force field

Get Involved: 9/11 & Memory, a Collaborative Effort

2011-07-20T21:08:00.006-06:00

As we approach the 10-year marker of September 11, 2001, I've been thinking a lot about that day.
And what I remember.
And what other people I've encountered remember.
And everything that's happened since then.
Ten years later, I still haven't fully comprehended or come to terms with it all.

I am interested in what YOU remember.
Where were you that morning? How did you hear the news? What was your reaction?
Consider these questions a prompt and answer them in a tangible manifestation.

Some Suggestions:
Write down what you remember (a word, a phrase, a detailed account of the day...)
Have someone interview you on camera
Interview someone else
Make a collage
Design a postcard
Write a poem
Photocopy a journal entry from that day

When you've completed your piece of the project, please mail it to me.
(E-mail me for my address: alyse.liebovich@gmail.com)
And, as an incentive, I will send a 5x7 photo, taken by yours truly, to everyone who participates.

Please feel free, in fact I encourage you, to pass this project prompt along to anyone you think might be interested. Re-post this post, forward my e-mail, Tweet about it, etc.

At this point I'm unsure of the final product, however I'd definitely be interested in finding a physical space to share the project and further the collaboration and dialogue.
For now, though, it'll be a collection of memories.
To prevent forgetting.

New Orleans, Five Years Post-Katrina

2010-08-28T23:17:00.010-06:00

I moved to New York City two weeks before 9/11. I moved to Madrid two months before 3/11. I did not experience Hurricane Katrina first-hand, however I had been in New Orleans for the first time mere days before the city drowned, and had planned on moving down there two weeks after my visit, having no idea the destruction that was brewing in the Gulf. It was August, 2005 and I had just returned from a three-week cross-country roadtrip with my best friend, Shawna, after graduating from college in May. My dad offered to take me with him to New Orleans, since I still didn't have a job lined up and I jumped at the chance.
While my dad spent four days holed up in an air-conditioned basement of our hotel for work-related conferences, I spent my time getting acquainted with my surroundings, enjoying my solo exploration of a city I fell in love with instantly. A few activities involved hanging out with strangers. I went on a plantation tour and a swamp tour. The rest of the time I did a lot of wandering, listening and reflecting. I even found a photo studio that had a "Help Wanted" sign in the window. I took one of their business cards and silently vowed to myself that if I did not find a job within two weeks of returning to Chicago, I was going to pack my belongings and move down to N.O.L.A. to start a new life. Instead, I spent the next two weeks horrified by the media coverage of that same city drowning, my heart breaking once again for everyone in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Here are bullet notes, thoughts and even a few poems from the little blue notebook I carried with me everywhere I went for four years, as well as a handful of photos I took (although most of them are somewhere at my parents' house).

New Orleans
8.21.05

-lady @ shuttle desk said "You're such a pretty young lady."
Dad said, "She's my wife."
"Well she's still a pretty young lady."
"I'm his daughter," I said, more annoyed than I should have been.

-met Dad's work friends, Gary & Ernie

-Redfish for late dinner, local beer: Albita Red

-walked down Bourbon Street
--crazy even on a Sunday night
--"Huge Ass Beers To Go" sign
--old man stumbled over, said he was "alone too" & offered to buy me a HURRICANE

8.22.05

Right now I am sitting on the Canal Street ferry which goes from mainland New Orleans to Algiers, across the Mississippi River. It is only noon, which means I’ve only been walking around for two hours. But I am worn out. My mom wasn’t kidding when she said it was a “great city but too hot.” I’m glad I didn’t bother taking a shower this morning. This air-conditioned deck is a relief although I have yet to find any water. I walked down Bourbon Street—what a difference from last night—till I found St. Ann Street, which I then continued on to find the visitor’s center. I then sat in the park with a statue of Andrew Jackson on a horse, faced the cathedral and looked through all the maps and guides. The signs look like those on Spanish streets. I saw the famous Café Dumond across the street and walked through their outdoor seating area. Although the café au lait sounded really good, I knew it would just make me more dehydrated. And the donut things only came in threes. Instead, I strolled along the lazy Mississippi. A man, who appeared to have eyes in the back of his head pressed play on a tape player and slowly turned towards me and began playing along with his saxophone. Further along a man sat playing “Amazing Grace” on his harmonica. Watched a steamboat take off. Walked past the aquarium entrance. Eventually happened upon the ferry... Algiers was pretty empty. I really liked the neighborhood. A few seemingly abandoned houses I almost trespassed into. Maybe if my sister was here... Dad called while I was boarding the ferry to go back to the mainland. He made reservations for me to go on a 9-hour tour tomorrow of two plantations and the swamp. On the ferry a kid about ten years old was asking me about my camera. I called Abbi—she had just picked up her wedding dress. I desperately needed water. Instead, I got a 32 oz. lemon shake-up from a street cart. It was supposed to be $4. I paid with a 5 intending on leaving the extra dollar as a tip, but he never gave me change, so I just left. Finished it in less than two minutes. Stopped to see the fountain of Plaza España (also on the riverwalk I found a Holocaust memorial). It had plaques surrounding it with the names of all the Spanish cites. A bunch of funny southern ladies asked me to take their picture so I had them take one of me too. They were joking about posing with me since I was alone. I planned to take the streetcar uptown to the Garden District, but it turned out the stop was on St. Charles, right by the hotel (Intercontinental). So I took a break and had a po’ booy with 3 cheeses at the place right across the street—Serio’s. There, I met “Justcallme Skillet,” who has never traveled further than Pensacola, which he attributed to having 11 sisters and 3 brothers. I sprinkled hot sauce on the po’ boy, which was very tasty. Then I decided to stop back at our room to use the bathroom. Clearly my dad had been back because there was a lined up pile of papers on the edge of the bed—papers I had left in a disorganized pile in the middle of the bed that morning. I took about a 20 min. break in the quiet and cool of the room, laid on the bed reading about the different historic buildings in the Garden District. I had to motivate myself to continue my explorations because I felt so comfortable lying there. But I got up and went back into the sauna. There was a street car stop right across the street on the corner. $1.25 one way. I don’t think I’d ever been on one of those before. I liked it cause the windows were open and really, in the shade with the breeze, the temperature wasn’t bad. Plus, there was hardly anyone on it. It was nice to sit down. I accidentally got off a few stops past my intention, so I walked down to Washington Street, where I turned and walked a block to Cemetery 1. At first I dead-ended at a brick wall with a sign that said the cemetery closed at 2:30 p.m. daily. I immediately got really mad at myself, noting that had I not taken the break in the hotel room, I would have made it there in time to at least sneak in. It was just about 3. But I followed the wall around the corner and found the main entrance, which to my pleasant surprise was still open. There was a couple on their way out. Other than that I appeared to be the only one disobeying the posted times. I slowly maneuvered my way through the tombs, some times tripping over sticks, other times jumping at the slightest sound of rustling leaves. I read a few of the engravings as I passed, marveling at their antiquity, admiring the old-fashioned names. There was one tomb missing a door with a platform inside dividing the space in half horizontally as though someone had robbed two bodies from the same tomb.

(extra bullet note: intergraph happy hour, looking for typical Cajun fare, sales guy from dad’s Intergraph days took us out, sat at two tables, talked about his love of airplanes and how he grew up in a log cabin...)

[a self-portrait I took while waiting for my dad to go to dinner. later that night we went to a hookah bar to hear a Nina Simona tribute I had read about in the local news.]

Hookah Haiku
8.23.05

The fishtank's glowing
I wish I could swim like that
Drum beats the water

I want to smoke hoo-
kah with my dad but I think
He might be sleeping

8.24.05

This is the last picture I took. I was in the hotel lobby waiting to head to the airport and couldn't resist documenting this man having a staring contest with a larger-than-life fish.

Tuesday, September 6, 2005

I am watching a rerun of this morning’s Oprah episode. She broadcast live from the Houston Astrodome, where there are thousands of gulf coast evacuees from Hurricane Katrina. It’s taken me over a week to write about this national catastrophe. I am still in shock. I returned from New Orleans on August 24. Four days later the hurricane slammed into the gulf coast—worst hit: Biloxi, Mississippi and New Orleans, Louisiana. When I asked my dad if I could tag along on his business trip to New Orleans, it was sort of last minute and I just had always wanted to explore that city…for the history, for the music, for the environment…and I got to do just that. I took a self-guided walking tour of the historic French Quarter, I took a bus tour outside the city to see the Oak Alley and Evergreen plantations and then went on a swamp tour to see alligators, and even saw a Nina Simone tribute at a hookah bar. All of that is underwater now. Who knows what came of those people. What about Skillet, the charismatic man I met while having lunch at Serio’s across from the hotel? What about his 14 siblings? He said he had never been further than Pensacola. And what about the cat I came across in the cemetery? The only other living thing besides myself. And I can’t remember its name, only that it was female and started with an “M” and it matched the overall gray-ness of the tombs. For some reason this detail is bothering me.
One of Oprah’s correspondents was a surgeon and the footage he showed was so disturbing, I don’t know how anyone could watch that and not be upset. Not only upset, but embarrassed. How can our country have the audacity to continue sending our entire military overseas to fight in an unnecessary war when the worst disaster ever has hit our own land? The surgeon covered dead bodies—the first of a man who had been shot and left in the middle of the street, which he then surrounded by foldable chairs so that his body wouldn’t be run over. And the second of a woman who had died on the side of the interstate, using some white cloth.
Then there is the Louis Armstrong International Airport, that which I was just in mere days before this all happened. It’s morphed into an impromptu hospital, complete with tents and cots and even a morgue. Those who can’t be saved are put in the morgue so they can “die peacefully.”
And what about the animals? They showed people who had saved their pets on rescue boats but those same people weren’t allowed to bring those beloved animals on the buses. So they showed a bunch of abandoned dogs, then this man who claimed he was saved by the 24-year-old boy sitting next to him and his dog, which he’s had for 14 years, and the boy’s sitting there hysterical because he can’t take the dog with him. Nate, another one of Oprah’s correspondents (who survived the tsunami last year), embraced the boy and told him he was taking Rafiki (the dog) and two other dogs he’d met with him back to a private residence in Baton Rouge, and they would be reunited the following day.
The city is starting to drain, but the country holds its breath as the death toll is buried beneath the toxic remains. Many fear it will be in the 10,000 range. Unbelievable.
I can’t just sit here and watch this. All I want to do is go help people. I don’t know how to get down there, but I heard on the news tonight that Chicago has welcomed some people into our city from the south…I need to figure out where I can help around here before I am overcome with tears and guilt.

8.29.10, 5 years later

Last night I sat staring at Brian Williams on the T.V. He was recalling his experience covering the wreckage in New Orleans five years ago. I cried through the entire broadcast. I cried remembering how all I did was cry every time I turned on the T.V. five years ago. I cried at the images: both heroic and despicable. I cried for all the homeless dogs they showed paddling around in the flood waters looking for their owners. I cried for our ex-President's lack of help. "I was listening to the local radio in New Orleans. The president of the United States was visiting and he was on the ground and holding a press availability. And I remember the local radio anchor saying, 'We're not going to carry it because there is nothing he has to say that will help us,'" Williams recalled. I cried because our country has now spent TRILLIONS of dollars on a war overseas where people on all sides are being killed left and right, and here, in our own country, we couldn't put that money and relentless "effort" towards people in need. It's appallingly sad.

Renegade Craft Fair!

2009-09-13T16:14:00.025-06:00

Those who know me know I've always strived to wear unique apparel. It's not that I necessarily want to stand out, it's more that I feel pride in saying, "Oh it belonged to my grandma/dad" or "I found it at a rummage sale" when asked where I got something I'm wearing. My mother, who is a big fan of department stores and has a license plate holder that says, "This car stops at Nordstroms," still does not understand this and scoffs in disgust whenever she sees the contents of my closet.

I just love all things old, used, with a story. Whether it's my dad's t-shirt from 1975, my Bubby's sunglasses or reviving the art of letter-writing, I'm all for it. Same goes for decorating my living space. I don't feel comfortable when rooms mirror catalogs. I want rooms to have character and look "lived in." So when I heard about the Renegade Craft Fair (coincidentally *right* where Lindsay and I just moved out of our good ol' apt. on Winchester & Division), I couldn't wait to explore all the handmade oddities.
Since last Wednesday night I've been totally out of commission, sicker than maybe I've ever been, possibly with the infamous H1N1 Virus (a.k.a. Swine Flu). Today is the first day I've woken up since first experiencing the symptoms that I felt like myself. I still have a bad cough and I was crazy dizzy from putting in my contacts (instead of wearing my glasses) for the first time in a week, but mentally, I was finally ready to brave the world again. Alongside my eye wear, I traded in the nightgown I've lived in for a sundress, showered, shaved my legs, and happily (& dizzily) stumbled out into this sunny September Sunday afternoon.
I met up with Shawna and we took advantage of the free photo booth, complete with fake mustaches.

I ended up participating in some major retail therapy...possibly as a remedy to selling my Regina Spektor ticket last night due to my sickness. The following is a visual documentation of my purchases.
A postcard I bought that I tend on mailing someone someday...when I grow a pair.
A postcard I bought for my friend Abbi. On the back I wrote: "In honor of all the people you've called a 'B'."
I actually did not buy this screenprint from Novem Studios (although I'm still considering it), but it's too awesome not to share. It immediately reminded me of my recent visit to NYC, where I stayed with my friend Zach and his 3 awesome roommates, one of which has a life-size plasticine zebra in the living room (which I rode during their housewarming party). Another thing I wish I bought, which is not featured on Owly Shadow Puppets Etsy site is a laser-cut heart-shaped valentine that said, "You had me at health insurance."
This is now hanging on my bedroom door. Two of my favorite people on one postcard: Obama&Dylan
I bought this really soft t-shirt from Megan Lee Designs with a nifty map sketch of the six-corner intersection that makes up the heart of Wicker Park, the neighborhood I've lived in for over three years.
I am a sucker for all things paper (if you haven't figured that out already)! Especially in the form of journals. So when I found old books turned into journals by a company called Overdue Industries, I fell in love. It was hard to pick which one I wanted, but I finally settled on "Tuning Up: The World Of Music" (first picture above) because I liked the cover design (imagine that: a library science student judging a book by its cover!) and the fact that some of the pages have evoke happy childhood memories with pages songs such as, "Yankee Doodle" amongst the blank journal pages. And, I loved their attention to detail and their mission to keep the old ways of the library, as in they have the outdated check-out card in the front of each journal, where each is stamped with the date of its creation and then again with the date of purchase (second picture above). Now I just need to start keeping a journal again instead of writing everything on one online venue or another...
Pictured above is an array of smaller artifacts obtained (for free) from various booths at the fair. Clockwise: Overdue Industries' business card, the paper bag my two yellow postcards came in, a pencil from 16Sparrows that says "Sarcasm Folded In Half," sunglasses from the Chicago Public Library, a ticket to enter the $100 Etsy raffle (I didn't know it had to be turned in by 4, and I missed by two minutes), a Letter Writers Alliance button from 16Sparrows, and a CPL button.

My most favorite discovery of the entire festival, though, had to be 16 Sparrows. As I've mentioned, I recently began my MLS degree through U of I's LEEP (online) program. A girl named Isabel, who I met at Boot Camp this summer (a 10-day on-campus session that kicked my ass), told me that if I went to the Renegade Fair I had to stop by 16 Sparrows' tent because it's co-run by another girl, Kathy, from our cohort. I poured over their website (the other half of brilliance is a girl named Donovan) before going and was immediately ob-sessed. First of all, their greeting cards are hilarious. What I found next blew.my.mind. A LETTER WRITERS ALLIANCE!!!! I couldn't believe it. And I couldn't get to the festival fast enough to search out their tent. Once I found it, I proceeded to screech about my love of letters and mailboxes and the post office and how I can't believe this existed and I didn't even know about it. I told them about the Letter Project I devised in college and they told me I should write about it on their blog, which is awesome and I plan on doing...and possibly reviving the project and doing a second round. I ended up joining the alliance (surprise) as member #601 and bought the LWA Gift Bag Tote Bag. And I'm all signed up to exchange addresses with pen pal strangers. How cool is that?!
Here's the stuff included in the gift bag, in addition to the actual bag:
I leave you (and the festival) with a picture of my dear friend Shawna (who lent me $20 when I found out the 16 Sparrows tent was cash-only), who has now adopted the nickname, Shawnimal:

in memory of the king of pop

2009-06-28T01:56:00.035-06:00

Since I was about 12, I've been stopped on the street/been told by waitresses that I look like a variety of curly-haired celebrities. Most of this nonsense occurred during the Clinton era, when more people than I can recount, asked me if I was Chelsea Clinton. Then there was Darlene from "Roseanne," Carole King on the cover of the "Tapestry" album (which I also don't agree with but wish was true because I love that album), and the girl from "My Girl"(not even close).
But the most hilarious, most ridiculous comparison I ever heard was from my own Bubby, may she rest in peace. I walked home from a sleepover at my friend, Amanda's, house some morning during the summer of 1993. We probably stayed up late, we probably took personality quizzes in "Seventeen" Magazines, we probably sang along to Sheryl Crow's hit, "All I Wanna Do." We definitely practiced using a curling iron. I don't remember who curled the long piece of hair that hung in front of my face, myself or Amanda. But I will never forget my Bubby's, who was living with us at the time, response when she opened the front door after I rang the doorbell. Her cigarette-induced, distinctive voice traveled through the screen door.

"You look like Michael Jackson."

I couldn't find a picture from that age to illustrate this, but here is a picture from prom ('01), so you get the idea, more or less. That was not the first time the King of Pop made an impact on my life. When I was almost six, my parents took me and my three-year-old sister to Disney World in Orlando. Epcot Center blew my mind. Aside from the Norway ride, which I made my mom go on with me about twelve times in a row, "Captain EO," a sci-fi film starring Michael Jackson as the captain, enchanted me. The show was not only my first experience seeing MJ's dance moves but also my first experience with a 3D movie. All I remember is practically jumping out of my seat to try and catch the winged creature that I sincerely believed had flown off the screen right at me. Here's a picture of my sister in her Daisy Duck hat smiling beneath the 80s-rific movie poster. In, I want to say, third grade, around when "Heal the World" was released, our music teacher had us learn all the lyrics and we performed the song in an assembly for our parents while holding hands with other kids. I remember, even at that young an age, thinking, these are really important words we're singing. "Heal the world/make it a better place/for you and for me/and the entire human race..." Maybe it's what inspired me to volunteer my recess time to pick up trash in the field. Yeah, I was that girl.

In junior high, the movie "Now and Then" came out and my friends and I listened to the soundtrack on repeat. The Jackson 5 have two songs on there: "I'll Be There" and "I Want You Back." Abbi, Stephanie and I made up an interpretative dance to the latter in Stephanie's basement, taking turns being Michael. (This song makes a comeback during my the college years. Stay tuned.)
Whenever I hear the intro to "Black & White" I laugh because I picture myself in all my pre-teenaged-angsty glory...yelling at my parents about turning down my music..."No! No! It's the best part!"..."Too Late? Sure...Eat.This."

Around this same time, my sister and a group of her friends performed a dance to "Remember The Time" in the TJ Talent Show. They diligently practiced on our front lawn, despite the fact that the routine pretty much only consisted of them doing the running man over and over and over.

A month after I graduated high school, I performed in my last dance recitals, something I had been doing annually since I was three years old. My dance studio had themes attached to different sections of the show, one of them usually revolving around the latest Disney film. The older dancers got to wear the "big costumes" and dress up as the characters. I don't remember if the theme was "Wizard of Oz," but one of the songs in that recital was "Ease On Down The Road" from "The Wiz." I thought, okay, maybe I'll get to be Dorothy. I pulled it off rather wonderfully when I dressed as her for Halloween...in '86. But, no. As was proven many a times, I was not cut out to dance the part of the pretty princess. Instead, I was assigned the Scarecrow. While the little kids backstage fawned over Dorothy, I scared the crap out of them as soon as they took one look at my freakish mask and baggy clothes. But I danced my heart out because I loved the stage and I loved that no one knew it was me under the mask. I've never actually seen "The Wiz," but I am happy knowing that I shared that part with the one and only Michael Jackson.
Check out our comparison:

The finale to this same and final recital was to "Shake Your Body Down," a hit by The Jacksons, who had dropped the "5." It was one of the only dances I ever got to be in the front row and, lucky for me, there was a high kick involved (something not everyone could do). My buddy, Michael Novak (who has gone on to become an amazing professional dancer in NYC), and I would dance around to the song just past the wings on stage left in between our actual stage time. My mom has video footage of this, but because it's on an 8mm tape, I unfortunately can't share the love. Also included in the footage is that I am happy and bouncy, until I take one step past the curtain onto the stage, and totally lose all emotional control. I didn't know I cared that much that it was my last dance recital, until I came out to do the last performance of that dance and I was so overcome with sadness that I literally just stood there and cried and pretty much didn't do the dance.
Here is a picture of me and Ashley in the costume.
Onto the college years...
When I got home from work on Tuesday (7/7), I had a gchat message waiting for me, in response to a message I'd posted about a Michael Jackson tribute party that night, from my freshman year roommate, Brianna.

Brianna: will you be in your underwear? cause that's the only way i'd consider going

Seems I had conveniently forgotten about that day. That day that Brianna came home from class and found me dancing, donning only my bra and underwear, around our tiny room to the Jackson 5. I must have had my boombox turned up and didn't hear her come in. She just stood there, laughing, while I continued to shake my body down to the ground and pretend like I could hit MJ's high notes. That was 8 years ago. Clearly I made quite an impression on her.
Second semester of my junior year I studied abroad in Madrid. I barely ever went out with people in my program, for various reasons, but mostly because I wanted to use my money to travel around Europe, not drink and snort my time away in overpriced Spanish bars. One of the last nights living there, though, I did go out. I had finally started to warm up to a small group of friends and they convinced me to suck it up and head to an Irish (a.k.a. Engish-speaking, a.k.a. full of dumb Americans) pub. Almost our entire program ended up being there. For most people, "I was so drunk, I..." stories abound. For me, I only have about 3 or 4 notable ones. Two of them involve Long Island iced teas. One of them involve the aforementioned evening. I had never had an L.I. and my friend, Kristal, said I had to try it. "You can't even taste the alcohol," she persuaded, and conveniently failed to mention, "...even though it's 4+ different liquors mixed." I sucked three down in an alarmingly short amount of time and to Kristal's astonishment, said, "I don't even feel it." A short while later, about a quarter way through my fourth, I suddenly felt like someone had spun me around a hundred times and thought it was absolutely necessary to grab the mic as soon as the band playing took a break, and sing along to "Mr. Jones" at the top of my lungs. Immediately following, "I Want You Back" came on and I overly-excitedly called everyone over to form a circle around me, wherein I performed the entire interpretative routine from almost a decade prior. The next morning, I felt like I was in a movie when I walked into the computer lab and wanted to crawl under a table when almost every person pointed and laughed and had something oh-so-witty to say about "You last night."

My senior year at NYU I interned at Saturday Night Live in their photo department. Part of my job entailed being a celebrity stand-in for lighting purposes. I made it my mission that by the end of my time there, I would learn how to moonwalk in between shots. I'm still not sure I can do it, but I'd still love to perfect the move some day.

Also senior year, I was walking in the village one day, and although it was slightly sunny, it was snowing. I was listening to my fourth-generation ipod, which only had a few songs on it because my computer was a piece of crap by the end of college and didn't support itunes. "Will You Be There?" by Mr. Jackson came on and I literally started skipping and twirling down the street. And yes, I was by myself. I don't know if I love that song because it was in a crucial part of "Free Willy" or what, but I was all smiles in my private unburstable snow bubble. I ended up running into my roommate, who said she had seen me skipping. Awesome.

This brings us to just over four years later, July 7, 2009. At Michael Jackson's memorial show, Jennifer Hudson took the stage and belted that song. When I realized the people behind her were not dancing, but signing, I lost it. That song, her voice, MJ's death, and my love of ASL was too much to control the tears. Instead of all smiles, I was a blubbering mess.
She was then followed by Reverend Al Sharpton, who blew me away with his words and his poignant delivery. Especially when he looked at Michael's three kids and said, "Was nothin' strange about your daddy. It was strange what your daddy had to deal with." And little Paris stood and clapped in gratitude. In an interview, Sharpton said, "No controversy will erase the historic impact. He learned how to create even beyond his own shortcomings. Michael Jackson made culture accept a person of color way before Tiger Woods, way before Oprah Winfrey, way before Barack Obama." Here is the video of his speech in its entirety.

The day after Michael died, everyone on the road seemed to be blasting some pop homage to him out their rolled down car windows. It was like a Chicago-wide Jackson musical! And the day after that I went to a sleazy Vanilla Ice concert in a Wicker Park alley as part of a bachelorette party. As we waited for V.Ice to take the stage, the speakers blasted MJ's greatest hits. I love dancing. This is widespread knowledge that grew in numbers when I started dancing to "Billy Jean" amidst a crowd in the rain. I did a turn around myself and some sort of leg swivel, which prompted a man to say, "You did it!"
I don't even know what I did, but I felt proud and like I understood what Michael meant when he said, "Dancing is about interpretation." Sometimes I feel like I should claim music as my religion. I feel about music how some people feel about a god. Think about how much debate there is surrounding actual religions, then look and see how many people around the world joined hands, flicked on lighters and came together as one to honor the Kind of Pop.
Music makes me feel complete. An extension of this is through dance as an expressive means. I grew up as a pretty shy person, but throw on some music and strap on some dancing shoes, and I've always become a whole new person. In these moments, I sincerely couldn't care less what anyone around me thinks. I feel the music and I want each beat to be recognized. I don't think, I just do.
[Maggie snapped a photo at the V.Ice dance party]

Michael, I look forward to continuing blasting your tunes whenever possible, and I hope now you are at rest and at peace, where people can bother you no more. And, if there is a heaven, I hope you're teaching my grandparents how to moonwalk. Love, a fan (one of your millions)

memorial day

2009-05-25T19:35:00.004-06:00

The Modern Wing

I.

The new Modern Wing opened at the museum
and on the last day of celebratory free admission
and the start of Memorial Day weekend
I walk through the slender glass doors.

The first piece of art I come across is
a picture hanging on the wall outside the photography wing.

It's a rooftop view of the lower Manhattan skyline.
I watch two girls point at it, share some thoughts
and walk away.

The thing is, before that day,
there wouldn't really be a reason
to take a second glance at this photo

But as the two girls walk away,
I step forward, close enough that I forget
I'm in a museum

And I remember what those towers looked like.

And I remember that plane, its wings outstretched.

And I remember the smell of cremation.

And I remember being 18.

As my chest tightens and I will myself to the present,
I notice there are two topless girls
smiling at each other on an adjacent rooftop,
their arms outstretched towards the sky,
mimicking the structures towering behind them.

At the time, 1998, this was probably Epstein's
subject within the big picture.

II.

Upstairs there is an entire room decorated in
United States wallpaper and on each wall
there is a framed full-page spread of the New York Times
all from September 12.

The artist sketched bodies embracing atop the newsprint
and the black and white photographs of people running
and of people tumbling out of windows.

I stumble around this room in a daze.
The pastel states are scattered and separate on the walls.
I remember what we are memorializing.
I remember when this war started.
I remember the death count overseas.
I try remember why this war began in the first place.
The reason escapes me because there is no reason.

III.

I leave the museum and outside the Aon Building stands on its own
and looks eerily like one of the twins.
I remember when there was one left standing.
I remember when this was called the Standard Oil Building.
And I remember what it felt like to see zero.

lake lightning

2009-04-30T06:51:00.004-06:00

There was an incredible hour-long lightning storm over Lake Tanganyika last night. Despite my previous post warning of no more pictures before my return to the U.S., I couldn't resist posting this one. Enjoy.

(And for those who heard about the explosion in Dar es-Salaam, don't worry, I won't be back there until tomorrow...nevertheless, it's a bit disconcerting based on my track record.)

african blog hiatus

2009-04-21T05:42:00.005-06:00

To anyone I told to keep their eyes out on the blog for the month I'm away, I just wanted to warn you that I can no longer upload any more photos while I'm here.
We just found out last night that the place we're staying on Lake Tanganyika (Lake Shore Lodge) only has 1.5 gb of bandwith per month, which means we all need to halt the picture uploading in order to preserve our internet connection for the remainder of our time here.
I am having a wonderful time though. The Lake Shore Lodge is a sustainable organic farm in one of the most remote places in Africa, if not also the world. Chris and Louise, the owners, are two of the nicest, most accommodating people I've ever met. We are their first-ever guests and we're all more than impressed with everything and everyone here.
The stars here are like nothing I've ever seen. You can even see the milky way. And I learned that the Big Dipper is upside down here due to being in the Southern Hemisphere. Learn something new every day.
This past weekend I went on an overnight safari in Katavi National Park, since the mosquito nets STILL have not arrived for distribution. It was one of the best weekends of my entire life. To see those magnificent animals in their natural habitat, especially the giraffes, was a life dream of mine. Just magical.
At least half of the nets are supposed to FINALLY arrive today...keep your fingers crossed!

In case I don't get a chance to write again, I'll be sure to write in more detail upon my arrival back in the U.S. and of course post tons more pictures.
Thanks for sticking with me.
xoxo

lake tanganyika

2009-04-15T04:01:00.013-06:00

refueling in dodoma, on the way to kipili from dar es-salaam
smallest plane i've ever been in (taken by tiffany)
12,500 feet above
fisher stevens and i get our own "vegetarian menus" at every meal.
in search of a hippo...still haven't found one
the film crew interviewing chris and lou about the history of the lake
captain fisher (stevens)
kayaking with max (taken by tiffany)
wooden canoe
crazy bug comparison

dar es-salaam

2009-04-10T09:42:00.012-06:00

my british airways airplane tray
max in our kempinski hotel room in dar
max waiting for "meat on sticks"
"fun with sunscreen" max: "doesn't this look like arabic?"
greetings from one of those pools that looks like it's on the edge of a building...and overlooks the indian ocean
my first hint of wildlife!
shadow&reflection
journaling by the pool
we ate really good italian food (go figure) at the mediterraneo hotel on the indian ocean with a full moon illuminating the water
bora, muele, amy, max, alwyn

48 hours in London

2009-04-08T08:11:00.008-06:00

Max playing "WOW"
haha, no dog "fouling"--this is for my dog-walker friends/clients
the oh-so-appropriate blanket in felix's room, where i stayed
secret garden, behind the house we stayed in, where i wrote in my journal
where i slept, in felix's room
out felix's window

one week till africa

2009-03-30T17:16:00.003-06:00

That's right. One week from today I will be embarking on my dream trip to partake in my dream job. Ever since my friend, Okado, showed our third grade class a video of him playing soccer in Kenya with his cousins, I've dreamed of going to Africa. Yes, technically I've been to the continent before during my brief weekend in Tangiers, Morocco, but this is different.

At first I was admittedly a little nervous about picking up and leaving for a month. I've gotten too attached to my daily routine and too attached to the dogs I walk. But then I reminded myself, that that is exactly why people need to travel--to break out of their bubbles. And here's what really put me over the edge: I was listening to the radio early this morning while driving into the city from my parent's house. And the DJ asked listeners to call in with their opinions about whether there should be a salary cap on people, like athletes and actors and CEOs, who make over a million dollars a year.
"Joe from Oak Lawn" called in and said, "America is all about making money. That's why we're here!" And in that moment I realized why I need to get out of here. We may be the "richest nation in the world," which isn't even true, seeing as we're in debt to everyone and have a terrible economy, but I don't think that those are or should be the ideals of our country. I think that what is more important than making money is helping people who are less fortunate than ourselves. And it got me really excited to have the opportunity to join forces with surgeons and filmmakers and doctors to help fight against the Malaria epidemic in one of the most remote parts of Africa, along Lake Tanganyika. For more information, you can check out the Lake Tanganyika Floating Health Clinic website HERE and download the malaria net initiative proposal.

The past few weeks, as I walk my dogs, I keep noticing things that I don't usually notice because they're things I, and most people, take for granted...like electrical lines, the radio, my van. I keep noticing these things because I know they're things I'm not going to have for an entire month. And I'm excited about that. Makes life interesting.
I look forward to meeting the cast of The Lion King while there, but I (unfortunately) learned my lesson a few days ago, regarding wild animals. My hand got massively attacked, both gashed and bitten, by a house cat, completely unprovoked. After I got over cursing the cat and cleaning the blood off my throbbing hand, I decided to look at this as a good thing too have happened before I go into the land of wildcats. Knowing me, I probably would have attempted to hug a lion cub. Now that I've seen what a small house cat can do, I will be sure to stay a safe distance from all wild animals while I'm there.
Except giraffes.

Stay tuned...because I'm going to try and post a few times while there.
Until then...keep it real.

found!

2009-03-24T21:50:00.011-06:00

My freshman year of college my dad sent me an article he cut out of the Tribune about Found Magazine and attached a Post-It on which he wrote: "This sounds like your bedroom."
Turns out he was pretty accurate in that statement. While some may define treasure as diamonds and gold, I revel in marginalia and ephemera. I love finding notes people wrote, whether they lie hidden in the pages of a novel or on a found piece of paper crumpled on the street. I love imagining the person behind the handwriting, what they were thinking and marveling (and a lot of times laughing) at their choice of words.

Recently, while out dog-walking, I found two things worth sending in to "Found" if I ever get around to it.
The first is a note I found in a crate in an alley off of Crystal Street, just East of Damen. I blurred out the last name mentioned. [click the images to read]
The next treasure I found a few days ago lying, white side up, on a patch of grass on Maud. I thought it was funny enough to pick up and it turned out it got even funnier on the cardboard side. It was an art pad with no pages.
["Give Me My Money NOW" "You said that you was gonna give me money in the morning."] ["You are bad! You are sad.
Phillip Carter
When are you giveing me
my moeony big fat man
You get nothing
Yes I do Dont say that
--big Head
Phillip Jason Carter
You are A Faty"]

And just for kicks, I thought I'd finally scan a map--of our DRIVEWAY--my dad once left on our kitchen table for a neighbor who was house-sitting. Although it's technically not a "found object," it's one of my favorites, a prized possession if you will.

remembering 5 years ago

2009-03-10T23:07:00.008-06:00

Five years ago I was midway through my semester abroad in Madrid, when I woke up to hearing my Señora frantically talking to my roommate, Lisa, in her kitchen. All I could pick up on was the word "bombas." I figured I must have heard wrong, that surely I would have known if bombs had exploded. I figured wrong, I learned a few minutes later.

I just dug up my journal from that international time in life and below is what I wrote on that day. Although I sound disconnected from the events, the repercussions ended up being eerily similar to those of 9/11. I still seem to involuntarily shiver any time I enter a train or train station and my brain automatically assumes one or the other is going to explode. Comes with the territory, I suppose.

"March 11, 2004. Exactly 2.5 years, to the day, after experiencing the worst terrorist attack in the U.S., I just lived through the worst terrorist attack in Spain. It's remarkable how similar the two days started out...it was like de ja vu. Around 8 a.m. I woke up with a bad stomach ache and went to the bathroom. I was so mad that I was awake cause my alarm was set for 10, that when my Sñra knocked on my door soon after I reentered my room, I ignored her. Even when she frantically said, "Alyse?!" three times, I pretended to be asleep. At 10 my alarm rang and about 5 minutes later Lisa came home. I heard her talking to Sñra in the kitchen and then she came into our room.
"Bombs exploded in Atocha Station, most likely ETA terrorists."
I was going on day-5 of my constant headache and my stomach was still upset. I crumpled onto my bed, still holding the hot pink pills, and stared up at the ceiling.
"Why?" is all I could think of to say.
"Probably because elections are this week," Lisa said.

The flashbacks began. Brianna coming into our room freshman year--"A plane just crashed into the World Trade Center!" I decided to go to school despite the news, mostly because I needed a computer. Skipped my shower and breakfast, wore my glasses. When I went out to the bus stop, I took my phone out to text message Sheri since it was 3:30 a.m. back home. As I started my phone rang like I had a message. So I stopped typing and listened. My mom, as usual, woke up and read online about the bombs before I had a chance to call home. She was hysterical, telling me to call her asap even though it's the middle of night. So I called her back right away and she couldn't stop crying. I felt really bad.
When I got to school I sent out a mass e-mail letting people know I was okay, since most were still sleeping. Then, for part of Spanish class time, we had a "news briefing," but I don't remember most of what they said. Walking onto the patio I had lost my balance and scraped my elbow really hard against the rough wall. So that hurt and was bleeding and I was just in such a daze.
I felt bad for Raquel (Spanish teacher) because she said something like, "I don't even know if all my friends are alive. I don't want to teach grammar." So, for awhile, we talked and then, because NYU sucks and wouldn't let her end class, we learned the words for body parts...as grossly ironic as that is.

The rest of the day was very unlike 9/11. Yeah I saw some news coverage on TV, but it wasn't like NYC where I then ran to the window and watched it in person. And there was no suffocating smell. And the weirdest thing was the city seemed to function as normal.
On September 11, I walked down FIFTH AVENUE and nothing was going on. The whole day I had horrible flashbacks of 9/11 and selfishly that's what disturbed me most. I feel very detached from what happened here. I am just baffled that I've now lived through two terrorist attacks...unreal. When I got off the bus and walked to school, "Ooo child, things are gonna get easier..." came on my CD and I thought, I really don't think they are and was overwhelmed by survivor's guilt for the third time. I mean seriously, what is the point of life? Nothing makes sense. One could argue--love. But usually that's about as non-sensical as you can get and your lover just ends up dying too...

It's always been strange to think back at the things that happened the day or night before something like this happens. For instance, the night before in my cities class, my teacher passed around a special edition of "Time" magazine dedicated to why "SPAIN ROCKS," why it's become such an amazing and innovative country. Then, when I left, I was waiting at the bus stop and there was bad traffic because of the Real Madrid vs. Germany soccer game. There was a young girl watching two cars slowly roll by, decorated with politician faces and megaphones playing music and declaring the possible presidents' stances. And, I don't know why, but I thought--"If suddenly these cars were shot down, like JFK style, when I got around to finding words to describe what happened, I would write from that girl's perspective."
After dinner (on 3/10) I talked to both my mom and sister on the phone. My mom excitedly announced, "9 days!" and when I talked to Sheri I was like, "Are you so excited to come here?!" She was."

3/15/04
"...At dinner Maria told us the bombs were from Al Queda, not ETA. I almost threw up on the table...I wish I would have been here this weekend to join the protests [I was in Paris] and vigils and take pictures...yesterday were the elections, Zappatero won, the Socialist party...apparently public opinion changed overnight...this should be a slap in the face to Bush as far as supporting the war against Iraq...or so I hear..."

I remember going to view the memorials a week or so later and thinking, "Man, this is like 9/11 in Spanish." I remember seeing a drawing that a kid made with markers of a train on fire and dead stick people lying on the ground. I was so overwhelmed, that I penned a letter to Joey back home. I recently found out he never received any of the letters I sent him while I was there, which still blows my mind, but as I've been paging through my journal, I've found multiple excerpts from those letters that I transcribed as entries for myself.
So, in closing, here's another entry:

"excerpt from 3/19 letter to Joey:
...How do you possibly explain to a child the terrible things that happen in our world...that there are people who will ruthlessly blow up cities without an ounce of remorse. Last summer I worked with this guy Tim who was the most negative person I've ever met. He hated everything except cigarettes and soup. On more than one occasion he mentioned hating kids, but I distinctly remember him saying once why he would never have his own--because he wouldn't want to 'subject another human to this fucked up world.' At first I just rolled my eyes, but later I actually found myself thinking about what he said and that maybe had a valid point. I thought of that today when I was looking at that kid's picture. I guess it's just another one of those 'what ifs...' or 'why bother...' thoughts. What if I had a kid and he/she ended up a victim of senseless violence? Or what if I didn't have a kid because I was scared, but he/she would have been able to change the world? Why bother letting yourself fall in love when it might end in heartbreak? Because as cliche as it sounds, nothing is for certain and every day should be lived how you want it. I don't know why I'm still here after all that has happened around me--survivors guilt times two--but since I am, I hope I can someday die knowing that I've positively impacted at least one life...I think that is probably the purpose of life--to help others live and love."

the soundtrack to "soundtrack"

2009-03-08T03:26:00.009-06:00

I pride myself in having quite an eclectic collection of music. My itunes library has just under 7,000 songs, and if I was to import ALL of my CDs, I'm pretty sure I could probably boost that number up closer to 8,000. Ranging from Bessie Smith to Outkast to Amalia Rodrigues to Bob Dylan to Andrew Bird to Brittney Spears to Talking Heads to Run DMC to Dixie Chicks, you get the idea.

So when Abbi proposed going to see a two-man improv show at Second City's Skybox theater (a smaller room than their famous mainstage) that revolved around putting an audience member's ipod on shuffle, I enthusiastically said I'd go. I also was pretty adamant about insisting I wanted "a-pod" (the name of my ipod) chosen. Even during the ride to the show, while driving six passengers in my van (yes! owning a minivan in the city finally served a purpose!), I still thought it was beyond a good idea for my music to be the soundtrack to "Soundtrack."

It wasn't until we were sitting front and center that I started to get nervous--mostly that obscure tracks would come on, like Hebrew rap or Amy's Answering Machine--but also that I'd be judged by a bunch of people for my taste (or lack thereof) in music, just as I would have judged whoever ultimately got chosen. So when Tom Blandford and Mark Piebenga walked on stage and announced that this was their last show and, "Before we get started, we'll need an ipod from someone in the audience," I totally second-guessed my initial confidence and didn't raise my hand. My friends and sister immediately yelled, "ALYSE! RAISE YOUR HAND!" In response, I did the timid I-don't-actually-want-to-be-volunteering-myself-right-now raising of my hand only to shoulder height. Because I was sitting so close, one of the actors saw my ipod sitting on the table and despite first pointing out that someone's hand "shot up" in the back, chose me. As soon as I handed over my ipod, I slunk down a few inches in my seat, already regretting my decision.

Just as I feared, neither I nor anyone else in the room knew the first song. I guess this made their stage presence all the more humorous, but I felt my face growing hot and was glad no one could see me. "What is this, Alyse?" I heard Lisa, who's friends with one of the actors, ask from the row behind me. I turned around and said, "I have no idea."
Somehow he turned those interpretive dance moves into a skit about being obsessed with roller derby, and that theme carried throughout most of the hour-long show. The rest of the songs chosen at random, which served as interludes where the actors improv-danced between skits, went as followed:

2) "Not Ready To Make Nice" by the Dixie Chicks
3) "Ballad of John & Yoko" by The Beatles
4) some instrumental song that sounded familiar and foreign that I couldn't quite place
5) "Hard Knock Life" from Annie (of which more than one person later said to me, "I was totally expecting it to be the Jay-Z version, but nope, it was from the actual musical..." I totally forgot about Jay-Z's rendition of that.)
6) "Play With Fire" by The Rolling Stones
7) "Jai Ho" by A.R. Rahman from the "Slumdog Millionaire" soundtrack
8) "Wind Cries Mary" by Jimi Hendrix
9) "Burnin' Love" by Elvis
10) "Opposites Attract" by Paula Abdul
11) "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" from "Mary Poppins"...I lost it laughing when this came on. Could you think of a more potentially embarrassing selection??
12) some song by Led Zeppelin I didn't know by name

Ben tapped me on the shoulder towards the end and said, "So Oldies or Soundtracks, huh?"
"Pretty much," I replied, laughing.

All in all it was hilarious, and the actors both thanked me at the end for the "awesome" songs. Not so sure "awesome" would be the right word to describe that particular collection, but as long as they were satisfied, I felt fine about it. I wish now, for humor's sake, that something from "Fiddler On The Roof" and/or "The Lion King" had also made an appearance.

What would your soundtrack be? Put your ipod or itunes on shuffle and write down the first 12 songs.

another reason i want to be a writer

2009-03-03T21:21:00.006-06:00

I know I've already posted twice before about Writers Week, but it just never fails to be magical and calming--to the point where I'm so grateful to be immersed in spoken word again that I feel on the verge of tears standing in the shadows watching these word-wizards speak.
It happened to be that the only hour I could attend Writers Week this year coincided with three of my favorite former English teachers (and it turned out the other two were also in attendance) were reading. Perfect timing.
Afterward, I got to listen to most of Chuck Perkins' electric performance of his N.O.L.A.-centric poems, complete with a jazz band and Indian drummers, who danced around in elaborate costumes full of colors and feathers.

Because I haven't written much in the way of poetry lately, I am going to post two of my new favorite poems. The first was copied into a handmade journal by my friend's mom and it's one of those pieces I wish I would have written myself. I just learned the title and author by Googling the first line.
And the second poem, "Parallel Universe," was written by my cousin, Ellyn Maybe, who I'm proud to say, makes her living as a real-life poet. She recently shared a link to a magazine that published this poem. I love it because I can relate to how I feel like I could never live without music and how some people just don't get it.

Enjoy.

Summons

Keep me from going to sleep too soon
Or if I go to sleep too soon
Come wake me up. Come any hour
Of night. Come whistling on the road.
Stomp on the porch. Bang on the door.
Make me get out of bed and come
And let you in and light a light.
Tell me the northern lights are on
And make me look. Or tell me clouds
Are doing something to the moon
They never did before, and show me.
See that I see. Talk to me till
I'm half as wide awake as you
And start to dress wondering why
I ever went to bed at all.
Tell me the walking is superb.
Not only tell me but persuade me.
You know I'm not too hard persuaded.

~Robert Francis

Parallel Universe

Sometimes I wonder if there are one million people
listening at the same time
to the same Leonard Cohen song.
The one that keeps people from killing themselves.
It's a long playing record
It's a long song

Where do people play each other the songs that will keep them
standing
when one foot in front of the other is more myth than practice?

I once tried to play Beware of Darkness by George Harrison for a
friend,
cause its beauty and pain were singular at that moment and
I wanted to share
I wanted to hear as close as we could the same thing and
make of it what we would

He said he heard that song when it first came out and ran out
to smoke a cigarette
We lost something in that moment

I listen to music alone, but I imagine there are sharp notes
bending the backs of the universe into more flexibility, more love,
more tenderness, more a capella chiropractors

Somebody is strumming 3 basic cords and
somebody will live through the night.

~Ellyn Maybe

happy singles awareness day

2009-02-14T23:12:00.006-06:00

Dumbest Question Award: "Why don't you have a boyfriend??"

What do people expect you to say when they ask that? Oh, well I've thought long and hard and I've come to a few conclusions:

a) I don't look like a swimsuit model
2) My high school English teacher senior year once told me I'm intimidating because I know what I want out of life...?

I guess I should find it flattering that people apparently find the fact that I don't so shocking, but it also feels a little backhanded--can one not experience self-worth without being someone's significant other?

"Oh and by the way, it's Valentine's Day. So if you're watching at home, better luck next year." ~Seth Meyers, Weekend Update

(Here I am at my childhood friend, Shelley's, wedding in December. Her dad called me off the dance floor to tell me, in front of my dad, that he can't believe I "don't have a line of guys waiting to go out with me and that I should really try the online dating scene." Thank you?)
My only response: laugh it up.

the inauguration

2009-02-05T15:54:00.030-06:00

First things first. I love road trips. I love experiencing everything that comes along with being on the road. This particular road trip occurred on January 19, which marked George W's final full day in office after eight treacherous years, as well as Martin Luther King Jr. Day. So it really meant something to wind around tree-lined Carolina roads, eating McDonald's breakfast and singing along to Willie Nelson. And it meant something to not feel embarrassed when we passed under an overpass where people stood proudly draping a giant American flag above the road, waving at drivers headed in the direction of our nation's capitol.

Zach and I barely talked the entire drive to D.C. He loves music as much as I do, so the night before I left to meet him in South Carolina, I burned 16 mix CDs in anticipation of our trip. I know I feel completely comfortable around someone when I let myself sing along with songs as if I was alone, full well knowing I don't sound great.
We stopped for gas once at a surreal tourist trap called "South of the Border," just before crossing over the North Carolina state line. Awhile later I pulled off at a rest stop where we met a car-full of guys also headed north for the big day. They started chanting, "O-ba-ma!" when I got out of the car, which I realized later was because our President-To-Be was on my t-shirt. They were driving all the way from Florida and couldn't believe I was only wearing a t-shirt and said they were freezing. One of the guys was even wearing a ski mask!
We made one last stop as we approached our destination, Dunkin Donuts for more caffeine. Our fuel light went on just as we saw the first sign for Dulles Airport, where we had to return our rental car. Since we had already paid for the tank of gas in advance, this was unbelievably perfect timing. There was no traffic and we made it from Point A to Point B in under nine hours. I drove the entire way and apparently was driving, although safely, around 90-100 mph most of the way. We only had to wait behind one person in line for a Super Shuttle and were immediately called to board one as soon as we paid. Everything seemed to be going almost too smoothly, since we were expecting major traffic delays and a mob-like atmosphere at the airport.
I was expecting to get to P.J.'s apartment late at night and we got there before 7 p.m., in time to get some pizza for dinner down the street with him and Ryan, who I didn't know was going to be there and I hadn't seen since high school. P.J. and I have been friends since first grade, and he's currently in med school at Georgetown, so we lucked out with having a free place to crash.

We woke up before the sun and left at 6:30 to catch a bus. We got on the first one that arrived, no problem. I bought the $5 commemorative Inauguration-Day bus pass with Obama's face on it and as I sat down next to Zach, I remarked how smoothly this whole plan continued to play out. We got off as close to the Mall as the buses were allowed and walked the rest of the way. This is how the Washington Monument looked as we approached. We found a place to plant ourselves, just past the Monument for the next five hours, where we had a relatively unobstructed view of one of the many Jumbotrons. The screens broadcast footage from the day before of different speakers and performers. Some celebrities didn't quite make sense...like the actor who played Kumar in the Harold & Kumar movies...why does he get to speak at the Inauguration? I don't know. Throughout the morning we kept tabs on Devon, who had pretty much the opposite experience as me and Zach. She drove from NYC to D.C. with a filthy windshield (and had never driven in snow before!), got stuck on the Jersey turnpike, and then in the morning had to stand in a crazy long line to get on a Metro train into the city, which ended up breaking down. But, despite all of that and only semi-functioning phone service, we found her! As we waited for the event to begin, I photographed some of the people around us. Here are some of my favorites. I wore my "Be the change you wish to see in the world" shoes again. By the time the introductions began, we had all been already suffering from numb toes and frozen noses. The last person to be introduced before the President-Elect was former President George W. Bush, emphasis on the former. As soon as his face hit the big screen, the crowd erupted in "BOO!" I was shocked. I mean I've said some not nice things about him, I even sat in Washington Square Park beside a painted sign I made that said, "STOP THE BUSH SHIT, SAY NO TO WAR!" in college during the weeks following September 11. But in this moment, I saw him as a defeated human being and I actually felt bad for him. Today is supposed to be a day of celebration, I thought. Shame on you for Boo-ing! I understand being excited that he's out of office, but then clap it out and cheer for the new one. Because that's why we're here. We're not here to dwell on Bush's mistakes, we're here to support Obama's challenges.
I did join in the collective sarcastic laughter, however, when the moderator said, "You may now take your seats." How few people out of the million there actually had a seat to sit on?
Then came the man of the hour or, I should say, the man of the next four (hopefully eight) years. A poem came to mind that I wrote senior year of high school when I was obsessed with the 60s and civil disobedience. (Note: I am not claiming this to be in any way a well-written poem, but I'm going to share it regardless)

August 28, 1963

Let

Visions of Emmet
Voices of Martin
Screams of Protesters
Gospel of Supporters
This is the place
They all come
This is the place
They all march to-
They

Freedom

March
To america’s
Holy land
With the strength
To pass through
fire hoses
and hungry
dogs

Ring

The King
Steps up to
Lincoln
Turns and faces
the Future
Thank God Almighty,
We Are Free At Last

The swearing in was actually more humorous than emotional because the voices didn't match the visuals on the screen, so it actually looked like Obama was swearing in the "repeat after me" guy. This on top of the whole swearing in slip-up that ended up requiring a do-over the following day. I don't remember much of his speech and I don't have favorite excerpts to share like I did after Election Night in November. But I do know I teared up. And I do remember noting that when addressing, "Christians, Jews, Muslims..." he also included "Non-Believers," which I don't think I've ever heard anyone who's anyone say. And I do know that after everything he said, the woman to my right proudly punched the air and loudly said, "YES!" How pleasant it felt to listen to such an eloquent President. How awesome it felt to stand on the same soil that so many people stood on in the past.

What was poor planning on the Inaugural Committee (if there is such a thing) was waiting until after Obama's speech to let Elizabeth Alexander recite her beautifully-written poem, "Praise Song for the Day," when people were already turning to leave. As soon as Barck's part was over, it was like a mass exodus of the Mall. At least people were in good spirits, despite the cold and despite the length of the ceremony. Well, everyone except this guy. I mean, really? You're going to choose this time to say that God hates a specific list of people? Classy.
No one knew where to go. Every direction we attempted to walk, we got stuck. Finally, we joined a group of people who had formed around a fence and were, one at a time, crawling underneath it. That worked. But then we ended up walking ALL the way back to Georgetown. The frozen Potomac was pretty and the Starbucks pit stop was much-needed. It was funny to see everything Obama-ized, such as the drink special at this bar (the Barack-O-Bomb): When we finally got back to P.J.'s, it was after 5 p.m. and we all crashed for several hours, sprawled on the floor and couch. Eventually, we all sleepily rejoined the waking world and mustered enough energy to play Rock Band for awhile. That game is seriously non-stop entertainment. Zach's friend, Joe, who was also down from NYC, met us at P.J.'s and we all piled in a cab to U Street, in search of a restaurant/bar called "Utopia." How appropriate, I thought. Instead, we ended up in a pizza-Indian fusion hole-in-the-wall with disco lights and reggae music. We got huge slices of pizza and watched the new President and First Lady share their first dance at the ball on a small TV suspended in the corner of the pizza parlor. While jamming to UB40's "Red Red Wine." From there, we walked down the street to a bar, where P.J. led us to the basement. The DJ played awesome old music and the small space was packed with elated patrons. Everyone was smiling. Everyone was dancing. Everyone was cheering Obama as they clinked glasses. A guy with a Boston Red Sox hat came up to me and asked to temporarily switch hats. Then this happened. Devon left from there to head back to her cousin's house. I took a cab back to P.J.'s with the boys, where I sat shotgun and interviewed our cab driver on video. It was a long day, but so worth it.

Zach and Joe left early next morning to meet Devon, who was driving back to NYC. P.J. had class, so I spent the day walking around the Mall and going to the Postal Museum. While there I took advantage of their postcard machine and printed and mailed postcards to a few people whose addresses I knew by heart. They even had an exhibit about one of my dream jobs, working in a dead letter office. After the museum, I decided to try and figure out where we had been standing the day before. First I walked to the Capitol Building and had someone take a picture of me. As I walked from there in the direction of the Washington Monument, I realized how close we had been the day before. To be honest, at the time, I didn't even know we were facing in the direction of the Capitol. I tried to take this picture of myself as an approximation, although I think we actually may have been a few hundred feet closer. So I continued walking and thinking about how I wish I had one of the cool nametags I saw people wearing during the Inauguration. Immediately following this thought, I saw a nametag stuck to the gravel sidewalk. Something compelled me to bend down and look at it. My jaw dropped when I saw that it said, "Hello my name is: ALYSE" How crazy is that?! By this point, my mind was blown and my feet hated me, so I sat down on the hill for awhile and took in my surroundings. I then had to walk a pretty far distance in search of a bus back to Georgetown and then had to wait, freezing on a bench, for a long time. P.J. got me a copy of the Washington Post, which was great because the rest of D.C. seemed to be sold out of the paper. He and I met my friend, Marion, at Afterwords, a book store that doubles as a restaurant, and indulged in their special Inauguration Menu. It boasted meals, such as, "Obama Family Chili" and "Biden Pot Pie." As soon as P.J. and I arrived back at his apartment, I went right to sleep because my Super Shuttle was scheduled to pick me up at 3:10 in the morning for my 6 a.m. flight.

All in all, I am so glad I took a few days off work to make this round-about journey to D.C. to partake in such a monumental and historical event. And it meant even more that I got to experience such a day standing side by side with some of my favorite people. I think being in Chicago on Election Night was more exciting, since A) no one knew the outcome and B) the Hometown Hero aspect, but it felt great to also be a part of the epilogue. I am excited to see where President Barack Hussein Obama will lead our country. Hopefully in better, more peaceful, and more logical directions than his predecessor.

The following is an edited (and not very good compressed file) version of my video footage, which I originally put together for groundreport.com

And, as always, here is a link to the REST OF THE PHOTOS.

cyst-less...for now

2008-12-16T23:04:00.009-06:00

Some people are just cystic. That's what the doctor told me when I went in to have the bump on my face checked and after I informed him that ten years ago I had an egg-sized cyst removed from my knee and that my ovaries are apparently covered in them (I still haven't had that surgery). The best way to describe the thing on my face, which appeared over two years ago, is a small ball you could slightly move around under the skin. Most people said they couldn't even tell it was there. Twice I went to the same dermatologist, who both times shot the middle of the ball with steroids. Both times that solved nothing and pissed me off because why would you do the same thing when it didn't help the first time around?

So I waited. Just over two years. But a few weeks ago I woke up and the little alien pod on my face felt like it tripled in size. Suddenly, my mom, who is always telling me things don't look as bad as I think they do, was saying, "It's definitely noticeable now." Cool, thanks.

I made an appointment with a different dermatologist, without knowing ahead of time that this guy is the same one who removed a small something from my dad's face a few years ago, which turned out to be a small dose of cancer. I prepared myself for the worst and decided I might actually laugh if someone tells me my face is cancerous. The doctor came in, squeezed the area with his thumb and forefinger and said, "It's a cyst." Duh. I explained how it's suddenly grown and he said the only solution would be to operate.
I set up an 8 a.m. appointment the following Tuesday, barely nervous about getting my face cut open. The worst part involved getting ten shots of Novocaine outlining the whole area of the intruder. I involuntarily lost a few tears from the sharp pain, but was totally fine once I was all numbed up. As soon as the doctor made the initial incision he said, "Well it's infected, which means it essentially broke open." Gross. "So I'll have to scoop it out in pieces, as opposed to grabbing it out in one shot." I never got to see the pieces, and yes, I know it's weird, but I kind of wanted to. This probably stems from my dad (as most idiosyncrasies of my life do) keeping my tonsils in a baby food jar filled with formaldehyde when I had them removed 22 years ago. He said he wanted to give them to someone in the family, I forgot who, who was studying medicine or something.

As the nurse attached a giant bandage to the left side of my face, she said, "I hope you took the day off work."
"No I did not," I proudly replied. "I'm a dog walker, so I don't have anyone to impress. They love me bandages, stitches, cysts and all." The funny thing is that I had my office party to attend that night, where I finally got to meet all my dog-walking co-workers for the first time. I felt the need to explain what happened earlier that morning to a few people, who I knew were looking inquisitively but didn't want to say anything. I was fine with it, though, and so were they. Because to be a dog-walker, generally speaking, you can't also be an asshole.

The following are photos either my mom took or I took of myself over the aforementioned days. (Also, I forgot to mention that Stella, my puppy, had her lady parts removed on the same day at the same time, so she's involved in my before&after documentation.)

[Stella and me the night before our various stuff was removed]

[before--i'm pushing the cyst with my tongue, it wasn't that big/protruding]

[the initial bandage]

[band-aid downsize]

[here are my stitches]

[me and Stella 5 days post-op, i have an even smaller band-aid and my mom missed getting Stella's scar in the photo]

dog is my copilot

2008-12-03T19:24:00.026-06:00

A dog does not make plans and back out the day of. A dog does not forget your birthday. A dog does not only say it cares about you under the influence of alcohol. A dog does not crawl back into your life every time its on-again/off-again significant other is, yet again, on the outs. A dog does not actively pursue you, charm all your best friends, ask you out, say it's interested in you and then, as soon as you let your guard down and express similar sentiments, completely disappear out of your life. A dog does not call you to make plans once a year coincidentally while its wife happens to be out of town. A dog does not tell you it wishes you were the one having its child instead of the girl he knocked up. Dogs do not get divorced. Dogs do not play mind games. Dogs are not fickle or evasive, that is best left up to cats and men.

I know my love of dogs seems to be a recurring theme in my writing, but I just really can't get enough of them. Abbi's husband, Ben, recommended I become a dog-walker--"because you're introverted and you love animals," he said. He had been working for OutUGo for about a month, when I finally took him up on his offer to interview with the company.
I had been sitting around losing money for three months, so it couldn't hurt, I thought, to at least try this dog-walking thing. My interview went really well; apparently it's a lot easier and more comfortable for me to talk about how much I love animals than how much I like myself, as I've tried and failed to do multiple times at human interviews.
I've been working there for almost a month now and I love it!(actually almost two now...seeing "Marley & Me" with Ben and Abbi tonight--1/3/09--inspired me to finally finish this post)
Basically I have a set of keys to a bunch of apartments/condos/houses in the Lincoln Park, Old Town, Roscoe Village and Wicker Park neighborhoods, and once a day (well twice for the golden doodle puppy that lives across the street) I let myself in and take the dog(s) on walks or play with them inside if the weather's horrendous, like it has been lately. I absolutely love my job and I'm aware that not a lot of people can say that. I even get to see a golden retriever twice a day who HUGS me! I'm not kidding--he stands on his hind legs and wraps his front legs around my waist and gazes up at me with those unconditional eyes. I know what you're thinking, but there is no leg-humping involved.
What is better than getting paid to hang out with dogs, to be outside, to be on the move for several hours a day? Not much. And this summer when most people will be freezing in their air-conditioned offices, I will be soaking in the rays in all of Chicago's glorious green spaces.

I also failed to mention, due to my unfortunate lackluster attempt to update this blog regularly, that my sister and I bought our parents a black pug puppy a few months ago as a belated anniversary surprise.

[this is at a gas station in French Lick, IN, right after we did the puppy/cash exchange on county road street corner]

[beanie baby pug vs. real pug, actual size]

[curled up with a toy Scrunch never liked]

[the first week we had her, she lived with me in the city. this is her meeting nola and axel, huge german shepherds]

[we found mini tennis balls, just her size!]
I made them a cryptic card with a picture of our family and Scrunch and wrote, "We didn't want your anniversary to be marked by the death of Scrunchy, so in honor of your 33rd, we got you a 3rd." A third, as in pug. We gave them the card as soon as they landed at OHare, after traveling throughout Rome and Israel for two weeks.

[i almost gave them a bottle of oxyclean as a hint but settled on just the card]
I thought there was a possibility my dad would figure out my puzzle, but neither him nor my mom had any idea what the card meant nor what was hiding in the gift bag we handed them upon exiting the airport (we have excellent video footage of our road trip to French Lick, IN where we picked up the puppy and of two weeks later when we surprised our parents at the airport, but I need a new computer just to find enough memory space to do video work).

[before]

[after]
My mom was thrilled. My dad, not so much. We told them her name, which I had come up with on our drive to get her: Junebug, because she was born in June and looks like a bug, and call her June for short. Neither of them liked that. I also thought of Georgia (the female version of Curious George) and Batman (because she looks like a bat whenever she lays on her back, which is frequently). My sister's contribution was Beyonce (and she wanted to buy the puppy's brother and name him Jay-Z), and my mom started calling her Phoebe for awhile. Ultimately what won, though, was Stella, which my boss at the time thought up based on the children's book, StellaLuna, about a fruit bat who lost her way and thinks she's a bird.

This name suits her well as she has quite the personality. She is absolutely nothing like Scrunchy. She hides bones in the house, plays fetch, makes very weird noises and likes to plop herself down on people's backs, heads, laps whenever she pleases. She also apparently LOVES the snow, another trait unheard of in the pug breed. To further illustrate this, I will end this will a few more captioned photos.
[my little vampire bat]

[i spent three hours trying to make a pumpkin pie on thanksgiving, and it took her three seconds to push her way into the fridge and stick her face in it! and then stuck her tongue out at me!]

[look closely, there's a creature hiding in my dress]

[...and in my hair, which she probably thinks is a nest]

[i have no idea how i caught this, but yes, she's mid-air]

[weirdest picture award...this is her running back and forth between my sister [in red] and me [with camera]...i don't even know what kind of creature she looks like, but she's tearing through the snow so quickly, that it looks like the waves she's making should be water...]

[love at first sight.]

For the growing collection of Stella photos, click here

proud to be an american...finally or YES! WE! DID!

2008-11-05T15:00:00.029-06:00

Somehow people must be free,
I hope the day comes soon.
Won't you please come to Chicago,
To show your face.
From the bottom of the ocean
To the mountains of the Moon.
Won't you please come to Chicago
No one else can take your place.
We can change / yes we can change the World.
Rearrange / rearrange the World.
~excerpt from “Chicago” by Graham Nash

I thought when I woke up this morning that last night may have been a dream. Or that overnight the presidency had been handed over to the undeserving cheater as it has the past two elections. But when I awoke, despite the little amount I slept, everything seemed brighter and calmer. President-elect Barack Hussein Obama graced the cover of every newspaper, as well as the banners on every streetlamp in downtown Chicago. As I drove to Shilpa's in my minivan to return her camera that I convinced her to let me borrow overnight so that I could steal all her videos, I rolled down the windows, smiled at the cloudless sky and blasted "Revolution" by The Beatles on repeat.

My friend Andrew informed me yesterday morning that he was going to the rally as well (after reading my gchat status) and said, "I'm worried about terrorist attacks," to which I replied, "Well I've already lived through two, so I might be immune at this point." Around 2:45 I met Shilpa at the Aon Building, which stands tall on the north side of Millenium Park (a building that makes me involuntarily shiver when I look at it because it eerily mirrors the deceased World Trade Center towers). There are perks to being unemployed, one being that as soon as I received an email last week regarding the proposed rally for Obama in Grant Park, I immediately signed up for a ticket. I passed along the email to friends and family who I knew would want to be there, but most of them, being employed, didn't have as instantaneous of a reaction and therefore were put on a waiting list. Shilpa was the first person to ask if she could be my guest, as each ticketed person was allowed to bring someone. Soon after, I received about five more emails asking to be my "+1" and I noted that I don't seem to have this problem when trying to recruit a date for a wedding, etc.

The weather was unseasonably warm and it seemed like every person I passed on the street was wearing some sort of Obama paraphernalia with confidence.

A station wagon slowly paraded down the city streets decked out in pro-Obama posters and graffiti, with a megaphone attached to the roof, which broadcast Obama’s speeches that stopped people in their tracks.

Shilpa wanted to join in the festivities so we went to a tourist t-shirt shop twice, while in between stopping at a Starbucks to get a free cup of coffee for proving we voted. I actually voted early with my mom at Hoffman Estates' Village Hall on Monday, October 27, where I donned a Wilco shirt, since it was the closest thing to "not campaigning within 100 feet of the polls." I saved my "I Voted" sticker and wore it again on Election Day.

After Shilpa picked out a child-sized shirt that read "HOPE" we stopped in Cosi to get some sandwiches to hold us over in line. As we walked east on Congress we joined the masses congregated at the top of the hill, where people were separated by ticketed vs. non-ticketed guests. I heard someone call out my name and sure enough it was Max’s aunt, Betsy, and her two sons. I wish we would have taken a picture together to mark this historical event, especially because Max’s mom, who raised major funds for Obama’s campaign isn’t even in the country to experience Election Day.
We parted ways and soon after Shilpa and I found ourselves amidst the group about be let in past the first checkpoint. I got in despite breaking two rules: No bags and No food. The man checking my ID didn’t notice I had a second bag (besides my purse) draped over my opposite shoulder and therefore didn’t discover the partially-eaten sandwich not so well-hidden inside. “How safe does that make you feel?” I said to Shilpa, sarcastically. “At least it’s only a sandwich,” I added, and thought back to December, 2001, two months after September 11, when I snuck two baby turtles in my sweatshirt pocket onto a flight home from school in NYC home to Chicago.

We sat down on the pavement and watched the sun set over our strong city skyline. We scarfed down the remainder of our sandwiches and Shilpa took pictures of my shoes. I purposely wore my pair of Toms, which have Ghandi's quote, "Be the change you wish to see in the world" typed over and over again.

I took out a pen and drew a peace sign on my hand, surrounded by the John Lennon song title, "Power To The People"

and then pulled out my telephoto lens to start experimenting with it. What better time to get up close and personal through a lens than tonight. I also, in my typical traveling A.V. department, brought along my video camera, but I never took it out because it's been acting up lately and I knew Shilpa had video capabilities on her point-n-shoot.

The excitement in the air was contagious, yet no one went crazy when they finally let us advance to the metal detectors. No people getting trampled or impatient words yelled, just arms around shoulders and cheers of, "O-BA-MA!" When we were released from the detectors, Shilpa and I ran onto the field like it was "Obamapalooza" (I can't take credit for that, someone was selling shirts with the phrase). We stood as close as we could to the stage, which we could see on tip-toes, and had a perfect view of the jumbotron, which was broadcasting CNN live to all of Grant Park. It was quite thrilling every time CNN showed growing footage of more and more people celebrating on the same ground where thirty years ago there were mass riots. Now we've come in peace, I thought, and look at that skyline sparkle!

I began receiving "OMG" and "Where are you in this crowd??" text messages from my friends in New York, who I hope are now second-guessing their anti-Chicago-ness. My friend Sharon, a brilliant writer, even referenced our brief text exchange in an article she wrote for "The L Magazine," which you can find here. And Travis, who was lucky enough to celebrate his Sweet 16 on Election Day, texted me that he went streaking through his neighborhood.

But I'm jumping ahead of myself. Again. Leading up to the victory, Shilpa and I made friends with the people around us. We met a nice couple behind us who gave us space to sit down and rest our feet. I only sat down a few times, but every time I did, I thought, I can't believe I considered not coming to this! Every time CNN predicted Obama the winner of another state, the crowd went wild with harmonious cheering. And every time they cut to commercials, they blasted songs like "Higher And Higher" and "Signed Sealed Delivered," always a favorite. Shilpa happily documented these moments, as I tend to sing along to everything, regardless of how I sound.

When it was declared that Barack Obama won the presidency, I cried. I cried because hope and idealistic views are not unachievable. And I remembered what it was like to believe again. I feel like I can be patriotic again. Or for the first time. Because, as an international traveler who's been harassed in several foreign countries, I can finally say I am proud of our country and who will be running it in a mere 11 weeks. To those who told me he didn't have enough experience and made me briefly doubt my support, until I made up my own mind that experience doesn't always mean positive results, the last 8 years case in point..."It's a choice between who's had more time in Washington or who is going to *change* Washington," Obama said on Super Tuesday. (Sarah Palin: Now is no time to begin experimenting with Socialism, Jon Stewart: Now is not the time to experiment. Now is the time to stick with what hasn't been working.)...To those who tried to tell me I was just buying into his eloquence and accused me of being "wrapped around his [Obama's] finger," I don't take shame in that. I take pride. Because I'd rather be wrapped around a revolutionary than a fraud. To all of you, I say, "YES! WE! DID!"

"This will be the last sound check before you hear from the next president of the United States," said the man at the mic, and once again, instead of doing the typical, "testing, testing 1, 2," said, "1,2,3,4, O-ba-ma!" Everyone responded by chanting "YES! WE! CAN!"

And we got to hear the oh-so-appropriate song, "Sweet Home Chicago."

I have to say that McCain's concession speech was pretty great, and I liked that he took the initiative to reprimand those in his crowd who were boo-ing Obama's win. That's the McCain I liked in 2000.
Then came the string of people on our stage. During the Pledge of Allegiance, I couldn't say it without crying even though I haven't recited it since probably elementary school. Next up, a group prayer. These moments always boggle my mind because how do they know we all pray, that we're all praying to the same God, or that we all know the prayer being spoken. I feel the same way in religious ceremonies, such as weddings and at kitchen tables, when people grasp hands and speak words to an idea of a creator. I always find it fascinating to watch people in these moments and truly wonder what they're thinking.
Here are things I thought about while I stood amidst a million people lost in prayer...
Obama is like our generation's Martin Luther King Jr. I forget that the Civil Rights Act was something that happened within my parents' lifetime. I never experienced life with MLK, but I became obsessed with him and the idea of civil disobedience during high school. I visited his home, church, and memorial in Atlanta. I am not a religious person, but, as I've stated already, I find people who are, fascinating. Sitting in his church, on a pew he could have sat on himself 40 years before me, that felt religious. Standing here now, although not immersed in prayer, this could feel religious.
I also thought about another one of my idols, Studs Terkel, an iconic Chicagoan who died at the age of 96 only FOUR days ago. What would he have to say about this day?
And then, following the death theme, I thought about Obama's grandma who died last night. When I heard the news, I felt that heartbreaking pain when timing is just so off you want shriek. What would SHE have to say about this day?

My contemplations were interrupted by the woman who took the stage to sing "The Star-Spangled Banner." For some reason I get choked up whenever anyone sings a national anthem. The same thing happened when I listened to a 1948 recording of people singing "Hatikvah" in Independence Hall in Tel Aviv last year. My tears came to a halt, though, when this woman SANG THE WRONG WORDS! Her mistake threw the crowd for a loop, as everyone looked around seemingly wondering if anyone else heard the slip-up.
Here's video footage of the ending:

Then he, the man of the hour (or 9 if you count how long Shilpa and I had been standing/waiting), took the stage with his beautiful family.

I had asked the tall guy next to me if he'd be willing to snap a few photos once Obama finally started speaking, and he graciously took on the assignment. He ended up taking my favorite photo of the night, which I wish I could take credit for. His name is CJ, and I'll let his photo speak for itself...

I have to be honest. My emotions had already reached their peak by the time Obama started speaking and my brain became more concerned with taking pictures than actually taking in every word he was saying, like I had the other four times I've seen him speak, which have all given me chills--in May of '06 when I was in the audience when Conan taped in Chicago, in Washington Square Park September of '07 when I happened to be in NYC for a wedding, in December of '07 at the Riv, and at Park West this past July in celebration of his primary victory, where I got to sit in the V.I.P. section thanks to my boss.
This was my favorite quote of the night,
"And all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces, to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of the world, our stories are singular but our destiny is shared. A new dawn of American leadership is at hand. To those--to those--who would tear the world down, we will defeat you. To those who seek peace and security, we support you. And to all those who have wondered if America's beacon still burns as bright, tonight we've proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity and unyielding hope."

Also, like most of America, I found it pretty charming that he addressed his two daughters by saying, "You have earned the new puppy who's coming with us to the White House." I smiled to myself because when I was in kindergarten I found out that President Bush's (Sr.) dog had puppies and told my mom I wanted one. She, in turn, said, "So write a letter." I took her response literally and composed a handwritten letter to the President and some time later received an official typewriter-written response, which I found in my nightstand drawer, scanned and posted below (p.s. I wonder if Obama also has a Special Assistant to the President for Presidential Messages and Correspondence position available because that could qualify as a dream job of mine)

Believe it or not, it didn't take me long to find my sister and her friend Molly immediately following Obama's speech.

I desperately wanted to locate my best friend Shawna, who was there with her boyfriend, Brendan, so we could document being there together and because I knew we'd be wearing the same shirt (which I found out later, we had been), but alas, they had already gotten in a cab to go home. So the four of us slowly meandered out of the park. I made my sister take a victorious photo of myself.

I think the city was expecting post-election chaos, but everyone stayed cool, calm and collected and took to the streets like we were all in a musical.

Even the cops and EMTs looked bored.

Obama already helped boost the economy through t-shirt/button/poster/sticker street sales! There were even Obama and Biden cardboard cut-outs to pose with in the middle of Michigan Avenue.

We took the blue line home to Wicker Park, but the excitement didn't stop there. As we came up to street-level at the Division stop, there were two exuberant young people holding a sign that said, "HONK FOR OBAMA!" and getting a whole lot of followers.

You can read about why Chicago's the best city HERE but this quote exemplifies why.
“There is a really strong sense of self in Chicago: People aren’t defined by wealth or by work or accomplishments, but rather who they are,” said Alex Kotlowitz, an author who makes his home in Chicago because he believes it is a place to peer into America’s heart. “Obama seems so comfortable in his skin and with who he is. That’s so Chicago.”

All in all, this was a night I'll never forget, another historical moment I've witnessed first-hand, this time full of relief instead of dread.
You can click here for the album of photos, in collaboration with Sheri and Shilpa and here for the remaining videos Shilpa shot

I leave you with Will.I.Am's pre-election and post-election videos worth watching.

the holiest day of the year

2008-10-09T15:48:00.003-06:00

In the past 24 hours I've learned of infidelity, cancer and surgery, which made me recall a short poem I wrote during college. It goes something like this:

stars drown in the east river
hearts sink into stomachs
indigestibly
on this september evening
i cheated on the fast
chewed a stick of gum
ripped in half
till sundown
yom kippur blues
infect me

uncles die
men break hearts
my sins may be erased
but with them went
what mattered

During services this morning I drifted in and out of being present and reading responsively and daydreaming about who I could apologize for "wronging" over the past year. I noticed something new this time around. While reciting the sins, I noticed the rabbi lightly put a fist to his heart after mentioning each one. My sister pointed out that my dad was doing it too. How did I miss this detail after all these years? Maybe I should apologize to the Jewish people. For not being observant. For being unsure in my beliefs.

Right now I'm starving. To be honest, I started getting hungry after last night's service, only two hours after dinner. My dad said, "Well that's the point of today."
To starve? I think the point is that every time my stomach growls I'm supposed to think of God or anything bad I've done since last October. But all I can think about is what my cousin will be serving at her break-the-fast dinner tonight. And salivating about it. So maybe I've already committed my first sin of the new year: gluttony.

Do other religions have a Day of Atonement? Maybe everyone, Jew and Gentile, should put aside some time today to say I'm Sorry.

seven years later

2008-09-11T21:03:00.008-06:00

I set my alarm for 7 a.m. and dragged a TV into my bedroom, a place where I barely have room to breathe, much less add another piece of furniture that doesn't even belong to me. The past six years I've watched widows and orphans, firemen and policewomen, read the names of people they lost in the towers.
I observe that day as one might observe the anniversary of someone's death. I didn't know anyone who died, but I felt like a part of me did. Someone who I used to be close to in high school said my idealism was contagious. He said he hoped I'd never lose that quality but that I had to be extra-careful to watch my back because shit happens. Every year I observe the moments of silence they dedicate to the times each plane hit. It's a reminder to me of how the night of September 10 I was with two new-found college friends jumping in puddles and anxiously awaiting a love letter from home and how on September 12 I couldn't breathe without covering my mouth and my mailbox still was empty.

But this time there was hardly a mention of it. I flipped through channels and newscasters were talking about the weather and a man who attempted flying and got saved by a tree when his flight suit went awry. "It's been 7 years since..." was mentioned for about 3 minutes on CBS, a channel I never even watch. And no one was mourning. Instead a man stood proudly in front of the ruins talking about the progress (or lack there of) of the Freedom Tower. People deal with grief in different ways and I am not going to tell this man he's not allowed to be proud, but I still can't wrap my mind around this solution.

I turned off the TV and went back to sleep for two hours, expecting to have dreams filled with explosions. I don't remember what I dreamed, but I woke up to sirens. I half-expected to see the Sears Tower aflame. That is just how my mind works now. My phone rang. It was Jenny calling and I let it go to voicemail. She's the only one of my friends I talked to at length on the phone that morning. I listened to her message as soon as she left it and her thoughtfulness made me tear up a little. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay. I know this isn't a great day for you." So I wasn't dreaming. Someone finally mentioned it.

I remember browsing a book store in college shortly after that day and seeing a coffee table book about the wire-walker, Philippe Petit. I remember flipping through the pages of black&white photos and staring in awe at this man suspended in the sky between the towers. I was breathless just looking at his act two-dimensionally, 25+ years later. So when I first heard about the documentary "Man On Wire" I couldn't wait for its release.

Before today, I had asked people on more than one occasion to go see it with me. But seeing as there were no takers and I'm unemployed with nothing else to do during the day, I planned ahead of time to see the movie alone on this seven-year marker.
I purposely put on an NYU shirt and headed out to the bus stop. As I waited there, I realized I forgot my phone, which I rarely do. I reflected on how that mirrored the actual day, a day before everyone and their toddlers had cell phones. I could have gone back for it, but I kind of like not being able to be reached. When the bus came to the last stop on North Avenue, I got off intending on taking the Clark Street bus all the way North to the movie theater, the only one showing the film within city limits. Then I remembered that I had paid cash for the first leg of the trip and therefore didn't have the capability to transfer for only 25 cents. Bogus. There was no way I was paying $8 round trip just to see a movie. So I walked, New York style.

I was one of four people at the screening and sat in the middle of my private row. From reading reviews I knew ahead of time that the documentarians purposefully did not mention September 11, that the film solely focused on Philippe Petit and what he accomplished. What the review did not reveal, though, (spoiler alert) is that there is actual video footage of the towers being constructed. And that is when I finally shed some tears. I cried because it was like 9/11 in reverse...to see the buildings built from scratch, huge sheets of metal going up instead of crashing down...an identical "ground zero" that would become "Windows to the World" instead of a mass graveyard...people happily hammering away instead of gasping in horror.
[taken on 5th avenue after the first plane hit]
At the World Trade Center dedication ceremony on April 4, 1973, a speaker says that the twin towers stand for "harmony and communication throughout the nations of the world...The World Trade Center is a living symbol of man’s dedication to world peace." Later, one of Petit's accomplices, in his interview, justified their act as "against the law-but not wicked or mean." And one of the photos of Petit made me involuntarily shiver. It was taken from the ground of a plane just above one of the towers while he stood on a tight rope between them. All of these sights and sound clips are so strange to hear, knowing what happens in the future.

I left the Landmark feeling uplifted. I walked slowly all the way back to the bus stop, not skipping upbeat songs that came on shuffle in my earphones, and found a glimmer of that long-lost wanting-to-change-the-world attitude.
[taken at Chicago's Park West on 7.11.08]
The election on November 4 is SO important. I've started wearing my Obama button whenever I leave the house. This world needs to change. More specifically, our country needs to change. We need to stop spending TRILLIONS of dollars on a war that should have never been waged in the first place. I don't even know how many zeros make a TRILLION, but I know they're enough to do some good in the world instead of destroying the lives and lands of more innocent people.
If you haven't already, register to vote. Now.

r.i.p. scrunchy, best.dog.ever.

2008-07-02T20:26:00.010-06:00

[I will preface this by saying that I've decided not to share the gory details of Scrunchy's last hours that I unfortunately witnessed in the middle of the night of June 15, which incidentally happened to be both Father's Day and my parents' 33rd wedding anniversary. Instead I'm going to focus on what an awesome dog she was.]

I've pretty much always believed I was a dog in some past life. My first word, as the story goes, was: Dog-gie, as my mom pushed me down the pet food aisle in a grocery cart. At the time, my parents had a pug, who they rescued as an adult dog (age 4) from an abusive home. Her name was Bridget, and although she was pretty skittish around most people, she loved me and let me jump all over her.

Unfortunately, after getting hit by a car once and getting burned by a tailpipe a different time, going blind, and bleeding all over the house, she had to be put to sleep when she was 12.

Before pugs were trendy, our family got a pug. I still vividly remember the day Scrunchy entered our lives. It was November of 1993, a few weeks before my 11th birthday. I was in fifth grade and just starting to need help with my math homework. My dad diligently worked with me every night, but this night, instead of sitting in our usual seats at the kitchen table, he suggested we move into the living room and work on solving algebra on the couch. When a pair of headlights turned into our cul-de-sac, I didn't think anything of it. Then the doorbell rang. I ran behind my dad to the door, and I'm not sure I've ever been so successfully and awesomely surprised as I was in that moment. Staring back at me was a tiny pug puppy in the arms of a man. For awhile we chased her around calling her "Puppy" because no one could think of a good name. Then one day my dad suggested Scrunchy. He still to this day claims that had he known a scrunchie was an actual object, he would have never named her that. But she lived up to her name and "scrunched" her way into everyone's hearts.

For a brief moment in time, I shot up the popularity scale because Nick's family, who lived in the neighborhood, wanted to get a pug. And they did the following summer. He brought Tessa over on his skateboard with Blake, who had always been one of the most popular boys. It was the only time I hung out with Blake in my life (both before and after), even though I'd known him since kindergarten (he never forgave me for missing a day of kindergarten to go to the Bozo Show and forever had a blimp-sized ego).

Nick and I didn't really talk again until senior year of high school when we had a creative writing class together. I asked him to the turn-about dance and he brought over Tessa. Both she and Scrunch ended up in our pictures.

I texted Nick, who now lives in Hawaii, to give him the bad news about Scrunch and he responded, "So did Tessa a few weeks back." I hope the saying's true that All Dogs Go To Heaven and that the two of them have been reunited in the afterlife.

Scrunchy represented a time when everyone got along and the world was a simple place. The only thing that's remained constant is that Scrunch remained everyone's favorite, everyone's go-to "person." Dogs are so much better than people, "man's" best friend. They are loyal and trusting and never stab you in the back or stop loving you.
So in honor of the best dog ever, here are some favorite memories and favorite photographs from the past 15 years...
*She had nicer things than me: a Liz Claiborne collar with a Jewish star charm
*Every three years since I was born, my dad insisted we take a professional family portrait, so that my sister, who is three years younger than me, is the same age as I was in the one before. In the first photo, it's my mom, dad, me and Bridget. Ever since Scrunch came into our lives, she's been in every photo since (i think 5 total). Here's the most recent taken last December.

*We taught her Yiddish. For instance, instead of teaching her "paw," we taught her "Good Shabbas"
*Most people would describe a docile creature as he/she "wouldn't hurt a fly." Well, in Scrunchy's case that's the only thing she ever did hurt. Whenever there was a fly buzzing against the back glass sliding door, it'd drive her crazy and she'd stand on her hind legs and smash the flying bug with her paw. Then she'd eat it. She was more tolerant of other insects, though, as can be seen by one of my all-time favorite pictures. I took in an injured monarch butterfly, who I named Grace. Even Scrunchy was captivated by her beauty.

*She's appeared in two page-a-day calendars dedicated to dogs. Here's one of the photos. The other showed her wearing a hot pink feather boa.

*When my uncle died in October of 2000 it was like she knew what happened and kept me company while I sat at home alone, crying. She curled up with me and licked my tears.
*Some of my friends nicknamed her "Bojangles" and tried to get her drunk on New Years Eve of '00/'01 when I threw a party while my parents were out of town...that is until I found out and banned them from being near her the rest of the evening.
*She would always try and run away every time the door opened, causing us to run all over the neighborhood yelling her name. One time when we spent New Years Eve at a family friends' house in Glenview, we thought we lost her for good.
*She loved chewing playing cards, make-up, pens, hair...
*When the dog named Brandy, who lived in the house whose backyard backed up to ours with a fence between, died, Scrunch cried every time someone said her name. It's like she knew she would never run back and forth along the fence with her again. Luckily she went deaf by the time Holly (my best friend's dog who was Scrunchy's best friend) died last December, otherwise she may have gone into a depression.
*She was so stubborn when I'd try and take her on walks and I'd usually get jerked backwards when she'd give up and sit down in the middle of a crosswalk. More times than not, I ended up carrying her the remainder of our "walk."
*Every time someone opened the dishwasher and the dishes were dirty, she'd jump onto the door and lick as much as she could before someone closed it again. Also, she loved to try and get whatever food was closest to the edge of the table when we'd eat meals because she could just reach the table top with the nails of her front paws. Although, we'd try and tell her "No!" she never stopped and eventually it became adorable to see her smushed face peeping over.

*She loved sitting on my mom's lap every morning while she drank her coffee and licking my dad's sweaty legs whenever he finished exercising on his stationary bike.

[the above picture was taken on Scrunchy's last night]
*She had a security "blanket" we called her powder puff, which she would run and retrieve any time anyone entered the house. She was such a good little greeter. Over the years the toy lost its puff, but she still carried it wherever she went, and on her final night I got it for her since she didn't have enough strength to get it herself, which is when the below picture was taken.

Here are some more of my favorite photos...

[scrunching her way into Jenny's text book]

[one of my favorite pictures-and it wasn't even posed]

[cracking up with her sisters at the annual pug party]

[the above two pictures are two pictures from my first-ever black&white roll of film...my Bubby is in the background of the first one]

[my dad took this a few years ago when we fell asleep together on my bed]

[a picture i took in my first darkroom photo class senior year of high school. my friend, pat, did all the stuff around the photo]

[one of my favorite hilarious photos...this was taken after Carrie and I came back to my house at 4 a.m. after prom and immediately hit up the ice cream and cheesecake. Clearly, Scrunch thought she was going to join in the food fest.]

[my favorite self-portrait]

We went out for dinner the night of the 15th to celebrate Father's Day and their anniversary. My dad insisted we all get an alcoholic beverage and then proceeded to toast the dog--To our pet, our friend, our sister, our daughter, you were a great dog. We all clinked glasses and said, "Cheers."

For more pictures of Scrunch since I got a digital camera two years ago, click HERE

E.B.G.=Eccentric Bike Gang

2008-06-02T00:17:00.012-06:00

It is 1:17 in the morning after a long Sunday of activities. Where did I just come from you ask? I successfully rode my bike home all the way from the Planetarium! Why was I at the Planetarium? Just acting as part of a bike gang for a student film. Pretty much how I conclude every weekend.

Honestly, after quitting Bike the Drive after only doing 10 of the 30 miles a few weeks ago, I thought my biking career had ended and Caliente, my 15-year-old rusting Schwinn would have to retire.

My knees hurt so badly that instead of completing the south route with my mom (who hadn't ridden a bicycle in 30 years) and her friend, Rob, I stood front and center for American English's (a Beatles cover band) entire two-hour set. By myself. And I have a nasty one-shoulder sunburn to prove it. It was the closest I'll ever get to seeing the actual Beatles, so I sang my heart out to every word and even went a little dance-crazy when they performed "Twist and Shout"

BTD '08 Photos
BTD '07 Photos

So, as I stated, I thought I would never be able to bike again. Instead I agreed to being part of a bad-ass bike gang named the Argonauts (based off some Vonnegut novel...a writer I've embarrassingly never read before) for a Depaul student film. Our first shoot was last Wednesday night and we shot underneath Lake Shore Drive just south of Navy Pier.
Unplanned fireworks burst into the sky over Lake Michigan and we all pedaled our bikes down the pier, whooping with excitement like a bunch of caffeinated ten-year-olds. "This is kind of magical," I said to one of my gang members, who I had previously been talking to about yoga and hair salons (obviously we're very gang-like). Who knew one could access such view-friendly locales during after-hours. I sure didn't.

I thought biking to Navy Pier from Ukranian Village Wednesday night was quite a feat, but tonight takes the cake--University Village to Navy Pier to Planetarium to Wicker Park.
During tonight's shoot as we slowly made our way down the lakeside path, Kalyn told anyone we passed, "We're an eccentric bike gang." I thought it was hilarious and eventually deemed ourselves no longer the Argonauts, but the E.B.G. She got a few great reactions from people; one man even broke into giggles.
Here's something I learned being an extra. The director doesn't actually have any idea how long a shoot will last, so any time given is irrelevant. Lying on the concrete with the Field Museum in front, the Shedd Aquarium to the left, the lake behind and the Big Dipper above, I decided to chill out and not worry about time (Does anybody really know what time it is/Does anybody really care/About time..."). Police on bikes were arresting three men just a few feet away from us. I'm still not sure why.

When we finally made it to the Planetarium beach to film the conclusion of the feuding gang race, we made it just in time to get kicked off the beach by a slow-moving cop car who announced through a megaphone that the beach was closed for the night. None of us had eaten, and we all retreated onto the museum boulevard, pining after our promised sandwiches and PBRs. Chessa held us over by generously dispensing slices of her homemade sandwiches, though, which I devoured like I hadn't eaten in weeks.

I rode home with Shelly, Kalyn, and Angelia, dreaming about and salivating at the thought of downing a fountain Coke. I know, I know, a normal person would dream of h2o, but not this gangster. Usually I quench my thirst with chocolate milk or cranberry juice, but every now and then a fountain Coke really hits the spot. Something about the carbonation. Realizing that nothing nothing stays open past 10 in this damn city, Shelly and I in unison brainstormed: WENDY'S!
Kayln, a few bike lengths ahead of us, stopped at a red light alongside 3 motorcyclists. As Shelly and Angelia pulled up alongside her, she delivered her, "We're an eccentric bike gang" line and I vowed (yet again) to never leave home without a camera. Could there be more hilarious of a site than seeing 3 meatheads with no sense of humor waiting to peel away from 3 corresponding crazies claiming to be in a vintage Schwinn gang?
A few blocks further on our adventure to hipsterville the air grew much warmer away from the lakefront, and I took off my jacket and my dad's button down plaid long-sleeved shirt (hot, i know) and tied them both around my waist. "Your shirt fell off," a guy with his friend outside a bar called out to me. At first I thought they were saying something derogatory until i looked down and realized my hoodie had in fact fallen onto Grand Avenue back about fifty yards. Oops. I planted my bike on its kickstand and shuffled over to pick up my discarded clothes. "Thanks!" I said to the man as I walked back, embarrassed.

At Wendy's we dutifully waited in line behind a car in the drive-thru. When we approached the order here speaker, we said what we wanted, but instead of the voice thanking us and instructing us to proceed to the first window, he said, "Are you on bikes?" Yeah, so? "You have to be in a car, we can't serve you." The adolescent angst crept up from my junior high storage unit as I defiantly complained about bike-prejudiced people. Logical solution: Call Chessa to come drive us through the drive-thru. She jumped at the chance to be part of the prank and showed up a few minutes later in her station wagon. As we waited for her we discussed opening a healthy fast food joint that would only serve cyclists and that would turn away anyone in a vehicle. When Chessa arrived, one by one we rode alongside her open passenger window and shouted our orders through the two windows into the speaker. The man accused us of already trying to order, but Chessa insisted she had just gotten there and we were all her roommates. At last! We finally got our french fries and fountain Cokes. We had to split the fries, though, because they forgot to give us one. At that point I didn't care anymore. I rode the rest of the way by myself down Milwaukee with my insanely biggie Coke, every now and then throwing a fry into my mouth.

My two-year gig as a driver ends in August, and I'm already worried about not having the funds to ever own/fuel a vehicle again once I have to hand over the keys to "my" beloved Volvo. But I have to say, after tonight, I'm pretty psyched about reintroducing Caliente into my daily routine.

[Ordinarily I have Sundays and Mondays off, but I worked today and was asked yesterday if I could work Monday...so I should probably get to sleep so that I can safely transport the kid to school in five hours. Maybe I'll tell him to ride his bike there...]

This post is outdated now, but where one door closes another opens...I, believe it or not, didn't take any pictures during the filming, but the talented Francesca (Chessa) Gagliano just posted Polaroids she took. So I'll just pretend that that's why it took so long to press "Publish Post." Enjoy.

spring ignites the crazies

2008-04-23T21:57:00.006-06:00

While I was walking the dogs to pick up Max from guitar yesterday, I was talking to my sister on the phone, while trying to walk Axel and Nola (two huge, lovable, well-trained German Shepherds...who also try and kill every dog in their path). My sister was talking very loudly, denying that she was drunk, despite participating in an outdoor, campus-wide MayFest party. "You wouldn't even believe it! It's crazy here!" "I don't know," I replied. "I've seen a lot of crazy things."
And sure enough, up ahead a few yards a man stood on the sidewalk holding a leash attached to a cat. "And now people walk cats. How's that for crazy," I said to her. Call me crazy, but to me that's crazier than college kids drinking, which is about as common as, say, a dog on a leash.

I arrived at Avenue N Guitars and waited outside with the dogs, propping myself up onto the window ledge. Nola dutifully sat on the stoop staring into the shop, not letting anyone enter or exit unless she saw it was Max. Axel stood on the sidewalk, his tongue hanging out, staring at people with his big head and crooked face (permanent damage from a bad middle ear infection last summer). Oh and he wears booties on his back feet now to prevent the nails, which have worn all the way down to his paw, from bleeding. People walking by laughed at his shoes or whispered about the size of his head. Then. A small, old man rode by on a bike in the street and yelled, "TAKE YOUR PANTS OFF!" Not even in a suggestive, perverse manner either. He seemed to be quite angry that I was wearing pants.

Max came out from his lesson (20 minutes late) and I said, "I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone right now," and recounted the cat and cyclist. And as if the universe wanted to prove my point even further, just then two woman jogged around us, wearing matching gear and voicing the rhythms of their runs-"BUM BUM. BUM BUM." Training for a synchronized running team? Max and I looked at each other and laughed with questioning eyebrows.

When we got home I went up to my apartment to read on the couch, which nestles between three (almost) floor-to-ceiling windows. As I desperately tried to catch up on my New Yorkers, I heard an amplified bicycle honk from outside followed by some chanting. I looked out and saw 6 (or 7?) people on some kind of boat-sized bicycle contraption slowly pedaling up and down Leavitt. Every few feet one of the guys chanted something into a megaphone. I thought I heard "Obama" mentioned, but I could have been hearing things.

Then, while in the backyard (which is actually a side yard) throwing a Frisbee with Max, we saw three girls in the new adorable corner park that just opened across the street from our house, who looked like witches. And I'm not being influenced by my reading material, as I have not yet started The Golden Compass, due to never having time to stay on top of the weekly New Yorkers (of which I received TWO this week!?)

So i decided to join in the craziness and run around like a madwoman today getting supplies for my upcoming art show and managed to blow through my entire paycheck. I am now subsequently broke, as I have been before every art show. I also bought new aviator sunglasses, proving once again that I was born in the wrong generation, seeing as the only sunglasses that didn't look horrible on me incidentally make me look like a 70s porn star (or Jim Morrison?).

Oh, and I chopped off my hair. Well, I didn't, but my brilliant stylist, Vanessa (seriously--she'll change your life--Salon Lorrene in Palatine) did. And as you can see I am now sporting somewhat of a funky "Jew fro," just in time for the Passover season, which p.s.--speaking of crazy--is driving me insane! It's my own fault because I went a month without grocery shopping (I do 4 other people's grocery shopping, yet can't find time to do my own. Figure that one out.) and decided the best time to remedy the empty-fridge syndrome was the same day that Passover began at sunset. So I filled an entire basket of yummy things from around the world at Trader Joe's--Mexican, Indian, Italian, etc.--and can't eat ANY of it until Sunday at sundown! This made me question my belief system because I realized that the only two Jewish traditions I participate in (besides lighting the menorah) involve starving myself (no flour for 8 days of Passover and no food/drink for 24 hours of Yom Kippur). This doesn't really make any sense because I don't believe in God and I very strongly believe in eating.

Also, I was thinking today after marveling at the cloudless sky and 75-degree sun--Do people in "paradise climates" (such as southern California) appreciate nice weather? Because, my thought process continued, today explains why I love living in Chicago. I enjoy a challenging/spontaneous climate. It Keeps life interesting and doesn't allow taking for granted beautiful days like this one. Thank you, Mother Nature.

in memory of julie carpenter (1932-2008)

2008-03-19T20:29:00.011-06:00

I tried but I honestly can’t remember what I did on Christmas Day any of the years prior to the first time I joined Carrie's family in 1994. My only memories of Christmas involve long car rides with the Lullos playing carols on the radio and Grandma scurrying to welcome us into her home, always a hug leftover for Carrie’s little Jewish friend. I had just turned 12 and Carrie and I had become inseparable best friends over the past year. Being the token Jew of the school, she and her parents graciously invited me to join her mom’s side of the family up in Wisconsin on her parents’ farm.
I don't remember much from that first Christmas except a lot people radiating a lot of positive energy, a lot of food and a lot of kids. Carrie’s cousin, Mary, was only a month old and Carrie kept insisting I hold her. Babies have always made me uncomfortable, so I just as insistently refused the responsibility of holding such a tiny human life.

Over the years Carrie’s grandparents became my surrogate grandparents. My first grandpa didn’t even get to see me pass first grade. Both of grandmas missed my high school graduation by less than a year, and my other grandpa passed away three months before I graduated college. Every year they’d give me gifts like I was just another one of their many grandchildren and made me feel like I wasn't just there because I had nowhere else to go but that I was there because I was part of the family.

Grandma declared Christmas '06 the last one she planned to host. I made sure Carrie and I took a picture with her grandparents before we left to document the end of an era.

Eerily soon after, Grandma was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and spent all of 2007 battling the disease with all her strength and devotion. Carrie's parents hosted Christmas '07. Grandma looked thinner and seemed a little less energetic, but she was nevertheless still her sassy, lovable self.

On February 17 of this year I drove Carrie up to Burlington to visit her Grandma (her grandparents moved to a lake house about 8 years ago), who was lying on a hospital bed in the middle of the living room. I contemplated the word as I entered the space, standing on the floor where I’ve spent so many Christmases. Living Room. Is this one of life’s ironies? I thought.
Carrie motioned for me to hold Grandma’s hand. Unlike so many years before when I refused to hold Mary, afraid of dropping her and ruining my chances of ever returning, this time I knew I had to offer my hand. It was the least I could do. Instead of fearing holding on, I feared letting go. I stroked Grandma’s fingers. Remarkably soft and bony. She could barely open her eyes, but she nodded when someone asked if she recognized me.
I excused myself to use the bathroom and almost started crying. All these memories of Grandma flooded back to me, starting with the time Carrie and I, as pre-teens, had returned from exploring their many acres of land and I went to the bathroom, only to have a tick fall out of my underwear. Subsequently Grandma carefully checked my hair for any more lingering blood-sucking insects.

--Grandma having serious conversations with me about my photography career path, giving me advice to join a newspaper. “They’re the best photographers,” she always reminded me. She was always the artist, though. I have a collection of “reject” paintings that she let Carrie and I keep that I will treasure forever.

--Grandma playing our annual game of Charades and having to act out “The Thong Song.”

--Grandma giving extra love and attention to her autistic granddaughter, Hannah.

--When my own mom was diagnosed with cancer back in the June of 2002, I spent my whole first summer break from college driving her to doctor appointments and spending hours visiting the hospital after she had a lung removed. Grandma Carpenter made it clear that she was looking out for me, and before I went back to school in the fall invited me up to Burlington for a little R&R. Not just me, though. She extended the invitation to my younger sister, Sheri, as well. Sheri and I spent the afternoon with Carrie and Grandma on the lake riding waverunners, enjoying the final days of summer. For those few hours I allowed myself to live in the present and fully appreciate the weather and the company of my best friend, my only sister and my surrogate grandmother.

[me and Carrie on the waverunner, her cousins Erin and Mary on the pier]

[me and Sheri]
When I came out of the bathroom I sat on the floor of what I decided should more appropriately be called the Family Room, a room that lived up to its name. The sounds of the Daytona 500 filled the room and replaced the gunshots of the old Westerns, which had previously been on TV, serving as a distraction for Grandpa.
Across the room Clyde, their chocolate lab, started chewing a paper towel. Grandpa scolded him from his position on the couch. Not wanting to make Grandpa get up, I crawled over to the dog and reached to grab the shredded mess. Clyde responded by biting my hand with three sharp teeth. I didn’t get mad at him, despite the throbbing pain. It was proof of reality. This is happening and this is happening now.
Grandma called for her husband in a stunted whisper, "Neal, Neal..." He dutifully walked over and sat beside his childhood love and took her hand in his. What killed me was then hearing Grandma saying something no one else could hear and Grandpa responding in a normal voice, "You want a hug? Ok." And he stood up and pressed his body against her frail frame.
It was hard to leave because deep down I knew that was probably the last time I'd see her.

On March 2, while waiting for a flight back to Chicago from Kansas City, I received a message from Carrie saying her grandma passed away that morning.

I am so grateful for all your compassion and generosity, Grandma. Thank you for being an unforgettable presence in my life. I'll miss you.

funniest snl in a long time

2008-02-29T12:10:00.006-06:00

Last Saturday night SNL returned after a 2+-month-long writers' strike hiatus. Due to my feverish state, I stayed in and watched the new episode. Despite how miserable I felt, I still couldn't help laughing out loud at times. They were the kind of skits that made me wish I still worked there

(yep, that's a polaroid of me, standing in for Lorne Michaels towards the end of the '04/'05 season)

...and I'll tell you one other thing that makes me wish I still worked there--Ellen Page and WILCO are hosting tomorrow night's show!! I could be holding a light meter under Jeff Tweedy's chin as I type this...

Here are my two favorites from the 2/23/08 show:

(for the full-length skit, click HERE)

Wilco Winter Residency, Day 5 (a.k.a. What happens Thursday?)

2008-02-21T20:50:00.006-06:00

(*NOTE*: My apologies for taking so long to complete the final recap...I started writing this Thursday and by Friday came down with the flu, which I'm still trying to get over...)

It's taken me 24 hours to process last night's conclusion to what Greg Kott coined, "Wilco-palooza," but here it goes.
In anticipation of the final night, I purposely refrained from looking up which songs Wilco had not played yet. I couldn't think of any off the top of my head, so I thought it'd be fun to be surprised if there were any left. Not only was this the grand finale but I was supposed to go with friends again. Abbey had our two tickets and we planned to meet Shilpa there. Unfortunately, though, Abbey got sick in the middle of the day and decided against going. She and I both sent out texts to our other Wilco fan friends. Our mutual friend, Lindsay (who was there Saturday), decided to skip class for the night and spend the time instead enjoying the lovely sounds of our favorite band.
Shilpa had to pick her ticket up from will-call, so she got there early and stood in line in the freezing cold, subsequently allowing her to save us seats, sixth row center. Turns out it was the same row I'd sat in the the past two nights with Amy and Steve. And guess who happened to be sitting behind us--Amy and Steve!
Frank E. Lee from XRT introduced the band tonight, saying, "Wilco is playing as good as any band in the world right now!"

1) Sunken Treasure (repeat)--I love the harmonica.
2) One By One--during this mellow tune, the girl taking down orders/carrying drinks around was yelling out names of beers to potential customers
3) Shouldn't Be Ashamed
4) You Are My Face (repeat)--the annoying people receiving all the beer wouldn't sit down, which annoyed those (us) who actually wanted to sit and relax during the slower songs. "They should be pushed," Lindsay said.
5) Side With The Seeds (repeat)

"How you doin'?" Jeff asked the packed theater. "Are you tired?" I answered "YES" but it got lost among all the overly-enthused "NOs!" "No, we're not tired," Jeff said. "We are en-er-gized. We've been swingin' two bats in the on-deck circle all week--I don't know what that means--do they still do that?" (???) "Ok, we've been taking human growth hormones all week."

6) Pot Kettle Black (repeat)
7) War On War (repeat)
8) Pieholden Suite--Nels Cline simultaneously played the banjo and tambourine
"We get asked to play that song a lot, but we don't play it often...because we don't have the Total Prose [the horn trio...who I've been informed is actually the Total PROS...i.e. PROfessionals]

9) Muzzle Of Bees (repeat)
10) It's Just That Simple (repeat)--John Stirratt got just as huge and deserving a reaction from the crowd as he did on Saturday night. I recorded most of the beautiful song, but unfortunately had to stop just before the end because the stupid security man was on the prowl again. I saw him checking out some girl's device in the row in front of mine and got nervous. Enjoy:

11) Nothingsevergonnastandinmyway (repeat)

"This song will be the last off of A.M.," Jeff said. "I have to be honest--you can go get a soda during this song. This song is dogshit, man. It's the worst song...it's the worst song ever. I just have to be honest with you, so go pee, take it easy, put your feet up, don't pay attention--this is a contractual obligation."
12) I Thought I Held You--he mocked himself through the entire song, even going so far as to mime the lyrics--love it.
"Did you enjoy that?" Cheers. "That's because these guys [motioned to the band] are good. Thanks fellas for polishing that turd. Showbiz should be more honest, don't you think? I'd like it on American Idol if someone came out and said, 'Look I didn't really rehearse this at all. I suck.'"

13) What Light--Lindsay and I discussed on the drive to The Riv how annoying it is that people only know this song (because it's the only one the radio played for awhile from SBS before they finally started playing "Walken") and how a lot of people interpret the song to be about god.
"Watch," I said to Lindsay when the song started. "Everyone's going to sing this one." Sure enough, I was right.
Lindsay responded, "That's cause they think it's church." Haha!

"If you've been to all the shows, we're really close to being done with all the songs on all the records. A lot of the rest of the set is just kind of our favorites from the week, stuff that we like to play. Some stuff we played a lot, some stuff we haven't played very much."
14) When You Wake Up Feeling Old (repeat)
"We're gonna rock the shit outta these songs," Jeff said in response to someone in the audience yelling, "Rock that shit!"
"Orchestrated pop tunes," he continued, before jumping into
15) Summerteeth (repeat)--when Jeff sang the "Oooo's" at the end, the audience sang the "Aaaah's." "Nice Ahh-ing," he said. "I like that sentence--nice ahh-ings."
16) Jesus, Etc. (repeat)--the return of Andrew Bird! Finally got it on video:

"Thank you Andrew. I'm glad you came back," Jeff told him. "We're gonna play a couple more songs and that's it." Boooo! "You guys know better than that. We're gonna play a couple more songs and then we're going to take a break and then it's gonna be like we opened for ourselves. Then when we come back we'll be like the real deal, we'll be like the real band, we'll like change clothes and it'll probably just be us still, but that's kinda the idea."

17) Walken (repeat)--the first time I ever heard this song, all I could think was Beatlemania! Shilpa leaned over to me and happily said, "This song makes me think of you!" That made me smile. The only song with my name in it is "Letters To Elise" by The Cure, which is not only the most depressing song ever, but I'm pretty sure they wrote it about my life circa 2002/03. So it's nice to know that such a catchy, Beatles-inspired, fun tune reminds my friend of me over that other one.
18) Hummingbird (repeat)

During the break, Shilpa went to get us cups of water, while Lindsay and I discussed how we felt we were amidst a frat party. All we kept hearing was "HEINEKEN! AMSTEL! BUD!" I felt like informing these popped-collar idiots that Dave Matthews Band was actually playing in Wrigleyville--i.e. where the graduated population of my former high school resides.
When Shilpa returned, we had someone behind us take this picture before we got even sweatier.

Wilco came back with a repeat favorite
19) Via Chicago (repeat)--during which I turned to Shilpa and said, "This feels so good between my legs," in reference to the cup of water. I was serious but then she made me laugh by insisting I write in my book that I said that. Which then prompted my follow-up, "That's what she said," in my persistent ode to Michael Scott of The Office. "Pretty unpleasant," Lindsay said, regarding the blinding light display.

20) Blood Of The Lamb--never heard of it

"We're gonna have to do this again next year," Jeff said, which caused expected amounts of wild cheering. "Because I don't think we're going to get to everything." Collective Awwwwww. "We'll get to everything on the Wilco records but not everything on the Mermaid Avenue records, not all the B sides. We never promised that--look on your ticket! In fact, I don't think there's any promises on there. So next year we'll make some broader promise, since we know all these now. We'll do Dark Side Of The Moon one night." People yelling things. "Well you know what--you can submit your suggestions to the suggestion box...On your way out." Haha cause we're gone for good then-clever, Jeff. "Help us serve you better."

21) Can't Stand It (repeat)--I forgot to write it down?
22) Box Full Of Letters (repeat)--yay! I got to hear it again!
"I apologize for messing up the lyrics on that song," Jeff said. "And really quickly I'd like to blame my wife. Because she still calls that song 'Box Full of Lecords.' Because I had to play it on the radio one time and I messed it up and she's never forgiven me. 17 years. So I looked up and I saw her and I thought, 'Oh she's thinking this is a box full of lecords' so then I sang 'a box full of lecords.' See how that works? Sorry guys," he directed towards his fellow band members.

23) Heavy Metal Drummer (repeat)--I forgot to write this one down too?? What the hell.
24) Hate It Here (5 for 5--really?)

"Warning, warning. This next song might require some overly-optimistic singing along, call and response. Just an alert.
25) The Thanks I Get (repeat)--after the call and response of "We can make it better," Jeff asked, "Can you make it better? You have to stand up and sing to make it better. You have to make an ass out of yourself to make it better...that's right." Then back to the call and response.
26) Just A Kid--I had never heard this one but judging by the lyrics guessed correctly that this was Wilco's contribution to the Spongebob Squarepants movie soundtrack.

"You guys still having a good time?" Happy whistles!
27) Red-Eyed And Blue (repeat)--got the whistle duet with Andrew Bird on video!

28) I Got You (repeat)
29) Casino Queen (repeat)--the guy standing next to Shilpa was an air-guitar maniac and gyrated his body like nothing I've ever seen. We all watched him in pure amazement.
30) I'm A Wheel (repeat)
31) Less Than You Think--Tweedy's voice sounded strained at this point. And don't worry, they did play about ten minutes worth of the feedback found on the A Ghost Is Born recording. One by one they exited the stage and waved as the sounds kept playing...Tweedy, then Sansone, then Stirrat, then Cline, then Kotche...I missed Jorgensen's exit.

Encore:
32) I'm The Man Who Loves You (repeat)--what? No wife shout-out?

"Thank you everybody. Thanks to the Riviera for letting us live here for a week. Thanks for spoiling us for the rest of tour."
33) Dreamer In My Dreams (repeat)--videoed the end

"That's it, that's it," Jeff said. "Goodnight everyone. Thanks again. We'll do this again next year, ok?" Ok, JT, whatever you say. I'm just glad I got to experience the debut of the residency idea.
We went outside and I asked Shilpa to take my picture under the marquee (see beginning of post). I proudly displayed two jazz hands above my head, partly from my years of posing like that in dance photos, but more so to show, 5! I went to ALL 5! Quite an accomplishment.
We then asked a girl standing near us if she'd take a picture of all three of us standing under the marquee. She was not a happy camper and kept insisting she couldn't get all of us in the frame, nor could she figure out what button to push...there's one button. Here's the result:

As we headed to the car, I screeched and pointed at the sky. The end of the lunar eclipse (which began during the concert) was still visible--the last one until 2010. A winning night, the conclusion of the residency and a natural phenomenon. I started singing Wilco's "Far Far Away"..."Far, far away/From those city lights/That might be shining on you tonight/Far, far away from you/On the dark side of the moon...."
5 nights
160 songs
approx. 15 hours
What happens tomorrow night? I wondered. Well, until we meet again, thank you for five nights of brilliance.
ALL PHOTOS
ALL VIDEOS
I randomly came across this person's blog, where she posted tonight's show in its entirety, available for download--enjoy!

Wilco Winter Residency, Day 4, I Must Be High (On Wilco), a.k.a. Obama-Tweedy'08

2008-02-20T11:34:00.012-06:00

As promised, Amy and Steve (who looks remarkably like the guy who originally got me into Wilco), my new friends I met at Monday night's show, saved me a seat (and the same exact one!), which was really nice because I was running a lot later this evening, and if it wasn't for them, probably would have ended up crammed in the back of the dance floor crowd.
I talked with Amy about Wilco/Jeff Tweedy solo shows we've both attended, which amounts to at least three (unless you count these 5, then at least 8).

"They've always been our Chicago band," Lin Brehmer of XRT declared while standing center stage. "Wherever they go, they always come home." (Unlike another well-known Chicago-based band who planned an entire tour without coming to Chicago...(*ahem*-smashing pumpkins)

1) Outta Mind (Outta Site)--(sort of a repeat, but the mellower version, which is not the same as the one they've already played...which is a mistake on my part...the version they have played already was "Outta Site (Outta Mind)" Oops.)
2) I Must Be High--funny because I was just going to comment about how I feel like I'm sitting in a marijuana bubble. I also feel like I've been on a Wilco/music high for the past five days.
3) Impossible Germany (4 for 4)

4) Radio Cure--my mind took an unintentional trip back in time during this song, to the year 2002 when someone i thought i loved wrote a line from this in a letter...except he got a crucial word wrong...He wrote "Distance has a way of making love understandable" when, in fact, the lyric is: Distance has NO way of making love understandable...which is ironic because his version made it seem like he was trying to tell me in Wilco-code that we could make things work, whereas that turned out to be his exact opposite sentiment...come back, come back from the past and focus on the present...

5) Leave Me Like You Found Me--people around me are clapping, but not for the song, for the people in the rows ahead of them taking a seat instead of blocking everyone else's view
"That's the first time we've played that song. Outside the studio," Jeff said. (I thought he meant in the last 4 nights) "It's always nice to audition a song in front of such a large listening audience--and on the radio. Did it sound ok?" YEAH! "Ok, moving right along..."

6) Company In My Back--I've always loved this line, "Hide your soft skin/Your sorrow is sunshine/Listen to my eyes/They're hissing radiator tunes..."
"I don't know if can say that [referring to the repetitive use of "holy shit"] on the radio," Jeff said at the end of the song. "Oh well...that might be a hef-ty fine." Then he addressed his sons at home. "If you're still listening, go to bed." He looked at his watch. "Ok, it's still early. You can listen a little longer...but don't pay attention."

7) Handshake Drugs (repeat)--"I was chewin' gum for something to do/The blinds were being pulled down on the dew/Inside, out of love, what a laugh/I was looking for you"
Here's a clip:

8) War On War--I'm just gonna go ahead and say that Yankee Hotel Foxtrot still qualifies as my all-time favorite album (post-Beatles era)
9) Shake It Off--another favorite off SBS, everyone cheered when Tweedy sang, "So many hearts beating in one place." I called Lindsay and left her a voicemail because she wanted to hear this song at Saturday's show.

"So did a lot of you wait around in the cold today?" Jeff asked. "You guys are in-sane." Someone yelled out "Thank you!" but I didn't know why. Then Jeff responded, "You're welcome. That was John's idea. I was against it. I said, 'Give them coffee and they're gonna want donuts.' Did you like the coffee and hot chocolate?" Oh, ok, I understand now. "Good. You're welcome. I'm saying that on air so everyone knows...how much we care," Jeff continued. "We're going to play a few songs off an album that will hopefully warm you up...Oh my god I'm the worst," he said, self-mockingly. "Ok, here's Summerteeth..."

10) Summerteeth

Some feedback. "Excuse me," Jeff joked.
11) In A Future Age
12) ELT (repeat)
13) Shot In The Arm (repeat)

14) Poor Places
15) Reservations--I thought I had never heard this song live, but I just looked back at my old set lists from the first few times I saw them back in '02/'03 and I have...just not in awhile
transitioned right into
16) Spiders (Kidsmoke) (repeat)--since this was not only a repeat but is also about ten minutes long, I decided to run down and take a "pee break" before the designated intermission. While down there, I listened to my voicemail:

"Hi this is Alyse-I can't get to the phone right now because I'm hanging out with Wilco!" Jenny tricked me again! Back in 2004 when Lindsay and I spent a whole night with Wilco&Co. after their Radio City performance in NYC, I left Jenny a drunken message from their hotel bar bathroom and she, in turn, left that message for me...but she sounded just like me, and it took me awhile to figure out she can just imitate me dead-on. She left the same message tonight and it confused me again! Hilarious.

When I got back, they were still playing the same song. Then Jeff said, "We're gonna play one song after this and then take a break. You guys keep clapping so they can hear you at home." The claps and cheering got louder as they finally concluded "Spiders."
"Because I have the opportunity to speak to more people than just you, I'd like to thank those who've come to all five shows..." (but we're here, Jeff, and it's only #4) "...and to the city of Chicago for making our lives...wonderful (or beautiful?)." Then making fun of himself for clearly being a cheeseball, he said, "Oh my god..."

17) On And On And On--most depressing song on SBS

During the break Amy and Steve left to get some air. I stayed in my seat, stared at people, took a crappy picture of the ceiling

and thought to myself, "I wonder what they're playing on the radio during the break...."

"Hello. Welcome back," Jeff greeted us and the XRT audience.
18) Hotel Arizona (repeat)

"It's really great to play on the radio and promote our first two albums." Everyone laughed. "...Since we didn't get to the first time. I'm just kidding--XRT would have let us--they've been with us from the start--the only radio to support Wilco."
I thought of the radio station's ads around the city that read, "Chicago without XRT would be..." asking for listeners to submit their comparisons on their website. Chicago without XRT would be like the world without Wilco.
19) Too Far Apart (repeat)-- check out the video clip. I finally recorded some of Tweedy's wittiness, as he asked, "Can you do that? I'm not gonna go for it that hard--it's the radio--that'd be silly."

20) (Was I) In Your Dreams
"Thank you gentleman," Tweedy directed towards the horn section. "They'll be back--the Total Prose...Daaaaa Total Prose." Hahahaha for those who don't get that, let me put a voice to the phrase. Picture Chris Farley dressed in a Bears jersey saying, "Daaaa Bears" on SNL.

21) Misunderstood (repeat)--rousing "I'd like to thank you all for nothin' nothin' nothin' nothin' NOTHIN' NOTHIN' NOTHIN' (x10)...for nothin' at all"
22) Someday Soon
23) California Stars--called Pat and left a message because he loves this song

"So Obama won Wisconsin?" Mad cheering. "So the Total Prose are back."
24) Hate It Here (4 for 4)
"You guys sound good," Tweedy informed TP. "Even if you have grenadine down the front of your shirt." One of the horn players mimed being embarrassed. "He spilled his Shirley Temple."

25) The Thanks I Get--excellent SBS outtake. After the call and response "We can make it better (we can make it better)," Tweedy said, "It's not silly to sing along. And it's not silly to want to make it better. Ok maybe a little--but it feels so good. Some times you gotta give a damn." That's going to be my new motto. Thanks, Jeff. "Yeah, Obama can use that any time he likes." Hell yeah!
Back in December I went to an Obama rally in this same venue called, "Change Rocks," in which Wilco played a few songs and introduced our future president (yeah, i said it). This was the third time I saw Obama speak (the first was when he was on Conan with Wilco in Chicago in May of '06--unfortunately i have no pictures of this and the second was this past September when I happened to be in NYC during a rally in Washington Square Park) and the more I hear him talk, the more I want him to be president. At the end of the Change Rocks event, I said to my friend Amy, "If he takes Jeff Tweedy as his VP, I'm sold."
Anyway, back to Wilco. Jeff continued, "He [Obama] probably doesn't have any use for the part about getting crazy." He then imitated Obama, "Every time I go out and play..." then "Oh, campaign liability..."

26) Walken (4 for 4)

"I love you Susie."
27) I'm The Man Who Loves You (4 for 4)
28) I'm A Wheel--complete with Tweedy's famous screeching (how does he keep doing that without blowing his voice??) as well as Pat Sansone's animated guitar strumming with full windmill arm circles.

"We're trying to avoid the tired ritual of encores as much as we can--you know, walking off and back on stage," Jeff said. "Actually we're just lazy. When we're done, we want to be done." People cheered, and rightly so. I never really understood the encore concept. "Now, do they get XRT in Pekin [Illinois]? Ok, this goes out to Pekin."
29) Kingpin (repeat)--because the lyrics go, "I wanna be your kingpin/livin' in Pekin"
"How can I?" Woo!
Building on the audience's enthusiastic, "Woos!" Jeff commented on how they like to "start tours in their home town and then put up with the lame audiences everywhere else." Of course I feel a burst of home town pride, but at the same time he might have wanted to save that comment for when he wasn't being broadcast worldwide. Although, I do have to say, he's right, at least as far at Austin goes. I saw them perform at Austin City Limits last September, and I felt like I (along with a few friends) was the only one going nuts, singing along, jumping up and down, etc. And in response, Jeff hardly spoke to the boring audience and although they sounded great, there was a definite lack of enthusiasm.

(photo taken by Lisa Nicholson at ACL '07)

(photo taken by Shilpa Anturkar at ACL '07, and yes that's the famous blue notebook in hand)

"What should we do?" Jeff lamented to his fellow Chicagoans. "Take you with us. Actually a lot of you probably will. And that's scary."

30) Outta Site (Outta Mind) (repeat)--we've come full circle
With a wave of his hand and rub of his eye, JT thanked the audience and Wilco left the stage. "Peaches" by Pres. of U.S.A. played yet again. And yet again I sang along. There was a stagehand adjusting the instruments who kept lifting his hands in the air, signaling us to continue clapping/cheering.
It worked. They came back. (shocking, i know)
31) The Late Greats (repeat)
"Thank you very much," Jeff waved goodbye. "That's gotta be it. See you tomorrow night."

I said thanks again for the seat to Amy and Steve and then skated my way down the thickly-iced sidewalks of Lawrence Avenue until I found my car on one of the side streets. Only one night left...

Wilco Winter Residency, Day 3

2008-02-19T08:52:00.008-06:00

Tonight I found a parking spot right on Lawrence Avenue, so not only did I avoid the $20 parking lot for the third night in a row, but this time I didn't have to pay a meter! Heck yeah. The trade-off, though, involved a bit longer of a hike to The Riv, and it was the coldest night yet.
The XRT radio personality who introduced the band also made reference to the weather. "On one of the coldest nights in Chicago, you've got one of the hottest tickets in town." I whole-heartedly agree.
The theater wasn't nearly as sauna-ish as it's been, which was a huge relief. I opted, though, to still sit in the balcony again and found an open single aisle seat next to someone who introduced herself as Amy and the guy sitting next to her as Steve. They both were able to get 5-day passes--lucky! She warned me that the guy sitting in front of me was really tall, which is why they had scooted down a seat, leaving mine available. I said that's ok because I was really tired and didn't plan on standing much anyway.
I took out The Best American Non-Required Reading 2007 and started reading. Amy asked how to book was because Steve is apparently a big Dave Eggers fan. As am I. I said I'd only read the intro so far but that was good because it was written by Sufjan Stevens. Amy's a big Sufjan fan (as am i) and said she'd seen him here before.
Before the show began I ran to the basement bathroom. By the time I got back to my seat I already had to go again. Wonderful. I silently cursed the grande cinnamon dolce latte I downed in record time earlier today. Then the lights went off and "tall man" stood right in front of me. I remained seated, though, for the first 6 or 7 songs, enjoying the music, while singing to myself and drumming along with Glenn with my imaginary drumsticks. There is something to seeing the music magically produced before your eyes, though, and for the remainder of the show I alternated between standing up and chillin' in my chair.

1) Blue-Eyed Soul
2) Remember The Mountainbed--which I had to look up with key words such as "turpentine," "pine," "eucalyptus," and "singing seeds of song"
Afterwards Jeff spoke (the earliest he's spoken in any show so far). "Andrew Bird everybody. The band gets bigger and bigger every night."

3) Bob Dylan's Beard

Tweedy said something but I missed it because of the people yelling, "DOWN IN FRONT!" and "GO DOWNSTAIRS IF YOU WANNA STAND!"
Tweedy: "Thank you guys. Are you warming up? Tonight's brutal. It's only going to get worse." He then made a comment about about people fighting for spots in front of the stage. "Fight it out," he advised.

4) Hesitating Beauty
5) That's Not The Issue--through the spaces of the people standing in front of me, I was still able to see Pat Sansone expertly play his variety of instruments as I comfortably remained seated

6) Wishful Thinking
7) You Are My Face (first repeat of the night)-When Wilco first streamed Sky Blue Sky online last year year in anticipation of their newest album release, the lyrics, "I trust no emotion/I believe in locomotion" were the ones I sang over and over in my head.

8) Side With The Seeds (repeat)
9) Shot In The Arm (3 for 3)
10) We're Just Friends
11) Kamera--I finally jumped out of my seat and started snapping photos (despite only having my mom's point-n-shoot).
"I totally forgot how to play that," Jeff apologized. "I'm sorry."
Someone shouted out, "ALL YOUR LIFE!" to which Tweedy responded, "All your life? What's that? A song of yours you want us to sing?" I love him.
Then someone else screamed, "DON'T PLAY 'THEOLOGIANS'!"
"Don't play 'Theologians'?" Jeff retorted. "Oh you're asking for it, pal."

12) Handshake Drugs (repeat)
13) How To Fight Loneliness--with the much-welcomed return of Andrew Bird, who I'd like to add/correct myself from Saturday's show recap, plays the fiddle, not the violin.

Jeff thanked him at the end of the song and said, "We're going to play a few songs off our first album." Someone on stage must have corrected him because then he said, "Aren't we? Scratch that--we're playing one off our first album you bought." Guilty laughter. "What? I thought we had some goodwill going back and forth here...I'm always shitting in the punch bowl." Then took a swan-dive into
14) Jesus, Etc. (3 for 3)

"Ok you better know these next songs like the back of your hand!" Tweedy joked. "After turning on us so quickly...I love you too!...I just assumed someone said that." Which prompted sporadic professions of love from a handful of people. Then someone requested loudly, "LOOSE FUR!" (Wilco's side-project band...I think I saw their only ever live performance at St. Ann's Warehouse in Brooklyn, NY back in 2002 or '03). "Loose Fur ain't here," Jeff replied.

15) Should've Been In Love--the crowd went wild when Tweedy slipped his harmonica holder over his head to rest on his shoulders, and every time he motioned to take it off, a collective "awww" filled the air. "If you see me walking down the street with this around my neck, now you'll know why," said Jeff.

16) Pick Up The Change--yay! I've been waiting for this one!
"Andrew has free range--he's a free-range bird," Tweedy joked. "I wish I wasn't me sometimes." Haha!

17) Theologians--love the steel blue guitar, Jeff.
"Play it again?" Jeff mocked the tool earlier who yelled an anti-request. "We're going to play that one for the rest of the show now."
He then introduced Total Prose (finally got the name), the horn section, which is apparently a joke name. "On the trombone--or the bone as they call it..." Tweedy remarked.
18) Walken (3 for 3)

"I'd like to dedicate this song to my lovely wife, Susie. I love you." (Gee, I wonder what song it's going to be...) "We're going to take a break after this song, but don't leave, we're coming back...like the dead. We're just going to pee."
He then strummed the first note of
19) I'm The Man Who Loves You (3 for 3)--and said, "This note makes me have to pee." Amen.

As soon as the song ended, I ran downstairs to pee for the second time since I'd arrived at the Riv. Damn coffee, I thought. What a time to have an overactive bladder. The line was ridiculous, so unlike Jeff I didn't get to take advantage of the "pee break." Instead I talked to Amy and Steve sitting next to me. They told me Greg Kott, the Chicago Tribune music critic, is also keeping tabs on the set lists and has a worthwhile blog to check out. Turns out Kott and I have a lot of similar opinions Wilco-wise. Click HERE for Kott's blog. Amy asked me if there were any songs I really want them to play. I said, "Box Full Of Letters." Turns out she and Steve live in Palatine, so I told her I went to Fremd High School and grew up not far from there. She went to Wheeling High School. Small world.

20) Via Chicago (repeat)--After the first verse I realized my mom's little point'n'shoot has video recording capabilities and recorded the rest of the song. This was an exciting discovery but also pissed me off as far as getting in trouble for my SLR camera, which does not have any video capabilities. Wouldn't you think having video footage would be "worse" than still pictures? Yet, every single person there with their tiny cameras and their stupid iPhones are doing the same thing. Anyway, here's the video

21) Impossible Germany (3 for 3)
22) She's A Jar--afterwards Jeff said, "Clearly I psyched myself out. I thought, I'll whistle this one [as opposed to playing the harmonica melody] and nothing came out.
23) Say You Miss Me

"You guys have been the nicest audience. You're very sweet," Jeff told us. "You're all hungover, aren't you?" Laughter. "You're holding out for Tuesday and Wednesday, I know." YEEEEEEEAH! "How'd you get tickets to all five shows?" he asked. "It was hard, I know." Oh I don't think you know just how hard it was, my friend.

24) BOX FULL OF LETTERS!!!--this is one I was holding out for, a definite favorite. "I just can't find the time/To write my mind/The way I want it to read/You'll come back again/And I'll still be your friend..." Again I remembered after the first verse that I had the video advantage, so here is the remainder of that song:

25) I'm Always In Love--I recorded the end of this song because I've always loved Jeff and John's prominent harmonies.

"I'd like to welcome back Total Prose. They've gained a member--they're the fastest growing band in America!"

26) Hate It Here (3 for 3)
27) The Late Greats (repeat)
28) Red-Eyed And Blue (repeat)--I wanted to record the wonderful whistling duet of Jeff and Andrew, but when I was video-ing "Box Full Of Letters" I saw security men eye-ing me, so I decided not to risk it. Hopefully they'll go for it again Tuesday or Wednesday.
29) I Got You (repeat)
30) Monday (repeat)--How does JT scream like that five nights in a row??

"Want to hear a lullaby?" Jeff asked. "We'll say goodnight with a lullaby..." then started singing, "Hush little baby..."
31) My Darling

They left the stage and, like Saturday, it really seemed like there wasn't going to be an encore. But again, like Saturday, no one budged. And like Saturday, "Peaches" played out the house speakers. I was singing it really loud without really paying attention to the fact that I was singing it out loud, and the guy in front of me turned around and asked who sang it. "Presidents Of The United States Of America," I told him. Get with it, dude. I totally had a mosh pit at my bat-mitzvah to their hit called "Lump."

Encore:
32) I Can't Stand It (3 for 3)
"One More?" asked Jeff. "Thanks again, guys."
33) Nothingsevergonnastandinmyway(again)--great ending song.

Amy and I exchanged phone numbers so that I could sit with them again tomorrow night, which was really nice of her to offer. I waved goodbye and walked out singing "Our House," which has played on the house speakers at the conclusion of every show so far. Outside the temperature was -17 degrees (I'm not kidding) and I literally could not feel my hands by the time I got to my car.
Total songs tonight: 33. They've played one more song than the previous show each night...so maybe by Wednesday's conclusion, we'll get a full 35! I love this band.

MORE PHOTOS

(p.s. Don't forget that Tuesday night's show will be broadcast on XRT-93.1 and on their website www.wxrt.com beginning at 7:30 p.m. CST)

Wilco Winter Residency, Day 2 (a.k.a. Look out/Here I Come Again/And I'm bringin' my friends)

2008-02-17T22:47:00.006-06:00

A few hours before Day 2 of the residency, I received an e-mail from my friend Brian, who I haven't talked to regularly in ages. (I intend on posting an entry at the end of the 5 days regarding how I originally got into Wilco and part of that story involves meeting Brian through ebay after someone I had bought a ticket for declined the gift)
It read:

Dear Alyse,
I hope you had/have a blast at the Wilco shows. Do you still write the set lists in a notebook? If so, you certainly have your work cut out for you the next several nights! Well, have fun – I’m jealous! :)
Sincerely,
Brian

I found it hilarious that he remembered that detail from way back when and smiled to myself as I made sure my blue "bible" was tucked safely into my purse.

As independent I consider myself, I have to say there is something to be said about sharing three hours of your favorite band with three of your best friends. Lindsay (my fellow Wilco addict...again, once I post about all my Wilco run-ins, the best story involves when she came out to NYC to see them play Radio City and we ended up spending the whole night hanging out with them...that's just a preview), Jenny (who's first time seeing the band live took place on my birthday when we were moved to the front row...another great story that will be included in the future post), and Shawna (who had never seen Wilco live (only JT) and is now a self-proclaimed Wilco superfan)
I warned them to wear comfortable shoes in the event we didn't get seats and to wear layers to avoid sweating to death. Luckily we got there right as the doors were opening, so Lindsay and Jenny jumped out onto Lawrence Ave. and held a place in the line that went around the block, while Shawna and I found parking--once again lucked out with a metered spot on Sheridan. We met up with them just in time to enter. This time I only brought my mom's point-n-shoot camera with me, in order to avoid any drama and risk not getting four seats together. Smart move on my part. We settled into our seats and awaited the band's arrival, chatting about which songs we really wanted them to play.

Jeff Tweedy came out solo with an acoustic guitar and jumped right into the first song.
1) Someone Else's Song--which he was then joined in the middle of by the rest of Wilco
2)Hell Is Chrome

"Welcome back," Jeff said. "To some of you." I turned to Lindsay and said, "Glenn [Kotche] looks like God." He was dressed all in white, illuminated in such a way that as he banged his drums it looked like he was addressing all corners of the world with every rhythm.

3) Handshake Drugs--one of two favorites off A Ghost Is Born (the other being "Hummingbird" which they played last night). I love watching Nels Cline play his guitars, calculated spastic movements. And all in bright red pants.
4) Muzzle of Bees--Lindsay grabbed my arm excitedly. This is the song she had hoped they'd play.
5) Via Chicago--I love when they play this song live because it's like a hometown heroes anthem, and they indulge in major jam sessions, which all begin and end impeccably. This one also included multiple blinding light displays, forcing me to close my eyes for a good portion of the song, but I didn't mind because it made me picture some of my favorite lyrics: "I printed my name on the back of a leaf/And I watched it float away/The hope I had in a notebook full of white dry pages/Was all I tried to save/But the wind blew me back via Chicago/In the middle of the night/And not without fight/At the crush of veils and starlight..."

6) I Am Trying To Break Your Heart--a repeat? Well, that's fine with me. They could play this song all five nights and I wouldn't complain.
7) Hotel Arizona
8) Shot In The Arm (repeat, but again, a favorite)
9) Impossible Germany (repeat, but glad Lindsay got it hear it)

John Stiratt, one of the nicest musicians I've ever met, suddenly took center stage and sang
10) It's Just That Simple--a wonderful twangy song from Wilco's first album, A.M., that gives props to their "alt. country" genre.
The crowd went absolutely nuts at the song's conclusion, as John shyly stepped out of the limelight. Tweedy approached the mic. "I think that's [mad applause/cheering] all for you, John," he said with a smile.

11) When You Wake Up Feeling Old

"It's not like there's going to be no repeats," Jeff informed us. He read my mind, I thought. "We still have to put on a show. How many of you were here last night?" I thrust my arm into the air. "There's no way you were all here." Laughter. "At last it's not as cold-waiting in line-so no one's frostbitten?" NO! everyone yelled happily. "One more question for you--how many of you hate to raise your hands?" Smart ass.

12) Too Far Apart (repeat, good one though)

"Moving right along..." Jeff said and went right into
13) Hate It Here (repeat)

"I'd like to bring out a friend," Jeff said. "Mr. Andrew Bird." What what what?? The handsome cowboy-dressing, violin-playing, expert whistler took the stage. And to, of course, play what song?
14) Jesus, Etc.-because that song isn't heartbreaking enough, now there's a live violin. Love it.
When the beautiful song ended, Jeff said to Andrew, "Will you stay up here with us for awhile?" And he did for the next few songs.

15) Forget The Flowers-the one Jenny hoped to hear and I'm a big fan of as well.
16) Dash 7
"That doesn't happen very often," said Jeff, which took the words right out of my mouth because I'm pretty positive I've never heard that one played live. "I was seven ft-three when I wrote that song." I'm still not sure what that means.
17) Christ For President
18) Walken (repeat)

"I love you Susie," Jeff directed to his wife again before singing,
19) I'm The Man Who Loves You (repeat)

Ten-minute intermission. I stood up and stretched my legs while piling my hair atop my hair, and we talked how our pants were soaking wet from the heat. So attractive.

20) The Late Greats
21) Heavy Metal Drummer (repeat)
Jenny: I remember listening to this in your bedroom whatever year that was.
Me: You mean when you jumped on my bed and cracked John's YHF case and I made you write an apology note?

Jeff: I'd like to thank the people over here [he motioned to a section of the dance floor] for handling that situation so beautifully. We gotta take care of the drunks in the room. Not beat them up. Or get beaten up by them. As I used to do.

Andrew Bird returned to the stage.
22) Red-Eyed and Blue--Jeff and Andrew whistled in tune with each other
23)I Got You--which never fails to follow #22
"So what'd you guys do during the break," Jeff asked. "Save your spot. Cause you're neurotic? Did you bring a catheter? Did you? I'm serious. Don't give me that look," he admonished someone in the front row. "I'd like to welcome back P-Prose (?? still haven't caught the name of the horn players!)

24) A Magazine Called Sunset--I've loved this unreleased song ever since I heard it in the Wilco documentary, I Am Trying to Break Your Heart!
"Let's take a map across your pillow/And breathe the sky in through your window/I'll stay in the riddle/And watch your books cave in..."
25) Monday
26) Casino Queen
27) King Pin--in which we did the call and response
Jeff: How can I?
Audience: WOO!
Jeff: I bet if we would have played this one last night that audience would have been much better. Yeah, I said it.

After the song ended, he asked us if we could handle a few more. Duh! Silly question, Jeff. He then called out, "Andrew!" and as he waited for the Birdman to appear, he said, "He's a swell guy that Andrew Bird."
28) Passenger Side
29) Dreamer In My Dreams

"Goodnight everybody. Thank you."
30) The Lonely 1

The house lights went up and the stage hands started unplugging guitars. And the sound system started playing "Peaches" by the Presides of the U.S.A. It appeared there wasn't going to be an encore, but no one would put up with that and everyone stood their ground cheering relentlessly.
Suddenly they reappeared.
"We just liked watching Glenn coming out to fix his drums," said Tweedy. "Encore?" Again, silly question.
31) ELT (repeat)
32) HooDoo VooDoo--they began, but Jeff stopped them and said, "Something's not right. Is it me?" Everyone started pointing fingers and eventually they figured it out and played straight through, including a great dueling guitar set between Nels and Pat.

What am I going to do on Sunday? Count down the hours until Monday's show. As my friend Brian so optimistically pointed out--I'm not even halfway done!

Wilco Winter Residency, Day 1

2008-02-16T00:12:00.013-06:00

Wilco played just under three hours tonight, 31 songs in total with only a ten minute "pee break" and hardly any pauses in performing to even speak to the packed Rivieria audience.
I found out this morning that Amy, who I was supposed to see Wilco with tonight, was beyond sick, so I spent all day trying to find someone to take her ticket. One would think it wouldn't be a hard task, but one would be wrong. I got a lot of unreturned phone calls, a lot of "it's date night" (but can you really beat a date night with Jeff Tweedy? I doubt it.), and a few "not interesteds" (ahem, mom).
Finally, my friend Jenny called her brother JJ who in turn called me (two hours before the show) to tell me that his friend Vincent was never able to get tickets and being a huge fan would love the opportunity to go.
I was overly empathetic: When I first found out Wilco planned a 5-night "Winter Residency" for Chicago only with the intention of playing every song they'd ever recorded, I vowed to attend all five shows. When it came down to actually buying the tickets, though, I wasn't quick enough to purchase one of the Wilco website pre-sale $175 5-day passes, even though I clicked the button at the stroke of 10 a.m. and proceeded to click the damn button for the following half hour. The following day I attempted the same process through ticketmaster to get a 5-day pass. Lost again. Then I tried for the pre-sale single-day tickets, giving my credit card info to anyone who was on gChat at the time. I got two (Mon. and Tues.) out of the five (thanks again to Ben and Brianna!). Then the following day, I had one last chance, gave out my credit card info again and crossed my fingers. I ended up getting Friday, Abbey got Wed., and Chad (Amy's brother) got Saturday. I was elated! Of course I got the expected jeers, but this is how I rationalized spending $250 (that's a round-number price after buying all the tickets individually, i.e. ticketmaster charges up the wazoo). I've never had a manicure nor a pedicure nor dyed my hair, which are pretty normal day-to-day, week-to-week female maintenances, when if added all up over all the years most girls have been doing that stuff probably equals WAY more than my concert tickets.
How I explained it to my mom: This is like when you got to see The Beatles twice in one day in Chicago in '68.

The benefit of attending concerts alone is you're more likely to luck out with finding a leftover, but awesome seat. Which I did. Middle of the first row of the center section in the balcony. Perfect for picture taking, I thought, not at all envious of the jam-packed dance floor down below. Nothing about that looked appealing (despite the photo close-ups I could have taken)...despite the below-freezing weather outside, the theater was like a sweaty sauna, even before the show began. I took off my jacket and my sweater, shoved them under my seat, then rolled up the sleeves of my other shirt. As I sat there deleting old pictures off my memory card, the people next to me asked how I got past security with my camera. "It was surprisingly easy," I told them. "Usually I get in trouble everywhere I go with this thing, but the woman downstairs saw it and didn't say anything, so I'm just going with it."

Marty Lennartz from XRT did a quick intro, joking about people having "check lists." Oh if you only knew, Marty. He informed the audience that the radio station will be broadcasting Tuesday's show in its entirety beginning at 7:30 p.m. CST. So if anyone's interested, here's XRT's The Eclectic Company (whose current episode also features Jeff Tweedy as the guest) website: WXRT

Here's the night's 31-song set-list (I've been OCD about this since the first time I saw Dylan in August of 2000...I have this little blue notebook that among other jottings, poems and notes, has every Wilco and Dylan set-list from Sept. '04 to present):

1) ELT--It took me a long time to realize that "ELT" stands for "Every little thing," the repetitive words in the chorus (I mean back when I began listening to the band, it didn't just occur to me tonight)
2) Shot In the Arm--"We fell in love in the key C, we walked along down by the sea, I followed you down the neck to D, and we fell again into the sea, you've changed" was my ringtone in college (and not one I paid for, I found a function on my phone back then to record sound, and that's what I chose)
3) Side With The Seeds--hands down my favorite song on Sky Blue Sky when the album first debuted last spring..."But you and I will be undefeated/By agreeing to disagree"
4) You Are My Face--became a favorite on SBS
Jeff waved, but still no words.
5) I Am Trying To Break Your Heart--I could probably write a book about this song...Who knows how many times I listened to this through the giant headphones covering my ears as I wandered aimlessly around New York during college...

6) Pot Kettle Black
7) At Least That's What You Said

Of course I ended up sitting in front of the resident drunks, so every five minutes the waitress stood right in front of me either taking orders or delivering drinks. This caused many-a-spitballs to land on my forearm and many-a-drinks to spill on my coat. At least you can't smoke anymore, I thought, gratefully.
Jeff finally spoke!
How you doin'? Audience: Woooo!
Are you guys ok? Audience: YES!
Did you get frostbitten? Audience: YES!
All of you? Audience: YES!
Will you give us a million dollars? Audience: some YESes, some laughter
You guys just seem really agreeable? Audience: YES!
This is ridiculous. Are you below average intelligence? Audience: YES and BOO!
That was a mix, he said with a tone of surprise, and everyone laughed.

8) What's The World Got In Store--which they started to play and then Jeff stopped them, saying, "Hold on. We need to hear that," referring to the sound levels of Pat Sansone's banjo.
After they finished, he said, "That's a nice little ditty...We're going to play all recorded Wilco--not tonight--over five nights. And as an added bonus we'll throw in some Mermaid Avenue (two albums of Woody Guthrie songs performed by Wilco and Billy Bragg), B-Sides and unreleased material." Subsequently followed by enthusiastic cheering.
9) When The Roses Bloom Again

Jeff: I'd like to thank Nobody for opening for us. I find them quite tasteful.

10) Airline To Heaven
11) Ashes Of American Flags

Major whiffs of Mary Jane.

12) Either Way

Jeff: You guys are good singers. Keep. it up.

13) Jesus, Etc.--ironic that he sings "don't cry" and this is the only song that makes me want to

"Did you guys see us at the Grammys?" Jeff asked the crowd. "Did you see us on the red carpet? Did you see us get interviewed by Kermit the Frog? Damn. That was the best moment of my life...except for marrying you and having our kids, Sweetheart," he directed the comment to his wife Susie somewhere in the audience. "Foo Fighters?!" he questioned incredulously. A collective "BOOOOO!" arose from the crowd. "Or as my 8-year-old son calls them--the Poo Fighters." Hilarious.

14) Too Far Apart--"This is my American Idol audition," Tweedy joked towards the end of the song and proceeded to sing "Can't get any closer to you" in a high, breathy voice.

15) I Can't Stand It--3-piece horn section took the stage
16) Sunken Treasure--love the line, "music is my savior"
17) Spiders (Kidsmoke)--with a space-age intro both in sound and light

Halfway through, the inevitable happened. I got a little giddy with my camera during the crazy light show and gave away my otherwise inconspicuous photo ops, and sure enough two "security" men approached the guard rail in front of me. At first I thought he was going to yell at me for putting my feet up on the bar, but nope, it was my camera once again. He told me I shouldn't be taking pictures like I should know that. "Well the security people saw my camera when I came in and didn't say anything," I defended my actions. "Well they were hired by accident," he replied, loudly as Wilco was still jamming down below. "Fine, I won't take anymore," I said, trying to avoid what I anticipated he'd say next--that he was going to confiscate my camera. But unlike my Dylan fiasco, I thankfully did not get my camera taken away nor ejected from the show. The song ended and Jeff told us, "We've got a lot more to do tonight--take 5, take 10."
During the break, the people sitting next to me asked if "that" was about my camera. Then the guy behind me tapped me on the shoulder to ask about the run-in and we discussed how it's impossible to bring an SLR camera to shows anymore. "It's totally unfair," I complained. "I'm going to do the same exact thing with my pictures (post them on flickr) as all the people flashing their little point-n-shoots. And I don't even use my flash!" He told me he actually went so far as to e-mail Wilco's management, and they wrote back saying the band does, in fact, welcome photography (and audio recording) at their shows. I told him he should print that e-mail and bring it with him to the remaining four shows.

18) Misunderstood--Glenn Kotche began drumming with no warning, the lights went down, and we were immediately drawn back in.

19) Far Far Away--people cheered when he sang "CTA" why? The CTA blows!

20) Why Would You Wanna Live--"You don't hear that one every day," Jeff commented at its conclusion.
21) Impossible Germany--ugh. I hate missing photogenic moments! Like Jeff and Pat playing side by side or Nels Cline going crazy on his guitar. My camera is burning a hole under my seat.
22) Sky Blue Sky
23) Please Be Patient With Me

People are so obviously smoking pot, and I'm in trouble for snapping photos. That makes a whole lot of NO sense!
"Somebody's been yelling out for this one all night," Jeff informed us. "Are you guys still having a good time?" (YEEEEEAH!) I think the lull is over-as in lullaby."
24) Cars Can't Escape--had to look that one up after the show

"How many of you are coming to all five nights?" Jeff addressed his fans. "Well tonight is almost over I'm afraid."

25) Hummingbird--JT held out the microphone during the chorus for the audience to sing along: 'Remember to remember me/Standing still in your past/Floating fast like a hummingbird' then jogged in place on the giant area rug covering the stage

Standing Ovation. Guy behind me kept yelling "Bullshit! Bull.Shit! Bullshit!"
Of course they returned for an encore. "We just had to conference," Jeff comforted those who actually thought they wouldn't come back. "We only have a little bit of time left. We have to make the most of it."
26) Hate It Here--honestly the lyrics in this song do nothing for me and I think it's Tweedy's weakest song lyrically speaking, but I can't totally dismiss it because the musical breakdown in the middle is great.

"I'd like to bring back out..." Tweedy introduced the horn players individually.

27) Walken--changed lyric to "Walkin home to be with you"

"This is for you Susie," he directed towards his wife.
28) I'm The Man Who Loves You

"Thank you guys."

29) Heavy Metal Drummer--whenever I've heard them play this live, Tweedy sings the rated-R version, "She lifted up her shirt at the battle of the bands/She twirled his sticks/She helped him to his van." Although I've always paid the most attention to drummers during live shows (which probably stems from wanting to play the drums since I was ten years old), you can't help but watch and be completely enamored with Glenn Kotche, who was drenched by that point, during this song.
30) Candy Floss
31) Outta Mind Outta Site

"That's it. See you tomorrow night. Thank you."
I left feeling very satisfied, no longer disappointed that I was flying solo. I walked back to my car, past a shriveled prostitute leaving a building. A man followed her out and said to me as I passed, "Hey baby-you doing alright tonight?" "Yes, I am, thank you," I replied. Then stopped to take a few pictures of an alley, all the while whistling a medley of Wilco songs, feeling my lips freeze in this Chicago winter night. And loving it. Can't wait for tomorrow.

Here's the whole album of the evening: Wilco Photos

just call me queen of odd jobs

2008-02-04T22:56:00.007-06:00

Tonight I finished part one (of two) of being a Willy Wonka protége. I got paid $80 to taste test dark chocolate. In the past I've rated the flavors of Alfredo sauces and canned root beer floats for the same marketing company. Basically, they put you in a room with about 19 other people, where everyone sits at a designated spot at a long table facing the wall. Bland-looking foam-board dividers create makeshift cubicles, rendering it "impossible" to let your neighbor's opinions affect your own. Do people cheat on taste tests? I wondered, as I stared at the dusty blinds covering the window.
How the survey proceeds:
1) Take a sip of water
2) Eat a piece of an [unsalted] Saltine cracker
3) Take another sip of water, being sure you swallow all the cracker remnants
4) Taste as much of the product (in this case, dark chocolate square) as you need to in order to answer all of the questions on the provided survey to the best of your ability.

Easy enough, right? All you need are taste buds to participate. I whipped through the first square (and ate the whole thing) in record time. I wanted to slam my hand down and yell, "DONE!" like an over-eager seven-year-old. But this job is not as glamorous as it sounds. Not when the remaining twelve pieces of chocolate tasted horrible and not when the guy sitting next to me over-audibly smacked his lips together so many times that I wanted to scream and request relocation. Aaaand not when I had to unbutton my jeans once in the privacy of my car in order to drive home comfortably. Anything for 80 bucks, I thought. As my car fishtailed its way through slippery streets and immense fog, I smiled thinking about all the weirdo jobs I've done since I graduated college almost three years ago...
#1 would have to be my six-month stint as a dental assistant...yeah, I got to wear scrubs...but my job involved scrubbing the blood off used tools, sucking the spit/blood out of people's mouths during procedures, and listening to my only other co-worker whine about her abusive gangbanger boyfriend (who would call and demand to speak to her and I'd coldly say she wasn't available and hang up on him...probably not smart considering his recent release from jail for locking someone in a van and lighting it on fire...)...and all for a measly $8.50/hr (and on top of it, the dentist was one of my mom's high school boyfriends)...if there's any way to make a recent college grad feel like her degree was totally worthless, this would be it...but after the first six months post-graduation being unemployed and totally broke after being a bridesmaid in my best friend's wedding...I couldn't really turn down the offer.

#2 I got paid $75 to have inconspicuous chunks of my hair cut off for an "ethnic hair survey" at the L'oreal research headquarters on the South Side of Chicago. I was the only Caucasian present and I wondered if maybe "Jew Fro" counted as "ethnic." For the next eight months or so I would occasionally feel a small patch of spiky hairs, a gentle reminder, once again, of what lengths people will go to to keep their proverbial head above water.

#3 I worked for a photographer in his West Loop condo for about a year. Although I did catalog and archive his enormous negative collection spanning the past decade, I only ended up assisting him on ONE actual shoot. Here's a list of the myriad tasks I completed for a lovely, I shit you not, $8/hr.
* organized bookshelves (and wondered why I couldn't bring myself to organize my own life)
* stood in as a model for a Time Out Chicago photo shoot because his model didn't show up...i was just there to assist...and ended up on a full-page of the magazine a few weeks later...the shoot took about an hour, so I made $8...America's Next Top Model here I come!

* spent hours upon hours which turned into days after days importing his entire CD collection into iTunes (don't worry, I brought my own laptop along and got a significant amount of free music out of the project)
* he begged me to be his nephew's bar-mitzvah videographer, despite me vehemently insisting that I am horrible at using a video camera...he offered me $150, so I said fine...and got to spend four hours on the dance floor amidst rowdy pre-teenagers grinding on each other...i did drink a few glasses of wine, though, (after I proved to the bartender I wasn't a punk 12-year-old in heels) and got down with them during Kanye's "Golddigger."
* Then there was the time he paid me (i don't remember how much) to write a best-man speech for him to read at HIS best friend's wedding, a guy who lived in San Francisco, who I'd never met. And it amazingly wasn't a flop, despite my obvious concerns. (Does this count for a writing credit on a resume?)
Suddenly, the aforementioned photographer dropped off the face of the Earth...for a whole year...then one day last summer, out of the blue, he called. I'm thinking, maybe he finally recognizes my photographic abilities and wants me to help on an actual shoot. I should have known better. My girlfriend (what? you have a girlfriend?) is looking for someone to transfer her contacts from her Rolodex to her Sidekick and vice versa. Part of me wanted to act all self-righteous and accuse him of only calling when he needed someone to complete his mindless side projects. And she'll pay you, he added. Ah, those magic words. I wouldn't say I'm motivated by money, but I can't really pass up the opportunity in these unsure days to make a few extra $$. Plus, his girlfriend was the assistant for some super-rich family who LIVED on the 65th floor of the Four Seasons Hotel, so I got to see views of Chicago and Lake Michigan that I otherwise never would have have privy to. (Did you know HUGE spiders can live that high up and live in large quantities outside the windows?). Also, the second day I went there I saw Rev. Al Sharpton entering the hotel.
Also, thanks to this photographer, I received a phone call last June (after he'd been m.i.a. for a significant amount of time but before he called me himself about the above job) from a woman who asked if I'd be available for two days to help her carry large, heavy portfolio books around downtown Chicago to different high-end agencies. She was based in New York City but was branching out for the sake of the photographers she represented. So-and-so recommended you, she said. Ha! I thought. He would. Oh I know the perfect girl for you, he must have said. She's done everything I've asked her to do. And for pennies. But once again, I took the job.
I still can't get over how "New York" the whole experience was; that this woman just called up a stranger (me) and expected she could come to the Midwest and pay someone to carry her books? Hil-arious. But I ate it up. Everything's an experience, I thought, and agreed to meet her in the Loop the following day. I figured she'd be a good contact in the industry (although she never returned my "it was so nice to meet you" e-mail after our nice time together) and like the Four Seasons, I got a free ticket into many agencies I will probably never step foot in again.

(Yep. On Halloween of '06 I got paid to take a 12-year-old trick-or-treating while simultaneously walking the family's two German Shepherds. Jealous?)

And last, but certainly not least, my job the past year and a half definitely qualifies as an "odd" job, despite the fact that it's been my primary source of income since August '06. I could write a book about being a 13-year-old's personal chauffeur/dog walker&transporter to canine artificial insemination/grocery shopper/errand runner/snake charmer/70-year-old's roommate, though, so for now I'm going to sign off.
Unless someone wants to pay me (I'm cheap) to continue....

(P.S. As I'm writing this my mom informed me that she just got home from a Prius survey, which she wasn't even chosen for, but still received the $150! Like mother, like daughter...)

r.i.p. heath

2008-01-23T23:23:00.000-06:00

If I am at my computer, I know the instant I get an email courtesy of the gmail notifier on my task bar. I audibly gasped when I opened and read the CNN alert that said, "Actor Heath Ledger, 28, has died." I glanced over at the gchat column ("AIM for grownups") and a friend of mine already had "HEATH LEDGER DEAD" as her status. And then the messages popped up on the bottom my screen: "Did you hear?" "OMG!" Within minutes it seemed the whole world became aware of this untimely death.
Ordinarily, I wouldn't really think twice about a celebrity's death (although I did almost cry when I heard Chris Farley died several years ago), but for some reason the passing of Heath, who is named for Heathcliff in one of my favorite novels, Wuthering Heights, is haunting me.
He wasn't fellow Aussie, Russel Crowe, who is consistently portrayed as a Hollywood "bad boy," throwing phones at desk clerks and such, nor was he the typical young Hollywood coke addict...he was the young father of two-year-old Matilda, and you never heard about him unless it was praising his work.
He was excellent in Brokeback Mountain ("During the [S.A.G.] awards show [this week], religious protesters gathered across the street from the Shrine Auditorium, carrying signs that read “Heath’s in Hell”, a reference to his sensitive portrayal of a repressed gay cowboy in Brokeback Mountain."--GET A LIFE MORONS! How insensitive could you possibly be at this time of mourning?!), and I most recently saw him in I'm Not There, a wonderfully imaginative film "about" Bob Dylan, in which Ledger has a comparatively lengthy amount of screen time. Again, wonderful performance.
When I first saw him on the big screen as Patrick Verona in 10 Things I Hate About You ('99), I remember thinking, now that's the kind of guy I want to marry. He had the most beautifully contagious smile I'd ever seen and that ingenious mix of sincerity and don't-give-a-shit attitude.

I played Kate in the original version of 10 things, Shakespeare's Taming Of The Shrew, in 8th grade English class. During a scene where "Petruchio" (played by childhood friend/former crush, P.J.) was supposed to kiss me, Aaron, the tattooed, Nine-Inch-Nails t-shirt-wearing, slacker of our class yelled out, "Slip him the tongue!" Turning some shade of mortified, I glared at Aaron, relieved when our teacher excused us from kissing in front of the class and pissed because secretly I wanted Aaron to be Petruchio.

As a sophomore in high school we studied TOTS once again, which coincided with the release of 10 Things, so Mr. Anderson offered extra credit to anyone who saw the modern-day remake.
In the movie Heath's character falls for Kat (Julia Stiles), who reads Sylvia Plath, pines for acceptance to Sarah Lawrence, drives the coolest car (by my old-school standards), attempts to boycott the prom and gets drunk at her first ever high school party and dances atop a table, while her trendier, cooler, boy-attracting little sister looks on, half revolted and half relieved to have a sister who's partially "normal."
At the time I drove a beat-up '89 Sentra with the following bumper sticker: "If dance were any easier, it would be called football" (which did not sit well with our beloved sports team), planned on going as far away from suburban Illinois as possible when college came around, bought my first book of poetry--incidentally "Ariel" by Sylvia Plath, and seemed to be ever-mystified by the Dennis Rodmans of the world.

Tonight, in memory of Heath, I rented Candy a relatively new release about two lovers who happen to also be heroin addicts. It was so disturbing, I had to follow it up with 10 Things before going to sleep. Interestingly enough, there's a similar scene in both movies where there's a close-up of Heath's character trying to wake up a girl from a drug (Candy) or alcohol (10 Things)-induced "coma." One disturbing, one relatively light-hearted. Both made sad, as I couldn't help picturing the poor housekeeper who probably did the same thing to him--in real life.

But this is how I want to remember him:

Thanks, Heath, for all your work. I wish there could have been more to see. Looking forward to Batman...
Rest in peace.

i hereby banish hummers for all eternity

2008-01-16T22:09:00.000-06:00

Being a driver as my stated occupation for the past year and a half I've become much more of a "city driver." I used to get made fun of for driving "like a grandma" and being overly cautious and slow. (I never told anyone that this partly had to do with one of my friends gruesomely dying in a car crash two weeks after I got my license...and a week following her death I was a passenger in a car when my best friend who was driving got in an accident...luckily we were all ok. But that was enough car trauma for December of '98.)
But now I'm swift behind the wheel. My job is exhausting because not only do I worry about obeying all the traffic laws, but I am responsible for a 13-year-old kid most of the time I'm behind the wheel and therefore have to keep an extra careful eye out for the enormous amounts of idiots on the road.
I'm happy to say that up until my stint as a "personal driver" the only thing I've ever gotten pulled over for was tinted windows (twice. once of which i had to go to court) and for "drunk driving" when I was 20 and had never had alcohol in my life, when clearly the cop had nothing better to do than follow me around town. And accident free no less.

Here's the problem, especially in urban settings: People do not respond to horns. Max's mom speculates that this is due to so many people using their horns at unnecessary junctures, so peoples' ears are just immune to recognizing a legit horn when they hear one.
I.E. You're about to reverse your utility van into my car while I'm stopped at a stop light! (which is what happened to me last year)...or I.E. Your ginormous HUMMER is about to MERGE into my drivers seat!

This is what happened. I noticed the driver suddenly decide she needed to be in my lane as I merged onto the Dan Ryan from I55 on the way home from picking Max up from school--headed right towards the driver's seat of our small Volvo. Thanks to my acquired driving skills, I was quick to react, pressing the pedal to the metal and my hand to the horn and speeding up enough so she only managed to hit the back corner instead of flattening my sorry ass. She then proceeded to drive around me, wherein I assumed she was leaving the scene of the accident, as I had already pulled over. I immediately began following her, verbally expressing my disbelief. I noticed as she switched lanes, that she was in fact motioning for me to follow her down the Canalport exit. I couldn't see before because she was seated about five feet above my vantage point. Once off the expressway she pulled into an alley and I'm thinking, oh shit she's gonna shoot us.

Instead she took a lap around her huge-ass vehicle, where she obviously found no damage because she's driving a machine, then walked around mine.
"Well. What do you want to do?" she asks me. No "I'm so sorry" or even a "My bad" thrown in my direction. Just impatient eyes batting purple eyeliner in my direction.
"Call the cops," I replied, even-toned.
"They're not going to come because our cars can drive and we're not injured."
You don't deserve to call that thing a car, I thought."Hm, yeah I guess you're right. That's what happened when some guy hit me last year."
"So we should just exchange information then."
"Fine," I said.
As I shuffled through the glove compartment for the insurance information, I saw her already waiting for me. "This is unbelievable," I said to Max.
"She's a dumbass," he said.
"Well she hasn't even apologized, so I agree with you."
With my driver's license, insurance card, and car registration info in hand, I approached her next to the chunk of gold on wheels.
"What are you writing down?" she asked me.
I saw she already had already written her name, phone number and driver's license number on a torn piece of a yellow envelope flap. "My name, address, phone number, driver's license number and insurance info..."
"Oh you're putting your license too? Fine."
I started copying everything down on the back of a piece of paper which already had directions written on the other side (I hope not to anywhere important...).
"Could you write a little faster?" she asked two seconds later. "I have somewhere to be."
"You just hit my car!" I half-shrieked, bewildered by this woman's nonchalance.
"I understand that, but this doesn't have to take all day."
What nerve! I thought and rolled my eyes. Here I am not even freaking out or screaming at her like a lot of people probably would were they in my shoes, and she has the audacity to tell me to write faster?!
I handed her the piece of paper, and then she told me that the "car" actually isn't hers and she's on her way to work, so she'll call me later tonight or tomorrow morning.
Sensing that there was something fishy going on, seeing as she never actually showed me her drivers license nor had any insurance info on her, regardless of whether it was her vehicle or not, I said, "I don't mean to be a total bitch, but would you mind if I called this number you wrote down to make sure it's correct?"
"Sure, go ahead. That's a good idea," she insisted.
She climbed up into her driver's seat and answered after a ring. I saw her holding the phone in her side mirror and her "hello" in my ear. Before I backed out of the alley, Max suddenly started yelling, "Write down her license plate number! Quick!"
"Oh good call!" I wrote down the seven numbers and then reversed onto the road, allowing the Hummer to back out behind me.

I called Max's mom and left her a message about the accident, my heart pounding in my chest. Even though the collision was not my fault, it's still not the easiest thing to relay to a mom who is paying me to safely and responsibly transport her child. I drove with Max straight to the police station on Larabee and Division because that's where I had to go last year when I got hit. As soon as I started the relaying the accident and said, "I was driving west on 90..." the Chicago cop interrupted and said, "If it happened on the highway, we can't help you. You have to contact the state police." He wrote down their phone number at the top of the Hummer info.
Max and I had both complained about headaches before the accident occurred, and now we had to leave the station both rejected and dejected. Before leaving the parking lot I called the state patrol, who informed me that the state police only go to certain stations and the one closest to our home in Wicker Park would be 5151 N. Milwaukee. "But don't go now," he said. "It's rush hour, so it'll be hard to find someone available."

After dinner I headed to the recommended police station, which ended up being all the way in Jefferson Park. And the woman there told me the same goddamn thing. As soon as I mentioned "I90/94" she said, "Oh we can't help you here."
"Well that's funny because I was specifically told to come to this location." Apparently I misunderstood the patrolman earlier and thought he meant the addresses he gave me were "state police stations" but really they're just Chicago police stations where state patrol will actually stop by.
She picked up a phone and called the state trooper line, then hung up and said, "If you want to wait here, a state patrol can be here in at least an hour."
"No. No I don't. I want to go to bed."
"Well since there were no injuries, you can report the accident over the phone at this number between 7 and 9 tomorrow morning."
"I wish someone would have told me that FIVE hours ago!" I said.
She apologized and said she didn't want to come across as the bad guy, to which I apologized and said, "I know it's not your fault...it's just been a long day. Thanks for your help."

The following morning I called the provided number and after going through a bunch of automated menus, spoke with a human who took down my name and number and gruffly informed me that someone would contact me after 9 a.m.
Around 10:30 I got a phone call from State Trooper W., (I'll stick with initials here) who I liked right from the start because she sounded like Wanda from Curb Your Enthusiasm. I gave her the full report. She then proceeded to call me back at least four more times. First to tell me both the driver's license number and license plate number I provided her were registered to an Anna W., not a Leslie W. (same last name). Then she called to inform me that L.W.'s voicemail says it's Deanna, which is neither name we thought we were dealing with, so Trooper W. left her a message threatening possible arrest. Then she called back just to inquire whether I had three-way calling on my phone so we could potentially call her together and she would "take over." I didn't, so we hung up and a few minutes later she called back to inform me that instead she "went ahead and blocked the number."
"She answered and I said, 'Leslie!' and she said, 'Yeah!' So I said, 'Oh good it's you. This is State Trooper W.' So anyway, I think I scared her, but that's a good thing, and since you've totally overextended yourself in trying to get this resolved even though it's not your responsibility to do so, I want to make sure I help you get to the bottom of this."
"Well, thank you. I really appreciate everything you're doing," I said. And I meant it.
Trooper W.'s best call, though, was the following:
"Miss Liebovich. I'm sorry to be bothering you again, but I just wanted to double check something with you."
"No problem at all. What can I do for you?"
"Well I just ran Leslie through the system, and it says here she also has a Hummer registered to her name. You didn't say the license plate you saw was 'BOOBS 82,' correct?"
I almost spit out my hot tea. This is turning out to be possible inspiration for a horrible rap music video, I thought.
"No," I said, trying to restrain from laughing. "I think I would have remembered that. It was..." and I listed off the 7 numbers.
"Ok cause incidentally the name you gave me also owns a Hummer with the license plate 'BOOBS 82.'"
My friend Zach asked if she was born in '82, but she's almost 50, so no. My friend Giana e-mailed me and said, "I wonder if the 82 has significance or it was just that 1-81 were already taken." And my cousin, Barb, said, "I bet that's when she got 'em [boobs] done!" Perfect.

I've spoken to Leslie twice. Once in between Trooper W.'s updates, when she (Leslie) said she'd call be by 3:00. And again at 7:45 when I called her and said, "I thought I was going to hear from you by three." She said she'd been stuck in traffic and would call me in 20 minutes. Forty-five minutes later she called and [finally!] transcribed her insurance info, stating that all the previous info she'd given me was her sister's. And still no "sorry."
So now I'm just waiting for All-State to call me for my dissertation about the accident, so I can consequently get the deductible I need to get the massive dent out of the Volvo. Until then, I guess it's like people--for every scar, there is a story.

I maintain what I said in my posting about the dog insemination, when a Hummer almost demolished myself, Max and the two dogs, one recently impregnated--If you want to show-off that you're that disgustingly wealthy, why don't you just sew some hundreds together and wear a money suit--not drive a war machine like a fucking maniac!
All I can say is if one's going to get hit by Hummer, this at least resulted in the best possible scenario.

waiting out the storm

2008-01-08T16:21:00.000-06:00

Ok, so I still watch Desperate Housewives. Sue me. Lynette's whole family survived the relentless tornado (tornadoes typically touch down for mere seconds in a single space, but this one continued like a godforsaken hurricane for about 43 minutes), which was a relief. Victor died by getting a stabbed in the back by white picket fence (oh the irony), and Carlos is now blind. Also, a lot of the housewives are sans homes right now.
Although it's not yet tornado season here in the Midwest, I sure thought there might be one today. The past four days have been unseasonably warm--I'm talking 65 degrees when it should be -65 degrees. Accompanying the warm weather, pouring rain and lightning storms. On my drive home from Max's school this morning I saw the Chicago skyline like I've never seen it before. Invisible...all except for a middle portion of the Sears Tower. The skyscraper, both above and below this circle of breaking fog, was hidden behind the thick clouds, so as rendering the visible chunk of tower a levitating wonder. (I about kicked myself for, once again, failing to have my camera on me at ALL times!)
By 3:00 returning from school once again, the skyline had returned but with a background of strange-looking clouds, ranging from the darkest gray to a faint greenish tinge. I pointed out the green to Max and had flashbacks of all those tornado warnings growing up, which all began with a similar coloring.

So here is an anecdote I wrote a few years ago about one such day...
(originally published in issue 2 of Make This Magazine)

I was eight or nine years old. That Saturday my mom had to work, so my dad, to keep us occupied, decided it was time to teach my younger sister, Sheri, how to ride a two-wheeler. I stayed home. I was proving—to who, I’m not sure—that I was old enough to be alone. The two of them departed from our suburban cul-de-sac and headed for the deserted church parking lot at the edge of our neighborhood. The same parking lot where he let go of the back of my banana seat two-wheeler and sent me squealing as a six-year-old into weaving patterns among the faded and cracked white lines of spaces. And ten years later where he took me on the first snowfall to teach me how to do “donuts” in his car, somehow trying to instruct safety to a new-driver-to-Chicago-winters.

It was nice out that day, although July could be vicious, and I was unsure as to what the capricious weather might bring our way. Everything was still. As pathetic looking as the single tree by our mailbox looked, I knew it was capable of making some noise with the few leaves it housed. Nothing. I rode my bike around the circle a few times, a few of the revolutions one-handed. Even if Sheri succeeded in losing her training wheels, she would never attempt such a daring feat.

Round and round and round she goes…where she stops…nobody knows!

A low droning noise sounded in the distance. Its volume increased instantly. Could there really be a tornado touching down in Hoffman Estates, Illinois? Up until then I thought all those tornado-drills we participated in every spring at school were just useless precautions. I don’t have a math book to hold over my head out here, I thought. In fact, the entire sky (which had morphed into a sickly green ominous ceiling) could come falling down on me and my bike any second, or a whirling cloud could whisk me away to the land of Oz or an untimely death. And if that happened, a textbook--math or meteorology--was not going to be of any help.

Auntie Em! Auntie Em! Dad! Sheri!

I pictured them finding my lifeless body atop our roof in someone else’s backyard, which of course would have been ripped off the house the exact time gravity reversed and I got pulled into a spinning cloud of household objects and ordinary air gone mad.
Why weren’t they back yet? The rain started. A hesitant drizzle at first and then the green monster began spitting water out like it was choking on all four oceans. Terrified of being alone I ran to the edge of the circle hoping to see the familiar Honda headlights coming around the corner. Again, nothing. I pivoted and as I headed for the shelter of our car-less garage, I made it halfway when our next door neighbor, Paula, appeared at her front screen door. Her voice penetrated through the rain. “Alyse, honey, why don’t you come inside here and wait with us.” I had never been in their house prior to this. Only knew that the two boys, Mike, a year older, and Chris, a year younger used to threaten to beat me up or smash my pumpkins on Halloween and that I was best friends with their enormous dog, Morgan.

Their kitchen was nicer than mine. They had an island counter--the kind without overhead cabinets to bump my head on--which they let me sit atop like a princess. And they had a bay window; the kind you could sit in and read a book, although I doubted any of them took advantage of it in that way.

“Who wants some whip cream?” Paula asked. Was she kidding? I brushed a piece of wet hair out of my face. She was closing the refrigerator door, a squirt can of RediWhip in her hand. The two boys opened their mouths instinctively like two baby birds waiting for worms. I watched in awe as she pushed the red plastic tip with her finger and filled their mouths with the chilled delicacy. Never had I seen an adult so eager to spoil a child’s appetite before dinner. And without utensils!

Chris put one hand to each side of his face like he was going to deflate his expanded cheeks by aiming the edible ammunition at me. “Don’t you dare!” I squealed and lifted one of my dangling legs straight out in front me, threatening to kick him in the face. After all, I did have the height advantage. Mike giggled. I shot him a look that said he was next should he try anything. This counter sure gave me power.
“Your turn,” their mom said to me. “Just a little please,” I said, fearing that I would choke if I had as much as the boys and that my mom would be upset if I didn’t want any dinner. Everyone was all smiles, and I had forgotten about my mission to get in a basement. I didn’t stay much longer after someone announced that there was a car in my garage. I hopped off my throne and walked home through our adjoining yards with a new appreciation for nature’s wrath, eager to share with Sheri how big kids cope during a storm.

i couldn't have worded it better myself

2008-01-01T10:17:00.000-06:00

Alyse --

[noun]:

A person who laughs at anything (even this entry)

'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

what some people remember, others don't

2007-12-02T00:20:00.000-06:00

(The following is a transcription of a phone conversation I had in early 2002 with my dad.)

“Hey Lyse, did you hear there was another Amtrak crash? That’s twice in two weeks.”
[sidenote: strangely enough, there was just an Amtrak crash right outside of Chicago yesterday.]
“That’s terrific Dad,” I say this sarcastically as I’m supposed to be taking a 20-hour train ride from Penn Station to Union Station—school to home—next week.
It’s Thursday night and I’m completing the role of a good daughter making my weekly call to Hoffman Estates, Illinois to inform my parents and younger sister of what’s been going on in my second semester at New York University.
“Well, Lyse, you know I wouldn’t be worried about it if I were you. This was just a fluke. Trains only crash every twenty years or so.”
“Yeah except we almost got killed by one last year.”
He sounds astonished—“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you remember after the Elton John and Billy Joel concert when we came within inches of being smashed by an oncoming train?” I ask in disbelief that he could possibly have forgotten this near-death experience.
“Oh no that never really happened—I imagined the train.”
“Um…what? No you didn’t”
“Yeah I did.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Yeah I did.”
“Are you kidding me with this? Dad, how could I have just made that up?”
“Well what do you remember happening?”
I relayed my memory to him, careful to include as many details that I could see vividly as I watched the event replay in my head. It was a school night a few days before my senior prom. The concert was great, but I was exhausted, so when we got to the van afterwards I immediately laid across the back row of seats. My last conscious thought was that Mom always told me not to lay like that in case we got in an accident because “it’s a dangerous position to be in” and “the seat belt is working improperly.” But at the time I also made a conscious decision for the first time to ignore her warnings since sleeping was my ultimate priority. The next things I remember are really bright lights and a loud horn-like noise. I’m always disoriented when I first arrive back at an awake state of mind. Maybe it was the bright lights or what I thought was possibly a siren, but when my eyelashes first opened I thought an ambulance was driving perpendicular to the road. But then the train plowed past us, just as the van had crossed the tracks--tracks that we didn’t even know were there.
"It was like a scene out of Ghost, Dad! I swear it looked like that train literally passed through the back end of the van!"
I wanted to scream but I felt paralyzed and, not to sound dramatic, prepared to die. But there was no impact—no compressed vehicle, no flying body parts, nothing.
"You pulled over to the side of the road for a few minutes because you had a temporary emotional breakdown, choking on your words, saying 'I ALMOST JUST KILLED MY WHOLE FAMILY OH MY GOD!' And I think you kept saying how sorry you were, sorry that you almost killed us (even though it wasn’t your fault) because there were no barricades and no railroad crossing signs."
And then we all rode in silence the rest of the way home.
“Hmm.” He tries to take it all in. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes.”
“Well I remember seeing the train after we crossed in front of it but I felt ok once I looked in the rearview mirror and realized that train was stopped there.”
“It was not stopped! If it was stopped, why’d they have the light on and why would someone lay on the horn? And most of all—why would you have freaked out about ‘almost killing your whole family?’”
“I don’t remember saying that.”
“Well you did. Why don’t you ask the other two because at least one of us is wrong.”
“As a matter of fact the little one just walked in the door.”
“Where was she?”
“Ballet! Where else would she be on a Thursday night from 8:30-9:30?”

For a few minutes I listen to the conversation between my dad and sister. I picture her in her dance attire, her hair messily rubber-banded to the top of her head, gracing my dad with the look of utter bewilderment and defensiveness she always uses whenever he greets her with a question before she even gets a chance to kick off her shoes, before she can even drop her armload onto the foyer doormat, before she’s instructed, ‘Hey! Shut the door! What’d you grow up in a barn?’ My dad stands shirtless with thirty-year-old gym shorts on, sweating, drinking a tall glass of previously refrigerated water. He has just finished his bi-weekly, twenty-four minute hardcore Lifecycle exercise. He holds the kitchen phone between his left ear and his shoulder so he has one hand free to gesture with. The phone cord is almost pulled straight, stretched to its maximum distance. The plastic coating silently rips somewhere and a few wires show their colors.

“Oh Sher,..” He draws out the “er” (pronounced “air”) so it almost sounds like two syllables.
“Oh Da-ad…” Sheri mimics him, a habit she adopted from watching her older sister all those years she lived at home.
In the most casual voice he asks her, “I was wondering…Do you happen to remember anything out of the ordinary that occurred that night of the John/Joel concert last year?”
“You mean when we like almost got hit by a train?”
“See?” I say into the mouthpiece.
“So you remember that too, huh?” he asks her.
“How could I forget that?” she responds. “I remember seeing a bright light and thinking it was God because there could be no possible way I wasn’t dead.”
I start laughing.
“Don’t you remember pulling off the road cause you were too scared to keep driving?” she continues.
“If you say so. That’s what Lysie said too.”
“That’s cause that’s what happened,” she says to his confused face from her place standing on the rug and I say into the phone at the same time. We have a knack for doing that.
“Yo!” Synchronized sentences always cause this exclamation from him. “Well I guess I’ll have to ask Mommy now—here talk to your sister.” I see him stick his fully extended arm out to her in one sudden, strong motion. He sees the open door. The air-conditioning isn’t running yet since it’s almost a month till Memorial Day, but for other unknown reasons this is wrong. “Hey! Shut the door! What’d you grow up in a barn?” Then he’s in the background.
“Oh Bon…” He draws out the “on.”
“Hello?” Sheri says to me in a somewhat ‘this talking long distance thing is an inconvenience’ tone of voice.
“How was dance?” I ask cheerfully just to piss her off cause we both know the answer—it’s the same answer we both give to everything.
She sighs. “Good.”

My dad locates my mom not too far away, probably in the family room on the couch crocheting a baby blanket for a co-worker’s daughter’s new arrival while the ten o’clock news anchor on NBC 5 nightly news looks at the camera straight on, looks straight into our family room and questions if maybe the upcoming month of May will bring an end to the “war on terrorism.”

I don’t say anything else to my sister, as I want to hear our parents go over the sequence a third time.
In the same nonchalant voice, but with an almost unnoticeable twinge of desperation, he asks my mom, “Do you happen to remember anything out of the ordinary that occurred the night of the Elton/Billy concert last year?”
“You mean when we almost got hit by a train?” She recalls the same sequence he’s just heard twice.
“Huh.” My dad surrenders. “Well if all three of you say it happened it must have happened…huh…unbelievable…”
Sheri and I chat for a few minutes (after laughing when our mom said almost the same sentences we said to him), reminiscing about that infamous night, verifying that we didn’t imagine the whole thing.
“I can’t believe he doesn’t remember that,” I say.
“I know,” she says. “It was like the scariest night of my life!”
“He probably has selective memory,” I add. “He doesn’t want to remember ‘almost killing his family’ so his brain has chosen to block the memory of what happened and create a new, safer one.”

I know at least I, at this present moment, am reliving the word, “Danger.” It sends a shiver through my body that I can’t quite compute as a specific feeling—energy, paranoia, adrenaline, horror—some kind of psychotic mix. Living dangerously is quite exhilarating when you can live to tell about it. After all, we escaped death; we took a rain check on God’s light; we weren’t brave, just lucky, just squeezing through the danger zone with power-locked doors and eight eyes staring.

Suddenly there is piano music.

My sister moves closer to the culprit—my dad—sitting on the bench, his back straight as a railroad track beside the window in the living room, facing the player piano. But I can tell by the sound that he is producing the music with his own fingers, not with a machine-propelled scroll. I have instant flashbacks of my grandparents’ old house when they owned the same piano and my eyes were the same height as the keys and I’d watch my grandma dance around to the same song, before gleefully joining in the fun by shrieking and spinning around in my own corner of the room.

“I don’t know what the heck possessed him to play that song all the sudden,” Sheri says to me.
I had forgotten she was there for a few moments.
“Yeah…well it’s 'The Entertainer,' one of the only six or so songs he’s had memorized since age eight.” I pause. “He’s probably just trying to prove to himself that he can still remember something.”

it's still rock 'n' roll to me!

2007-12-01T23:45:00.000-06:00

When my mom asked if I wanted see Billy Joel, my response was something along the lines of, "Hell yes!" Billy's been a favorite of mine for as long as I can remember. In fifth grade English class, Mrs. Frankel had us create our own version of The Jolly Postman, an interactive book of correspondence between fairy tale characters. Already heavily influenced by the music world at age 11, I centered my theme around musicians, one of the recipients being Mr. Joel.

When I found out he was playing the Sears Center in my hometown of Hoffman Estates, IL, I was less than thrilled. I swore I would never go back there after my experience at the Dylan concert last year (read account here: dylan) But I put my differences aside, braved an ice storm (i.e. a normally 25-minute drive turned into a 2+ hour drive) out to the suburbs and accompanied my mom in row H on the floor of the arena.

The show was scheduled to begin at 8:00. Around 8:15 or so the lights went dark and suddenly Billy appeared at the piano surrounded by his fellow band members. He went right into "Angry Young Man." There was a screen hanging on either side of the stage, so everyone could see the musician in action. I have never seen anyone's fingers move like that! I felt like I was suddenly privy to a magician's secret. From the first few notes, I was hooked. I had seen him live one other time my senior of high school during his Dueling Pianos tour with Sir Elton John--still to date one of the best concerts I've ever attended. But we saw them at Allstate (then, Rosemont Horizon) where we sat in the worst seats possible and there were no screens to aide our view of the iconic men and their magic. Oh, and my whole family almost died on the drive home (you can read about that here)

For his second song, he faded into "My Life" by playing a few measures of "Jingle Bells." I thought, "Oh come on, Billy! Hanukkah starts in three days!" I immediately forgot, though, as soon as "My Life" began and jumped to my feet singing along at the top of my lungs--"Go ahead with your own life, leave me alooooone". My mom joined me and I told her, "This is what happens when you get floor seats--they turn into standing seats," as everyone rose to their feet and the only way to see anything was to rise ourselves and stand our tippy toes.

"Hey Chicago!" Billy said, with an exaggerated Shi-cah-go accent. "I'm Billy's dad. Billy couldn't make it tonight...he's probably out drinking somewhere. Thanks for coming out on a night like this. I know you in "Shi-cah-go" are used to this weather. People over here," he motioned behind himself, "are only getting the back of me. Just remember--it's not how bald you get, it's how much head you get." "Hi to those in Milwaukee," he directed towards the only people paying less than $97 for tickets all the way in back on the highest balcony. "Thanks for buying those seats. I need all the money I can get--for my car insurance."
"If you can get this job, I highly recommend it," he shared and then sprayed both his throat and armpits with some concoction he said Madonna made famous, before a rousing rendition of "The Entertainer." Afterwards he introduced his keyboardist, Dave Rosenthal, from New Jersey. Dave played two keyboards at once, one hand on each. Pret-ty impressive if you ask me.
Billy left the 5th song up to the applause of the audience.
1) Summer Highland Falls
2) She's Right On Time ("a Christmas song," he added)
or
3) Vienna

I hadn't heard of any of the choices, but I've always wanted to go to Vienna, so I cheered along with the majority. Number three won. I ended up really liking the song; it's beautiful and the lyrics reminded me of one of my favorite movies: Before Sunrise. "When will you realize...Vienna waits for you..."

"Choo choo" the train whistle sounded, prefacing "Allentown."
He introduced guitarist, Tommy Burns, from Long Island, then said, "That's all for the special effects--this isn't a Justin Timberlake concert." And thank goodness for that. (Ok, fine, I like JT, but nowhere near as much as this guy)
Next up: "Zanzibar"featuring Carl Fisher (also from L.I.) on the trumpet and frugal horn. Then slowing it down a bit with "New York State of Mind," I sat down and got nostalgic about the good times I spent living in NYC, Brooklyn-based sax player, Mark Rivera, bringing me back to those carefree college years wandering the streets NY, inspired and in love.

"Chicago's a good town," Billy said, everyone cheered, and I snapped out of the past and thought--yeah, you're right. "If you're somewhere like Alcatuna, the band looks at me like 'Alcatuna sucks.' But Chicago's a good town."
Nice intro to "My Kind of Town," which ended up being a tease, as he claimed he didn't know any of Sinatra's lyrics past the first verse. My mom thinks he was fibbing. He introduced "Root Beer Rag" by saying that it's difficult to get all the notes right but, "What you'll hear is an authentic rock'n'roll screw up." Again I became transfixed with the wild but calculated moves of his fingers. My mom leaned over and shared similar sentiments, "I just can't get over his fingers!"I will also mention here that, despite my mom having an injured leg, she was up dancing the entire two hours. And I wonder where I get it from...
He introduced his drummer from NYC, Chuck Burgi, after "Movin' Out."

I have mixed feelings about what happened next. I'll let Billy introduce the new song himself (turn up the volume, the recording's not very loud).

He then introduced his "younger voice," Cass Dillon to sing his not-yet-released song, "Christmas In Fallujah."
Watch and cringe. Or sing along if you prefer because the lyrics were close-captioned on the big screen.

Ok, Billy, obviously I appreciated the anti-war message and that the proceeds from itunes sales are going to an organization called Homes For Our Troops, which builds homes for severely wounded veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan. In fact, I think "They say Osama's in the mountains/deep in a cave near Pakistan/But there's a sea of blood in Baghdad/a sea of oil in the sand" points out the stupidity behind this drawn-out war. And I think the presence of the the uniformed military personnel chanting "Hu Ha" (or is it "Oo Ra"?) interspersed with the singers singing "Hallelujah" was pretty powerful.
I understand the pride you must feel hearing someone else perform your lyrics and I appreciate that you decided to debut them in my hometown, but do you really, really need someone who looks and sounds like the lead singer of Creed, one of the worst bands on the planet, to butcher what you've created?

There may have been a collective sigh of relief when Dillon left the stage and Billy reclaimed the spotlight with the lighthearted "Keeping the Faith."
He then left the piano and stood center-stage behind a microphone stand and belted out the beginning of "Stand By Me," one of my favorite songs by good ol' Ben E. King. Cameras flashed from all directions, which reminded me of my grudge against this place. I hate when I don't have my camera.
"I didn't write that one," Billy admitted after the first verse. "But I wish I had."
He then returned to the piano and sang "An Innocent Man," interpretive dancing and intermittently snapping his fingers while seated on the piano bench when his hands were free. I snapped along with him and learned that my mom can't snap her fingers. (Later, in the parking lot I also learned she can't whistle.) I didn't catch the bassist's name, but I did hear that he's Australian, which is pretty cool.
"Uno.Dos.Unodostresquatro," a Spanish countdown to "Don't Ask Me Why." Good one.
At its completion, I noticed we were already at song #15, so I turned to my mom and said, "He better sing 'It's Still Rock'n'Roll To me'." Then he played the opposite--"She's Always a Woman To Me." I laughed out loud as I watched the swaying, swooning middle-aged women on the big screen, mouthing the words along with the man of the hour.
The next song-"River of Dreams"-used to play through my mind before I fell asleep at night when I was younger. Made me think of "Where The Wild Things Are." I had forgotten that this number belonged to his repertoire, so it was a nice, upbeat surprise.
He introduced the final member of the band, Crystal, from good ol' Gary, Indiana. "On percussion, vocals, harmonica, sax and everything else on stage..."
I'm not sure if this would be considered a trait of a trained ear or a music addict, but I frequently have the ability to detect a song by the first note or two. "We didn't start the fire!" I cheered. My mom looked at me and said, "You're way better at that than I am." I sang along to the few lyrics I knew. My mom questioned how Joel remembered all the words to that song, and I said, "Well if I can memorize the lyrics to any song I've ever heard, don't you think he'd be able remember his own?"

Based on the sound quality, I kept expecting to see the young rocker from the cover of Glass Houses up on stage and then there's a gray-haired 58-year-old wearing a backwards Chicago Cubs red baseball cap singing "Big Shot," strumming his guitar at a mic stand.

(John Records Landecker, checking out my "oldies jeans" at "bring-your-dog-and-get-free-ice-cream" day at the local DQ, summer '01)

There are some older musicians who still try and act like it's their Glory Days, but not Billy. He's the real thing. There's the badass I came to see! I thought, as he played a teasing intro to my favorite, "It's Still Rock'n'Roll To Me" and used the mic stand both as a baton and to air-guitar.
That song has been an ongoing anthem in my life. First of all, they're the first song lyrics I remember deliberately memorizing. Second of all, it's the song that made me want to be a drummer at age 10. And thirdly, I felt like Billy and I were on the same unapologetic wavelength.

What's the matter with the clothes I'm wearing? I had an eclectic wardrobe in my teenager years (including "a bright orange pair of pants", which has toned down over the years, but I still have crazy-clothes tendencies.

What's the matter with the car I'm driving? In high school I drove a 1989 two-door Nissan Sentra (affectionately named Red Ninja) with slashed seats and a radio/tape deck that would only play if you banged the side of it with your fist. A good majority of the school drove fancy sports cars or luxury mobiles. I got a kick out of blasting this song in the parking lot, pissing off the glorified Vikings with my proudly displayed bumper sticker that read, "If dance were any easier, it would be called football."

What's the matter with the crowd I'm seeing? Don't you know that they're out of touch/Should I try to be a straight-A student? If you are than you think too much. Growing up I was always a part of guinea pig programs and classrooms full of the "smart kids." In later years when math and science didn't come so naturally to me anymore, I found solace in Billy's lyrics and probably rebelled by quoting him to my parents.

And, of course: "Everybody's talkin' 'bout the new sound, funny, but it's still rock'n'roll to me." Self-explanatory.

(me and the oldies van at "bring-your-dog-and-get-free-ice-cream" day at the local DQ, summer '01)

He finished out the set with my other favorite, "You May Be Right." In college I made callers sit through the chorus if they reached my cellular voicemail soapbox--I'm gonna do what I wanna do and love who I wanna love (don't worry, I didn't actually say that...I let Billy speak for me).

You may be right
I may be crazy
But it just might be a lunatic you're looking for
"Thank you, Chicago!" Billy said with a wave before the stage went dark. The concept of the encore has always been humorous to me. Obviously the artist is going to return, yet we all stand around cheering our brains out like he might actually leave if we don't strain our vocal chords. Nevertheless, I joined in because it's hard not to get caught up in such a brilliant performance. People started waving their glowing cell phones in the air. I heard the guy behind me say to his friend, "Yeah, cause that's the new lighter." Gross.

Billy played a quick Christmas song intro before transitioning into "Scenes From an Italian Restaurant," a song that made me laugh, reminding me of my friend Cooper singing karaoke at Piece [a pizza, bar, live music joint in my Wicker Park neighborhood].
"Thank you, Chicago!" he said again.
Then a quick "Joy to the World" (not 3 Dog Night, Christmas) intro before "Only the Good Die Young." My mom and I danced next to each other, I wearing my grandmother's shoes, I noted. Three generations (in theory) dancing to a song about defying the confines of church and religion..."They say there's a heaven for those who will wait/Some say it's better but I say it ain't/I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints/the sinners are much more fun..."

As he was playing "Silent Night," I saw him pick up his harmonica. That's right, Billy. You can't leave without playing "Piano Man" or it'll make front-page news: "Piano Man strays from 'Piano Man.'"
"It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday..." Ow! Ow! Crazy cheering for Saturday reference--we can relate to that because it is, in fact, Saturday!
This song reminds me of two things, aside from singing along to it in the car with my parents.
1) I remember bringing my harmonica to my art class senior year of high school and figuring out how to play those parts of the song.
and
2) Dancing, and I mean full-out ballet moves at three weddings, leaping around and weaving in and out of slow-moving couples, not letting my single-status keep me from enjoying the dance floor, where I am truly in my element.

For the final chorus, he let the audience sing without him. And we actually didn't sound half-bad.
"Thank you, Chicago! Goodnight. Happy holidays. Don't take any shit from anybody."

As we were filing out of our row, my mom said, "Oh! We should invite him over for a drink, we live so close!"
"A drink??" My mom does not drink. Although, when I questioned her, she informed me that she had two bloody marys at my dad's office party last night.
"Well--Diet Coke," she said with a laugh.

Outside in the frigid parking lot, I danced my way to the car, ignoring the black ice beneath my feet. It took us over 20 minutes just to get out and onto Route 59, so I turned on the ipod and played Billy Joel songs, which he did not sing. And for good measure, an encore of my favorite: "It's Still Rock 'n' Roll To Me" and drummed the steering wheel in time with the beats. I commented that Billy is one of those musicians who actually sounds better live than he does recorded, which is rare and much appreciated.
We went through the drive-thru of McDonald's and each got a small Coke. Myself, regular and hers, Diet. Cheers to you, Mr. Joel--we love you just the way you are.

25 on 25 (i made it a quarter century)

2007-11-25T23:38:00.000-06:00

Numbers have always been quite present in the Liebovich household, mostly thanks to my dad. He sends me e-mails with odometer updates about his car and he also informs me of how close I am to the next age on the 25th of every month.
While sitting in Rosh Hashanah services back in September, he turned to me when the little kids came in for the sounding of the Shofar, shook his head back and forth and muttered, "Twenty-five," already in anticipation of my 25th birthday which was still two months away. "I can't believe it--you used to be that big," motioning to the children.
Just after the stroke of midnight on November 25, I received the following text message:

Dear Lyse,
happy golden, silver, quarter century birthday.
and many, many more!
love, dad

Amidst Belly's Bar, at a 7-way birthday celebration, and slightly intoxicated I paused to smile at my phone, knowing my dad most likely waited up that late just so he could acknowledge the exact moment when I finally turned the big 2-5.

The party was fun, I'm glad I went. I was two weeks into a horrible, relentless cold/cough and was on the verge of not attending my own party, but my dutiful friends

insisted I go.
Lots of laughs,

lots of drinks,

and lots of ridiculous dance moves later,

I was glad I didn't waste the night away sleeping. I took Goldschlagger shots, symbolic of my golden birthday, and became mystified with the floating flakes of gold.

I even thought it was a good idea to put one of the flakes on my face.

(i don't recommend this. it burns.)
A few times I hid in the corner and watched everyone, satisfied, thinking, "Good. Everyone's having fun." At midnight, people sang "Happy Birthday"

My sister took a picture of me taking that picture, which pretty much sums me up in a photograph.

We stayed at the bar till about 2:30 in the morning. Even though it was the first year my sister was old enough to celebrate with me, she remained sober (thank you, Sheri!) and let about seven of us pile into the faithful minivan. Before dropping most of us off at Amy's to sleep, we made a pizza pit stop at the famous Bacci's next to Wrigley Field. While my sister and I were in line to get our slices, two guys got in a physical fight right next to us, knocking into us as one guy held the other up against the counter. My wallet fell out of my hand and its contents dispersed all over the floor. As my sister and I bent down to collect it all, one guy said to the other--
"Say it--say one more bad joke about Jewish people and I'll punch you in the face!"
I yelled up from the floor, "Hey! It's my birthday AND I'm Jewish AND you're stepping on me and my sister! So you better shut the hell up or I'M going to punch you in the face!"
I stood up and stuck my long, skinny arm in between their angry faces...like that was going to do anything...I don't think they even noticed.
Finally they left and we got to eat our pizza in peace. They were the biggest slices I've ever seen and they had a bucket of red pepper.

As soon as we got to Amy's, Jenny and Ryan crashed on Amy's pull-out couch and Carrie built a bed on the floor. I brushed my teeth with my finger (I remembered everything but my toothbrush), put a Band-Aid on my bleeding (from unknown causes) finger and passed out in Amy's bed.
At 7:00 I woke up to Amy mumbling, "I don't feel good."
"I don't either," I mumbled back.
But I succeeded in not puking, which I was hugely grateful for. Jenny, Ryan and Carrie left around 9:30. I drove Amy in my sweats and heels (also forgot normal shoes) to the airport and continued on to my parent's house.

My actual day of birth was pretty uneventful, that is until my sister gave me my birthday present. But in order for her to finish making my birthday present (I found out later), my dad spent over an hour driving me around town, obviously stalling. First he offered to take me to lunch, which was suspicious because he hardly ever eats that meal and we were having an early dinner just a few hours later. So off we went to Portillo's...or so I thought. Instead of turning left on Golf, he continued going straight on Roselle.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"It's a surprise," my dad smiled.
"Well I'm not really dressed for a surprise. I haven't even showered."
"I don't think it's going to care."
So the surprise is an "it," I thought. Visions of puppies and drumsets played out in my mind. (I wouldn't tell anyone what I wanted for my birthday, but finally said those two things, both of which I knew I wouldn't get.) He turned down Wise Road, and I said aloud, "I think I know where you're going but I'm not sure why." I knew the Great Frame Up was on Wise and thought maybe they did something creative like frame the page in the issue of JPG Magazine I was recently published in.
Then he turned into a neighborhood. And I realized he was going to our old house.
Sure enough.
"Well here we are--surprise!" my dad said, gleefully as he pulled up in front of 922 East Point Drive. The surprise was that the current owners made our old split-level into a full two-story house. "Cool," I said. We then drove past the hill I used to sled down, which barely constitutes as a hill, then past the playground, where my dad narrated, "...and this is the park where you used to play...25 years ago." We then drove to the Osco where my mom works and went inside to visit her at the pharmacy and waste more time until I complained that all I wanted to do was shower. So we left. But once again did not go straight to our destination. This time we had to drive past Walter Payton's house and sit and stare at it like his ghost was going to appear in the yard. Even though we both knew he was stalling, he made up for it by saying he "just wanted to have some bonding time with his daughter." Thanks, Dad.

This brings us to the Cheesecake Factory. Shawna stopped by to give me a "small gift" as she called it. The bag was huge and thought behind what was inside was anything but small. She instructed me to read the quote inside the shadow box first:
A journey of thousand miles must begin with a single step
"Now read the tag on the slippers," she said.
"Rainbow sandals..." I read aloud and realized immediately what she had done, while my family donned the same confused look. I almost started crying. At some point in the last year I expressed wanting to frame my Rainbow-brand sandals because although they're destroyed, I can't bring myself to throw them out because they've taken me so many places. Most people would have rolled their eyes or ignored me or would have "you would" or "you're a freak." But no, not Shawna. She's one of the most thoughtful, supportive people I know.

She had to leave and unfortunately couldn't join us for dinner. While we waited for the delightful avocado eggrolls appetizer my mom handed me a small gift bag. I opened the card first which started loudly singing "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun." Inside the bag were the CD soundtracks to "Across The Universe" and "I'm Not There" as well as my annual symbolic turkey gift--this year a beanie baby named "Leftovers."

Then my sister handed me a giant unwrapped Carson Pirie Scott box with a wide gold ribbon holding it together. Inside was an oversized blue scrapbook. Now before I get into the details, I have to admit, I knew she had some kind of surprise collaborative gift in the works. What happened was the night she asked me for my contact list, she accidentally sent me the email that said "DO NOT TELL ALYSE ABOUT THIS E-MAIL!" We were talking on gchat and I said, "so am i not supposed to look at the email you just sent me that says don't tell alyse about this email?" I didn't realize why she wanted my contact list, and my address was embedded in the "Shorashim" listerv (from my Israel trip this summer).
I wanted to be surprised, so I immediately deleted the e-mail and tried to forget about it, assuring Sheri that I would not venture in my "trash" folder to dig it out. So in the back of my mind I've known she's had something up her sleeve...but I never ever imagined the project would be so meaningful (I pictured her asking everyone to send a quarter...don't ask).

Because I was already overwhelmed with Shawna's thoughtfulness, it didn't take long for the tears to start spilling over. Midway through reading the first page of the book, which was the e-mail Sheri sent out to everyone, I lost it. The only other time I cried out of happiness was on December 12, 2000 when I got my acceptance letter to NYU.
I was shocked at not only how many people people contributed but also at the variety of people who did! Not just my best friends, but my best friend's fiancée, my sister's friends, a college professor, high school teachers, a former employer, my current employer, and both people I haven't talked to in years as well as a bunch from people I just met THIS year--whether from being in art shows or from my Birthright trip to Israel. I barely ended up eating anything because I amidst all the excitement, I lost my appetite.

I don't have the time now to scan each page for public viewing, so I'll share a few funny/interesting pieces of the puzzle.
My dad (who said he requested being placed first in the book--"I told her, 'She wouldn't have made it to 25 without me, so i think i deserve it.'") wrote about our first Indian Princess campout in the Fall of '88. This particular excerpt made me laugh so hard, I started crying again, rolling around on my sister's floor, trying to breathe. I so remember this happening and it just proves that some people never change:
"I still remember vividly the first campout, about a month after we joined. We arrived about an hour early at Camp Duncan, a Y camp about an hour away. I wasn't quite sure how Alyse would do, being the first thing like this she ever did in her little life, and with most of the other girls in the tribe and nation being as much as five years older. Sure enough, the first thing she did was wander into the forest, where she spent the next half hour or so collecting acorns. I tried to get her to join the other members of the tribe as they arrived, but all she wanted to do was collect more acorns. So I'm thinking, hmm, this is going to be fun. She might just want to stay out here forever."

My mom reprinted her graphic Lamaze labor and delivery questionnaire. I didn't have to get much past "mucous plug" in the first sentence to make me never want to be pregnant. On the opposing page, though, she put a picture of me in the infamous turkey outfit that the nurses dressed me in after putting my mom through 27 hours of labor and finally making an appearance at 7:13 a.m. on Thanksgiving of '82 (I still do things at my own pace, she'll tell people today). Every Thanksgiving her relatives say, "I remember when I first saw you dressed as a turkey." I guess they weren't lying.

Dana, my former SNL boss, who I became good friends with, recounted some funny memories together. This was my favorite--so typical:
"Me telling you to 'take it down a notch' about 25 times at the Kate Hudson shoot...only you found it physically impossible to not dance and sing and were therefore sent to Starbucks."
What can I say? I loved my job!

My friend Alex painted me a portrait of Bob Dylan!

Stephanie created her own monopoly board based on where the four of us (me and my sister, she and her sister) went to college and vacations our families have been on together. This is also significant because I taught her how to play the game when she was four or five.

Abbi wrote this absolutely hilarious play based on my clothes using quotes from my 8th grade poetry book (which I mistakingly let her keep a few years ago) and her own inner monologue, entitled: "Best Friend and Secret (girl) Crush: A Legacy and (jealousy) of Clothes."

Zach turned me into a freaking ipod ad! About a week ago he asked me if I had any pictures of myself "dancing crazy" to make a "spec ad." Thinking nothing of it, I sent him about a dozen pictures of myself tearing up the dance floor at various weddings and events. This is also fitting because my mom used to say the people on the ipod commercials reminded her of me.

(you can see the tears)

One of my college roommates, Tina, wrote:
"Alyse and I both had a love for sign language and an unabashed penchant for activities which others might deem 'corny' or just plain 'uncool.' I was ecstatice to find a willing participant for my sing-alongs, and Alyse knew exactly whose door to knock on at one in the morning during a snowstorm.
*Tap tap tap.* 'Tina?...Are you up?' Alyse whispered. I opened my door. 'Do you want to go out and play in the snow?' she asked. Hell yeah I did! Of course I contained my enthusiasm to a whisper until we got outside. There we played with the abandon of six-year-olds in foot-high drifts and winds that whipped around the piers of the South Street Seaport. We made fun of the Abercrombie models in the store windows. Tragic figures, really. Those cool, jaded faces had no idea how much FUN they were missing!"

One of my roommates from Madrid, wrote:
"Alyse, you impacted my life more than I think you understand. You, ironically, are responsible for my current career choice and direction. Because of that one fateful lunch at Isla del Tesoro in Madrid and the subsequent hospital experience that followed it, I became a Spanish medical interpreter and am now in nursing school. Without that experience, I don't think that I would have realized the need for professional interpreters and would never have pursued it further."
Who knew that walking nose-first into a glass door would lead to such life-altering changes!

My friend Christopher Rawson from my final photo class at NYU included a black&white photograph he took of me at a jukebox, a moment I remember, a photo I never knew existed.

Even my 13-year-old buddy, Max, participated with inside jokes galore, intertwined with some really heartfelt sentiments, which really validated what I've been doing with my life the past year and a half.

All in all, it was the most beautiful, touching, meaningful, inspiring gift I've ever received from the best sister I could ever ask for!
I will end this with the short anecdote I sent as a thank-you to the book's contributors.
After a belated birthday sushi lunch with Shelley, I got caught in a whirlwind of Chicago's first seasonal snowfall. I walked through a deserted park, gloveless and holding the Carson's box--the one containing my sister's gift to me--in both hands.
I paused a moment, twirling around myself, my head thrown back letting the snowflakes gather on my glasses. And I thought of one of my favorite (although brief) poems (by Taneda Santoka)--Here in the stillness of snow falling on snow.
I completed his thought and said..."all I need in the world is inside this box."

Thank you to everyone who made this momentous birthday the best and most memorable one thus far.
If you wish to view the birthday album in its entirety, click here: more birthday photos