my kind of town, part i-just-want-to-get-this-over-with

i should have known better than to start a multi-part series in the middle of, well, my life. but here's a quick summary of our bonus day in Chicago:

we woke up, ate breakfast in the hotel restaurant (and sat next to a couple who seemed about our age. everything the waitress brought the guy was not what he ordered but he refused to send anything back. he ordered a hot latte, he received an iced coffee; he ordered a bagel with cream cheese, he received toast with jelly—that sort of thing. "no, no, it's okay, i'm sure it's fine," he kept telling the waitress. after they left, and for the rest of the day, Michael and i joked about all the possible things that guy would not return. for example, "this omelet has crushed glass inside? no, that's fine!" "there's dog poop in this croissant? awesome!")

after breakfast we walked to Navy Pier where we rented bicycles. we spent the rest of the day riding up and down the lakeshore, exploring nooks and crannies and taking lots of pictures. it was incredibly awesome, we covered a lot of ground (we even rode around inside Soldier Field, essentially) and perhaps burned off some of the calories consumed while gorging ourselves on all that deep-dish pizza. it was a great way to see the city and the perfect end to our lovely mini break.

and thus concludes my painfully detailed and dawn out travelogue. i promise not to subject you to anything similar in the future.

mbm

my kind of town, part III

before i finish up my Chicago recap (which, i promise, will be brief—by my standards, anyway), i have to mention something i saw that Friday that truly made me love the city. Michael and i were in the little gym in our hotel (paying in advance for the sins we would commit at Wrigley later) and i was watching the local news on the NBC affiliate. just before cutting to the Today show—and because it was Friday, apparently—they had a little dance party. the weather guy started it, which was the best part. he was the dorkiest dancer i've ever seen (we're probably soulmates). then they cut to other staffers in the studio and then to a remote location—somewhere in town—where people were dancing on the sidewalk. there were even a few random people in character costumes. and the segment went on for at least two minutes (which feel like 20 when you're watching random people dance at five-to-seven in the morning). anyway, i just knew that no such thing would happen on Newschannel 4 in New York—they're far too cool—and it further endeared me to the windy city.

so—fast forward now to Friday night, which is where i left off last week. god knows how we found the energy, but after the long day at Wrigley, we rallied to catch the last show at Second City that night. which started at eleven-thirty. PM.  (if it weren't for Michael, i think i would probably be in bed every night by ten o'clock. he rescues me regularly from old-fart-dom.) anyway, the first show was sold out and there was no way we were missing Second City, so eleven-thirty it was.

we had an interesting cab ride to the theatre. we didn't give the driver the exact address because he assured us he knew where he was going. we drove for a while and the scenery seemed to be growing more desolate. thanks to my trusty iPhone, i was able to track the car and alert the driver that we were headed in the oh-so-wrong direction.

"ohh," he responded. "that Second City."

ANYWAY. we eventually got there and i admit i was hoping that Tina Fey or some other former SNLer would be in the audience and pop on stage for a surprise appearance. no such luck. but it was more than okay because the actors in the show (called Taming of the Flu) were pretty damn hilarious without an assist from Fey or Carrell or Sedaris. we laughed through all three acts—including a skit in which all the actors sang a downtrodden ditty about Chicago winters. it was funny but it definitely cooled my passion for the city a little. (they made it sound so bone-achingly awful!)

so it was a great show—and i managed to stay awake for the whole thing. kudos to me.

Saturday we returned to Navy Pier, from where took an architecture tour of the city via boat—relaxing and very interesting. when the tour ended, we were starving and decided to try another deep dish pizza joint, Giordano's. i'd been there before and remembered feeling rapturous about the food. we were seated right away, and plunked ourselves down in a booth with a perfect view of a television that happened to be showing the Yanks/White Sox game. (i love when life works out that way.) after we placed our order, Michael decided to check his voicemail. he'd gotten a call from a random 800-number several hours earlier and ignored it.

i was all into the game when i heard him say, "it's Jet Blue... our flight is cancelled."

"ha, ha," i said, as i'm used to my husband's constant attempts to dupe me.

but then i saw his face, and listened to the message. our flight scheduled for Sunday around noon had indeed been canceled. holy crap. hours earlier i'd been joking that i wished we could stay until Monday because we had so many things left to do. for once, the universe was listening.

we spent our lunch calling Jet Blue and calling my parents to help us rebook (since Jet Blue—though i love them deeply—stupidly charges $50 a person for booking over the phone) and trying to figure out a new plan. (we did find time to shove amazingly delicious deep dish pizza into our pie holes—Giordano's wins over Gino's, in our book.) we got our new flight, secured an extra night at our hotel and let it sink in that we had a bonus day in Chicago. yip!

taking a shot of our reflection in the Bean in Millennium Park

we spent the afternoon walking around Millennium Park and Grant Park, taking pictures and taking in the scenery. Around five o'clock we ducked into this ancient hotel on Michigan with a crappy, frozen-in-time bar to have a beer and watch the Kentucky Derby with a handful of other people.

that night, we opted for dinner at Joe's Stone Crab, a few blocks from our hotel. the place was crowded and we had no hope of getting a table before, oh, say, midnight. so we opted for eating at the bar. and i have to say, much as i loved our steak dinner and Harry Caray's, Joe's might have been my favorite meal. what a cool restaurant. the 1940s vibe appealed to me, the music they were playing was just my speed, and it was actually cozy sitting side-by-side squeezed in at the relatively tiny bar. our waiter/bartender was an older fellow who was very friendly and patient. i sipped white wine, Michael had a Bloody Mary and we went to town on oysters Rockefeller and stone crabs. yum.

for dessert—which was on the house!—we had the most incredible peanut butter pie. i whimpered and moaned with each bite. it was. so. good.  

from there we headed to the place everyone we'd met in Chicago had told us to go—the Signature Lounge on the 96th floor of the Hancock Building. (again, i'd been there before, but not with Michael so it didn't count.) the common opinion is that it offers a better view of the city than the Sears Tower and i have to agree, though i think that has a lot to do with the fact that most people go up to Signature Lounge at night and any city at night is dazzling.

we ordered some drinks and sat by the window and gazed at the twinkling cityscape for a while. it was a great feeling to know we didn't have to head home the next day.  

[okay, sorry, i'll have to do a part IV since this, predictably, is longer than i thought it would be.]

mbm

my kind of town, part II

one of my goals in life is to visit every Major League ballpark before i die. prior to two weeks ago i'd been to: the previous and current Yankee Stadiums, Shea, Citifield, Kauffman Stadium in Kansas City, Pac Bell (or whatever it's called now) in San Francisco, Citizens Bank in Philly, and Camden Yards in Baltimore. (Fenway is way up on my wishlist, but i'm waiting for my passion for baseball history to surpass my loathing of the Red Sox and everything associated with them. might take a while.) i still have a long way to go, but now can happily add Wrigley Field to that list.

our second day in Chicago was devoted almost entirely to the Cubbies. and what an awesome day it was. first of all, the sun was shining, the breeze was warm and the sky was a brilliant blue. the best weather of our trip by far. we had bleacher tickets and got to Wrigely early (masters of the CTA!) to get a good spot and to just enjoy being in the ballpark. that turned out to be an extremely smart move. game time was one-twenty. we arrived around eleven-thirty and there was already a line at the bleacher entrance.

wait—before we got on line we took pictures of and with the Harry Caray statue out front. i'll be honest: most of my exposure to Harry Caray has come courtesy of Will Ferrell's frigging hilarious impression of him. (if you don't know what i'm talking about, go right now to YouTube and search for Harry Caray-SNL-hot dog skit. watch it. laugh your tush off.) and, as i mentioned in my last post, Michael does a killer impression—both of the hot dog skit and of Harry Caray in general. because of this, we have a soft spot in our hearts for the crazily bespectacled legend and so a photo of the statue was a priority.

anyway. i found Wrigley to be downright magical, and i can't exactly explain why. perhaps because i am, in my heart of hearts, very old-fashioned and i felt comforted by and in love with the old-school-ness of the place. one of the first signs i saw upon entering the gate was a sign that said KEEP WRIGLEY BEAUTIFUL. compared to the shiny new Yankee Stadium Wrigley is anything but. then again,  at ninety-six years old and the site of such historic moments as Babe Ruth's called shot and Ernie Banks' 500th homerun, you could make an argument that no ballpark is more beautiful. that place has seen things.

with bleacher tickets, you're confined (in a friendly way—ha, ha!) to the bleacher section. i was disappointed at first, but it quickly became apparently that the bleachers were the place to be. we got there while the Cubs were taking BP and as soon as we made our way down to an open bench a few rows from the wall, the balls started coming. i was thrilled and terrified simultaneously. there is absolutely no protection out there and you can't tell a fly ball from a home run and god help you if you're not paying attention. but the risk of getting beaned only adds to the atmosphere out there. everyone was giddy, rowdy, goofy. it was perfect.

the Cubs players who were in the outfield during BP were occasionally tossing balls into the crowd, mostly to kids but not always. and it took me about two seconds to decide that i needed to get in on this. so, resplendent in my new Cubs hat and a red scoop neck tee from the Gap that was just the right amount of clingy (i'm no fool), i made myself known when Sean Marshall turned around to toss the ball to someone in my section. he threw it right to me—and i caught it, baby! my first Major League baseball! (well, my second, really—i recovered a foul ball a few years ago in a luxury box at the old Yankee Stadium. i was high on the thrill of it all for about five seconds, as i clutched the ball and jumped up and down. but considering the ball had crushed a beer can and seriously screwed up the glasses on the face of an older woman sitting in front of me on its way to my feet, i decided to earn myself some good karma. i clutched it another few seconds and then handed the ball to the woman. she was happy and i know it was the right thing to do, but i have at times regretted it.) anyway, i was really psyched to get that Cubbies ball, even though Michael had to tell me who Sean Marshall was (hey, i'm an AL girl!), and it just sort of set the tone for the whole day.

as the crowds filed in, we found ourselves sitting amidst a group of guys in town for a bachelor party. and i have to say: if you're gonna sit in the bleachers at Wrigley, these are the kind of guys you wanna sit with. i was thoroughly entertained by them. one fella—Harold? Lawrence? some old-fashioned name like that—was sitting right in front of us and struck up a conversation. he was from New York, too, and was also recently married but felt compelled to point out that he wasn't wearing his wedding ring, on account of being away for a bachelor party. "don't tell my wife," he said. yeah, okay, buddy. (he redeemed himself, though, by getting Michael a beer for keeping an eye on his bleacher spot when he went on a concession run.) there was another guy in the group, from Philly, who—despite being a Phillies fan—invested some dollars in a crazy, wrestling-style facemask in Cubbies colors. then there was a girl down in front who was at the game with some friends celebrating her birthday. (she would spend the final few innings puking up all the beer she drank...and i would be compassionate and considerate and take a photo of her doing that). next to us, across the aisle, were two burly gents—one a Cubs fan, and one a Diamondbacks fan (the Cubs' opposing team that day). whoo, they were feisty. and, by the time the game started, completely hammered. much hilarity ensued as the innings went on.

the actual game was a great one. first of all, without a gazillion graphics to distract you, it's possible to actually watch the game in Wrigley. and there's no place to show any replays so you better catch it the first time. (and i have to say, i prefer it that way. i always get mad when i catch myself watching the screen instead of the field at Yankee Stadium.) hell, they even have a fellow up in the scoreboard manually updating the score (i can think of very few cooler jobs). the Cubs were down 3-0 in the fourth inning, but fought their way back (the sixth inning was particularly thrilling) and man, those fans are awesome. i haven't sat amongst such an enthusiastic crowd (and hello, this was still April! and the Cubs!) in a long, long, long time. it gave me goosebumps. everyone gets up to sing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" during the stretch (we were lead that day by former Cubs pitcher Mike Bielecki) and, at the end of the game—which the Cubs won 11-5—the crowd sang their nifty little theme song "Go, Cubs, Go!" in a rousing fashion.

the entire experience far exceeded our expectations. we couldn't stop blathering about how much fun it was. and it didn't end after the ninth! before getting back on the L we stopped in Harry Caray's Tavern next to the stadium for a victory beer. the place was packed and jubilant. (there was also an awesome bust of Harry himself that we got a big kick out of.)

the craziest part of the day happened later. from Wrigley we headed to Navy Pier—not my favorite part of Chicago, because it reminds me of the Seaport in New York, but a must-see nonetheless. we walked around the whole complex, realized we were starving and—in keeping with the theme of the day—decided to eat at the Harry Caray's there. and guess who happened to be sitting at the adjacent booth? 

ERNIE. BANKS.

i mean, seriously. what are the odds of that? according to Wikipedia, Mr. Banks lives in Los Angeles. only Michael and i would wind up sitting in such close proximity to a Cubs legend on the very same day of our first visit to Wrigley Field. (our life together has been weird that way.)

anyway, not surprisingly, as we sat there eating dinner and reliving the highlights of the day, Michael and i both decided that our 'second team' would, from now on, be the Cubs.

mbm

my kind of town, part I

[editor's note: i'm going to write about our trip in a few parts, since i love details and we had many funny moments during the trip that beg to be written about. this is part one of maybe three or four. i'll try to write them all this week. promise.]

okay. this is why i love Chicago, and why it might be at the tippy top of my favorite cities list very soon. (although, please keep in mind, i've spent about six days of my life there and none of them were during winter.)

1. as far as cities go, it's wonderfully mellow without being dull.

2. it's clean.

3. people are nice. not new york nice. like, midwest nice.

4. wrigley lacks any bells and whistles and, go figure, this is a helluva lot more impressive than a giant flat screen in center field with graphics visible from outerspace.

5. lake michigan.

6. deep dish pizza.

our little trip to Chicago a week and a half ago was really awesome. i do give the city the bulk of the credit for this, but i also have to give props to my husband. (wait—does anyone give props anymore? do i sound like a hopelessly nerdy white lady? i know the answer to that, no need to shout it out.) anyway, Michael is a blast to travel with, he really is. i laugh constantly (especially on this trip, as the Harry Caray impressions were non-stop); he knows to offer me his arm during take-off because even though clutching him doesn't do a damn thing in terms of keeping the plane aloft, it does make me feel better; and god knows he doesn't rest until he finds the best restaurants no matter where we are, so the eating is always excellent. he's also extremely easy-going, fun, adventurous and goofy as all get out. all good traits in a travel companion.

anyway. back to Chicago. the first thing we did—after successfully getting ourselves from O'Hare to the city via the CTA—was buy Cubs hats. we were headed to Wrigley the next day and wanted to look like the locals—plus, it just seemed like the right way to start our mini vacation. next (after our attempt to check in to our hotel was  thwarted by late checker-outers who were taking their time in our room) we got lunch. of course we opted for deep dish pizza as our first meal in Chicago—at Gino's East, which Michael recalled seeing on Man vs. Food. the place was a lot darker and odder than we anticipated, but the pizza was good (even though the waitress steered us in the clear wrong direction by suggesting we'd have more than enough to eat if we just split a small pie—probably a blessing in disguise considering it was only the first of our many food indulgences but boy, that pizza is called  'personal size' where we come from).

after Gino's we made the trek to Sears Tower, which is now called Willis Tower but i refuse to call it that. i'd been up to the observation deck on my only other trip to Chicago a few years ago and was impressed. this time, however, i was downright giddy because of The Ledge. don't ask why, but i was excited at the prospect of stepping, for all intents and purposes, off the ledge of the tower's 103rd floor and into a clear plexiglass box that hangs off the side of the building. i'd seen it on the news last year when it first opened and thought it was awesome.

that is, of course, until i actually got to the Ledge.

let me tell you—it's not natural, stepping into a box that is seemingly Krazy-Glued to the top of the tallest building in the western hemisphere. i knew somewhere in the depths of my brain that it was safe—hell, there were tons of other people stepping into and out of (and jumping up and down in) the boxes and everything was okay. but it scared the bejeezus out of me, seeing the city clear below my feet, feeling like i had nothing to hold onto (not even my husband, who was wary of heights before he ever aid eyes on the Ledge). i managed to do it eventually—it helped to look straight ahead instead of down as i made my way out into the box—and Michael joined me, too, which was a feat unto itself. we took lots of photos and i even managed to make myself sit down on the floor of the box because i can never leave well enough alone.

but i was a hot sweaty mess once the whole thing was over. whoo.

afterward, we walked back to the hotel to finally check in and noticed that it had gotten markedly windier since lunch. right around this time Michael realized that the Cubs had he'd bought earlier—the one he was now clutching on his head with a vice grip—might've been a size too big. after a few close calls, the thing finally blew off his head. i think we were crossing La Salle or State Street and the cap went flying, then skittered along the roadway, landing just in front of a bus that was stopped at the red light. before either of us could move a muscle, a woman—a Chicago resident, presumably—dove for it, dusted it off and handed it back to Michael. oh, and she was wearing a skirt.

yeah. Cubs fans are awesome.

that night we had a pretty incredible steak dinner at Carmichael's. we took a cab to the restaurant and the air was warm and the sky was a bunch of sunset-perfect colors and i felt very happy. you know, that intoxicating blend of calm and excitement that takes over when it hits you that you're really, really on vacation and it's just beginning? i love that feeling. anyway, Carmichael's was a nice place—exactly our speed—and we had a waitress from Ireland who at first reminded me of Marla from A League of Their Own. at first she seemed a little gruff and i thought it would be a long night, but she wound up being great and i think she took a liking to us. anyway, we ate extremely well (dessert included! who can turn down a chocolate-chip-cookie-sundae after a bottle of cabernet, mussels in garlic sauce, a huge porterhouse—for him—and a filet mignon—for me—plus mashed potatoes and sauteed spinach? not us!)

once the gorging was over, we rolled ourselves back to the hotel and fell into a blissful food coma. 

mbm

sweet dreams, courtesy of mom

i'm thankful for my mama every day, not just on mother's day. god knows we've had our disagreements in the past and we still butt heads from time to time, but i could have spent the last twenty years growing up without her. (in fact, it's a miracle that i didn't.) and when i think about how that could have been my reality, i shudder. everything she's taught me, all the experiences we've shared, all the laughs, all the tears—well, i just wouldn't be the same person if she hadn't been around all this time.

what i wanted to share today was something she gave me when i was a little girl, something i plan to pass on to my kids someday. my mom was the master of soothing my bad dreams. i'd wake up in the middle of the night, scared, upset, feeling alone. i'd cry out for her and she'd come into my room, kneel or lay next to me and do the following: first, she would blow gently into my ear to get rid of any bad dream remnants still in my head. then she'd ask me what i wanted to dream about and tell me to cover one ear with my hand. into the other ear she'd whisper, "rainbows and butterflies, rainbows and butterflies, rainbows and butterflies." (this was inevitably what i always wanted to dream about.) then i'd cover that ear with my other hand and let the good dreams settle in. 

it always worked. 

that was just one of many little ways she made me feel safe, loved and protected when i was growing up. there were the notes she wrote on the napkins she put in my lunch bag, the chats we had everyday after school, the million things she volunteered for so she could be more involved in my life. she was awesome. she is awesome. and today, like every other day, i feel so very lucky to have her around.

mbm

to my friends

we had a great time in Chicago—i love that city—and i plan to write all about our adventures soon, but right now i need to send out a mass apology to all my friends.

i have been uncharacteristically MIA recently (for the past two months, really). i truly have not seen anyone in a really long time and i feel awful about that. number one, i feel like a crappy friend. number two, i miss my girls. the only reason i can come up with for this drastic change in my behavior is work. and this worries me.

i keep thinking of advice my dad told me he was given many years ago when he was at a crossroads in his career. the advice was: don't focus so much on your job. instead, measure your life by what kind of person you are—spouse, parent, sibling, friend. focus on being successful in those roles, not just at the office. apparently, that advice changed my dad's life in many ways. and i always assumed i'd be good at balancing my life—family, friends, work, etc.

but then you're in your 30s and you want, say, a house. and to start a family. and you realize that you can have all your ducks in a row and be as emotionally ready for adult life as is humanly possible but you can't pull it off without the financial part of things, which means doing what you can to get ahead at work—and this is especially imperative after your company put a freeze on raises last year. next thing you know, you're spending 10, 11, 12 hours a day at the office (sometimes being uber-productive, sometimes just spinning your wheels) because you're taking on as much as you can bear and by eight o'clock you just wanna curl up on the couch and watch the three episodes of Parenthood waiting on your DVR. that's all you have energy for.

and that means no dinners with friends. no meeting for drinks after work. you know what they're up to only because you see their Facebook updates. they text and e-mail you, wanting to know when they can see you. "next week?" you respond, because you're hoping it's possible. at one point you realize you've been writing, "next week?" for a solid month.

and, jeez, you haven't even thrown home-owning and child-rearing into the mix yet! what the hell will happen then? oy. i don't want to be this person. but what i'm wondering now is: is it unavoidable? does everyone go through a phase like this? is it part of growing up? something—or someone—inevitably gets left behind?

i'm far from having answers but i can confidently say: i hope not.

the good news is, i realized while in Chicago last week how easily i can leave work behind. i don't own a BlackBerry and though i am guilty of checking my work mail via my iPhone once or twice, i wasn't obsessing over anything while i was away other than having a great time and enjoying being with my husband (who's also felt the effects of my current workload).

so maybe there's hope for me yet. right now i just hope my friends will accept my apologies (offered so gracelessly via my blog—nice, Meg) and that they know that i'm doing the best i can.  

mbm