don't walk. fly.

After I made it out of O'Hare on time, it was supposed to be smooth sailing. It wasn't really snowing, so no issues initially. However, if I was going to be stuck anywhere it was supposed to be on the Chi-leg of the trip. I guess I should be ready to return back to normal life, but I'll own up to loving the break from reality. I'd happily put back on my snow shoes for another day and have stayed put. After all, never did get that Chi-hot dog. There was definitely no desire for quality bonding time with the airport here in Philly.

Last night in Chicago (well, Evanston I guess, if we're getting technical) was a perfect end to my half-vacation. In keeping with my anti-chain theme, the Titan took me to dinner at a local restaurant, the Davis Street Fish Market. He'd never been before. Excellent seafood! I've definitely been on a seafood kick to balance out my prime rib a couple of days back. Afterwards we checked out the new Jim Carey movie, the Number 23. Very interesting movie... still contemplating that one. Wasn't quite what I was expecting, but did make me think.

Learned some important lessons on the trip. All of those "don't walk" signs? Yeah, just suggestions. In terms of IL math, seis just might equate to cuatro. The song "Sweet Home Alabama" does in fact follow me everywhere I go (and I'm okay with that). When it's cold and you have on a hood, seeing is a distant second to keeping the snow out of ones eyes... at least in my book. And most importantly, it's never too late to finally get the chance at that first dance.

And now here I am, hanging in Philly. Not even a second Chick-Fil-A sweet tea or actually getting to go outside into that fifty something degree weather supposedly in full force would make me want to be hanging out here at the moment. iPod is dead and wireless seems to be held hostage by someone somewhere, so options are limited to pass the time. I'd much rather be chilling on the Titan's fine rented couch watching season 4 of Scrubs, but alas, here I sit. Sigh.

Will I make it to Sassy's pre-birthday party dinner this evening as originally planned? Magic 8 ball would say outlook doubtful. But a girl can dream.

windy city it is

Okay, so if there was ever any doubt that Chicago knows how to put out some killer winds, doubt no mas. Today as I was trying (note the use of the word trying) to make my way into the Metra station, pulling two suitcases, a big binder, a large purse, and a laptop bag into the station in the snow, I realized I was putting forth a whole heck of a lot of effort and my net distance accomplished (man, I've been sitting in an accounting/finance class too long... I'm using net when it's not even really applicable!) was almost zero. Nice.

My last day in downtown included two faaaaabulous exams, which I begrudgingly voluntarily began promptly at 7:30AM. Diet Coke was annihilated by 7:45AM. I think I did fine on the exams though. I had until noon to complete them and was headed out into the snow by 10:30. Not half-bad. I went to the indoor mall with the Nordstrom, just you know to balance out a little of the post-test tension. Thankfully Femme De Carriere was having a sale... would hate to end that tradition (having bought something there now on each of my work trips to Chicago). After lunch at Grand Lux Cafe, it was back to Evanston for me.

For the record, I hear it's a high of sixty in DC. I'm chillin' (literally) in the Chicago temps here, with snow and all. It's all good though... DC will be there when I get back.

'L' viejo and el loop

I have a fascination with public transportation. It's always been one of the main ways I instantly compare one large city with the next. The only other recent trip I've had to Chicago was conducted on foot or via taxi. I definitely didn't feel like I really saw the city. To me, taxis are a luxury, and if that's all I'm using, I haven't truly had the local experience.

I had my heart set on seeing the Cézanne to Picasso exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago. After a long day of gazing longingly at enticing things like balance sheets, income statements, and financial ratios, I bolted as our class wrapped up early and hightailed it to the L. Thursday is the one night the museum is open late. Admission is actually free unless you, like me, opt for the special exhibit.

Chicago's system is definitely not the most modern. It almost reminded me of Boston's (with the obvious difference being that Boston has those funky cars rather than trains, and Chicago definitely has trains). The Loop almost beat me... for something that connects in to so many of the key tourist sights, I was amazed at how confusing it was! I made it to the museum with no problems, but it was thanks to a kind-hearted Chi-resident that I didn't loop the wrong direction as I headed back out.

The exhibit was fantastic. It was kind of an interesting approach. It focused on Abroise Vollard and the different artists he'd featured in his galleries. Cézanne's works had originally drawn me to the exhibition... he's one of my favorite impressionists. I love his landscapes and portrait work. Not so much his still lifes. The exhibit also had works by Matisse, Gauguin, and some others I'm drawing a blank on (one I really want to remember that was a new one to me). It was interesting to see what a role the art dealer plays in enabling an artist's work to really reach the public.

I was fading fast, but did make a quick stroll through the other modern works in their permanent collection. I loved Picasso's Old Guitarist. There was a lady walking through who was telling her friend of the painting actually on the layer underneath the main painting. Sure enough, you can see the eyes of another person on the layer underneath. Very cool. I was very excited to see some of Georgia O'Keefe's works. She's always been one of my favorites.

I'm just waiting for the bill here at Weber's Grill. The Titan's two for two in the recommendation department. Well, now that I've seen the two museums on my to-do list, guess I can curl up with my books (grumble) for the evening.

when chicken upgrades to prime rib

I'm not a big red meat girl. I guess you could say this is something that's become more of the case since college. I'm always that girl who will go to the nice steakhouse and order the one chicken dish on the menu, and smile as the waiter nods their head in disbelief.

At the same time, once in a blue moon I like to go all out at one of these fine steakhouses. Perhaps it's the isolatedness of my red meat encounters that make them more special. Trust me, I've eaten round after round of fabulous meats at Brazillian churrascarias, from Porcao in Miami to Mineira in Sao Paolo. When so moved, I'm all in.

Today after a long day of my training course, I was tempted to stay as close to the hotel as possible and not really put forth a lot of effort. That idea didn't last long though. I'd sent a message to the Titan for ideas of restaurants to check out in the downtown area. I figured at least some familiar names based on the recommendations would make things easier, and then I'd return back to turn in and study.

It was not long before I saw Lawry's off in the distance. Perfect. Unlike my trip to Gino's, no one looked at me in shock when I came through the revolving doors and requested a table for one. Funny, but I knew from my simple conversation with the woman at the coat check that this was going to be a fabulous meal.

I was seated in the back center of the room, situated with a perfect view out over the remainder or the room. The great thing about dining solo is that it affords you the opportunity to really watch people. The couple next to me were so engrossed in conversation that I thought they were just that, a couple. At the tail end of their conversation, I happened to catch that he'd instead been recounting the intimate details of how he met his wife.

The restaurant is laid out so that the master carver brings around a large metal cart to your table, where they prepare your meat. I opted for the smallest cut and decided against my initial restraint that a nice glass of cabernet sauvignon might be the perfect compliment. I don't know that I've ever had wine with steak before, but I was not disappointed.

I was just finishing up when a tall dark-haired gentleman came over. "Well," he said, "I saw you come in earlier, and I was mighty impressed. I said here's an attractive young lady confident enough to come out to dinner and on her own accord has opted for a steakhouse as well."

Not always the best with flattery, I'm sure the color of my face and the nice crimson shade of the house cab sauv had something in common. He went on to state he traveled often to Chicago for business from Denver. He said, "I'm going around the corner to the piano bar. I'm sure you saw it. Once you finish up here, you should stop by. I'd love to buy the Southern girl a drink."

I smiled as he walked off, and finished settling the bill with the server. The funny thing was that I began to notice different things around the room. As I exited, I caught the intense stare of the red-headed gentleman at the adjacent table. I even noticed the lingering eyes of another gentleman who was clearly on a nice night on the town with his lady.

I couldn't help but wonder... does a steakhouse truly become a meat market when one's a solo carnivorous senorita? Never realized so many guys found that so appealing. Trust me, even if that's the case, I wouldn't let that keep me from doing it all over again.

And no. No piano bar for me. CO man was nice, but not quite my type. I had noticed the bar on the way to dinner and thought it would be a fun spot to visit with good friends.

And tomorrow, it's back to poultry and seafood for me. But what a great way to add to my experience in the windy city.

table for one, or why insulation ≠ art

My last visit to downtown Chicago was all about my training course. Training course along with the occasional post-course escape to the Miracle Mile. I was determined that this trip would include more than work courses, coffee breaks, and drooling over Marc Jacobs latest concoction.

Don't get me wrong. Today's adventures did include a trip to what I fondly used to refer to as the mother ship (AKA Bloomingdales). However, my focus was on other things I'd yet to experience in Chicago. Ironically, my last trip to Chicago did not include having real Chicago style pizza. If my memory serves me correctly, I believe I had something close, but not quite authentic. This time, I made sure to make time for a trip to Gino's East. As the host typically does, they tried to direct me to the bar, but I'm a table kind of girl. Yes, I want a table for one. A table. The pizza was quite good, although definitely much heavier than the thin crust variety I usually opt for. I know it would pain the Yankee to hear me refer to Chicago style pizza as great, but I think Chicago and NYC style are just so different. I don't want to commit to either. I'll take a slice of each please (with red pepper). Thanks.

So there are two museums that interested me. Each conveniently are open late one night a week. Today was the day that the Museum of Contemporary Art was open late, so I thought I'd start there. I'm hoping that the class wraps up early on Thursday as they usually do and then I can make stop number two at the Art Institute of Chicago, which is the museum I anticipate liking much more.

The Rudolf Stingel exhibit was not my favorite.. a hard time stretching to call some things art. Smooshed insulation just doesn't equal art to me. Anyone disagree? I'd really love some thoughts here if anyone has any. However, I really did enjoy the exhibit on the fourth floor that just opened on the 24th called "MCA Exposed: Defining Moments in Photography, 1967-2007". One of my favorite pieces was by Alfredo Jaar titled "Geography = War". It was a unique piece of these light boxes suspended above some 36 water filled oil barrels. They showed four photos of the faces of the inhabitants of a city in Nigeria. The placard explained that the motivation behind the work was an incident where 35 tons of toxic waste had been released into a city called Koko. The barrels were labeled as toxic, but the locals had agreed to house the chemicals in exchange for I believe it was $100 per barrel. It was a statement about the dumping of waste in Africa and parts of Latin America. Very visually impressive... and very interesting way of communicating the message.

After a bit of wandering up and down Michigan Avenue, it was back to the hotel for some downtime... some Sex and the City... some friends... good R&R. Tomorrow though it's time for class, since after all I guess that's why work sent me here. Although, I prefer to think it's because they wanted me to have the chance to dust back off my black heels, pull out a new formal, and pull an old friend out onto the dance floor. But that's just me.

metra, baby.

I wonder how old I will be before I stop fighting off a cringe when someone totally guesses down on my age. Perhaps I'll be that friend of yours who is seemingly eternally carded. Want to feel more youthful? Bring me along for the evening. It's almost guaranteed then you'll be carded by association, if for nothing else.

I'm on the Metra at the moment, headed into downtown Chicago. I can imagine the sight of me dragging two big (ok, big "ish") suitcases down Main Street in mad pursuit of the 11:02 am train I didn't really give myself enough time to make was amusing. There was a kind gentleman who (1) reaffirmed no, I had in fact not missed my train and (2) offered to carry one of my two big "ish" suitcases up to the platform.

I didn't think I'd be able to get my suitcase on the car, but the ticket salesman offered to help me to pull it aboard. He then came over to my seat to sell me my ticket. Couldn't help but feel a little more educated than when I typically ride public transportation for ther first time in a new city. The Titan (who's requested to be renamed... jury's still out there) had warned me it was fine to buy the ticket onboard when heading into Chicago, but not to do that when heading out to Evanston. The ticket salesman then made me feel ubercool as he asked me if my parents had decided it was time to kick me out. Nice. Realllll nice. That sorta negated any pride I had of being in "the know". Oh well.

Another day of vacation ahead though. So much time. Loving it. I enjoyed my low-key day yesterday. Can't remember ther last time I really relaxed like that on a day off. I need to learn to kick back and relax more like that. Off in the distance, I can see the skyline of Chicago. I do love the city life. Ah yes. I'm staying just a short walk from Michigan Avenue. There's some museums I want to check out. Where to begin?

snow? formal? no problem.

let the vacationing begin...

Ahhh, vacation. Can there be any complaints from this direction? I arrived into Chicago at the bright hour of 7AM on Saturday morning, with all baggage in hand. I will admit to being a bit concerned as I was waiting patiently for my luggage to circle on the belt. Looking to each side of me, there were very few others doing the same. I thought I perhaps was in the wrong place. Or maybe that my luggage had not made it (in which case, I would be ok at least up through the formal, having -- yes, obsessed much? -- carried my formal, shoes, hose, etc. in a shopping bag on the plane). Turns out though that our plane was mostly carrying a group en route to Colorado to go skiing, so they were obviously not waiting to pick up their luggage but were instead connecting on to hit the slopes.

I'd only had a small cup of Diet Coke, so I was not exactly perky and ready for the day. The Titan had recommended a great driver to take for the ride from the airport to Evanston. Al was perfect... conversing from time to time, but also not pushing the sleepy-eyed Southerner to talk too much for the early hour. By the time we rolled up to the front of his place, I was slowly coming 'round. It was nice to see his place. It's funny to think about having known someone and never having seen their place. His place was not extremely decorated, which is pWe headed over to this coffeeshop around the corner (where I am conveniently now sitting typing away - although I learned a new trick on the way in - posting via email on the Blackberry), where a latte later I was certain I wasn't going to be crashing out for a nap anytime soon.

Our plans of heading to his friend's place prior to the ball didn't pan out. With the snowfall increasing (these big fat flakes definitely put the snow-induced madness in DC to shame), we ended up opting just to schedule a cab to take us to downtown Chicago for the main event. I did learn though that a wine opener is optional. Having left all of his dishes in Huntsville, we found ourselves with the two bottles of wine and no wine opener. One pair of pliers, a small mound of cork, and a lot of whittling away later, this 'bamian had managed to annihilate that issue. LH and I had decided over our Delaware weekend that the Sauv Blancs from New Zealand were the way to go, and this one did not disappoint as well (even with the few stray remnants of cork...)

shake it like a polaroid picture...

Doning my latest formal purchase, we made a dash for the cab. Times like this, I develop a momentary envy of the warmth of a man's suit. That alwats I'd been to a formal where it was cold out, but snow was a first. It was really beautiful to watch it falling around us though from the warmth of the taxi.

The event was Northwestern's Charity Auction Ball. There were all sorts of auctions -- both silent and live. Some of my faves were the Bollywood lessons (awesome), the wingman/wingwoman offerings, or any of the ethnic cuisines cooked for you at home (although the way some of them were phrased, it sounded a bit wrong... . It was understandably the focus of the center of the dance floor for the majority of the evening, but it was nice once the auctions wrapped up and the dance floor could focus on the dancing. I wasn't sure if the Titan was going to be down for some dancing. I was hoping I wasn't going to have to drag him out there, but when Sweet Home Alabama came on, there were no questions...

I love dancing, but I'll admit to not liking to dance as much to songs I don't know. Thankfully, to close out the evening for the final hour, the DJ was playing all of those great dance faves, from Bon Jovi and Michael Jackson to the perfect closer, Journey (insert mental image here of me, listening to this file, head bobbing from side to side in the cafe window... oh yeah, I don't care. I've been making friends here in the cafe, haha). It was a perfect night. It was around 1:45 when we arrived back to his place. Even though it was a shorter night than New Year's, definitely doesn't mean less eventful. I'd definitely prefer hands down any day.

Yesterday it was still snowing... slush and snow galore. We'd discussed taking the Metra in to the city, but we ended up opting instead for a walk to downtown Evanston, a quick tour of part of the campus, and just chilling at Barnes and Noble. I managed to get interviewed by a Northwestern journalism student while at B&N (hopefully my views about anti-gay comments, comments on gay marriage, etc. won't make it to publication), get hit on by some guy who looked like a hobo (cracked me up... "hey beautiful" and "do you work out?"), and make friends with the cashiers who emphatically approved of my selection of David Sedaris' Me Talk Pretty One Day. We ended up discussing my current fave of his, "Six to Eight Black Men" in his book "Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim", a summary of my favorite Amsterdam tradition of Sinterklaas.

Ok side note here... I must admit, I'm very excited to have just found this version of David Sedaris reading this story... this is awesome. You have to check it out. Oh my gosh! My day is made. I think I'm going to cry (from laughter)...

back to present...

Ok, back to my book. Maybe I'll get inspired to head to downtown Chicago at some point. Right now, this vacationer is enjoying watching the snowfall from indoors, reading my book about an unorthodox childhood (Running With Scissors), and watching Oscar red carpet specials I opted not to watch last night since I was too engrossed in rounding out Season 2 of Scrubs.