Ems in the City

Chicago Dance Digest

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Tue, 20 Sep 2011 13:00:00 +0000

Hi friends, family, and fans,

Recently, I started a blog devoted to dance in Chicago--Chicago Dance Digest. Frankly, I wanted to do more dance writing than the four articles per issue that I am tasked with each quarter for Clef Notes. I plan to continue writing for the magazine, because I have a good relationship with them and am excited for the publication's future. I also plan to keep blogging here when I have interesting, non-dance-related stories to share about Chicago.

One of the features of Chicago Dance Digest is a full events calendar of dance events in Chicago. Personally, I have often found it difficult to find a comprehensive list of Chicago dance events on the web. I finally decided to take matters into my own hands, and take all of these emails I receive from press reps and theaters, and turn them into something useful for dance fans.

Additionally, I am really excited about the freedom I will have to choose my own stories, profiles, interviews, etc. to feature at Chicago Dance Digest. It is my hope that the stories posted on the site will be interesting, engaging, and informative for my readers.

At this time, I would like to ask you to consider following my blog. It's tumblr-based, so if you're on tumblr, please feel free to follow and re-blog or like any of my stories. For everyone, please feel free to comment on my posts, and ask questions via the ask questions link at the top of the home page. You can also follow me on Twitter. My handle is chicagodancedigest.

Thank you for supporting me in this new endeavor!

Best,
Emily

Good-Bye, Borders

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Sun, 24 Jul 2011 22:23:00 +0000

Since I was already in the Loop this morning, I decided to drop into Borders at State and Randolph to peruse the going out of business sale. Have to admit—it was kind of depressing. The supplies are starting to dwindle, although the sales aren’t that impressive just yet. And all around me I could hear sentiments echoing my own, as people walked through the doors and sighed or gasped or said “Wow, I can’t believe it.”

I adore bookstores. Especially large ones with a café where you can spend the whole afternoon. My family and I used to hop in the car on a Sunday, head to the bookstore, and spend hours looking at books and music. It was one of my favorite family activities—we all loved it.

When I was studying abroad at Oxford, I found a safe haven at Borders. It felt very American, and at a time when I was overwhelmingly homesick, that meant quite a lot. I could just head to Borders and almost forget I was hundreds of miles away from home and across the pond. Plus, that was where I discovered the Frappuccino (wink).

Ever since, Borders has been a place where I go if I want to be alone, or if I’m feeling sad. I find solace in books, like so many others. Now, I’ll probably spend more time at After-Words, my favorite little used book shop on Illinois. It’s a little further away from the office, but much closer than the one Barnes & Noble in the Gold Coast. I can get lost for hours at After-Words, and it’s local. Hoping they stick around for a while...

How to lose your mom in Chicago

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Wed, 06 Apr 2011 01:03:00 +0000

My mom visits me in Chicago about twice a year. Somehow, the most amusing transportation stories seem to arise from her visits. (Maybe it’s more our attitude about these mishaps that makes them funny, rather than the situations themselves.) So it was that this past Thursday night was no exception, as I lost my mom on the bus ride home from dinner…

We’d stuffed ourselves at the Cheesecake Factory after what had been, for me, an excruciatingly long day at work. It was about ten o’clock when we finished our meal and grabbed the 145 bus headed uptown. Because I was dragging my mom’s luggage with me, I headed for the back set of doors where I could stand with her suitcase without blocking up the aisle. I expected Mom to follow me, but instead she stopped in the middle of the bus where she decided to stand (still not sure exactly why—there was no one else standing, other seats open, and plenty of room near me). That seven feet or so of space was all we needed to set off a rather absurd (and scary) course of events.

Once the 145 exits Lake Shore Drive, its first stop is at Belmont and Sheffield. As we pulled up to the stop, I tried to get my mom’s attention to tell her I was just going to step off to let people off the bus, but she was staring out the window, lost in her own thoughts. Well, no big deal, I thought, and I stepped off the bus with her suitcase to let the other passengers exit.

When I stepped back onto the bus, I looked around for mom and she wasn’t there. I scanned the seats. No mom. The bus was already starting to move at this point, so I tried to peer outside and pick out my mother in the swirl of pedestrians walking off into the night, but it was very dark outside and the tinted windows were working against me.

“$%&@!. She must have gotten off the bus when she saw me step off,” I thought. “Well, okay, not a problem. I’ll get off and go fetch her.” I rang the bell for the next stop and hopped off the bus, heading back down the street toward the Belmont stop to retrieve mom. As I came closer, however, I realized there was no longer a soul in sight.

“What the--?” I asked the air. “#&$@! She’s got to be on the bus still,” I deduced, and called her cell phone. She didn’t answer. I called again. “Arg, Mom! Pick up your phone!” I thought, imagining her moving farther and farther north on the bus. I kept calling her, but she didn’t answer. I left a frantic voice mail basically saying, “Hey, mom, I’m freaking out, I wish you would pick up your phone.” And I kept thinking, “How the heck did I miss her? Where did she go?”

Feeling defeated, and still mom-less, I decided to head back to my apartment, dialing her number again every minute or so (I somehow thought that she would miraculously hear her phone on the 16^th ring). I took her luggage up to my apartment and stared at it, starting to wonder if maybe she put her cell phone in there, on silent, and, in that case, we’d be in a real pickle. My innocent mother, alone, in the big city, at night, with absolutely no clue where she was? #%$*!

So then I sat down on my couch to wait. I started to worry that someone might kidnap her, and any number of other panic-spun scenarios. As I sat there, about fifteen minutes after I stepped off the bus at Aldine, my mom called me. I could sense annoyance in her voice immediately, but it dissolved as soon as she heard how upset I was.

“Oh my GOD, Mom. I have been CALLING you and CALLING you! Where are you!!!?”

“I’m on the bus,” she said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world that she’d be there, and ludicrous I should think she’d be anyplace else. (Turns out, she’d sat down when I stepped out to let people off, but she’d sat down next to a large woman and I couldn’t see my rather petite mother on the other side of her.)

“But I looked and I didn’t see you and I thought you got off the bus so I got off the bus at the next stop and went back to get you and you weren’t there!”

Mom responded to my ranting calmly, “I looked for you but didn’t see you. I thought you must have sat down. I just figured you would have told me when it was time to get off the bus. But then it started to seem like a long time, and I couldn’t see you. So, I walked to the back of the bus to find you, and you weren’t there.”

I was feeling a little exasperated that she had been standing so far away from me on the bus to start with, and that she wasn’t keeping an eye on what was going on, but then I was even more exasperated that I had not seen her when I was looking around the bus. I was frustrated at both of us at once and had started crying (omg, I lost my mom—what kind of daughter am I?) and I asked again, “Where are you??”

“Well, hang on,” she said, “I’ll have to ask the bus driver.”…“He says we’re at Lawrence.”

^%&$#*!

Mom asked me, “Calm down. Just tell me what should I do.”

“My God Mom, you have to go the other way. I got off the bus a long time ago!”

“Okay, hang on, I’ll ask the bus driver.”

She chatted with the bus driver who explained what she needed to do. I thought maybe I should tell her to hail a cab, but then I didn't know how long it would take before one would drive by, and I liked the idea of her at a lighted bus stop more than some random corner.

“Okay, honey, I’m going to get on the bus going the other way. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Tell me where I have to get off the bus.”

So, I told her where she needed to go, and I was still freaking out because it was still night time in Chicago, and my mom was still friendly and sweet, and I was worried that she would get lost, or mugged, or attacked… My adrenaline had set my imagination on a wild ride.

Meanwhile, mom had bumped into some older folks waiting at the bus stop and was making new friends. She started the tale by saying, facetiously, “I’m here in Chicago visiting my daughter, and the first night here, she loses me!” And they all burst into laughter at the absurd hilarity of the thing. When the 151 pulled up, my mom went to climb on, as she’d been instructed to do, but was nearly clobbered by the wheelchair ramp she wasn’t expecting to lower in front of her. But at this point, everything was funny, and as her new friends warned her to watch out, they all (including my mom) started laughing again, and asking her what kind of buses they must have in Toledo. Then Mom told the new bus driver her story. Naturally, it followed, “Um, can you tell me where I need to get off the bus? I’m visiting Chicago, and my daughter lost me…” More hilarity.

While all this was happening, I was still sitting in my apartment gripping my phone. I had turned on the TV, and I just started to feel the exhaustion of a hair-tearing week at work and the events of the evening, but I was still mostly nerves until mom called me again. “We’re at 4200,” she told me—a number that meant absolutely nothing to her, but made me feel relieved. She wasn’t too far away now.

When she stepped off the bus, I met her on the sidewalk, and I could finally relax after I felt her frame in my embrace and I knew for sure that she wasn’t lost anymore. As we walked home, I explained again to her exactly what happened, in a calmer, more comprehensible manner.

“Oh, I see what you’re saying.” Now she understood that I actually had gotten off the bus because I thought she’d gotten off. Not because I’d left her behind, expecting her to know what to do. We started laughing. And we rehashed the whole thing, laughing and laughing the whole way back to my apartment. And at that moment I loved my mom all the more for being such a good sport and for finding the humor in a precarious situation.

Good-bye February

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 02:23:00 +0000

Just one, quick, celebratory note that it's the last day of February. It has actually been quite a nice month, despite the weather. But I'm not sorry to see it go. March is the month that closes the winter, a season to which I am ready to bid adieu. Hello, March. :)

Restaurant Week 2011: Naha, Sepia, Cafe Spiaggia

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 01:42:00 +0000

This year, I finally participated in Chicago Restaurant Week. When Matt and I returned to Chicago on Tuesday, after spending the long weekend with my folks in Ohio, we were looking forward to our reservations. On Wednesday, we went to Naha for lunch. We arrived before the doors opened at 11:30 AM, but we didn’t have to wait in the cold for long before they let the growing crowd in. It was my first time at Naha. They seated us right away, and near the window, where plenty of light shone in, despite the overcast skies. The Restaurant Week options all sounded wonderful, and they really provided a nice variety of options. We skipped the wine (it was the middle of the work day, after all), and I ordered the simple salad, white fish with shrimp, and this banana dessert (whose name I couldn’t properly pronounce, let alone spell).

I loved my salad. It had plenty of crunchy beat pieces, colorful radish discs, and a nice mix of greens under a light, sweet dressing. Honestly, aside from dessert, it was my favorite part of the meal. The white fish was good, but there was something sort of licorice-y about the shrimp. I enjoyed the dish, but I wasn’t blown away.

By the time dessert arrived, we were staring anxiously at the clock. It really took forever for us to get each course, and we had to get back to work. A couple at a nearby table complained to the waiter, who replied that he was getting the food out as fast as he could. Granted, the restaurant was full, but an hour and a half for lunch? Seems excessive. Plus, I was freezing next to the window, so I felt a greater sense of urgency to wrap things up.

It’s a good thing the dessert was awesome. The dish had bananas sliced long-ways, on top of a flaky pastry with a crispy caramelized top layer, on top of some kind of custard or mousse. It had a hint of salty flavor to it, which added just the right kick. After that, it was a dash back to the office.

On Friday, we headed to Sepia for lunch. The atmosphere there is really warm. I’d describe the restaurant as having a kind of cozy eccentricity. I loved the classic chandeliers wrapped in modern cylindrical casings hanging from the ceiling. Our waiter was very welcoming—much more so than our waiter at Naha. Sepia’s Restaurant Week menu was a bit slimmer than Naha’s, however, so we decided to order from the regular menu. Matt ordered the trout, via recommendation, and I, for some reason, thought that the Cubano (a sandwich I would usually never order) with fried plantains sounded awesome.

My sandwich was, in fact, exactly as tasty as I hoped it would be. It had some kind of pickles on top of the ham that made a nice combination with the mustard. And I tore through the plantains (I love plantains). Matt’s trout, however, was amazing (I bit more of a specialty dish than my Cubano, I'd say). We were both quite satisfied with our choices. Plus, we finished lunch in just under an hour.

We wrapped up our Restaurant Week eats with Saturday dinner at Café Spiaggia. Now, I liked the atmosphere here, but our seat wasn’t great. It was the first table as you entered the dining area. We sat facing a window, which would overlook Michigan Ave., if it weren’t for a low roof directly outside the window obscuring the view. Basically, we had a lovely view of the cold drizzle falling outside. And it was chilly at that table. I repeatedly pulled my cardigan tighter around me, and Matt told me he was freezing through the whole meal.

The food, however, was excellent. First, the bread they bring to the table is delicious. I’m a total sucker for bread and olive oil. Theirs had a nice salty, cheesy light crust on top, with a little rosemary in the center. And there were large triangular crisps that were like crunchy parmesan heaven (I had to restrain myself to save room for dinner).

We stuck to the Restaurant Week menu, except for a couple of cheese plates for starters. Both of our cheese plates were tasty, but I highly recommend the buffalo mozzarella. As part of Restaurant Week, you get a little bit of each Cicchetti offering. I enjoyed the kale and the nuts, but steered clear of the olives (LOVE olive oil, but not olives). We both went with the Zucca (roasted winter squash, arugula, candied walnuts, and alpine cheese) plate for the next course, and I never realized how much I like squash. It was really delicious.

For our main courses, Matt ordered the cappellacci, and I had the wild boar gnocchi. I adore gnocchi, but if you’re choosing between the two, I’d go with the cappellacci. The dish is a little smaller, and lighter. With all of the food, the wild boar gnocchi was just a little too much for me.

For Restaurant Week dessert, you get to choose three flavors of gelato and/or sorbet. Matt went with espresso, chocolate, and chocolate hazelnut. The difference between the chocolate and the chocolate hazelnut was slight. I went with a cinnamon milk gelato, grapefruit sorbet, and mint gelato. I loved the cinnamon milk flavor—it tasted faintly like chai ice cream. I also enjoyed the grapefruit sorbet. The mint gelato tasted like chewing on mint leaves, to me, and was just a bit too strong. If only for two of the three flavors, I was excited that the dessert portions were quite generous.

We enjoyed our food at Café Spiaggia, but were quite happy to bundle up in our coats as we headed out the door.

All in all, I thoroughly enjoyed my first Chicago Restaurant Week, and I’m still quite stuffed.

Fickle February

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Sat, 26 Feb 2011 15:21:00 +0000

February weather has been predictably erratic again this year. The first week of the month brought the third worst blizzard in Chicago history, during which time the city was hit with over 20 inches of snow. Most of it fell in under 24 hours, and we didn't leave the apt for two and a half days. Here's my take on the blizzard, written on Feb. 2:

The snow has piled up on the outside windowsills, obscuring the view of the flakes continuing to fall. It snowed all night long, and we’ve found it thrilling to watch the accumulation from the warmth of the apartment. We have been humming Christmas carols, and enjoying the excuse to stay in, cook, and enjoy each other’s company (well, when we aren't working anyway).

They’re calling this the blizzard of ’11, and, so far, it’s only the fifth worst blizzard in Chicago history, but the snow is still falling. We have been in since about 1 pm yesterday, an hour before the snow started falling hard. By 3 pm, most people were emailing with messages that they were leaving the office. Crashes on Lake Shore Drive started around 7 pm, last night. WGN has been interviewing stranded motorists this morning, who had driven onto LSD at about that time. A jack-knifed bus blocked the northbound side, and commuters found themselves stuck, running out of gas, batteries dying, and completely immobile through the early morning hours. This morning, the city is towing the 100 plus cars parked on LSD.

We were like school children last night, running to the window every half hour or so to track the storm’s progress. Thunder and lightning pierced the sky through the snow clouds; I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced lightning during a winter storm before. The wind was so loud, we often thought that an El train was approaching, only to find out that wind gusts were responsible for the racket.

Then, of course, two weeks later, we had two gorgeous days in the fifties. The heat, thankfully, melted away six-foot piles of dirty snow that had been shoveled or plowed up during the weeks before.

I didn't take a whole lot of pictures, but here are a couple:

This is my guy covered in snow after a lot of hard work.

Here's a picture of the street, covered in snow.

Living and Reflecting

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Fri, 25 Feb 2011 15:11:00 +0000

"An artist is a dreamer consenting to dream of the actual world." - George Santayana

There comes a point when your life is so busy that you simply don’t find the time to reflect and document. It has always been a pleasure of mine to document life, particularly Chicago life (hence the blog, of course) so that I could use my experiences to remind myself of the past, and save them perhaps to incorporate into one of my novels someday. Yet, as much as I love writing, and introspection, and sharing my life in Chicago, life in Chicago can be so fulfilling and I become so consumed by all the pleasure of living that I deny (or maybe even lose) the urge to document it.

It was easy to write when I was lonely (Henry Miller once wrote that "what the artist needs is loneliness," and this is true). I would come home from work many days, and indulge in my solitude, where jazz music and blogging provided great sustenance. As I have settled into my life in the city, however, I have become less lonely. I have made more friends, discovered more paid writing gigs, and found someone completely amazing with whom I love to spend my time. And, as a result, I found myself with fewer free hours for reflection. And it’s really only a slight twinge of regret that I feel toward this loss of solitude, but I do feel the need to strike a balance between time for unpaid, pleasure writing, and the active living of life.

I believe this is a dilemma faced by most writers. Whether simply opining, or working on a novel, poetry, or non-fiction, most of us are not gainfully employed by our passion. And so we work a 40-plus-hour/week job, and then we have friends and families and errands and chores, sleep, exercise, etc. In the end, our writing becomes constrained by the activities of life, which consume our minds even when we’re trying to clear them out and allow the imagination to roam. And our writing becomes confined to a few hours a week, maybe, during which time we fight to block out reality and tap into this thing called “inspiration” that doesn’t just come when you call it.

You cannot write anything worth reading without living life. But you can’t write without stepping out of reality for a bit. It’s kind of a lovely dilemma. I may sometimes find it frustrating that I don’t have hours to sit and ponder and write, but I’m grateful for the challenge. I will continue to do my best to reflect, document, and share my experiences, if only for my friends, family, and self.

Eek! Bookless Borders!

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Thu, 20 Jan 2011 03:27:00 +0000

Last Friday, Matt and I decided to do a little window shopping along Michigan Ave. to kill some time after we'd arrived about half an hour early for our reservation at the Rosebud restaurant on Rush. Strolling down Chicago Ave., then turning north toward the Godiva store, I stopped dead in my tracks. I guess I hadn't been over that way in awhile, because I experienced a sudden wrenching in my heart as I saw the full display of empty bookshelves through the windows of what used to be Borders. I gasped audibly. (Apparently, I'm completely behind the times, because news reports in 2009 announced that Borders would be closing its "flagship Michigan Ave. store" in 2010 because it was not meeting its profit goals.)

It's not that I'm particularly attached to that Borders (although I do have an affinity for Borders, in general). In fact, there's one conveniently located just up the street from my office, and it appears to be firmly in tact, at least for awhile. But that empty store was a stark reminder that the world is going digital, and that, well, bibliophiles like myself are growing fewer and farther between. I expressed to Matt that I'd been clinging to the hope that the physical book--the smell, the pages, the writing in the margins--would hold its own in the battle against digital, despite the fact that we've seen print newspapers and magazines hanging by threads (if not disintigrating altogether) for many years now. Come to think of it, I now see far fewer books in the hands of commuters each morning than I did when I first moved to Chicago a little over two years ago.

Is it my age that has me clinging to the feel of paper, the scent of fresh pages, creased spines, and margins full of notes from the first, second, fifth read-through? Am I hesitant about the digital revolution because I am a creature of habit, resisting the way my grandparents resist the cell phone my concerned uncle bought for them? Honestly, how could an e-reader chock full of digital books ever trump the satisfaction of stuffed bookshelves? I think I'm becoming even more stubborn about my books because I know, deep down, that I, too, will eventually shed my stacks of paper in favor of the ebook revolution. Someday soon, it will be as passe and ridiculous to carry a stack of books as it was for Ron Weasely to wear his hand-me-down robes at Hogwarts in Harry Potter.

Practically speaking, digital books do make sense. To think that I could have gone to grad school without the horrendous neck and shoulder pain from carrying all those books around in my bookbag! Yet, I can't imagine writing a thesis without all the books strewn across my living room floor, flung open to all of the "important pages" whose exerpts would wind their way into one of my chapters.

Practically speaking, though, I start to wonder if maybe I shouldn't really sell all those lit and theory books I've been hesitant to part with (just in case I should ever decide to return for the PhD). You know, while they'll still catch a few bucks on Amazon...

Packing Snow

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Wed, 12 Jan 2011 03:12:00 +0000

It was quite a squeeze today on the El. A bit of a rude awakening, as well as a reminder of why I don’t ride the El anymore. It snowed all day today, which doubled the number of public transportation riders, as commuters traded driving on treacherous roads for an easy swipe of their CTA cards. It wasn’t really that bothersome to me to hang out in the tunnel on the crowded platform watching the mêlée of man vs. train. I couldn’t believe the risking of limbs and cramming of briefcases I saw as commuters literally smashed themselves in to the “ding-dong” of the warning bell, and the swooshing of doors closing shut. I determined that I wasn’t in that big of a hurry.

Three packed trains stopped by before I and the cluster of bodies around me could squoosh ourselves into a car. I was experiencing that empty-stomach/end-of-workday/zombie state of mind(less) that usually hits me around 5:30 or 6 pm. So I just kind of zoned out and tried to keep my balance. I was conscious of profuse apologies as the doors swung open at Grand, and Chicago, and Clark/Division. It seemed that at every stop, some Chicagoan was apologizing for the state of the CTA to some unnamed non-Chicagoan.

“I’m sorry. I hope you don’t have any place you have to be in the next hour.”

“You’re not from Chicago, are you? I’m sorry this sucks.”

Anyway, like I said, I was in a bit of a fog, so I didn’t really see what the big fuss was about. All I could think about was dinner, and that maybe those visitors to Chicago should come back in June.

When we got to my stop, I slushed my way home, noticing how warm it actually felt outside, and how the fresh air had awakened me. Once again, I found myself enjoying my winter walk. I wasn’t wearing proper boots, and could feel the moisture of the slush sneaking up against my toes. But I didn’t really mind, because home wasn’t too far away.

And as I walked I got to thinking that we’re almost halfway through January already. Which means that we’re that much closer to springtime/summertime in Chicago. And I admit that on many of these brisk but sunny days, I’ve been gazing out the window imagining it were summer. Looking down over the city, I’ve been recalling what the view will look like when brick, stone, and steel aren’t the only colors on the horizon, when the lake will shine bluer, and the green of vegetation will snake its way between the buildings…

Then, of course, I tried to be practical and remind myself not to ignore the pleasures of winter. And so I continued sloshing home in the snow.

Winter Walks

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Fri, 17 Dec 2010 14:30:00 +0000

A few nights ago, I went for a walk in the cold. Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m so easily amused, but it’s always kind of thrilling to me to put on my heavy boots (which make me invincible, you know), and tromp through the slush and snow. I like the way it feels bundled up inside my hood, my own body heat held closely between the layers. I like how ridiculous it feels to be all wrapped up in some amalgamation of winter gear. I watch other people rushing around, shoulders hunched up against the cold, pink faces, clouds of breath in the air. It always makes me laugh, although I’m not quite sure what it is that I find so ridiculous about the whole thing.

But in the moments where the people are gone, it’s really rather peaceful, like pockets of solitude. In the city, people are always out and about, even in the wee hours of the morning, so you’re never really alone unless you’re at home (and even then, you hear your neighbors in the apartments adjacent or above). But in the wintertime, the pedestrians thin out in the evenings, so you can go whole stretches without seeing a single person headed your way. No, it’s not silent, because there’s still traffic—so, you know, it’s not perfect stillness. It’s certainly not akin to a walk in the woods. But I can liken it to how I feel when I walk down by the lake, away from the beaches, during the summer. You can have whole moments to yourself, even though the city is moving at a rapid pace to your west. It’s refreshing.

Flying

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Thu, 16 Dec 2010 22:55:00 +0000

Finally finding a few spare moments to write, between gazes out the airplane window, at a rippling blanket of clouds (and the mountainous Northwest, pictured below). How much I can write boils down to a race between my fingers on the keyboard, and my puny laptop battery, which is losing power by the second.

Christmastime in Chicago has been a whirlwind for me. I’ve been in and out of the city a little bit this month, so I missed a few things like the first major snowfall. I’m not really disappointed about it, though. I’ve seen snow every single winter of my life, and will no doubt catch Chicago’s first winter snowfall next year. I was in Las Vegas that weekend, and when we descended back into O’Hare after dusk the following Monday, the snow-and-Christmas-light dressings over the landscape provided a friendly welcome home.

This holiday season has been marked by holiday performances, although I haven’t gone completely overboard with the arts reviews. In fact, I have found, this year, that the urge to snuggle up inside for a good movie or some cooking (with a certain someone) has been much stronger than my desire to be out and about in the cold city. But so far, I’ve seen two versions of the Nutcracker (review of the Joffrey’s in next week’s SNIPPETS, which you can sign up for here), the American Blues Theatre’s It’s a Wonderful Life (review posted here), and this weekend will find me at A Christmas Carol at the Goodman Theater (this one is for pleasure only—no review). The one other Chicago holiday attraction I’m dying to catch before Christmas is the Krist Kindle Mart. I finished all of my holiday shopping weeks ago, but I love to go look at the wares and eat German pastries.

Catching Up with an Old Favorite

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Thu, 16 Dec 2010 01:00:00 +0000

My perspective on Chicago is changing. I sometimes find it difficult to defamiliarize the city anymore, because I am so close to it. This is partly why my blog posts have become fewer. I wouldn’t say that I have lost my exuberance for the city. I still feel the rush every time I walk out of work in the evening and the city pops against the dark sky. And when I look out the windows at the office and watch the traffic inching along sixty stories below. And when I have opportunities to interview great artists in the city, and even some just traveling through. The excitement of Chicago is still here. But the novelty is transforming into something resembling my feelings toward a favorite old novel. This is okay with me because I love old favorites, and new details emerge as my own perspective changes. I’m hoping that I will still be able to entertain you with my tales about Chicago. And thank you to my faithful readers. It means a lot to me that you’re still here, reading my stories.

Twosided + Two-ish Hours = Two Happy Ladies

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Thu, 09 Dec 2010 04:16:00 +0000

In early November, I stumbled upon an adorable little shop in Lakeview called Twosided. I noticed it for the first time when Matt and I were riding down Wellington late in the evening. The shop windows were aglow with the twinkling of eight or nine Christmas trees all decked out, casting light out onto the street. I gasped when I saw it, and Matt just chuckled at me (he knows I’m Christmas-obsessed).

So, when my mom made her annual Christmas-shopping-in-Chicago visit the following weekend, we decided to spend one full day moseying about the shops in Lakeview. Our first stop after introducing mom to Matt's and my favorite brunch spot (sorry, can't reveal it--we don’t want it to start getting crowded!) was Twosided. I couldn’t believe I’d never been to this place before, to be perfectly honest. In addition to the Christmas trees loaded with lights and ornaments, this little store is chock full of the best—and I do mean best—selection of greeting cards I’ve ever stumbled across. They’re very kitschy—not your banal Hallmark cards—and you could spend hours just reading through them and picking out the ones you want.

Mom and I perused this shop for about an hour and a half. I collected a small pile of birthday and holiday cards, and a funny little onesie for the new little nephew or niece that will be joining our family next year, and a gift for one of my best friends. Mom and I both left with a little reluctance and bags filled with evidence that we’d had ourselves a very good time.

Jacket Weather

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Fri, 15 Oct 2010 03:39:00 +0000

It’s that awkward time of year again where some people are outside in flip-flops and a sweater (guilty as charged) and others are already cloaked in winter coats and scarves. I’m of the resistant crowd, I suppose. But if I start wearing a heavy coat already, how will I make it through the dead of winter? I figure that if I force my body to adjust now, I’ll be much less miserable and grumpy when January hits. Of course, all bets are off for February, because lack of sunshine and cabin fever make me grouchy.

BUT that’s a long way off! The leaves are starting to fall, and in the lobby at the office, little round ovals of yellow dot the marble floors each morning after the leaves have ridden in and fallen off of heels and boots. Speaking of leaves on shoes, isn’t this the most perfect time of year for taking walks? It always feels idyllic strolling down the sidewalk with gusts of yellow and orange swirling around you. I get a bit giddy about autumn. Especially right now, when we’re still in that luscious little window of the season before the evenings go dark quickly following daylight saving time. It’s funny how, in August, I can dread fall so much (because it means winter awaits), but once it’s here, I feel like I’m going back to school all over again (which I always loved).

I’m hoping to make it over to the Conservatory before the leaves are brown to take some pictures. I’ve never been, and I bet it would be a nice breather from the crazy schedule I've been keeping of late. Let's see...

Clef Notes Journal: Autumn Issue

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Fri, 15 Oct 2010 03:11:00 +0000

Clef Notes has posted a sampling of its Autumn Issue online. I did a feature on Martha Graham for this issue, as well as a piece about the Laura Twirls Suicide Awareness Foundation Benefit Performance "Hope through Dance." You can check out the Martha Graham feature by clicking on the first page posted below:

Please take a moment to check out all of the great Autumn pieces posted on the Webpage. We're hard at work on articles for the Winter Issue!

Winter's Dramatic Prelude

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Tue, 12 Oct 2010 01:17:00 +0000

Rarely is the changing of seasons as suddenly visible, and palpable, as it was today. At lunchtime, the temperatures were in the low 80s. Sometime during the afternoon, clouds began rolling in dramatically off the lake, cloaking much of the downtown in mist. When I walked out of the office a little before 6 pm, it was downright chilly, in the low 60s. We managed to eke out a couple of extra weeks of summer--and it was glorious. Fall has finally come, full blast.

Hubbard Street Dance Chicago's "Fall Series 2010"

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Sun, 03 Oct 2010 16:32:00 +0000

(This piece originally appeared at GapersBlock.com.)

September 30, 2010--Hubbard Street Dance Chicago always surprises with their repertoire. Each of their performances is so different from the one prior, unified by the unwavering talent of the HSDC dancers. The company stretches the bounds of contemporary dance--which are expansive to begin with--consistently transforming movement in ways that can reach even the most reluctant performance-goer. Their performances present such a variety that there's sure to be something that impacts each segment of their audience.

HDSC's Fall Series, performed September 30-October 3 at Harris Theater, includes four pieces that not only exhibit this variety, but showcase the unfailing athleticism and grace of the dancers. The first piece, Alejandro Cerrudo's Blanco, leaves the viewer with a calm sense of satisfaction. An abstract work featuring four women--Laura Halm, Jesssica Tong, Meredith Dincolo, and Robyn Mineko Williams in the opening performance--the piece emphasizes extensions and liquid movement. Despite the demanding choreography, the movements seem gentle and organic, with limbs gliding like silk.

HSDC dancers Penny Saunders and Jesse Bechard in Arcangelo. Photo by Todd Rosenberg.

Cerrudo's Deep Down Dos, the second piece in the series, takes the audience into a deep cavern, with a sci-fi flavor. The score "Music for Underground Spaces," written by Chicago Symphony Orchestra composer-in-residence Mason Bates, felt a bit like An American in Paris meets the Matrix. The piece has the feel of an intense film score, with hints of Gershwin-esque playfulness. The choreography creates an impression of weightlessness, with dancers moving, at times, as though floating in space.

Only the third piece, Victor Quijada's PHYSIKAL LINGUISTIKS, leaves me baffled. The piece begins extremely strong. Many dances feature a kind of puppeteering, where one dancer seems to pose another one, but this piece showcases some of the best puppeteering I've ever seen. The opening scene, featuring four male dancers, is truly humorous, as each dancer poses another so skillfully that, at times, you almost believe that the dancers are oversized plastic action figures, rather than human beings. But the work tries to accomplish too much, and loses unity between all of the components. The piece is filled with moments of comedic brilliance, particularly in the ways it invades and breaks down the fourth wall, but it becomes disjointed and drags.

HSDC dancers Pablo Piantino and Penny Saunders in PHYSIKAL LINGUISTIKS. Jacqueline Burnett in background.Photo by Todd Rosenberg.

In their Fall Series, HSDC saves the best for last. The final piece, Nacho Duato's Arcangelo, features impressions of heaven and hell. Marked by its gorgeous visual composition, Duato's work features images created by uniquely posed legs, figures posed at rest on the stage, and work with a curtain. The piece is so skillful that even the use of the curtain onstage creates a disturbing illusion of decapitation. A standing ovation is certainly warranted after this piece.

Only two more performances remain in HSDC's Fall Series. Audiences can view the program Saturday, October 2 at 8 pm, or Sunday, October 3 at 3 pm. Both performances are at Harris Theater in Millennium Park, 205 E. Randolph St. Tickets are $25-94 and may be purchased online through HSDC's website, or by calling the Harris Theater box office at 312-334-7777.

A New Season Begins...

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Sun, 03 Oct 2010 15:40:00 +0000

It's such a comfort to know that the end of every Chicago summer brings the beginning of the Chicago arts season. And for me, it's a thrilling time of year.

Clef Notes has been assigning me some very exciting stories lately, involving interviews with some of the biggest names in Chicago's dance world. This month marks the start of the new performance season, and my schedule is a whirlwind of programs to review, rehearsals to observe, and interviews to give for both the magazine and for Gapers Block. Needless to say, my freelance work has been very fulfilling, though a little overwhelming at times.

Last week, I spoke with Luna Negra Artistic Director Gustavo Ramirez Sansano for a piece I'm writing for the Winter Issue. Before we spoke, I took in the silent studio where we would meet, and snapped a few photographs on my phone. There's always something comforting about being in a quiet dance studio. The empty space just seems to beg for dance to fill it up, and I have to contain myself from indulging in a few tor jetes and leaps. It's just a room, with a piano, a portable dance floor, and a barre. Yet, no matter where I am, the studio still feels like home, and takes me racing back to some of the happiest moments of my childhood and teenage years...

Good-Bye to Another Chicago Summer

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Wed, 22 Sep 2010 17:59:00 +0000

Summer Sped Up (A Chicago Timelapse) from Josh Kalven on Vimeo.

Since summer is officially over tonight, and because my co-worker, Kristen, is even more sad about it than I am (I've already accepted fall, and I'm kind of excited about it, to be perfectly honest), this gem was brought to my attention. Pretty cool! Enjoy!

Time Flies...

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Wed, 22 Sep 2010 02:39:00 +0000

Pardon the time lapse since my last post. My life has been very full (in a good way!) lately, and the hours for blogging become slimmer and slimmer. But I've definitely been writing! Have been prepping for two exciting interviews in October for two stories I'm writing for the Winter Issue of Clef Notes. I've also had some fun opportunities through GapersBlock.com. Two weeks ago, I went on a tour of The Chicago Theatre that was really interesting. We couldn't secure a photographer for the event, so I got to take the pictures, too (it's times like these I wish I had something a little fancier in the camera department). Click on the story below to read the entire thing at GapersBlock.com!

Celebrating a Chicago Anniversary

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Tue, 07 Sep 2010 03:17:00 +0000

Two years ago today, I moved to this beautiful, cold, stinky, lovely, angular, popular, laid-back, intense city that I call home. Hopping into my car that day, and hitting the highway for my westward drive to Chicago, there wasn't a doubt in my mind that I belonged here. And as the city unfolded before me as I crossed the Skyway, I felt the thrill of Chicago up my spine. She's not a perfect city--certainly not as flawless as she seemed that very first day--but she's home to me now. And I still get the thrill.

Chicago, Kim and Ems Style: Part IV

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Fri, 03 Sep 2010 17:00:00 +0000

Sunday was jam-packed despite the miserable heat. We woke up around nine, and I decided to make pancakes for breakfast before catching the bus downtown to the Chicago River. I had, unwisely, booked a noon riverboat tour with the Chicago Architecture Foundation on a 90+ degree day. Granted, we still missed the hottest part of the day, but I'm not sure why noon had seemed like a good time to me when I’d picked up the tickets.

Anyway, Kim’s even more of an architecture fan than I am, and he’s a huge urban-planning buff, so I figured we definitely needed to take my favorite Chicago tour. We enjoyed the heck out of ourselves, despite dripping with sweat, and Kim was shooting with his DSLR (and me with my point-and-shoot) the whole ride.

By the time it was over, we were (surprise!) ready to eat again. I took us to the most lackluster place of the whole weekend—the grill at Millennium Park. I’ve had good food here in the past, but they really disappointed on Sunday. Of course, maybe it’s just because they pale in comparison to the fabulous eats on which we gorged ourselves the rest of the weekend… But the drinks were good. So, even though we were still outside, we had shade, and a couple of tasty drinks, and we just sat and talked for a couple of hours. We kind of melted into our chairs and were nearly too lethargic to move at all, but the prospect of More cupcakes motivated us.

But once we got to More, and picked out our gourmet cupcakes, we were ready to throw in the towel, go home, and enjoy our treats in the A/C. So we did.

It was already dinner time when we arrived home, but we decided to eat the cupcakes first. I had opted for my absolute favorite—red velvet—and Kim went for something a little less usual—mango cilantro. I was pretty psyched watching Kim bit into his, and when he said it might just be the best thing he’s ever tasted, well, I was pretty proud of myself. I’d been talking up More since I’d visited D.C., and I had to prove that these cupcakes were better than the rest. I succeeded.

The rest of the night consisted of watching “Mad Men” with takeout from Joy’s Noodles & Rice. I went to bed fat and happy than night, and didn’t feel sad until morning. Kim joined me on my morning commute, continuing to express admiration for my fabulous city (ah, Kim, how you stroke my ego by telling me what an amazing city I live in), and then I saw him off on Lake Street at the Blueline stop. I felt rather sad on the walk to work, as you always do when one of your best and oldest friends heads out of the city. In fact, I sulked the whole way to work and then some. But then I reminded myself that it won’t be long before we indulge in Chicago or D.C. together again. And besides, it’s about time for a diet after all that food!

Chicago, Kim and Ems Style: Part III

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 17:00:00 +0000

Saturday afternoon was short, as we had only a brief time between Hot Doug’s and heading out to Ravinia to see Rodrigo y Gabriela. We took a ride down Lake Shore Drive, and over to my old neighborhood, but then headed back home to grab a few things, and then grab the Redline to Argyle. Here, we stopped to pick up some awesome Bahn Mi sandwiches and desserts from Ba Le Bakery (Kim, check out their awesome website!) to take with us.

Now, I know I’ve lived in Chicago for a while, but I’d never ridden the Metra before. Being a bit of a public transportation lover, I was pretty psyched by sitting “upstairs” on the train, and the fact that the conductor actually walks through the train and checks your tickets (really, it’s kind of quaint and adorable). As the train filled up on the way to Ravinia, I started to realize that this whole Ravinia thing is actually kind of a big deal. Of course, when we arrived and saw the massive line waiting to get inside, this really began to sink in. After bucking an angry-mom-sounding park official, we joined the crowd of people cutting to the front of the line, only to wait another 20 minutes to get inside. Once past the gate, I had to admit it: okay, this suburban music festival, and, in particular, this band of which I had not previously heard, was a huge deal. There were only slivers of grass apparent between all of the blankets, chairs, and elaborate dining set-ups strewn across the sprawling lawn. I was completely caught off guard by the tables, tablecloths, five-course meals, and candelabra displayed at so many of the temporary sites created by concert-goers. I had never seen anything like this before in my life. Luckily, Liz and Matt had arrived when the gates had opened, a couple of hours before we’d arrived, and had staked out and set up a nice spot, with two huge picnic blankets, large enough to hold all four of us. We had brought a decent spread of food to add to their collection of munchies, and with several bottles of wine between us, we were set!

Rodrigo y Gabriela were tremendously good to the ears and the spirit. I couldn’t help but wish I could remember the flamenco I’d taken during a summer master class at Toledo Ballet in high school. The music was beautiful, the sky was full of stars, and the night air was perfectly comfortable. Everyone seemed content.

The evening was destined to expose me to new experiences, and so, settling in for the Metra ride home, I couldn’t hide my shock that everyone—and I mean everyone—on the train seemed happy. It was like a jovial community, where everyone smiled and joked and laughed with strangers as though they were old pals. Granted, most everyone had been drinking for hours ahead of time. But it wasn’t akin to the El at 2 a.m. People weren’t sloppy, or obnoxious, or rude. They were just having a good time, and I was sincerely impressed. I had completely underestimated the potential of Ravinia!

Chicago, Kim and Ems Style: Part II

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 17:00:00 +0000

If Xoco weren’t enough, we headed to the famous Hot Doug’s on Saturday around noon. Now, Hot Doug’s opens at 10:30 a.m., but the idea of eating hot dogs for breakfast somehow seemed ludicrous to me, and, well, we didn’t even haul ourselves out of our beds until about that time. But when you arrive at the restaurant, you understand why you’d want to get there at about 10:30 a.m.—because by the time you make it through the line it will be at least noon, if not later. So, we made our way around the building and to the back of the 90-minute-long queue baking under the mid-day sun. An opportunistic ice cream truck sat at the curb, selling water and ice cream to grumbling bellies along the way. Admittedly, I was turning into a bit of a crab, what with the lack of food and the sun heating beads of sweat down my back. As we inched closer and closer to toward the entrance, it became a greater and greater tease, and my impatience started to take hold. Once we could see the food, though, the excitement became fully re-ignited, and everyone around us grew lively. In fact, by the time we were close enough to view the menu on the wall, I started to panic that I wasn’t going to be finished deciding by the time we got up to the counter! Could we just order one of everything?

Soon, however, we were met with a jovial cashier who acted as though there weren’t sixty people crowded at the door, waiting to get in. Once you’re inside, time slows down and everyone just seems so relaxed. Despite the long lines, there were open tables, with diners slowly savoring their meals. There wasn’t a thing frantic or stressed about it. After expertly ordering a Chicago dog, a blue cheese pork sausage with almonds, a jalapeno and cheddar beef sausage, French fries fried in duck fat (with cheese on the side), and a couple of drinks, we took our seats to await the artery-clogging goodness. And boy was it goodness. We split the Chicago dog, and it was amazing. It was perfectly tangy, and I am convinced that I will never, ever, eat a hot dog with ketchup again in my life. Then I dug into my blue cheese sausage, which was good, but didn’t even compare to the $6-cheaper Chicago dog. Kim asked me if I could taste any difference in the duck fat fries, and I honestly could. But maybe it’s because I routinely eat my fries with nothing on them but salt.

After leisurely eating our lunch, shooting the shit (we do a lot of this), and enjoying the mix of tunes that took us back to middle and high school, we headed out, our full stomachs in tow.

Chicago, Kim and Ems Style: Part I

noreply@blogger.com (EmsInTheCity) — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 00:50:00 +0000

The loneliness in my apartment is always palpable after a visitor leaves. So much laughter and conversation bounces about the walls when I have company in town, making the contrasting silence of emptiness feel a bit jarring when I come home alone. Already, though, I am settling back into the quiet, wrapping it around me, biting into it with Debussy, as I sit and dream and write…

The weekend was lovely, as weekends with best friends typically are. Driving west on Addison Friday after work was a surprising treat, and proof once again that I have grown accustomed to my habitual haunts. I’ve lived in Chicago for nearly two years, and there’s so much I’ve never bothered to see, despite the fact that I am on a constant search for everything new and different. Addison took me by surprise as it was both beautiful and pleasantly traffic-light the whole drive west where I met Kim at the blue line stop.

Once I’d collected him (what a sight for sore eyes!), I chattered away practically the whole drive home, which is increasingly unusual for me these days. I suppose this is the biggest clue that I’m really and truly comfortable with you—we just start talking and before you know it, you can’t shut me up (yes, I know, shocking, right?). And from that point, the fabulous Chicago weekend was full-steam ahead!

We headed to Xoco for dinner, to which neither of us had ever been. Kim is definitely a bit of a foodie, and he was pretty keen on the idea of hitting up a Rick Bayless restaurant while in town, as was I, since everyone’s always talking about his spots. Of course, I couldn’t have planned the timing better if I’d tried—we walked in and Bayless was behind the counter. Kim had a mini freak-out before I even knew what was going on. I’ll be honest—I had no idea what Bayless looked like, so I was a tad confused at Kim’s frantic unzipping of his camera bag. When I asked what was going on, Kim said from the side of his mouth, “It’s f--ing Rick Bayless!”

Bayless only hung around for about five minutes more, leaving us plenty of time to examine the menu and shoot the shit before we ordered. We opted for the guacamole and tortilla chips, pork belly vermicelli for Kim, seafood caldos for me, and churros for desert. I’m not much of a soup fan, so it was unusual that I ordered the seafood caldos, but if you could have seen and smelled the soups, you wouldn’t have passed it up either. The food was amazing, but so was the company. It’s odd how your emotional appetite can satisfy your hunger, because we couldn’t finish a single dish we’d ordered. We laughed about it, pointing out how, if we’d been at our desks for lunch (or dinner), or otherwise eating alone, we’d have been able to scarf down the entire thing. Le sigh.

***

So, a little while after writing this entry, I came across this little gem at Huffington Post. Yep, that's Xoco!