Tag Archives: chicago

Polar Vortex vs Tardis

Many would be mightily disappointed by the misleading title of this post. My apology.

By Tardis, I mean the awesome Tardis fleece blankets found on ThinkGeek. Each of the boys got one for Christmas. I was blue with envy as soon as I touched it. So soft and fuzzy.

Tardis blanket

AND it’s bigger on the inside! My son who’s holding the blanket in the picture is 6’2″. I decided to keep the two extra ones back home that I had ordered for my Whovian friends. I of course promptly forgot about them. The blankets. Not my friends.

Since Monday, Chicago along with the rest of the Midwest fell into the evil grip of Polar Vortex (Great name by the way for 1. a band, 2. a Bond villain, 3. an X-Men member, 4. a super powerful blender). I have proof:

20 below zero

 

This was why this happened at Lake Michigan shore:

Chicago ice town

Photo credit: Getty Images

 

Our school districts were closed for two days and the kids were suffering from cabin fever. As an argument was about to break out over who owned the Tardis blanket that’s downstairs (as opposed to the one upstairs), and I was about to step in and declare that it’s, surprise, surprise, MINE! I remembered and brought out the extra two Tardis blankets. Peace was restored. The boys and I wrapped ourselves in the deep blue plushiness and walked around the house like royalty.

Naturally, they’re late getting ready for bed again.

“Seriously. I am the worst parent.” I added, after I threatened to really enforce discipline this time if they did not go upstairs straightaways.

My 11-year-old boy turned to look at me in the eye. “You are the best parent,” he said quietly, “from a child’s perspective.”

So. Yup. There you have it. Definitely the worst parent.

 

Welcome to Chicago!

My previous post was a fine example for #FirstWorldProblem.

The kids and I survived. Of course. More than survived, we had a grand old time taking it easy playing really layback tourists in Chicago. The kids apparently inherited my love for hotels: we spent one morning inside the hotel watching the History Channel.

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As I lay on the lounge chair watching the kids frolicking in the pool on the top of the hotel under the moon and surrounded by city lights, I had to admit, with embarrassment, that I could no longer complain.

 

I am going to be staying at yet another hotel tonight. BlogHer 2013 is here in Chicago. I hope to see some of you in 3D. Be warned: I am hashtag awkward.

 

Surviving Spring Break

Last week I mused about driving by myself with the kids to Mount Rushmore over spring break. 950 glorious miles. I am sorry if I let some of your down. That was just crazy talk. I was under duress: Spring break week happened to be performance review week at work. The boys seemed to be fine not going anywhere however. They have the entire Minecraft universe to roam about where they can build fanciful things, and probably more importantly, then blow them up. I wanted to make a special effort to do some non-Minecraft related activities because

1. Last Friday, at the beginning of Spring Break, 9-year-old Mr. Monk suffered first degree burns when I bumped into him and he spilled hot tea all over his upper chest. OUCH. He’s been a trooper even though he questions my skills as a Florence Nightingale every time I change the dressing. (I should also admit that when the disaster happened, I immediately Googled in order to find out what to do since I had NO clue whatsoever. Shouldn’t First Aid training be mandatory for people about to become parents?!)

2. On our way to see the doctor (for a followup visit) I actually told Mr. Monk, “I cannot deal with stupid people. Please don’t be stupid.”

3. After seeing all the creative, amazing plots inside Minecraft, I told Number One Son, “I am so embarrassed by your lackadaisical effort. You spend all your time on this, and you only have this pyramid to show for?”

 

Long story short: We went to Museum of Science and Industry, and a grand time was had by all. I realized one thing: Museum visits become less horrifying once all your children are out of the stroller and have attention span longer than that of a fly.

And really, what kind of monster can resist baby chicks? It’s a shame though: the process of a baby chick pecking its way out of the shell can take up to 10 hours. We did not witness any birthing.

 

 

 

 

I was very excited to be able to revisit the Twinkie experiment right before closing time. I wrote about this insane plan of MSI back in October 2009: they decided to test whether Twinkie indeed could survive a nuclear Armageddon by leaving a Twinkie out in a display case. I am happy (or actually, horrified) to report that the Twinkie is alive and well, and has not aged a bit.

 

Here is a picture of the good ol’ Swiss Jolly Ball at MSI. I can stand and watch this thing over and over again. It is a giant pinball machine, essentially. The tour of the ball takes more than 5 minutes to complete. I took a 2-minute video of it because it is awesome and I need more people to know something this fascinating exists near the exit of MSI. Yup. Most people probably don’t even notice it as they rush towards the exit. It bothers me.

Swiss Jolly Ball at MSI. One of the only two in the world. Click on the picture for the 2-minute video if you want to see it in action

 

Maybe this is exactly how the natural world works: repetitive, fascinating motions. There are many things that I could stand and watch at length. Just watching and being mesmerized. The giant Newton’s Cradle for one. And also something called Avalanche Disk. (The video below is only 30 seconds)

You’ve got to admit, it’s pretty darn cool. No medicinal aid required to get into a trance.

 

I thought, “Hey, instead of hitting play over and over again, I should just copy and paste the clip to extend it! Multiple times!” Soon, a song popped into my head. The perfect song to accompany my insanity. Oh, sorry, L’insanity. I know this post is now tl;dr. Somebody stop me! I am leaving this 5+ minute video on here because Mr. Blue Sky told me to. I am staring at this video and listening to this song until spring break is over.

Om.

Shoot

A couple of weeks ago, I was in downtown Chicago with my family. We do that from time to time: using the hotel points we racked up from business trips for a weekend in downtown Chicago. A Staycation. (Sorry for using the stupid buzz word) After a most satisfying lunch at Berghoff where I was surprised by one two of the best Tom Collins I’ve ever had.

Berghoff is billed as a historic restaurant in Chicago. A classic. A landmark. A local gem. You know what that means. That (usually) means it is a tourist trap and therefore I was not expecting much. Following the theme of Lowered Expectations, I was absolutely blown away when I took a sip of the Tim Collins. I have been looking for a good, old, solid Tom Collins for a while now, and I have been to quite a few places where the bar tenders actually asked me, “What is a Tom Collin?”  Not making this up. Little did I know that I would have found The Perfect Tom Collins that one afternoon when we sort of gave up and walked into Berghoff because it was still open for lunch at 3 pm and was not crowded.

After lunch, The Husband announced that he needed a nap. (Don’t say anything. I know. Ugh)  I looked at the boys, “Well, mommy is going shopping. Whom do you want to go with?” “Dad!”

*Cue evil genius laughter on my part*

That’s how I got two hours of Alone Time wandering around the Chicago loop area by myself.

The streets were mostly empty.  I took my time, walking slowly, deliberately, yet aimlessly.  Occasionally I would stop, whip out my phone to take a picture of something that struck my fancy. Lamp post. Intricate carvings on a building. Wrought iron works. Brass decor on top of an elevator door. Of course, my idea of me being a great street photographer trumps my actual photographic skills and that is why none of those photos are featured here. Believe me when I say that the images are whimsical and beautiful and fascinating when I have them framed like this with my mind:

Click. Click. Click.

Of course, while I was taking my leisurely stroll, I had no idea that the pictures were coughcoughcough so I was walking around with the aura and euphoria of a street photographer exploring the beauties around me.

At one point when I stopped to take pictures of a wall scone outside one of those gorgeous Chicago buildings, a guy doubled back to ask me whether I would like a picture with the wall scone. I laughed and explained that I was simply taking random pictures of random objects. “Because I am crazy like this.”

Oh, yeah. I do say things like that to random strangers. I am indeed crazy like this.

“If you like Chicago architectural details, you really should go into this building over there,” he pointed at a building not far from the crosswalk where we both stopped at the light. “It has an amazing lobby with all the original details intact.”

Alas. (See above).

But all was not lost because when I came out from the building, I spotted a bride and a groom being led by a real photographer towards a deserted intersection. I ran. I was shameless. By god I was going to get that shot of the photographer taking a picture of this couple standing in the middle of a Chicago intersection.

I had just watched the trailer to the documentary Bill Cunningham New York and I might have been mistakenly inspired…

How ironic would that photo be. How awesome!

But when I got to within the optimal (photo) shooting range, I could not raise my phone. I was shy. It felt awkward even though there were others taking pictures of them.

I couldn’t help but smile because it was a lovely sight and walked across the street away from the trio, trying to look as if I meant to cross the street all along. As soon as I turned my back toward then, the little voice piped up,

“God damn it! You need to get over this! Chicken!” I thought to myself. “They won’t mind. People gawk and take pictures of brides all the time.”

“FINE!” I turned around to snap a picture and then quickly walked away, as if I had done something wrong.

 

Blame it on Chicago Blizzard 2011

I failed to call my parents on Chinese New Year’s Eve again.

I used to blame it on miscalculation of time zone differences between Chicago and Taipei.

This year I am gonna blame it on the 3rd largest snowfall (20+ inches) Chicago has ever seen.

We had to shovel in the blizzard almost every hour yesterday.

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Mr. Monk vs. Chicago Blizzard 2011

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When I finally got up this morning, it was already 8 am (i.e. 10 pm in Taipei), and this is what I saw outside the window:

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Sigh.

I wanted to go right back to bed and hibernate until the snow melted away on its own, oh, say, a month from now. (Did I tell you that we do NOT own a snow blower? Out of principle? The Husband’s. Not Mine, thank you very much).

Still I dragged myself downstairs. I had to make the call, knowing that I had missed the opportunity to call during the Chinese New Year’s Eve dinner, arguably THE most important meal for every Chinese, when all my families got together. Getting my call when everybody was together having Chinese New Year dinner would make up, to a >0 extent, for the fact that I was not there physically. But I had missed the golden window. Sure enough, I found my parents back in their apartment.

“Your brother wanted to call you at 8. But I told him not to because it would have been 6 in the morning your time. Your father wanted to wait for you to call but then it got too late, we had to come home. Your father was tired.” Mom said.

Sigh.

Since I have a flair for the dramatic, I felt I had ruined Chinese New Year and I was more than happy to ignore it. If I did not mention it, my kids would not even notice that Chinese New Year has come and gone. So why bother. I’ve had enough to do all day.

At 5 o’clock, the guilty conscience finally got a hold of me.

“Hey, how about we go to a Chinese restaurant tonight. It’s Chinese New Year’s Eve.” I said to The Husband. “And how about you invite the two Chinese co-workers of yours who are here by themselves? It would make it feel more like Chinese New Year having dinner with them than with our children who would undoubtedly whine about the food.”

The roads are still treacherous and not many cars were outside. Almost all stores and restaurants were closed, including McDonald’s. Thank goodness for the cliche “Chinese restaurants are always open” because it is true.

I am glad that I made the last minute decision to have some semblance of a Chinese New Year’s Eve: We made it to Chef Ping’s and for once it was not crowded; I got to order a shrimp dish AND a whole fish; I did NOT eat one single piece of the stupid General Tsao’s Chicken that we have to order every single time for the kids; I said Happy New Year in Chinese to more than a dozen people in the restaurant and it made me feel so much better, that Chinese New Year is not ruined after all.

I am really deprived, I know.

When I came home, I saw the email from Amanda who told me that her kids get a day off tomorrow for Chinese New Year because that is how they roll in San Francisco. And she sent me this picture of a fellow Taiwanese celebrating Chinese New Year. She at least made Mango a hat. I guess I need to get it together.

I need to go find some red envelops to give to the boys tomorrow. I was supposed to give it to them on Chinese New Year’s Eve. Oh well. They would have had to kneel and kowtow to me and The Husband and wish us long life and stuff before we gave them the red envelops anyway.

I was supposed to buy them new underwear too. I guess what you don’t know won’t hurt you.

Here’s to The Year of the Rabbit!

In case you are wondering what 2011 holds for you according to your Chinese Zodiac signs, here it is.

And for some of you, you’d be excited to know that for the Vietnamese, this year is indeed The Year of the Cat. Yes, that song is for real.

Now… who wants to look at The walking Bunny again?

Sundays in My City – From Dives to Skyscrapers

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p.s. Obviously backdated so it appears to have been published on a Sunday. These pictures were taken a week before but I have been to lazy busy to do anything about them.

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Unknown Mami

Sundays in My City

I am in downtown Chicago with the kids this weekend. NO laptop. I have aniPhone with no SIM. But it has a camera: look out, world!!!

I am sitting in the hotel lobby using the free Wi-Fi, trying to blog via my iPhod thingy. Ok. Seriously? How the fuck does anybody type on this thing?!?! So far I have accidentally published this post twice. Ugh. FWIW, Here it goes…

Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!

As in Seinfeld…

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When I landed in the U.S. which turned out to be in the middle of corn field and not in NYC or LA, I was often trapped inside my dorm room and therefore I watched a lot of American TV. That’s probably for the better since I needed polishing on not just the English language but also American pop cultures. Nick at Night turned out to be a great teacher.

But the real Sensei for me, in terms of getting integrated into the American Pop culture, is Seinfeld.

It was a struggle for me at first. The show is full of references and references to references. I felt that I needed a secret decoder to decipher the humor underneath the banters. I knew it was funny; I just didn’t know how or why. More puzzling instead. When I finally was able to laugh at all the appropriate moments, and sometimes even at the more subtle points, I knew that I had “GOT IN” the secret club.

We went to see Jerry Seinfeld last Friday. The show was supposed to start at 7 pm, and yet, at 7:20 pm there were still a lot of people getting into their seats. Many of them were either holding a drink or obviously tipsy already. As late as 7:45 pm, there were stragglers wandering in. And throughout the night, until the show ended a little bit after 8:30 pm, people would get out of their seats to get more drinks and popcorn.

Is it just me? Is this nothing uncommon when it comes to standup comedies even though the venue is Chicago Theatre and now some comedy club in a basement somewhere?

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I really had fun at the show. I laughed so hard, my stomach hurt, and I found it hard to breath quite often. In fact, my husband told me after the show that he was surprised by how loud my laughter could be (or did he use the word “cackle”? Anyway, after 14 years of marriage, I was surprised that he was surprised by anything. Wow.) I had to press on my temples at several particularly hilarious yet insightful observations that he made for fear that my head might burst from the suppressed urge to jump up and down in vehement agreement.

One example: (Paraphrased below as usual… for I have no photographic memory…)

The problem with being a father is that our role is not clear. A kid’s role? Very clear. A father’s role? FUZZY. We have no idea what we are supposed to do. In fact, there are only two things that are clearly what fathers are expected to do. One is to come home every night, drop your bag on the floor, and yell, “Daddy’s home!” and then expect everybody in the house to drop whatever they are doing and come running.

The other one is AVOIDANCE. We practice avoidance so nobody can see us. (I can’t quite remember what exactly he said in the middle here… It’s funny. Just trust me on this one.)  “WHERE IS YOUR FATHER?” This question is the most often asked inside the house. (At this line I howled with laughter because it is damn true in my household. At the same time I felt grateful towards Seinfeld because it was damn nice to know I am not alone in dealing with the “Husband in Hiding” issue…) … GOLF stands for GET OUT LEAVE FAMILY…

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Jerry asked the audience to throw questions at him at the end, and it became obvious that many in the audience were flat out drunk. One guy kept on yelling Festivus! Some gal repeated what she had yelled at the beginning of the show, “Jerry I love you you are the best you are the funniest” (and she did not know when to stop). A very blonde and young girl sitting in the first row told Jerry that she has been watching his show since 1995. Jerry said, “Yes, and I have been on TV for the 15 years before that!” Again, this one did not know when to stop either. She went on full gushing mode. “But I think you are the best and the funniest… blah blah blah.”

“If you turn around now,” Jerry had to interrupt her, “you’ll see that there are other people in this room. It is not just you and me here.” He then tried to make the whole situation funnier for the rest of us, “Sometimes people sitting in the front row are so blinded by their power…”

The question of whether he plans to do another TV show was brought up, Jerry said, “To be honest with you: I am old, rich and tired.” He now gets up in the morning sitting at the kitchen counter with his three kids eating cereals while watching Sesame Street. “I would watch Elmo and laugh at his antics, and I’d thought to myself, ‘Yeah. Let him bust his red furry ass…'”

Some guy from the DRUNK section yelled out, “DO YOU THINK YOU ARE FUNNY?”

Awkward silence in the audience. I guess most people were holding their breath at that somewhat rude question.

“I don’t know. It really doesn’t matter what I think. You guys are the ones paying for the tickets!” At that, thunderous applause.