are good in a snobby, movie critic kind of way, the kind of way that is completely over my head, OR they are films that I have no interest in seeing. And then, you know, they opened the field to allow up to 10 best picture nominees. If I couldn't do five, raising the number to ten is just another obstacle.
This year, I'm close. So close (incredibly close?). This year, the Best Picture nominees are ones I actually had interest in seeing. Woo hoo! I have, to date, seen six of the nine. I have decided to review them, for your reading pleasure. So stay tuned.
The Quest Continues...
Monday, February 06, 2012
gridiron confessions part 2
So, now you know I am a football hooligan in a cunning disguise. Let's talk about teams now. I don't necessarily hold with the fact that you HAVE to like the team in the city where you live. That is just geography. I think you can cheer for whoever you want to cheer for, and it doesn't matter where you might live.
I live in the Chicago suburbs. Therefore, by rights, my team should be the Bears. And I've tried this. I have. I mentioned the '85 Bears in my last post. I watched the game. Since then, though, they have caused me nothing but heartache, so I've started scouting around for other teams (plus, you know, blue and orange? yuck.). I flirted with many teams, trying to find the right one. In my early days, I liked the Giants (I think that this is because my love of NYC began very early, and anything associated with it automatically became cool. This did not hold true of the Jets, though, for some reason. Giants = cool, Jets = thugs. That's the way it is.), the Raiders (cute logo! arrrghhh!), the Dolphins (pretty teal uniforms!) and a few others. My first major team crush though, was the Cowboys. I was in high school and I was bat shit crazy about the Dallas Cowboys. I don't know why. It was fun to watch Troy Aikman throw and Emmit Smith run. They were good. They were all-American. They were Cowboys.
Plus, it really annoyed this guy I went to school with, who was part of the group I hung with. So, after awhile, I just wore my Cowboys gear (oh yes, I had gear) on Mondays just to annoy him. He liked the 49ers who had a big rivalry with the Cowboys (at least, our rivalry was big). Whenever the 49ers would lose, I would say something to him about it like "24-17, huh? That sucks.". And if the 'Boys lost, he'd come and quote scores and records at me. And I'd say something awesome like "At least they aren't the 49ers." (I didn't have The Knowledge that I spoke of in the last post. That came later.)
But that phase ended. I broke up with the Cowboys and now I think they are obnoxious. I always got a lot of crap for liking them anyway (my dad called them "Cowpies" just to annoy me. Now I call them that too.). So it was back to the Bears for a while. But they are problematic. Like the ex-boyfriend you keep going back to. It's good for a while, and then they fall back into their same old asshole-ish habits. So I scouted for a new team. For a while it was the Colts (I mean, Peyton Manning, come on! Awesome!) but then they tanked. If I wanted to support a losing team, I'd just stick with the heartbreaking Bears, you know?
I know, I know, that's fairweather fan-ish. You have to take the good with the bad, and support them no matter what. But it's been too many times with the Bears, you know? What's a girl to do?
So I'm on the hunt for a new team. I like the Giants, obviously, and the Saints. I liked the Lions for a while, too, so I guess we'll see.
I live in the Chicago suburbs. Therefore, by rights, my team should be the Bears. And I've tried this. I have. I mentioned the '85 Bears in my last post. I watched the game. Since then, though, they have caused me nothing but heartache, so I've started scouting around for other teams (plus, you know, blue and orange? yuck.). I flirted with many teams, trying to find the right one. In my early days, I liked the Giants (I think that this is because my love of NYC began very early, and anything associated with it automatically became cool. This did not hold true of the Jets, though, for some reason. Giants = cool, Jets = thugs. That's the way it is.), the Raiders (cute logo! arrrghhh!), the Dolphins (pretty teal uniforms!) and a few others. My first major team crush though, was the Cowboys. I was in high school and I was bat shit crazy about the Dallas Cowboys. I don't know why. It was fun to watch Troy Aikman throw and Emmit Smith run. They were good. They were all-American. They were Cowboys.
Plus, it really annoyed this guy I went to school with, who was part of the group I hung with. So, after awhile, I just wore my Cowboys gear (oh yes, I had gear) on Mondays just to annoy him. He liked the 49ers who had a big rivalry with the Cowboys (at least, our rivalry was big). Whenever the 49ers would lose, I would say something to him about it like "24-17, huh? That sucks.". And if the 'Boys lost, he'd come and quote scores and records at me. And I'd say something awesome like "At least they aren't the 49ers." (I didn't have The Knowledge that I spoke of in the last post. That came later.)
But that phase ended. I broke up with the Cowboys and now I think they are obnoxious. I always got a lot of crap for liking them anyway (my dad called them "Cowpies" just to annoy me. Now I call them that too.). So it was back to the Bears for a while. But they are problematic. Like the ex-boyfriend you keep going back to. It's good for a while, and then they fall back into their same old asshole-ish habits. So I scouted for a new team. For a while it was the Colts (I mean, Peyton Manning, come on! Awesome!) but then they tanked. If I wanted to support a losing team, I'd just stick with the heartbreaking Bears, you know?
I know, I know, that's fairweather fan-ish. You have to take the good with the bad, and support them no matter what. But it's been too many times with the Bears, you know? What's a girl to do?
So I'm on the hunt for a new team. I like the Giants, obviously, and the Saints. I liked the Lions for a while, too, so I guess we'll see.
gridiron confessions
I am a football hooligan. This may come as a surprise to the people who think of me as a sweet, quiet, foreign film watching, vampire series reading, broadway music listening culture princess who loves to shop. But it's true.
It began quite early, you see. I was 7 years old in 1985 when the Bears went to the Super Bowl. I knew all of the players in the starting lineup AND all the words to the Super Bowl Shuffle. I didn't know anything about the game then, but my parents were into it, and I was too. We also started spending Super Bowl Sunday with friends of my parents. I would eat chili and play with their cute toy poodle, but sometimes there was nothing else to do but pay attention to the game. And so I learned things. It was more fun to me to understand what was going on - it helped, too, during Thanksgiving when most of the day was spent with chips and dip in front of the tv. My dad took part in pools in the places where he worked, and one day, for fun, we decided to do it at home, too.
I picked teams for the stupidest of reasons, I liked the color of their uniforms, or they had a cute player, or I liked their city. The funny thing was, a lot of the times, I picked correctly, without even knowing anything about anything. We used to play for money, but now it's just for fun. (And no, I don't pick them like that anymore. I read the papers and look up stats and stuff like that). My parents are kind of amused, because I will sit in front of a game with them, sometimes I'll read, or sometimes I'll knit or whatever, just listening to what's going on, and watching, if it is super interesting, and then later, I can have actual knowledgeable football conversations. It's a little bit dazzling, because it is, I think, so unexpected. Here's an example, one day this past winter, my dad was wondering if a coach had ever been fired mid-season, and I answered, yes, that Vikings guy was fired last year before Thanksgiving. I didn't remember his name (looked it up later - Brad Childress) - it just soaks in. My parents were suitably dazzled. I don't know where it comes from. I'll just pick things up, like, subliminally, and they get stored in a little football brain folder, ready to be accessed again at a suitably appropriate time.
So last night, I was in front of the tv, watching the game, and transformed from sweet, quiet regular me into crazy, football hooligan me, yelling at the screen, clapping when the Giants made a good move and booing heartily when the Patriots did just about anything. It was crazy. It makes a difference, of course, when I actually like one of the teams playing. Last year, I was like, yawwwwnnn, whatever, Packers, who cares, bring on the commercials!
I have never actually been to a game, but really want to go to one. Like, a pre-season one. I am not so dedicated that I will sit around in freezing temps, to watch these guys run around. I know that makes it more authentic or something, but whatever.
So now you know my secret.
It began quite early, you see. I was 7 years old in 1985 when the Bears went to the Super Bowl. I knew all of the players in the starting lineup AND all the words to the Super Bowl Shuffle. I didn't know anything about the game then, but my parents were into it, and I was too. We also started spending Super Bowl Sunday with friends of my parents. I would eat chili and play with their cute toy poodle, but sometimes there was nothing else to do but pay attention to the game. And so I learned things. It was more fun to me to understand what was going on - it helped, too, during Thanksgiving when most of the day was spent with chips and dip in front of the tv. My dad took part in pools in the places where he worked, and one day, for fun, we decided to do it at home, too.
I picked teams for the stupidest of reasons, I liked the color of their uniforms, or they had a cute player, or I liked their city. The funny thing was, a lot of the times, I picked correctly, without even knowing anything about anything. We used to play for money, but now it's just for fun. (And no, I don't pick them like that anymore. I read the papers and look up stats and stuff like that). My parents are kind of amused, because I will sit in front of a game with them, sometimes I'll read, or sometimes I'll knit or whatever, just listening to what's going on, and watching, if it is super interesting, and then later, I can have actual knowledgeable football conversations. It's a little bit dazzling, because it is, I think, so unexpected. Here's an example, one day this past winter, my dad was wondering if a coach had ever been fired mid-season, and I answered, yes, that Vikings guy was fired last year before Thanksgiving. I didn't remember his name (looked it up later - Brad Childress) - it just soaks in. My parents were suitably dazzled. I don't know where it comes from. I'll just pick things up, like, subliminally, and they get stored in a little football brain folder, ready to be accessed again at a suitably appropriate time.
So last night, I was in front of the tv, watching the game, and transformed from sweet, quiet regular me into crazy, football hooligan me, yelling at the screen, clapping when the Giants made a good move and booing heartily when the Patriots did just about anything. It was crazy. It makes a difference, of course, when I actually like one of the teams playing. Last year, I was like, yawwwwnnn, whatever, Packers, who cares, bring on the commercials!
I have never actually been to a game, but really want to go to one. Like, a pre-season one. I am not so dedicated that I will sit around in freezing temps, to watch these guys run around. I know that makes it more authentic or something, but whatever.
So now you know my secret.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
a new advocate for arts managers?
This is possibly the best thing I've seen on the internet, like, ever. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Ryan Gosling, Arts Administrator
(I've got several committee meetings coming up this month and would love the notes help!)
Monday, January 02, 2012
the kissing cabbie
Sometimes I don't feel like taking the bus to the train station from my job on Navy Pier. On those occasions, I will splurge on a cab ride. Cabbies are a special breed (although the ones in Chicago are not nearly as special as the ones I've encountered in New York, most notably the one who turned around and told me, as we were screeching along at 60 or so mph "De brakes - dey are not wohrking!") and I've had my fair share of crazy cabbies between the pier and union station. Some of them keep to themselves, some of them like to chat. There was one who saw my "Gypsy" tote bag and asked me, in a broody, eastern-european accent "Vot does it say on your bag? Vy does eet say dees?" He didn't think I'd like real Gypsies (even though I tried to explain it was from the broadway show - I thought it would confuse him if I told him it was really about the stripper Gypsy and not actual gypsies). He then thought I might like to see a few (Serbian) movies about Gypsies and proceeded to write them down (while he was driving).
There was the one who didn't know the address I wanted to go to. I was dropping something off, and I didn't know how to get there either, but, like, I'm not the cab driver. Aren't they supposed to know stuff like that? So he kicked me out because neither of us could figure out how to get there. Something wrong with that, I think.
Then there was the one that dropped me off at the train station last Wednesday. He noted that it wasn't a nice time to be out (rush hour) and I agreed. "Why you do it?" he asked me. Well, I told him I was on my way home from work. Then he asked me what routes were good to get to union station. So I told him the ways that I'd gotten there in the past. He asked me which one was best, and we took that. I think a lot of people were off last week, because the traffic was really light. Anyway. He asked me what I was doing for New Year's. This is before I was stricken with the plague (oh, fine, a really awful cold) so I said I was going to a rocking party at a friend's house. He then asked "You hev boyfriend?" and I said no and he wondered who I would kiss at midnight then. He told me I should just grab somebody, bend them back and give them a huge kiss. I said if there were any eligible guys around, I would consider it and he said "Who cares if they eligible? They not complaining!" He said there was a window between 12:00 and 12:30 where you just needed to kiss as many people as possible. I was surprised at the half hour window, but whatever. Since he was going to be driving that night, my driver went on, "I kiss my customers!" I asked him if he thought they would like that and he replied "I don't care!" and then he laughed like a lunatic. So there may have been a kissing cabbie on the streets of Chicago on NYE - maybe I should have warned y'all before? Anyway, I was amused and the ride ended on a cheerful note. I wished him a happy new year and lots of kisses (but not from me).
Never once have I gotten in the cash cab, and now that the Chicago show is over, so I guess that's not going to happen.
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