Scenes from the City

On the morning I was scheduled to leave, a major snowstorm was forecasted to dump 8-12" of snow on Chicagoland. To make things worse, the same storm would be following me to the East coast. I warily woke up at 4 am for a 6:15 flight, trudged through the drifts to get to Midway, and prayed that they wouldn't cancel my flight.

According to FAA regulations, planes cannot take off if there are more than two types of precipation falling. Well, what else is there besides rain and snow? As it turned out, on that day, Chicago was blessed with "freezing rain, freezing snow, freezing fog, and freezing pellets." (Don't ask me what the difference between hail and freezing pellets is.) Eventually, the intensity of the storm slackened enough that we were able to board. At that point, we needed to de-ice the plane, but after that was completed, they announced that 3 types of precipitation were now falling. Two hours of cat-and-mouse plane-de-icing and watching the storm later, we finally took off.

---

I'll be the first to admit that I have unusual tastes, but rice pudding has always been one of my favorite desserts. From the cinnamon rice pudding at Cedar's to Tibetan tsampa, you can't go wrong with a silky concoction of pudding, warm in the winter or studded with fruit and nuts in the summer. Enter Rice to Riches, a Nolita spot offering rice pudding and nothing else. With futuristic curved spoons and neon-colored bowls, rice pudding has never been sexier. We opted to try the cranberry-apple and gingerbread flavors, but there were dozens more options. The price is a bit of a turn-off, but if you are a rice pudding fan, it's worth a visit to see what new heights rice pudding can take you.

---

The Museum of Sex is comprised of two floors of a narrow building in Chelsea, barely noticeable for harried pedestrians below. The bland exterior conceals plenty of titillating material inside though. At the moment, the featured exhibit is about the sex lives of animals. Other sections of the museum discuss the history and medicalization of sexuality, and the depiction of sex in cinema. Having taken Desire senior year, much of this was old material for me, but it's still fun to spend an afternoon ogling hentai and humping ducks in the name of scientific inquiry.

Needless to say, Megan and I decided to tell her dad that we'd spent the afternoon at the Met.

---

On the LIRR to Ronkonkoma, we hit a bit of a bump in the road. Literally, the train was cruising along and we felt the bump of an impact. Megan asked, "Wait, did we hit a car?" I replied, "No way, we barely felt that...it must have been a clod of snow, or maybe a tree trunk." The train slowed to a stop and they announced, "We have just hit a vehicle. Please be patient while EMS and the police are called to the scene."

Of course, my first reaction was to comment, "Ugh, I hope no one died so we aren't sitting here forever." That elicited a dirty look from the woman across the aisle. At any rate, the car had been unoccupied when we hit it. In fact, we heard from a passing EMT that people had been pushing the car over the tracks when the train showed up. Talk about bad timing.

Since we are terrible people, Megan and I were sort of hoping that Channel 12 would show up and we'd get our 5 minutes of fame. Plus, I texted Matt with news of the train crash, and he responded with, "LOL pics or it didn't happen." Unfortunately, there was NO media coverage of the crash, not even a brief blurb on Newsday. So, I guess it didn't happen.

---

The Ferris holiday party promised to be a rollicking good time; last year, Darlene had infamously become so drunk, she got stuck in between the coffee table and the couch. At 6 pm, we started slinging back the drinks and gorging on hor d'oeuvres. It's been a while since I've had bacon, but that was a glorious night of bacon-wrapped everything and things on toothpicks. By 8 pm, the house was full and I was doing tequila rose shots with people twice my age. Megan's dad came over to ask what I thought of the party, and I said, "Why is this crazier than any of the parties we threw in college??"

I began chatting with Uncle Steve, who was trying to figure out the name of another woman without asking her. Since I was obviously new, I volunteered to do some reconnaissance and find out her name. Unfortunately, my terrible memory for names combined with a few drinks meant this mission was doomed to failure. I casually waltzed over and introduced myself, then excitedly came back and announced, "Her name's Loretta!" Uncle Steve said, "No way, that's definitely not it." We sent someone else to go ask, and the woman said, "Oh, I'm Christine." As a result, Uncle Steve called me "Loretta" the rest of the night, and I jokingly began calling him Richard. Collectively, we sat around and ribbed Megan's dad for the rest of the night. Uncle Steve/Richard: "See that man over there by the stairs? How many months pregnant do you think he is??"

By the end of the night, everyone was feeling festive and probably a menace on the roads. Hence, it was time to move the party to a local dive bar: Cutty's. Once there, through a series of unfortunate circumstances, Megan's dad, Gike (Megan's brother) and several of his friends got entangled in a bar brawl. Ah yes, the night isn't complete unless someone gets thrown to the ground. Luckily, they left before the police arrived, so aside from a few minor bruises, no damage was done.

---

The soup dumpling (小龍包) is a specialty of Shanghai, and it's fairly uncommon on menus in the US. Even less often are the dumplings made well. Fortunately, Alex introduced me to Joe's Shanghai in Chinatown, where the lighting is colorful, the tofu is spicy, and the soup dumplings are scalding hot. As is common in busy Chinese restaurants, we shared a table with two other parties, and got to ogle their food before ours arrived. The soup dumplings (8 for $4.95) did not fail to impress, as a bit of gentle pressure from the teeth resulted in a gush of flavorful broth from the dumpling.

For good measure, we later tried the midtown branch of Joe's Shanghai. Alas, the prices were higher and the food not as good. I was disappointed to find the dumplings rather tepid in temperature. However, as you might expect, the restaurant was decorated much more tastefully (the neon lights were gone) and we had a table to ourselves.

Next up, the Flushing location.

---

Though I am not a member, the Cornell Club is a familiar place to me because the marching band traditionally gets free dinner and showers here after the Columbia game. From what I could recall, the food was mediocre, but heck, after a long day of playing and parading down 5th Avenue, I wasn't about to complain.

On the other hand, Rhea is a current member, so she invited me to lunch at the Cayuga Room. The decor is sort of reminiscent of Banfi's (before the remodeling into Taverna Banfi), with lots of wood, paintings of scenes from Ithaca, and understated old-school elegance. The menu also seemed fairly conservative, with nothing that particularly caught my eye, however buried under the section "Dieter's Corner" was a $28 prix fixe menu. For the life of me, I can't understand why restaurants place calorie counts on menus; it was entirely distracting and the interspersed numbers made the menu difficult to read. Still, this was a pretty good deal for the location, so I opted for the shrimp gazpacho, salmon with saffron orzo, and chef's dessert trio (dark chocolate bark, berry shooter and whole almonds). The food was well-executed, a vast improvement from band banquets, and I particularly liked the dessert combination as a light cap to the meal. Rhea also had a coupon for a free bottle of wine, so we nursed that through the meal. Somehow, we managed to be the first guests to arrive and the last to leave, much to the chagrin of the waitstaff.

---

In a sign of how far we've come since graduation, Viki, Judy and I got together for afternoon tea on the Upper East Side. Alice's Tea Cup is a whimsical tea shop modeled after Alice in Wonderland, with all manner of butterflies, bright colors and curlicue writing on the walls. They serve scones with cream and preserves, in the classic English fashion, along with soup and sandwich options. But the true star of the show is the tea list, with over 100 varieties of tea and herbal infusions. I opted for the Trafalgar Square blend, which was purported to taste like a peppermint patty. As I sipped my tea, pinky extended, I felt ready to take on tea with the Queen next summer in London.

---

Clearly, karaoke the weekend before in Chicago wasn't enough, so when Jie suggested hitting a karaoke place in the city, I said, "I'll bring my diva and my throat lozenges." After an excellent squid ink pasta at Da Rosina, we trekked over to Japanese-run Karaoke Duet 48, where they were holding a small closet-sized room for us. Like the previous place, this karaoke joint had lots of quirky charm, with "My Neighbor Totoro" playing in the background and binders of Chinese and Japanese song titles. I thought the song selection last weekend was quite good, but this place offered even more esoteric options. Namely, I was really excited to see:

• Wicked, "Popular"
• High School Musical, "Breaking Free"
• A Chorus Line, "One"
  
• Estelle ft Kanye West, "American Boy"
• Puccini, "Nessun Dorma"

I know, I'm a huge dork. And after a couple hours of nonstop singing, my vocal chords were shot. But we should definitely go for another round of karaoke in Chicago...next weekend, anyone?

---

Expenditures: $165.50
Muchos gracias to everyone who bought me dinner and let me crash on their couch :P

Things to do on Christmas Eve

Originally, we wanted Taco Bell, but it was closed. Luckily, IHOP was still open and hopping, and in fact, while we were there, a group of 20 people walked in.

Our waitress seemed a bit harried, so in an effort to spread some holiday cheer, we left some drawings of a Christmas tree, a unicorn (cut off in the picture), and a nice tip on the check: "Don't play leapfrog with a unicorn. =)"

Fear not, we also left $7 on the table.

Homecoming, MA version

I'm "home" (e.g. in Massachusetts) for the first time in a year, and I like how my mom has now begun making moonshine. (It must be the Kentucky roots.) Unfortunately, the results leave something to be desired. Namely, you could not pay me to drink the onion-based alcoholic concoction she has come up with. The grape-based "wine" is slightly better, but that's not saying a whole lot either.

Like last year, we are doing a lobster dinner for the holidays. In case you hadn't heard, due to a decline in demand from the recessionary economy and a bountiful lobster haul this year, the price of lobster has fallen to ridiculously low levels. So, when our fishmonger told us that lobster was $4.75/lb, my mom decided to double her intended order to 20 lobsters. That's right, there will be a 2.2:1 lobster:human ratio at this meal. And let's not even get started on the soft-shelled crabs.

[untitled]

All things are subject to interpretation; whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.

-Friedrich Nietzsche

Karaoke in Koreatown

After a few incidents of glass-shattering caterwauling at parties and lunches, Phil decided to organize Fed karaoke night. Upon looking at the location, I was mildly appalled at how out of the way Lincoln Karaoke was, rather far north in the midst of Koreatown. However, the Yelp reviews provided some gems like:

"Where else will they provide LA-Gear style light-up tambourines?"

"It's announced to the owner that it's Lee's Birthday. Free shots!! What does our gracious Korean host serve us up? "It translates roughly into 'Rocky Mountain Bear Fucker." Four different shots and I think one was amaretto and another was tequila so. . .you know. . ."

"I discover the owners' really polite children doing homework and watching Lilo and Stitch in another karaoke room. I begin to wonder who has been mixing all the drinks."

If that does not spell "Awesome" to you, then you should probably go watch a movie instead.

So, last night I made my way down a desolate, lonely stretch of Lincoln Ave, past a bunch of Korean laundromats and bulgogi joints, and stopped in front of a plain white strip-mall type building with a poorly lit "Lincoln Karaoke" sign. The six-panel wood door looked completely out of place and betrayed no noise behind it. I nervously stepped inside to see a long hallway with small rooms off the sides, suspiciously what I imagine a brothel to look like.

Luckily, Phil and a few others were already there, and they waved me into our private room. I stepped inside to find two flat-screen displays, half a dozen microphones with reverb, a disco ball and an assortment of tambourines, plus plenty of couch seating. The background images behind the lyrics seemed completely random; at various points in the night, we saw dogs chasing frisbees, naked babies, the Eiffel Tower and parasailers. The lyrics themselves were sometimes a bit kreatyve, if you will. Sentences like "cum on make some noize" would flash on screen, and intermittently, during instrumental breaks, the screen would tell us "Have a good time!!"

The playlist binder is chock-full of titles...in foreign languages. Though the majority of the songs are K and J-pop titles, the english selection is still pretty wide. And by that, I mean they had Electric Six's "Gay Bar." When I discovered that, this place automatically got my seal of approval. There are also sections of other languages, including Spanish, Vietnamese, and Russian.

Without hesitation, I immediately started belting out some Maroon 5. In the event that liquid courage is necessary though, there is a full bar available, and we even got a free bottle of champagne to boot. Our host suggested the Long Island iced teas "if you want to get drunk fast," and indeed, they put about 5 shots of alcohol into that drink. (The legality of this is questionable, but we're not going to harp on that.) They also had a decent beer selection (I got to try the Goose Island Winter Ale), and served appetizers like dumplings and wings.

The rest of the party filtered in (I koala'ed Warren when he arrived from Iowa), and pretty soon, we were all dancing and screaming at the top of our lungs to Michael Jackson. I also rediscovered some trashy middle school classics like Aqua's "Dr. Jones" and Spice Girls' "Wannabe." I wonder where those albums are...erm.

When we left four hours later, our voices were hoarse and I had Mariah Carey stuck in my head. I can see how this place would not jive with certain types, but if you have the right crowd, this is a great (and relatively cheap) venue for entertainment.

NYC 2008

I'm spending a day in the city with Megan next weekend before heading back to MA for Christmas break, and like last year, we plan to love stuffing our faces on the Lower East Side.

Without further ado, I present the proposed intinerary. I know, we're ridiculous about planning.

Thanksgiving, "Tradition" Edition

Thanksgiving is, in fact, our absolute all-time favorite holiday, being as it is devoid of political, religious, or romantic overtones and instead focusing all its holiday powers on the consumption of food. Much of which is covered in delicious, delicious gravy. -MenuPages Chicago blog

Although I could have crashed another family's Thanksgiving (last year with the Meckels was a hilariously good time), this year there were sufficient numbers of people hanging out in Chicago, so it made sense to cook our own meal. My first Thanksgiving without adults doing the cooking! Fear not, unlike the last time I cooked with a group of people, there were no fires this time. In fact, I'd say we had all the elements of a classic Thanksgiving day, including:

I. A megaton of food

As it so happens, everyone else was vegetarian, and I am pretty much a flexitarian, so that meant this would be a beast-less feast. However, Ricky still wanted a "traditional" meal, or as close to it as you could get sans turkey. (I scrapped my plan to have a fondue party instead.) The menu was as follows:

• Soy "chicken" cutlets
• Mashed potatoes
• Gravy
• Green bean casserole
• Pumpkin pie
• Biscuits
• Cornbread and broccoli rabe strata
• Curried lentils with sweet potato and napa

Can you guess which two items I was responsible for? I am actually a little sad that the lentils got scarfed down and were gone before dinner had even begun; I was hoping there would be leftovers to take home. On the other hand, there's nothing like seeing people fight over the last scraps of something you cooked.

II. Heated argument in the kitchen

I'll just say that there was quite a brouhaha over whether we were serving pumpkin pie versus pumpkin scones or pumpkin bread. In this case, the conservative movement won.

III. Declarations of thanks, preferably inappropriate

As Ricky and I were mid-fork and about to chow down, Chris interrupted us with the obligatory "let's go around the table and say something we're thankful for!" He then launches into tirade of sorts, giving thanks that we were gathered here today not under the guise of religion.

IV. Relatives, preferably ones you see no more than once a year

Chris' mom, brother, and the brother's girlfriend stopped by for a brief visit after their own Thanksgiving fete, which is unusual since he rarely talks to them (even though his mom lives nearby in the suburbs). I can't say too much about the kin because after a brief round of introductions, the Family started chatting in the kitchen, while the Friends retreated to the living room. However, Chris' brother does share his uncanny knack for memorizing lines from TV shows. Perhaps the highlight of the visit was when Chris brought up the recent election (purely to agitate the waters some more). His (Republican) mom said something to the effect of, "Sometimes you need a Democrat in the White House, but I don't know..."

Chris: Yeah, we don't want the minorities getting too much power. I mean, look at China!
Family, in kitchen: [dead silence] [crickets]
Friends, in living room: HAHAHAHAHA!

Since the off-color political joke didn't go over so well, Chris then tried to navigate to safer waters, namely, embarrassing childhood stories about himself.

Mom: Yeah, like the time they elected you class president and then the school decided they couldn't possibly have someone like you at the head of the class. They called me and said, "We know this is supposed to be a democratic process, but with your son's behavior record..." I told them I completely understood, but they still insisted that a formal disbarment had to take place. The teachers were there, the principal was there, the school psychologist was there...

V. Staring at the TV in a gluttonous stupor

In my younger days, I used to be a big fan of watching whatever "Wonderful World of Disney" or "Charlie Brown" special aired at night. This year, post-meal digestion was accompanied by a season of "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" DVDs. If you haven't seen this show, it's excellent, and has the irreverent humor embodied by Lucille from "Arrested Development." We were also on a roll with the PS2 playing, until we broke the Gran Turismo disc. Oops.

Finally, on an unrelated note, the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade Rick Roll was awesomely executed. It never ceases to amaze me how an obscure '80s star has found new life with the popularity of this seemingly-random internet meme. Go Rick Astley!

The Office, Cornell edition

Much hullabaloo has been made over "that episode of the Office with tons of Cornell references," so I finally sat down to watch it (even though it means I'm definitely watching the series out of order). All in all, I was fairly impressed with the depth of Dwight's Cornell knowledge; there's no way I would have been able to name Cornell's 7th and 8th presidents in an interview. He also referenced the current quarterback (Nathan Ford) and Comstock Hall (a building I've never been in). But the one thing that particularly tickled me was this:


That's right, there are Wegman's products in the background! Say what you will about my terrible skills of observation, but those colors flashed on the screen and I immediately recognized them.

If you haven't seen it yet, the episode is titled "Employee Transfer" and will be available on Hulu for approximately two more weeks.

Hot Doug's

Pop Quiz: You are taking a long road trip across states. When deciding on a route, you...

a) Use Google Maps to find the most efficient drive possible. Look into potential construction zones and alternate routes in case of road blocks.
b) Follow the highway signs as you go; you'll eventually there. Or end up in Canada.
c) Research major metropolitan areas along the way, and make reservations at the local Four Seasons.
d) Drive 50 miles out of the way to detour past a hole-in-the-wall joint, which is legendary for serving the best western North Carolina-style barbeque. Get lost and wander around in the dark on rural backroads for 20 minutes, as you struggle to figure out how to interpret the address "Hwy 29-70 South." However, as you sink your teeth into a tangy chopped pork sandwich and hush puppies, you decide the side trip was totally worthwhile.

If you chose (d), you might be a foodie. Welcome to the club!

This morning, I needed to pick up my car from the shop, and unfortunately, the mechanic is located in a really inconvenient location (it took me over an hour to get there via public transportation). On the other hand, it was relatively close to that foodie pilgrimage site known as Hot Doug's. When I put two and two together, it was clearly time to stop there for lunch.


There are no finer words in the English language than "encased meats," my friend. -slogan painted on the wall of Hot Doug's

For those unfamiliar with the restaurant, it is a temple devoted to the worship of sausage excellence. Among other press, Hot Doug's has been profiled by Zagat and Anthony Bourdain's show No Reservations. Owner Doug Sohn is also infamous for being the only restauranteur in Chicago who was fined for flouting the ban on serving foie gras. I've been to Hot Doug's one other time, when Megan visited Chicago at the beginning of the summer. When we got there, the line was so long it stretched out the door and around the side of the building. But surely, with the onset of chilly weather, the line will be shorter this time, I said to myself.

No such luck. Once again, by the time I showed up around noon, the line was spilling out the door and around the corner. Part of the reason the line was so lengthy is that Fridays and Saturdays are the only days that Hot Doug's serves duck-fat fries, and these are unctuously delicious. I dug my heels and settled in for the 40 minute wait. (After waiting similar lengths of time for sandwiches at Katz's Deli and bagels at Russ & Daughters, this sort of thing no longer fazes me.) People began lining up behind me, and one gentleman wondered aloud, "Is it just today, or is it always like this?" I smiled and said, "Nope, it's pretty much always like this."

The line was composed of an eclectic array of people, young and old, black, white and peanut, all united in their determination to taste the Ultimate Hot Dog. We hailed from all over Chicagoland, from Lincoln Park to Lincolnwood. The group behind me was full of newbies, while another girl said that she came regularly, and had tried almost every special. When pressed for a reason why Hot Doug's was so great, one guy said, "I'm actually a vegetarian, but I come here all the time for their veggie dog, which is fantastic." Another lady recommended the polish sausage, a favorite of her mother's.


Eventually, I made it inside the building. After scrutinizing the menu carefully, I settled on a chipotle-cilantro smoked chicken sausage with mole sauce and cojita cheese. For good measure, I ordered the Pete Shelley vegetarian hot dog as well. I'd worked up quite an appetite while waiting in line, so why bother with only one hot dog? Doug himself was there to take my order, and he joked and waved at customers waiting patiently in line. I plopped down on a stool at the counter, and a few minutes later, my order was brought out to me.

The chipotle chicken sausage had a nice amount of kick in it, though the cojita cheese wasn't quite the type of cheese that I was expecting. But hey, I'm open to trying new things. Slathered over the sausage was a dark, hearty mole sauce, with some spice and chocolatey undertones. My vegetarian dog was impressively indistinguishable from a regular meat hot dog. In the classic Chicago hot dog fashion, it was topped with sliced tomatoes, spicy brown mustard, unnaturally green relish, sauteed onions, celery salt, and a pickle spear. (It is unholy to put ketchup on a Chicago dog.) I scarfed both hot dogs down in quick succession, as I watched more people get into line.

On my way out, someone asked, "How was it?" I beamed and replied, "Worth every minute of the wait!"

Adventures in Cycling, Near-Death Edition

When it comes to personal safety, there are few things in life that can faze me. Biking in traffic? I dare you to hit me, cabdriver! Running at night by myself? Been there, done that. Fights escalating in public places? Eh, nothing I haven't seen in high school locker rooms. Probably the only time I've ever been really worried about the prospect of severe injury was the time I nearly skidded off an icy road on the way back from Iowa. And then, there was last night.

The Lakeshore Path runs alongside Lake Michigan for 18 miles, the length of Chicago's lakefront. During the peak summer season, the path is packed with a mixture of high-speed cyclists, slower joggers and roller-bladers, rubbernecking tourists, ice cream carts, and small children with unpredictable trajectory patterns. All in all, it can be a dangerous place if you aren't careful. I tend to enjoy biking the LSP a lot more in spring or fall, when it's colder and there's plenty of space.

Yesterday, the winds off Lake Michigan were blowing at a furious clip. In particular, near Oak St Beach, water was getting blown onto the path, soaking the pavement. This section of the path is also on an incline, sloping toward the water. I took note of this earlier in the day, but a little water never hurt anyone, so I didn't think twice about it. By the end of the day though, the temperature had dropped below freezing, and the water had solidified into a thin sheet of ice. I couldn't tell that there was ice, rather than water, on the ground, and biked ahead full speed. Immediately, I could feel something was awry. Before I could slow down, I flew off my bike and hit the ground. My bike began sliding down the slope, shooting toward the edge of the lake, and I silently emitted a primal scream, "NOOOOO!" Meanwhile, I was also sliding precariously toward the icy depths of Lake Michigan. I clawed at the pavement in a desperate measure to increase friction, and stopped about 10-15' short of the water's edge. Luckily, my bike managed to stop about 5' short of the drop-off. My heart was pounding.



(For good measure, I've included a delightful diagram produced in Paint.)

At this point, I was at the bottom of a slippery slope, surrounded by ice. At the very top of the slope, there was a thin strip of dry pavement. I picked up my bike, put together the shattered pieces of my helmet light, and began walking uphill. Almost immediately, I fell over. To add further insult to injury, the wind was still howling and a large wave crashed upon shore, soaking through my shoes. I picked myself up and gingerly tried to take a lateral step. After two steps, I ignominously slipped and keeled over again. Another wave washed onto shore, and now my pants were completely soaked from the knees down. At this point, I realized the only way I could get anywhere was to crawl. So, that's what I did. I pushed my bike uphill a couple feet, crawled forward two feet, and repeated this process. The normally crowded path was wholly deserted, and no one else was visible for miles. It was an epic struggle for survival, man vs. nature, akin to a scene from Into Thin Air.

Eventually, I made it to safety at the top. I quickly surveyed my bike to make sure it was in okay mechanical condition; the brakes were frozen over, but other than that, everything seemed intact. Then I got back on my bike, mostly nonplussed, and rode the next 6 miles home, pausing to warn the two bikers that I passed about the ice ahead. Luckily, it wasn't that cold (somewhere in the mid-20s), otherwise my wet toes would have been in serious trouble. As it was, by the time I got home, I couldn't feel my pinky toes and my feet were lobster red.

Anyway, in conclusion, I think it's about that time of the year where I stop biking the LSP, and bike exclusively through the streets instead.

Obamatown

As I was heading out of the Loop tonight at rush hour, I was dismayed at the backlog of traffic near Clark & Jackson. Squeezing my bike toward the front of the intersection, I could see several policemen stopping all vehicular, bicycular and pedestrian traffic. I asked one of the cops how long the delay would last, and he told me, "Just wait two minutes." Much to my annoyance, the surrounding intersections also appeared to be blocked off, so I couldn't maneuver around the blockage. I silently fumed and exchanged irritated looks with the biker next to me.

Then a slew of flashing police cars sped down the street, followed by a series of black SUVs. It was Obama's motorcade! As we all cheered and craned our necks, you could see Obama (or a look-alike?) chatting on his cell phone, waving to the crowds outside. He passed not even 10 feet away from me!

As it so happens, today's NYT featured a nice article on Chicago's resurgence in national importance since the election. I was particularly amused at the way the article draws broad generalizations on the attitudes of Chicagoans: we are "humble," have a "strong sense of self," and "comfortable to losing." In other words, we have endured years of playing second fiddle to New York, but good old-fashioned Midwestern sensibilities allow us to brush the water off our backs. And though I resent being stereotyped, a lot of it has basis in truth.

Chicago, as Carl Sandburg writes, is a no-nonsense city. It does not have the urbane sophistication of New York, the liberal elitism of San Francisco, or the political clout of Washington. What it can offer though, is a slice of down-to-earth pragmatism topped with the amenities of an urban center. We tout our deep-dish pizza and hot dogs, but we are also home to the jibarito. You can take in the drunken revelry in Wrigleyville after a Cubs game, or you can check out a Lyric Opera performance in the Millenium Park.

So here's to Chicago's increased national prominence! I still don't support the city's 2016 Olympics bid (I think we have too many infrastructure problems and not enough money to host that), but I am proud to call the city home, and even prouder that Obama is a fellow Chicago resident. At least until Jan 20th.

Don't Panic, Stochastic Calculus Edition

The midterm results are in, and they're not pretty. With a mean of 33 and a standard deviation of 18, we can safely say that this is not a normal distribution (assuming non-negative scores). It's been a while since I've taken an exam with such a low mean; it almost brings back nostalgia for the Engineering Math sequence. As I waited for the TA to find my test, a slew of 7s, 15s and 18s flashed by, and I began to silently hyperventilate. You know things are not good when your score < your age. Moreover, the stakes are higher now than in undergrad. I not only have my transcript, but $2,500 on the line, since the Fed won't reimburse me for tuition unless I get a C or above.

I knew this wasn't going to be an easy test, but I severely underestimated Prof Mykland's exam-writing abilities. Perhaps I should have known better when he related this anecdote on his PhD class: "I offered my class of ten students automatic As if they showed up for the exam...and 2-3 of them decided they'd rather skip it." When he announced that he wasn't allowing calculators, I thought that simply meant computations would be more tedious. In reality, that meant the exam would be completely theoretical.

In retrospect, perhaps I should have paced myself a bit better. We had 3 hours to complete 3 questions...and it wasn't nearly enough time for me. I ended up getting full credit for the first question, but by the time the 3rd question rolled around, I was so frustrated that I didn't even bother attempting to get partial credit, I just threw out the last page.

Anyways, I managed to beat the mean, though not by a healthy amount. Mykland reassured us that the vast majority of students receive As and Bs overall, and that if we did better on the final, those results would count in full. Never mind that the material covered on the final will be much harder. Mykland did say that he'd try to tone it down a bit for the final, since usually he gets means of "at least 40-50."

Student: "I understand that you don't want to write an exam that's too easy, but how am I supposed to feel about getting a 33 when I'm interviewing for jobs? If someone were to ask me about martingales, I would not say with confidence that I understand them very well."

Mykland: "Well, as evidenced by what's happening on Wall Street, I'd say a great many people don't understand them very well...if anything, I don't want to give anyone the illusion of understanding. The more you know, the more you realize you don't know."

Sigh. Okay, I can figure out the Itô integral of a deterministic integrand in the next three weeks...

Cantate, Final Bows

A blazing six weeks later, Cantate concluded its fall season this weekend with two concerts. Now I can go back to dairy products and cigarettes! We recorded Sunday's concert, so at some point I should have clips if anyone's curious.

The concerts went well, though there were a few minor hiccups that I doubt the audience noticed. In the Barber, one of the alto entrances that we've struggled with was weak. I also caught myself singing a whole step off for a measure during "A Boy and a Girl." And let's just say that the Ives featured a little bit of free jazz modulation; I'm pretty sure we had shifted keys by the end. No matter, we still came away with uproarious applause from the audience.

(Update) An interesting excerpt from an audience member's email that went out over the listserv: "I heard 'Sleep' - loud and clear - immediately upon the completion of the encore piece. It's a beautiful thing when one leads another to hear the sounds of life. Yet there are no words to describe the power and richness of leading another to hear the precious, complex sounds of the silences of life."

Undoubtedly, I've improved and learned a lot about how to be a better singer. It's one thing to go to a karaoke party, and belt out Mariah Carey. It's quite another to sing in an ensemble, with people singing in half-steps above you, or to sing clearly and sweetly without vibrato, which is all too often used to cloud tones. I can eyeball intervals and sing them without breaking a sweat, and I've come to believe that the true test of a vocalist is not how well you can sing loudly, but how controlled you can sing quietly.

Having never joined a church or country club or the like, it's neat to be a part of a community group. The ages of members run the gamut from recent college grads to white-haired elder statesmen who have been part of Cantate since its inception. Our professions are myriad; I've met a civil engineer, a first-grade teacher at Cabrini-Green, a musical therapist and a tae kwon do instructor.When we aren't focusing on uniform vowel sounds, you can hear a variety of American, Australian and Southern accents. For the first time, I feel like I belong to an organization that is a true microcosm of society, unlike the insular academic bubble of Cornell or the Fed.

Okay, that's a lie. We are still overwhelmingly white and yuppie, as evidenced by the 3 Kleen Kanteens and 2 Sigg bottles (including my own) that I counted at rehearsal. Furthermore, when our director asked last week if anyone knew whether the Bears had won, none of us had a clue. On the other hand, at least two of us are cyclists and one of us runs marathons. The group also seems to be more religiously devout than average. Perhaps church choirs and Catholic school choirs serve as feeder mechanisms for vocalists? And naturally, we are all more musically-inclined than usual. Some of us sing semi-professionally with other area choirs, like the Chicago Symphony Chorus and Grant Park Chorus, and others have their own bands.

So, I guess that's a wrap for the next few months, until the spring concert gets planned. It's funny to think that I've spent hours with this group of people over the last month, and now we will part ways and perhaps never see each other again. Luckily, there are things like email and Facebook (I was somewhat surprised at how many people have accounts, and it seems to be mostly independent of age). At some point, I will probably go see Emily perform, since she plays at Uncommon Ground fairly often. And Tracy actually works on LaSalle, a mere block away from the Fed, so we can get together for lunch.

Halloween, Bar Golf Edition

We're nearing the end of the year, and that means a barrage of major holidays, including the triumvirate of Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. Now, it's not that I don't love my family, but Thanksgiving and Christmas have never been huge deals for us. Moreover, we generally don't roast a turkey (the one year we did it, everyone hated eating turkey for weeks afterward), so over the years, we have variously cooked things like shabu pots, lobster and duck for meals. My extended family is also geographically dispersed, so although relatives will occasionally fly in, holidays are not usually the equivalent of a family reunion. My point is, we have never subscribed to the classic American Thanksgiving/Christmas, so it's a little weird for me to see people going gaga over eggnog and cranberry sauce shaped like a cylinder.

On the other hand, Halloween is a holiday that is, at least in my mind, defined by creativity. For one day out of the year, you must come up with a costume that is transformational (wearing only devil horns doesn't count), topical (current events references are a plus), low-cost (preferably created from thrift store supplies) and warm (to battle frigid fall temperatures). It goes without saying that storebought costumes are anathema to this philosophy. In recent years, I have dressed up as magnetic poetry, a Wiimote, a whiteboard, and an accident-victim cyclist.

For this year's costume, I shamelessly stole a tip from MF. I took a bunch of tampons and pads, colored them blue, taped them all over me, and arrived as Picasso's Blue Period. That's right, a perfect combination of ironic wit, high-brow intellectualism, and gross-out humor. I was attracting quite a few stares as I walked around Target in this outfit.

The rest of the Fed Crew included Juno (Haley) and Bleeker (Nate), Derek Neal (Erik), Harry Potter (Ricky), and House (Chris). The plan was to play a modified version of bar golf, with various ways to earn points by either spotting something (Joker, Michael Phelps, Ben Bernanke) or performing an action (scoring a free drink, making somone scream, getting a phone number). Unfortunately, we didn't make it to all 9 "holes" in our "course." In fact, we only managed to hit two places before bars began closing at 2 am. I blame the lengthy queues to get inside and to get drinks. I'm also disappointed that there weren't more political costumes (but "naughty" nurses abounded, of course). For the duration of the night, I only saw one Sarah Palin. Appropriately, she did cause a bit of a kerfuffle by stumbling and knocking over a RedEye newspaper dispenser. Take that, liberal media!

I suppose I shouldn't judge because we managed to start some commotion as well. While walking between bars, Colin (Nate's friend visiting from MD) was casually talking to some guy dressed as Misty May, when he suddenly knocked Colin's sunglasses off his nose. Naturally, Colin was quite peeved at this provocation from a guy wearing a sports bra, and the two of them started fighting. We quickly broke up the fight, as in, Ricky and Nate got between the other guy and his friends while Chris tried to talk Colin down psychologically.

Chris: You are completely justified in your anger.
Colin: Motherfucker *@#)!(*%!

It was a pretty awesome cap to the night.

As for Thanksgiving, like last year, I will be staying in Chicago, partially so I can study for an upcoming final exam, but mostly because it's not worth the plane ticket and time to travel home for Thanksgiving. At any rate, it looks like Chris, Erik and Ricky are going to be in town, so we'll be concocting an "Ungrateful Wretches" feast, which will be vegetarian, of course. I've volunteered to personally hunt and kill a tofurkey. No seriously, I have some excellent recipes up my sleeve for killer mashed potatoes and cornbread stuffing. Also, a great recipe for sweet potatoes and curried lentils. What, that's not at traditional dish at your Thanksgiving?

Lockwood

So, thanks to a tip from Jen, who works for a company that evaluates service, I have a new gig as a mystery shopper for hospitality firms. The application involved a few questions probing your experience in the hospitality industry and some short essays to assess writing ability. As a former hotelie who is currently not working in the hospitality industry (and thus would not have any conflicts of interest with clients), I qualified handily.

Perusing the database of available assignments, it was quickly impressed upon me that all of these places were fairly upscale and quite pricey. Oh boy, getting paid for meals and hotel stays at places I can't/choose not to afford! Plus, I'd be able to take a guest with me. How much better could this get? I signed up for a bar evaluation at Lockwood, the restaurant at the Palmer House Hilton. Soon after, my inbox began to be barraged with paperwork on how to evaluate my experience. Hmm, there might be a catch to this "free food" deal after all...

The assignment was to go to Lockwood, order two rounds of drinks from the bar, and then order food from the bar menu. I was asked to pay close attention to the bartenders while handling cash, ask for a generic drink (such as a vodka tonic) to see if they upsell the drink, and identify a manager by the end of the night. If I didn't see a manager, I was supposed to ask for one. A list of suggested conversation topics with the manager was provided, including the prompt "Why doesn't this wine list have more South African wines?" Hah, somehow I don't think I'd be able to pull that line off. Oh, I also needed to meticulously remember times (when the food was ordered, when it arrived, when the plates were cleared, etc), appearances of the employees (without using race as an identifier), and whether employees smiled and made eye contact. And those were just the major items. Needless to say, in total, there was a four-page long checklist of items to observe. Have I mentioned how unobservant I generally am? Like the time I participated in a psych experiment designed to test eye witness accuracy, and I didn't even notice the mugging happening in the video?

For extra reassurance, I brought Jen with me for this first evaluation. After all, she probably knows better than me what to look for. We sat down at the bar, and I nervously watched our bartender like a hawk, while trying to hold up a conversation with Jen. After a while, I did start to relax (or maybe it was the alcohol hitting my bloodstream), but having to monitor and scrutinize the experience definitely puts a damper on happy hour. Luckily, a manager was clearly visible, so I didn't have to awkwardly ask for one. The highlight of the night was definitely the food; we ordered the Kobe beef sliders and the bruschetta, and both were fabulous, definitely a step above your usual bar food. The bruschetta in particular was innovative, and was presented in three small crocks that included roasted red and orange bell pepper, portabello mushroom, and heirloom yellow and orange tomato.

Immediately afterwards, I went home and began writing up my evaluation report. This took quite a bit longer than I'd anticipated, as I racked my brain to remember who cleared my glass, or how long it took for our food to arrive. There were a few mistakes made (they didn't ID us, a credit card wasn't held for our tab), but overall, I thought the experience went well. Next week, we'll see how good my write-up was because each report gets scored for completeness and style. Hopefully, the number won't be abysmal and I'll be able to keep signing up for new evaluation opportunities.

Update:
-Time Out Chicago's review of Lockwood from Jan '08 roundly pans the restaurant. Oh my, I did not have the same experience at all. Evidently things have improved since the beginning of the year?
-Critiquing the Critics, from Lockwood Executive Chef Phil Foss (the rest of his blog is quite entertaining as well)

Rehearsal Time

Cantate rehearsals have started, and if I had to choose one word to describe them, it would be "intense." We've set two concert dates in mid-November (Fri the 14th and Sun the 16th), and in less than six weeks of rehearsal, we will have learned 14 pieces. Gulp. I basically skated through chorale rehearsals at Cornell, feeling no obligation to practice on my own. Here though, I feel as though I'm learning to walk a tight rope without a safety net. Since the group is small, there's usually only one or two other people singing my voice part. I've befriended Tracy, a fellow Alto-1 who is also new to the group. Unfortunately, she is generally more lost and clueless than I am, so I am the one taking the lead. And unlike any other instrument, if you lose your note or get out of tune, it can be very difficult to correct yourself.

Moreover, the repertoire is fairly challenging. Chords are unintuitively complex, time signatures are constantly changing, and the Ives piece is written with different key signatures for the women and men. After a particularly painful run-through of the Barber Reincarnations, our director commented wryly, "Some of us need to put this one under our pillows. Some of us are doing just fine." Tracy and I gave each other baleful looks.

Right now, we're only focusing on getting the notes correct and rhythms accurate. There are a host of other stylistic issues that I need to think about, from the way I pronounce my x's (split the sound into k-s such that "lux" turns into "luk-s") to learning how to breathe (in less obvious places). Almost everyone else has more extensive choral experience compared to me, so while I'm encountering a lot of new ideas for the first time, this is standard stuff for the others. I'm thrilled that this group is giving me room to grow as a musician, but man, do I have a lot of work to do.

I could really use a keyboard.

In the moments when everything comes together, our sound is hands-down gorgeous. Today's rehearsal ended with a spiritual, a free-flowing outburst of joy and emotion. As our voices echoed through the nave, I marveled at how these 16 random people had come together to produce a work of art in unison. And just as quickly, it was gone, and we went our separate ways.

Don't Panic!

This article is one of the best accounts of the last two weeks of financial turbulence out there. It's written in layman's terms; if Dan Brown wrote a thriller about Wall Street, this would be it.

Times are very bad indeed, and with every new development, I am reminded that I am living and experiencing unprecedented events, while working from the Fed no less. We had a town hall meeting yesterday afternoon, to give an overview of the financial market turmoil and answer questions about how the Fed has been impacted. I decided to ask what would happen if the bailout bill didn't pass, what other magical tricks does the Fed have in its bag? The answer wasn't exactly comforting.

When I went home for the day, there was a quartercard attached to my bike, inviting me to join a protest against the Fed next week. Among other things, this group was protesting the bailout because it was "illegal" and "immoral." LMAO. Should I join in on Monday morning?

Homecoming 2008

It’s been a whole two months since I was last in Ithaca, so clearly that meant I needed to make a trip back for homecoming. Besides, the last one was a time and a half, and how could I pass up hanging out with my bff Raivo this weekend?? Some random thoughts and happenings:

1) To this day, I have yet to find a place with better burritos than Statler Terrace, and since they only open on weekdays during lunch, it's pretty darn inaccessible for me. So, as soon as I was back on campus, I made a mad dash for Terrace and slid into the wrap line just 5 minutes before they were closing. Even better, they had just enough pulled pork left for one last burrito! I sat down with my wrap in one hand and a New York Times in the other, relaxing in the confines of a college campus. It was pretty much a picturesque scene from SWPL. Promptly afterwards, I was asked if I was interested in attending church or bible study. Ah, some things never change.

2) Oktoberfest celebrations were happening in Trillium on Friday afternoon, sponsored by the European Club and Grad Students Association. They were passing out free knockwurst, sauerkraut and chips, blasting German music, and selling $1-2 Oktoberfest beers. Naturally, the scene was quite raucous, and I had to pinch myself a couple times when I realized people were getting smashed on campus in the middle of the day. Why didn't I crash more grad events back in the day?

3) As for the homecoming game itself, I was steeling myself for disappointment from the start. Not to be pessimistic, but Yale was the team that routed us 51-12 last year after all. Shockingly, we won the game, albeit not by much (17-14). What can I say, I guess crazier things have happened, eh?

4) I am always hesitant to try new restaurants in Ithaca because there are so many old favorites and so little time. But since I was in town in July, and satiated my Maxie’s craving then, I figured I could be adventurous for once. So, Saturday night, I found myself at the Ithaca Ale House…and I give it two thumbs up! The menu at its core is bar food, but includes enough special touches that it's semi-classy and exciting. I convinced Viki and Oliver to order the eggplant fries as an appetizer and they were delicious (didn't taste like eggplant at all), and came with a cool curry-based sauce. We also figured with 6 of us, it wouldn't hurt to order another appetizer, so Amanda suggested the guacamole & brie. I was expecting a huge bowl of dip with chips or bread around it, but instead we were served a platter of bread, with guacamole, brie and red pepper spread on top of each piece. For dinner, I ordered the Bastard burger (pepper crust, Bastard Ale mustard, onion rings)...and so did Oliver and Alec. They also had some interesting stuff on the dessert menu (fried Oreos!), but we were way too full.

5) Speaking of fullness, I never made it to Hot Truck. We debated for about 10 minutes, but Viki decided she was too full/it was raining too hard/the hill was too much to handle at 1 am, so we didn't go. This is a bit of a shame because I'm most likely going to visit Ithaca during summers in the future, when Hot Truck is closed, so I'm pretty much never getting a PMP again. :(

6) On the other hand, I did make it to Dairy Bar, because after getting breakfast at CTB (San Diego Bagel on California bagel, the kind with granola on it), we had some time to kill before the tailgate. So, Viki, Oliver and I went to get ice cream at 11 am. (<--fat kids!) I was a bit disappointed at the lack of seasonal flavors (no Clocktower Pumpkin, no Apple Pie) but the Coconutty Spring Thaw and Bavarian Raspberry Fudge were really good. Plus, I discovered that you could ask for two flavors on a "small" cone. What a revelation!

7) I'm still not over the fact that Pataflafla drinks now; there's definitely some cognitive dissonance going on in my mind. And speaking of drinking, since the '08ers have graduated, the drumline has definitey gotten drunker/less dorky. I was hanging out with Shannon, my new favorite freshman bells player, who apparently got so drunk last weekend that they invoked medical amnesty on him. Meanwhile, Matt & Co were talking about skipping the band party to play Dungeons & Dragons instead. Um, yeah.

8) There's another chimesmaster-bandie! I met her at the band party, and we talked about all the chimesmaster-bandies of years past (ARE '03, GVJ '99, a couple guys from the '50s). Unfortunately, she's missing the chimesmaster road trip to NYC for the band trip to Montreal. I am seriously considering skipping homecoming next fall to attend Chimes Advisory Council instead. They're always scheduled two weeks apart, so I can't really afford to do both. I did make it to the clocktower to get some concerts in (one with RCF and the other with WAK). Secretly, I am relieved that the concerts I crashed were played by chimesmasters that I know, but I guess in another year or two, they'll all be fresh faces to me. Sigh.

9) Ithaca Apple Festival was also a good time despite the pouring rain. You could find all manner of apples and apple products, from apple butter to apple fry bread, and there were plenty of non-apple items as well. After hearing Megan rave about her Cuban sandwich on Friday, I was tempted to get one too, but then decided I should hold out for one in Pilsen. I did get apple cider doughnuts and a piece of smoked apple pie with sharp NY cheddar, pretty much the craziest thing I could find. Tomas et al were appalled at the idea of cheese on apple pie, but seriously, is the idea of fruit and cheese that crazy? Or the combination of sweet and salty?? I couldn't convince them that apple and cheddar is not that weird. There was also a booth with jams, jellies and fruit butters, similar to the one at the Ithaca Farmer's Market, but with 16 or so flavors. Viki and I both bought a container of cranberry-horseradish jam, which was intriguing because it had the taste and smell of horseradish, but NOT the spicy sting, which apparently goes away during cooking. So, it seems that all the horseradish products I've previously eaten have been cold-processed.

10) We made a trip to Wegman's because Viki wanted to buy bread, and of course, who doesn't want to shop in the best grocery store EVER? Over the last year, I've gradually used up all my Wegman's brand products, and now only have a bit of Wegman's vanilla extract and baking powder left. So, I decided I needed to buy a non-liquid, non-perishable Wegman's item, and settled on a container of pepper. I can't tell you how exciting it is to look in my cupboard and see Wegman's, to remind me of the good ol' days.

11) Returning to Chicago, I wasn't nearly as depressed as I was compared to last year. In some sense, I've gotten used to the idea that there are people I will not see more than once or twice a year, and perhaps the relationship will fade a bit, but when we are together, those bonds are rekindled instantaneously, like sea monkeys in water. Moreover, I've put down roots here, and being in Ithaca would be a step backwards. And who knows, maybe someday we'll find ourselves in the same place again (cough, MCLU 2009?).

And so concludes my last trip to Ithaca for probably a very long time. So long, and thanks for all the fish. :)

About Last Night

Let me begin with a declaration: I had no intentions of getting drunk last night. Really. It was pouring rain and I had my bike with me, so I knew I needed to be decently sober by the end of the night to make it home. And then the best of intentions invariably go awry.

Britton wanted to go dancing, so the plan was to pregame at Erik's apartment, play some Wii, and then head out to Beaumont around 11 or midnight. The choice of location was notable, because it had been almost exactly a year since the last time we tried to go to Beaumont. That night ended with me and Britton pitching Haley head-first into a cab, an act that forever cemented our friendship and provided us with ample fodder for future teasing.

This time around, the goal was to actually make it inside Beaumont. That part was successfully accomplished. Alas, I cannot remember anything else that happened.

I realize this is a popular occurrence in some circles in college, but I have never had the pleasure of waking up on a bathroom floor. Until this morning. I rolled over, and my arm banged against a cold, porcelain surface, otherwise known as a toilet. Much to my dismay, I arose with the realization that I had passed out on Erik's bathroom floor. Luckily, there is a nice, cushiony rug in there, so it was fairly comfortable. It was 7:45 am, and I felt pretty chipper, with nary a trace of a hangover.

Next, I started checking my phone. No received or sent calls, so it looked like I hadn't made any egregious drunk dials. So far, so good. Then, I checked my text message inbox and the warning flags began popping up. From Chris: "I'm sorry you thought I was being weird..." Erm, what on earth happened last night? From Rob, the message was "Or not. Not the least bit offended or passive aggressive. (clearly kidding)" This was obviously in response to something...oy veh, if only I knew what. Checking my outbox, it appeared that I had texted Rob with directions: "We are at Beaumont right now at Halsted and Armitage. Come by for 100 percent finance AE presence?" Can I at least pat myself on the back for sending a perfectly spelled and grammatically correct text message while blacked out? By the way, the trip home was miserable because it was pouring rain and I didn't have an umbrella or a jacket of any sort. Yes, I was That Girl.

After my first black out, I swore I'd never drink to that point of intoxication again, but I guess I need to be more careful. From what I can recall, I only had 3 drinks last night (2 glasses of wine and a cranberry & vodka), so I'm not sure what went wrong. We weren't playing any drinking games either (to the best of my knowledge), so I don't think I was drinking particularly quickly.

There is a bit of a bruise forming on my arm. Erik mentioned something about me falling off the dance floor, so maybe that's the cause. What can I say? Sometimes, really great dance moves require taking some risks.

EDIT: Chris has informed me that he was the one who sent out the text message with directions. Damn, and I was so proud of myself too.

Signs that you are no longer a recent college grad

• Your friends have all abandoned AIM for Gchat.
• Going to bed at 10 pm no longer seems crazy early.
• Quarter cards : People handing out flyers on sidewalks :: A capella groups : rappers on trains
• When a card gets passed around for signing, it's not for a birthday, but for the birth of a baby.
• You pay for housing when you go back to college for visits.
• When you fall asleep in the library, a security guard taps you on the shoulder and asks if you're okay.
• Instead of comparing GPAs, you compete with your friends over who has a better credit score.

On Proposals

In between the creme brulee stout and (no root) beer floats last night, the ideal marriage proposal popped up for discussion. This is not a very real possibility for me at this point, but Viki should perhaps be dropping more vigorous hints if she wants to pull off her vision. Without further ado, here's a sampling of what modern women are hoping for (we're not insane, I swear).

Ricky
Situation: Under the Northern Lights
Pros: Beautiful location, cheap excluding travel costs, quiet location outdoors ensures that he will not make a fool of himself in front of crowds
Cons: Limited time frame and location options, requires the fickle cooperation of Mother Nature

Viki
Situation: She is attending a Broadway show or a concert, and at intermission, they have a special announcement and Matt jumps on stage. Cue romantic words and then bursting into song. To the cheers and applause of the audience, Viki accepts.
Pros: The level of coordination and planning would truly signal commitment, and there's nothing like being the star of your own show on Broadway.
Cons: The level of coordination and planning makes this almost impossible to pull off. Also, it'd be asking a lot for Matt to belt out a song...maybe we could settle for having someone else come out and sing, or better yet, having someone else sing while Matt lipsyncs, Chinese Olympics-style.

Me
Situation: He gets down on one knee and says, "There is a set R equipped with 2 binary operations called addition and multiplication such that (R, +) is abelian group with identity element 0, and..."
Pros: This brings proposals to an unfathomable level of dorkiness.
Cons: None.

Addendum (Rhea wants in on this too):

Rhea
Situation: On a trip to Cornell, mystery Cornell engineer takes her to Olin library, to the 4th floor-- romance studies. He gets down on one knee and says "in spite of all my time spent in Duffield, I too have always wanted to spend hours and hours in the library--Olin, Mann, or Uris. I proclaim my love for your here for that reason. Not to mention...I think you wouldn't accept if I did it anywhere else. Oh and I'll be sure to teach you E & M 101 tonight". He pops open a bottle of champagne, quietly of course. Rhea calls Crystal to announce that she's eloping and that they need to arrange something with Sage Hall so that she and mystery eng. can have their chimes concert complete with Nessun Dorma, the Alma Mater duet, and Taras to help.

Cantate

It's been over a year since I've performed with any sort of musical ensemble, and while singing in the shower is fun, it's not quite as rewarding as performing on stage. So, on a whim, I started researching choral groups in Chicago and emailed Cantate, a mixed voice chamber choir with repertoire that looked challenging but not too serious. Two months later, they invited me to come for an audition, and my palms began to sweat. Have I mentioned that the bulk of my vocal training comes from only one semester of Cornell chorale?

The director, Ben Rivera, greeted me at the door, and after shushing the dogs, we got right to business. He handed me a page with text in German, Latin, Spanish, French, and Italian. "Read the text, and if you don't know, make something up," he instructed. Hmm, I took a deep breath and began butchering the paragraphs in front of me. The German was by far the worst, though my Italian wasn't terrific either. Having studied French in college, that paragraph was the cleanest. After I stumbled my way to the end of the page, Ben corrected some of my more egregious errors. "The g's are silent in Italian. At the end of line 2, can you say figlio? In German, there are two ways to pronounce ch. I want you to widen your mouth and say ich with plenty of air moving over your tongue." Luckily, I was able to reproduce the sounds he was making; thank god for being a native speaker of a tonal language. I laughed nervously and commented, "Gee, German and Italian, the two languages I've never sung in."

Next up, sight singing and rhythms. I misread an interval in the sight singing, but was able to correct myself on the second pass. The rhythms were fairly straightforward, though I lost count in the swing section and started that line over. I silently thanked all the people who have requested pieces on chimes which force me to sightread.

Finally, we went through a series of vocal exercises designed to test range. "What part do you sing? Alto 1 or alto 2?" I hesitated. "Well, I've been singing alto 2, though that was partially because we didn't have enough of them." Then, he began putting me through my paces with an array of interval exercises. "Hmm, I want you to sing this with a warm tone. Now I want you to sing the same thing as dark as possible." Wait, what? I was at a total loss for what to do, and attempted the phrase with more forceful punch the second time around. Was that what he meant by dark?

"Ok, that's enough for now. I've been through hundreds of auditions, so I like to give feedback at all my auditions because oftentimes you don't get any. So let's go through your audition, section by section. The pronounciation was a bit rough, but you were able to pick up and repeat what I wanted you to say, so that's really what I'm looking for. Plus, your repertoire is fairly thin, so I'm not surprised you were thrown by the text. Your pitch accuracy is great; you're always in tune. The rhythms were also perfect. Now, after hearing your range, I really don't think you're an alto, and I have a hard time even imagining you as an alto 2. Altos do have more difficult harmonic parts, so maybe you were put there because you're good with pitches. However, your upper range is so much cleaner that it's a disservice to put you in the alto section. One problem though, is that from about A to E your voice is extremely bright and sticks out. Above and below that you're fine. Unfortunately, the bulk of soprano 2 notes are in this range. You seemed unfamiliar with the terms 'warm' and 'dark,' but this is what I meant, and it will help you blend with the group." He demonstrated how to round your lips for a darker sound. It was by far the most informative audition I've ever had.

In the end, it appears that my failings (primarily due to a lack of vocal experience) were overshadowed by solid musical fundamentals and my potential for improvement. If you are in Chicago, look forward to me haranguing you to come to one of my concerts in the future.

The Classy/Trashy Divide

Jen's 23rd birthday dinner was Friday night, and she opted to celebrate at Oceanique, a French-inspired seafood restaurant in Evanston. This was definitely the priciest dinner I've had in long time. In fact, I can't remember the last time I went to a place that meticulously followed service rules for serving women first, counterclockwise around the table. (Had I not been a hotelie for a year and worked Statler banquets, I probably wouldn't have even noticed any of this.) Our water glasses were never more than halfway empty, and the sommelier was able to recommend a great South African wine.

Now for the important part: the food. After perusing the menu online, I was more than a little irritated to see that the menu had changed, and further, that prices had been raised. I ended up ordering the 3-course prix fix, figuring that I could afford to splurge, and it was terrific. I started out with a grilled calamari and shrimp appetizer, served over daikon radish and avocado salad with taro chips. This was followed by intermezzo, a scoop of four-berry sorbet served in a tiny teacup. The entree was tender piece of Alaskan halibut, resting on bright green pesto mashed potatoes. Since it was Jen's birthday dinner, we even got an extra dessert, a chocolate mousse accompanied by fresh fig, mango and berries.

For the occasion, I broke out a dress that I'd picked up at Urban Outfitters on a whim for $96. I rarely buy nice clothing, so this isn't saying much, but this is probably the most expensive item in my closet right now. It's funny how clothing definitely affects your mood; my appearance screamed cute femininity, and I felt an overwhelming urge to bat my eyelashes or go get my nails done.

Then I changed back into jeans after dinner, preparing for a night on the town with the Fed kids. When I showed up in Lincoln Park at midnight:

-Jen T (who has a boyfriend), was getting hit on by some guy, who was plying her with lots of free drinks

-Britton was getting hit on by some married guy, who kept texting her all night.

-Ed almost got into a fight with the guy hitting on Jen. Ed's about the last person I'd expect to ever seen in a bar brawl.

-Finally, Erik just had a minor altercation with some girl who didn't believe the triangle inequality. I think he almost slapped her. (And rightly so, how dare she argue with the power of mathematics!)

Normally, I'm happy to watch the circus that is Lincoln Ave bars, but tonight I left with a feeling of disgust in the pit of my stomach. Perhaps it was the jarring turn of events from the earlier part of the evening. Or maybe I just wasn't in the mood to watch drunken hijinks. Either way, I couldn't get past how ersatz and devoid of meaning the scene was. At the same time though, I must admit that neither am I completely at home in fancy restaurants. Flipping through a wine list with 7 pages of $1000 pinot noirs? That's hardly my comfort zone. I could relate to David's apprehension when he asked what each fork was used for.

All of this means the succeeding night I decided to sit on my couch and watch episodes of the Office on Hulu. Here's to being a fish in water.

2008 DCI Championships

Last weekend marked a new high in pageantry, as thousands crowded into a stadium to be treated to a display of artistry and athleticism. No, I don't mean the opening ceremony for the Beijing Olympics (though that was certainly a sight to see), but rather, the Drum Corps International (DCI) World Finals. This is the pinnacle of achievement in marching music, and I was thrilled to witness a season's worth of hard work and talent on exhibition.

For those unfamiliar, drum corps are similar to marching bands, and consist of (bell-front) brass instruments, percussion and color guard. There are several dozen junior DCI corps, which operate as non-profit businesses and go on summer circuit tours to compete at shows. Each corps has up to 150 members, and auditions for these are highly competitive, often beginning in November for next year's marching season. Over the summer, members dedicate ~10 weeks to full-time rehearsal and competition, culminating with performances from the top 12 corps at DCI Finals. This year, the championships were being held at Indiana University in Bloomington, about 3 hours from Chicago. I had never been to a DCI show before, but I was armed with Matt, a veteran marcher from the '06 season and self-proclaimed DCI obsessionist. He was able to fill in various tidbits of trivia about the individual corps and provide historical references.

When I first mentioned that I had tickets to see an "extreme marching band competition," I was primarily greeted with looks of apprehension. Marching band is popularly viewed as the province of band dorks, and with a reputation for loud, uncontrolled playing, it is not accorded much respect from music aficionados either. Well, I am here to tell you that this is a different animal altogether. However badly your high school band played "Tequila" at football games, push those thoughts aside because DCI deserves to be treated with the legitimacy of a unique art form. In fact, it strips away any pretense of connections with football, save for the field on which you perform.

How do I begin to describe what a drum corps show is like? Most people have played an instrument at one point in their life. Many have danced on stage, and still others have performed in theater. Now combine elements of all these disciplines (an alternate "Triple Threat," if you will), and coordinate over 100 individuals into a single, cohesive unit. A drum corps show is a top-notch concert, with a narrative that resonates with audiences and color guard for enhanced visual appeal. If done seamlessly, this is musical theater on a grand scale. In fact, whether or not you've had marching experience, I am positive that the vast majority of people would enjoy watching a drum corps show. It is a spectacle on the order of the Beijing opening ceremony.

Going into the night, my favorite corps was Carolina Crown, whose show "Finis" featured the Candide overture, among other pieces. But I couldn't remain partisan for long. The Glassmen had a whimsical show titled "Karneval" that featured the release of balloons into the sky. Blue Stars had a show ("Le Tour") themed around bicycles, with guard members rolling bike wheels across the field to each other. How could you resist? The Bluecoats show ("The Knockout") told the tale of a boxing match, with music from On the Waterfront and Rocky. On the field, the horns formed two rings, complete with a boxer inside. The Cavaliers' show ("Samurai") featured the eerie sounds of Japanese warriors and some of the coolest drill of the night. The Blue Devils ("Constantly Risking Absurdity") created a stick figure on the field at one point. And let's not forget their amazing bass line spin.

Now for the Phantom Regiment show. This corps was seeded second at the start of the night, up from 3rd place the night before. Their show was titled "Spartacus," and as the drum major rolled dominantly onto the field atop a platform, you could feel the crowd lean forward in anticipation. Guard members dressed as slaves staggered to the ground, as horn players shoved and kicked them. The performance began, and I was enraptured by the battle unfolding before me: for love, for freedom from Roman slavers, for the hearts of the audience. By the end, the crowds in the stands were on their feet, roaring "I am Spartacus!"

When the scores were announced, Phantom Regiment had taken first place by 0.025 points, the slimmest of margins. I've never felt a stadium quake with so much energy.

Drum corps shows are designed to take place on football fields, and as such, I can't tell you how large the gap is between watching a live show and seeing a grainy clip on YouTube. No photo, no CD, no DVD can possibly capture what it feels like to be in the stands with a smorgasbord of action below you, in every direction you turn. Should you hone in on the guard member riding a bicycle across the field, or watch for the snare feature? Oh boy, the marimba players just popped balloons in sequence! I can't think of another art form for which the gulf between an in-person and on-the-screen experience is wider. If you are the least bit curious about DCI, check next summer for a tour stop near you.

Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me

Through my vast, mostly untapped connections, I managed to score a last-minute comp ticket to a taping of NPR's Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me. This is generally taped on Thursday nights in the basement of the Chase building in the loop, an odd location for a quirky show.

The show focuses on current events, and features several types of quizzes and contests between phone-in callers and guest panelists. This week, we were honored with the presence of Boston Globe writer Charlie Pierce, Washington Post columnist Roxanne Roberts, and comedian Paula Poundstone. Unfortunately, Carl Kasell was away on vacation, so Corey Flintoff graciously stepped in as our scorekeeper, announcing to us, "I want America to know, that I am, like, totally ready to lead."

That of course set the stage for this week's comedic fodder, featuring the infamous Paris Hilton presidential campaign ad, a spoof of McCain's spot comparing Obama to major celebrities.

The first thing I noticed was how much of the live show would be drastically edited and polished into a one-hour segment. The taping lasted about 2 hours, and only an hour of that would make the cut to air. This should reassure anyone who calls in on taped radio shows, because it means your awkward pauses and incorrect answers often get edited out of the show. In an effort to make everyone a winner, you are also supplied with ample hints to answers, and opportunities to guess again.

Awkward pauses aside, the redactions also mean that many of the less appropriate jokes are cut. Pierce's line about Bush making it to the locker room in time to see the wrestling team's clean & jerk will not make the air. Nor will Sagal's comments about breaking up with himself via Slydial, because "it's not me, it's me," "I just don't have any chemistry with myself," and "a man's got needs." I'm willing to bet that a lot of the political banter that was overtly anti-Bush and anti-McCain will also get cut. (NPR lives up to its reputation as a liberal bastion!)

It also appears that sitting in front of a computer all day at work is doing wonders for my knowledge of current events. I recognized a broad variety of stories in the quizzes, from the guy who called 911 after a Subway worker didn't make his sandwich properly, to the $79B surplus in the Iraqi government's budget, to the impending foreclosure of the Shire, a fantastic neighborhood in Oregon inspired by Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. Particularly now that I know how difficult it is to sound stupid on air, I am tempted to submit my name as a live caller. Good thing this isn't common knowledge, otherwise we'd have a serious moral hazard problem on our hands.

After the show, a few minutes was spent re-recording selected lines from the script, bits that weren't clearly spoken the first time around. You could hear the producers through the headsets, giving Sagal directions and page numbers of sections to redo. The audience tried to laugh politely at the jokes for the second time around.

The show will air on Saturday morning (check your local station listings for times). If you listen carefully, you might hear my notoriously distinctive laugh.

Eyebrow Threading

In the latest installment of "Crystal can pretend to be a girl," I impulsively got my eyebrows threaded yesterday. Katherine stumbled across a salon in Chinatown which offered it, and we had some time to kill, so for a belated birthday present, she provided me with excruciating pain.

Just kidding! To clarify, threading is an Asian hair removal method (apparently it's big in India), where you take a piece of thread, loop and twist it, and then somehow pluck out hairs as you twist the thread. It's fast, compared to tweezers, and relatively painless, compared to waxing. I was a bit apprehensive after watching Katherine tear up while getting her brows done, but the procedure really wasn't that bad, simply some uncomfortable pinches. After about 5 minutes, it was over, and I had drastically different eyebrows, with a more defined arch and neater presentation. All this without the mess and irritation of wax.

Of course, this didn't come without the obligatory chastisement that comes with these sorts of salons. As I sat down, I mumbled something about "never doing this before," as the stylist took a look at my face and shrieked, "Oh my god, so hairy! You have to come back next time, you'll see that this will keep things much cleaner, and it feels better too." Again, in my defense, I'd like to say I was simply born with really thick eyebrows. "It's ok," said Katherine, "Last time the woman looked at me and asked if I wanted to work on my mustache! I said no, and she clucked at me and pursed her lips." Oh, the guilt trips.

Here's the before and after:

Lao Beijing 老北京

Perhaps it stems from being in the Midwest, but Chicago is perpetually fighting the perception that it is less sophisticated than its coastal counterparts, namely New York and San Fran/LA. Heck, one of the city's prominent nicknames is even "The Second City," with the implication that we are always struggling to reach the top. This aura certainly extends to Chicago's Asian offerings, as the city's Chinatowns are nowhere near the size and development of NY or SF. However, despite the lack of large, concentrated ethnic enclaves, Chicago does have a number of high notes in cuisine, if you choose with discrimination.

One foodie favorite in particular is Tony Hu's triumvirate of Lao restaurants, each with a focus on a particular Chinese province. I dined at Lao Sze Chuan 老四川, his flagship restaurant, a couple months ago with Jen, and it was quite good, though we had to share a table with another party, college dining-hall style. Just this past March, Hu opened up sister restaurants Lao Shanghai and Lao Beijing, in the same shopping plaza as the original. The initial reviews were mediocre, which is often the case for new restaurants, but since then, things seem to be running smoother. So, last night, I dropped in on Lao Beijing with Katherine to scope it out. We were greeted by an thick imposing door with a metal ring knocker, something out of an imperial castle. Interesting choice, so far.

There are two problems that perenially plague Chinese restaurants. The first is poor service. A harried waitstaff coupled with mediocre English skills often mean that meals feel like an imposition on the kitchen. As I said before, we ended up splitting a table on a previous visit to Lao Sze Chuan, which lead to some confusion over who had ordered what dishes. I was also nervous because Katherine has a nut allergy, and it can be difficult to explain this to servers if they have poor English. Much to my relief, our server had almost unaccented English, and readily assured us that there would be no traces of nuts in our food. The rest of the evening passed unintrusive (or somewhat lax) service, though we were able to flag down help as needed. So, no complaints here.

The second problem you often face is a menu the length of Ulysses. Lao Beijing was no exception, with line after line of densely packed entree items. This serves mostly to overwhelm diners, and for me, it makes the food all start to sound homogenous. Furthermore, it's damn near impossible to execute hundreds of menu items well with consistency. I will continue praying for the day that Chinese restaurants pare down their offerings and give us more choice by providing fewer choices.

At first glance, the menu looked fairly familiar, and in fact, listed most of the items on the Lao Sze Chuan menu. There was an additional section of Beijing specialties though, and after not too much thought, we opted for the infamous Peking duck, a 3-course meal for $30 between the two of us. This was the first time I'd ordered this dish (though I've tried less-authentic versions elsewhere), and I wasn't disappointed. A holistic approach is taken to the preparation of the meal as every part of the duck is used. We began with a simple soup of napa, shiitake mushroom and tofu made with duck broth, which was rich in duck flavor and had small bits of floating duck as a teaser for more to come. The next course was a stir-fry of duck with scallions, carrot and bean sprouts over rice. At this point, I was nearing a full stomach, but then the final course arrived, the classic Peking duck presentation with duck slivers, vegetable garnishes, thin Chinese crepes and a hoisin-based sauce. There was even a tomato sliced into the shape of a bird on the side. Cute!


As I was valiantly chewing, I thought about how funny it was that we were basically eating tacos, albeit with radically different ingredients than those found in Mexican food. And for that matter, even an authentic carne asada taco is a different species than one picked up from Taco Bell. The same goes with many other cross-cultural foods (tamale vs zongzi, ravioli vs pierogi vs dumpling). I wonder, is it possible for me to go to grad school for a degree in food etymology?

Anyway, there were oodles of leftovers, which I will be savoring for the next week. Lao Beijing's Peking Duck: a five-star experience.

The 3rd Annual 21st Birthday Party

Chris has been making not-so-subtle noises all week about wanting me to come hang out, so on Friday I gave in and invited myself over. At 7 pm, when we were still at work, I was a mite irritated that he was still "finishing things up," but didn't think it was particularly out of the ordinary. Eventually, we got to his place around 7:45, and I thought it was a bit odd the way he was offering to take my bag for me...until we stepped into the kitchen and a dozen people jumped out and yelled, "SURPRISE! Happy Birthday!!" That's right, my surprise birthday party was that much more shocking, given that it was 10 days late. And here I was wondering why the Fed Crew hadn't planned anything fun for the weekend.

I was floored, particularly since I'd no idea that it was coming. Granted, we all know that I tend to be really unobservant. At one point last week, I glanced at Chris' monitor, which had an email with the subject line "Surprise party for 'stal" in the inbox, whereupon I commented, "Man, you have a lot of unopened NY Times emails!" and turned away. Also, Alex apparently stored the cake (an apple tart) in the Fed kitchen frig, and I didn't notice a thing, despite storing my lunch there every day.

Adhering to Nate's "Thou shalt not bring meat into the house of a vegetarian" rule, the gang had thrown together a potluck dinner with butternut squash soup, couscous, pasta salad, brie & baguette, and caprese kebabs in the shape of a bouquet of flowers. Just as we were settling in with full stomachs, there was a knock, and the door was thrown open to reveal...Rich and Sumit! Yes indeed, the economists had arrived, and Sumit was even toting a handle of vodka for additional libations. Can we discuss how the finance team has the best economists EVER?

The past week marked my 1-year anniversary of moving to Chicago and starting work at the Fed. Who would've known that a year later I'd be partying with a fabulous Chicago posse and my boss? What a surreal, magical ride. :)