Like home…but different

It’s the beginning of week four here in The Windy City of Chicago. It is 31 degrees and raining, although threats of another snow-storm are imminent as they always seem to be, and I’m still lookin’ sexy in my bright pink Walgreen’s hat w/ matching gloves. I’ve been making quite a little home for myself here in Chicago…well, as much as one can when you’re living out of a suitcase and eating hotel room service several nights a week (not as glamorous as it sounds, trust me). My enjoyment of the city thus far has me asking myself, “Could I live here? Freezing weather aside, could I call Chicago my home?” So for the past few days, I’ve been comparing and contrasting Chicago and Seattle, and I’ve made a few observations:

BICYCLES: They are everywhere in Seattle. Perhaps it is the environmentally-conscious side of Pacific Northwesterners that has them mounting their bikes to commute to work, or strapping them to the front of a Metro bus to escort them on the first leg of their journey before they commence w/ their environmental good deed for the day. Nonetheless, bicycles do quite well in competing with cars for their share of the roadway, and their riders don their special shoes and outfits with pride. In the three weeks I’ve been here in Chicago, I’ve seen 4 bicyclists. Four. For a big city w/ lots of downtown traffic, you’d think I would have seen more. Not the case.

CABS: While bicycles may be everywhere in Seattle, here cabs rule the roost. And their drivers are MANIACS. While convenient, far cheaper than trying to park downtown–parking at the movie theater was $16 after validation–, and significantly warmer than walking everywhere, I have never feared for my life more than while riding in Chicago cabs. As if being reckless and impatient w/ pedestrians isn’t enough, the cabbies seem to always be distractedly talking on their cell phones. At first, you think they are just mumbling incoherent nonsense to themselves while they wait for the wave of people to stroll across the intersection…and then you notice the hands-free device attached to their ear and realize they are on the phone. And what’s funny is, in the back of every cab is a sign which states your “rights” as a passenger of the cab: and one of them is to request that your driver not talk on the cell phone while you are riding with them. Yeah, like anyone is going to fight that battle…

FUR: No, not the kind on the family pet…the kind you wear. Yes, furs are everywhere here in Chicago and apparently, unlike in the Pacific Northwest, they are socially acceptable. I even saw a commercial on TV the other day advertising that buying a fur coat actually made you more environmentally conscious because it meant you could turn down your heat and bundle up in your fur coat. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to douse someone head to foot w/ a bucket of red paint shouting “Animal MURDERER!” while parading around in a PETA sandwich-board on Michigan Avenue. I’m not exactly sure I even have an opinion on furs one way or another…it’s just a very obvious difference between here and Seattle that I’ve noticed. And when I say obvious, what I mean is that people are walkin’ around fully pimped out in fur down to their ankles. It’s bizarre.

PEDESTRIANS: In Seattle, if you cross the street against the light, you’d better be sure a bike cop will swoop down out of nowhere and write you a jay-walking ticket. You think I jest…uh-uh. On the flip side of that coin, no matter when and where you cross, motorists are extremely conscious of the pedestrian right-of-way. While they may be a bit annoyed that you’re taking your sweet-ass time crossing the street, they will wait for you…and then flip you off as they make their way through the intersection. Here in Chicago, unless there is a car within 10 feet of the intersection, you’re going to cross (walk/don’t walk light be damned)! Perhaps it is the extreme cold that has people in fear of freezing to death on the sidewalk that keeps them moving. Or maybe they’re just fearless and bold (and they have a good lawyer). And on the flip side of that coin…the drivers don’t care if you’re on crutches crossing the street with a green walk signal. They WILL run you over…a co-worker witnessed it just last week. And the cab drivers? Yeah, they have NO mercy…

So, could I call Chicago my home? The jury is still out on that one. But one thing is for certain…it would take a LOT of adjusting to make it so. And I’ll have to admit, I would definitely miss good old Seattle–bike cops or no bike cops!

And now I have to read the effing book…

Despite my recent cinematic miss-adventures, I braved the theatre again and went to see The Other Boleyn Girl. While I managed to behave myself and avoid getting yelled at by others in the theatre, it was a disaster nonetheless. I’ll explain…

Despite getting poor reviews, I was excited to see this film because I’m constantly looking to be proved wrong that Scarlett Johannsen and Natalie Portman are two of the worst actresses alive. I should have known it wouldn’t end well when we arrived just in time to take our seats, but I had to pee so bad that I ducked out and missed the preview for the Sex and the City movie. Damn. Then we realized that the waiter from The Cheesecake Factory forgot to give us forks for our cheesecake that we smuggled into the theatre, and we were going to have to eat it with our fingers. Damn damn. And the kicker was when we discovered the straw in our tankard of Diet Coke had a hole in it, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t suck anything up unless you tipped it precariously a certain way. Damn damn DAMN! Then the lights dimmed, and the film started.

Almost immediately, I knew we were doomed: the names of the actors were slightly cut off at the bottom of the screen during the 30 second opening sequence. Immediately I recognized that the film aperture was out of line on the projector, and the framing was off. The average movie goer probably wouldn’t notice such a thing, considering no one was missing the top half of their heads, nor were we expecting any subtitles. But, being the experienced film projectionist that I am (yes, little known fact: I was a film projectionist in college) I knew things were amiss.

I battled w/ myself about whether or not to exit the theatre and say something to the management, ask them to adjust the framing. After all, it is a simple fix that a projectionist would have caught immediately had they been sitting up in the booth when the film started. But these days, big movie houses only employ one or two projectionists who simply load the film into the projector and get it started. Since technology now allows for the entire film to fit on one large platter loaded into a single projector, there is no need for a staff member to sit in the booth for the duration of the film to facilitate the seamless transition between dual projectors when one reel runs out. I knew the management had no idea what was going on in theatre number 3,189.

I debated, I wrestled, and I inevitably decided that, with no expected subtitles, I would say nothing to the theatre management. The film continued, and I enjoyed myself (sans annoying comments from the peanut gallery). That is, until the end. We made it through all the drama, climaxing w/ the beheading of Anne Boleyn (oh come on, everyone knows it’s “Off with her head!” in the end…). We were without incident, all the way to the point where the film makers decide to tell you what happens to Henry VIII and Mary Boleyn after Anne gets the axe. The end of the tale, the oh-so-important “And they all lived happily ever after…or did they?” information that rounds out the entire story was……wait for it……subtitled.

DAMMIT!!! You could read the first part of the subtitle, but the second part was cut off. So for all we knew, a sentence that started out: “After living in exile for the better part of his life…” could very well have ended: “…Henry’s only son decided to join the circus and become a lion tamer.” and we would be none the wiser. So now, I either have to turn to Wikepedia (the only source for trusted and accurate information in the universe) or I have to read the effing book…

Apparently, I’m a bad date…

Ok, not exactly a bad DATE, per se…but definitely a bad movie patron, which is news to me!

Last week, I went w/ a co-worker to see the new movie Vantage Point starring Dennis Quaid, Matthew Fox, and Forest Whittaker. In case you’ve been living under a rock for the past month, Vantage Point tells the story of the assassination of the US President from the “vantage point” (eh, get it?) of about 8 different witnesses at the scene of the shooting. The film replays the 20 minutes leading up to the shooting about 4 times, each time filling in another piece of the “who-dunnit” puzzle. Amusingly, it was very Groundhog Day meets In The Line of Fire, with a ridiculously tense car chase thrown in at the end.

Every time the clock would “rewind” to tell another side of the story, the entire audience (including us) reacted audibly with laughs and a number of “Are you kidding me?” and “What the hell…?” interjections thrown in. During the rediculously tense car chase, I’ll admit I was stifling the giggles…it was so far fetched and over the top, I couldn’t help myself! At the end of the movie, as the audience was gathering their belongings and filing out of the theatre, I glanced up at the couple that had been sitting next to us. The man, who’s wife was sitting next to me, looks down at me and says: “Hey, thanks a lot for ruining the movie for my wife. You should really learn to be quiet during a movie.” I was so astonished, all I could think of to do was laugh nervously and say (bitchily) “No problem.”

Now, I’m not heartless: if my reaction to the move truly was distracting to the folks sitting next to me, then I feel horrible! I wasn’t trying to be a pain in the ass, or “ruin the movie” for anyone…and considering the majority of the theatre was reacting to the flick the same way that my friend and I were, I had no idea that it was so disruptive. But here’s where the guy’s comment sticks in my craw: at no point during the two hours that we were rubbing elbows did the man or his wife express their displeasure to me or my friend. There were none of the tell-tale “Be Quiet” glares, no “Sssshhhhh!”-ing, not even the quasi-polite “Do you mind keeping it down?”. If there had been, I would have responded in kind, apologizing and feeling horrible, but there weren’t.

So, the moral of the story for YOU, dear readers, is thus: if you’re watching a movie, and the person next to you is being loud or disruptive–dare I say, ruining your night (whatever)–SAY SOMETHING!!! Grow a pair and try a couple of the examples I mentioned above…who knows, they may not realize they are bothering you. And the moral of the story for ME: don’t forget your mind-reading hat the next time you go to a flick…you never know when the person next to you won’t have the balls to tell you you’re hogging the arm rest.

30…29…28…27…

One’s 29th birthday, I’m discovering, is sort of a let down. Just like your 19th birthday, or your 23rd, or 27th…nothing happens to you on those days. At 29, no milestone has been reached, no threshold has been crossed; it’s just another year gone by. Aside from the fact that I’m celebrating my 29th birthday here in Chicago, there’s really nothing all that grand about today.

That being said, let the countown to 30 begin!!

Walgreens: my new drug(store) of choice

As I mentioned in my last post, on Tuesday morning I left my gloves and cute hat w/ fuzzy pom-pom on the top in a cab. It wouldn’t have been too big a deal, if it wasn’t for the fact that it was only 13⁰ and snowing. Knowing I needed to procure another hat and gloves before my trek back to the hotel that evening, I asked my fellow co-workers for some advice on where I could find some. Their response, in stereo, was “Walgreens”.  

In Seattle, Bartell Drugs is the place to go for all your drug store shopping needs. Greeting cards, electronics, canned meats, stationary, pharmaceuticals, cleaning supplies, and about 10 rows of candy and junk food greet you upon entry at your local Bartell store. Well, here in Chicago they don’t have Bartell Drugs…but there is a Walgreens on every corner. And Walgreens, as I’ve come to find out, is a veritable shopping MECCA!

So on my way home from work that day, I stopped at one of the three Walgreens I passed in the 5 block walk back to my hotel. What I discovered was the epitome of one-stop shopping. My purchases included: vitamin C lozenges to stave off the sickness that is going around the office here, hand lotion, M&Ms for my chocolate fix, Gummy Life-Savers for my fruity fix, and a hat w/ matching gloves*.

Had I wanted (or needed) to, I could have also purchased a pink down vest, a variety of Fabio-adorned romance novels, a bra (oh yes!), any number of children’s toys, a gigantic heart-shaped box of chocolates, a dozen roses, or a mega-sized shiny purple MP3 player that was as big as my head. And at the checkout counter, I was solicited to add Ghirardelli chocolate bars to my basket because they were on sale (“And those good quality chocolate bars haven’t been on sale in 20 years.”). Considering the M&Ms and Gummy Life-Savers I was already purchasing, I passed on the quality chocolate bars…but I may go back for that bra.

*A note on the hat and gloves: the selection was dismal and I was frozen. Because of that, I ended up w/ a bright pink hat with white snowflakes and THREE fuzzy pink pom-poms on the top. The gloves? You guessed it…bright pink. My efforts to “blend in w/ the crowd” have been thwarted, and I am now a walking bubble-gum flavored blow pop. The up-side? I should be easy to locate if I become buried by a snow drift…just look for fuzzy pink pom-poms sticking up out of the snow.

Cold: (adjective) Feeling an uncomfortable lack of warmth; chilled

Thank you dictionary.com, for accurately describing my current state of being. Yes folks, I arrived in Chicago Sunday afternoon. Because I’m leaving work in 30 minutes and do not want to pay for the internet connection in my room (because it’s $10.99 for 24 hours!), what follows is merely a short update on my time here thus far:

-Weather upon arrival: -2⁰…and that’s without the windchill. You think I jest. I assure you, I don’t kid about temperatures like that. I would go out and explore the city, but I have no desire to be returned to Seattle as an Essaytch Popsicle (but oh! how tastey!). The weather today is better, being 11⁰. I would say that’s t-shirt weather, no?
-Times I’ve already been lost: 1. Yes, after checking in to the hotel Sunday night, I decided to go for a little walk (-2⁰ be damned) to make sure I would be able to find the office first thing in the morning. I crossed the river, then went left towards the lake. Uh, WRONG! And I knew it when I reached Michigan Avenue, face frozen, nose running, feet hurting, no idea where I was. All I could think, as the sun was starting to sink, was “Get back to the hotel as soon as possible before you die.”
-Number of Blisters: 1. Would you believe my heels are more comfortable than my boots?! And no, two pairs of socks does not help. Neither does a band-aid. Oh, my poor little piggie…
-What time I went to bed Sunday night: 9pm Chicago time, 7pm Seattle time. What can I say, flying takes it out of me.
-Closest Starbucks: right across the street from the office (thank you Jesus). Because by the time I get to work, I’m pretty dang cold.
-Number of freakouts since arrival: 3. The first when I got lost Sunday night. The second when they found out I had already been re-imaged to Vista and weren’t sure if the client network was compatible—thinking I’d have to get re-re-imaged back to XP for my time here, then re-re-RE-imaged to Vista when I go home. And the last when I found out my company credit card spending limit is so low that it will only cover a week and a half of expenses at a time…barely enough for my hotel and meals for a week. Um, supervisor? Can we get that raised? I promise I won’t go to Nordstrom and buy a fur coat or a million pairs of shoes.
-Number of freakouts prior to departure: innumerable…but specifically regarding the weight of my checked baggage. And thank you, Roomie, for not feeding my neurosis by giving in to my pleas to lift the bag and tell me if you thought it was over 70 lbs. (turned out to be only 43 lbs)
-Number of times I’ve left something in a cab: 1. But it was the hat and gloves that I searched the entire city of Seattle to find before I left. But I refuse to be that tourist that calls the cab company to see if they found it, because I can hear that conversation now:

CAB DISPATCHER: Generic Cab Company of Chicago…
ME: Yes, I accidentally left a hat and gloves in one of your cabs this morning. It was charcoal and had a cute pom-pom on the top.
CAB DISPATCHER: You lost a charcoal hat w/ a pom-pom on it? Let me look in our lost and found. *sifts around in a gigantic box FULL of hats and gloves, more than a few of which are charcoal w/ cute pom-poms on the top* Yeah, I’m not seeing anything…
ME: Nuts.

Anyway, so that’s just a small sampling of my time in Chicago thus far. I’m sure there are plenty more adventures to come, especially if I keep purchasing and losing hats and gloves in random cabs around the city. I’ll post more as the adventures continue, but for now my next mission is simply to make it downstairs to the Starbucks to drink my breakfast.