T is for Totally Awesome Tuesday

Ever have one of those days where everything just goes right? Tuesday was mine.

I had a feeling the day would go well, as I got to sleep in an extra hour and finally was able to end my pontytail-wearing streak because I was having a Good Hair Day. I was scheduled to spend the day at the office in the suburbs and was looking forward to the change in scenery and pace.

If I had a theme song, or if this were a movie, now would be the time to insert cheesy music in the background.

I bounced to the train, picking up a copy of the RedEye as usual, but this time when I opened to Page 2, I was on it (two of my comments were used in the Blah Blah Bloggers feature). On my way to the Metra, some girl handed me two Fiber One bars--my favorite chocolate chip ones--as part of a street promotion. I hadn't packed a lunch, so this would be a good snack to tidy me over (turns out I didn't need it... they took me out to lunch).

I decided that because it had already been such a pleasant morning, an iced coffee would only make it better. But at Dunkin' Donuts (Massachusetts girl here!), they got my order wrong--they gave me a large instead of the medium I paid for. They didn't care and told me to keep it. Score.

I spent the work day touring beautiful gardens and sipping on mint-infused lemonade (don't worry, I did some actual work). I got home with just enough time to freshen up before meeting my friend Ally for the ChicagoNow first birthday party that night (the RedEye Wrigleyville blog I write for is part of this 300+ blog network).

The party included free appetizers and Goose Island beer. Ally and I sipped on Green Line and 312 while chatting with several of our fellow bloggers (she blogged about her adventures in Vancouver when she was there working the Olympics), but spent extra time chatting with one in particular: Ed Swiderski.

Yes, that Ed. The one Jillian chose on her season of "The Bachelorette."

I never watched his season and had no idea he had a ChicagoNow blog (he writes a technology blog called EdorAlive). We talked for a while about work, blogs, and of course, the Bachelor. He was very charismatic, down-to-earth and friendly (I can understand why he was the last man standing). He told us about his new education foundation GEOTF and invited us to a fundraiser he was having for it Thursday night (but sadly, I already had plans).

I left the party with a little pep in my step thinking of the fabulous day and great night I just had. Cue cheesy music again and roll credits. Tuesday was definitely my day.

The Korean BBQ Experience

On Sunday, my roommates and I had dinner at a Korean Barbecue restaurant. Korean BBQ is kind of like Japanese -hibachi-grill-meets-Melting-Pot because you cook your own food on a grill at the table.

The table is in a sectioned off area and there is a space for the grill in the middle of the tabletop, which they bring out lit and shortly after you sit down. As soon as you order the meat you want, they bring out 25 side dishes, rice, lettuce and the raw meat. As you cook your meat, you nosh on the little side dishes, if you dare to try them--most of the time we had no idea what we were eating, but Laura did warn us of the fish cakes and the little fish heads. I thought a few of them were kind of tasty and do not care to know what I ingested just in case I don't like the answer!

The experience was fun, but if I'm going to spend that much money on dinner, I want it cooked for me. It was hard to socialize and pick at the sides and keep an eye on the meat all at once--the thin slices would cook pretty quickly on the hot grill and stick to the grates if you didn't pay close attention. As we cooked more and more meat, the smoke kept building up and soaking into out clothes.

The Korean-style beef wrapped up with rice in a lettuce leaf was pretty tasty and the trip was definitely worth the new experience. Next time, I'll leave the grilling to someone else.

Year Two Begins

Last Friday, I celebrated my one year anniversary living in Chicago. It's been an interesting and challenging year, but also one of the best of my life. I've met so many great people here and have had so many amazing experiences, I can't imagine what my life would be like if I hadn't made this move.

I've learned many lessons, the most important being that I proved to myself that I can live on my own, away from my tight-knit support system of family and friends back home. However, I could have never made it through these last 365 days without all of you--friends and family both old and new, or should I say East Coast and Midwest. To those of you who helped calm me down when I was bawling my eyes out on the phone, begging to come home... thank you a million times. You know who you are. I love you all. Thank you for supporting me so far in this journey.

After celebrating this milestone--which I joked is the longest relationship I've had in a long time-with some drinks on Friday, it was time to kick off my second year in the Second City with a bang. Or a rooftop pool.

On Saturday, my roommate Elli had a couple guest passes to her gym and took Laura and me along with her to the rooftop pool. This gym is known as a very fancy and expensive gym so I knew the rooftop pool would be gorgeous. It kind of reminded me of my time in Puerto Rico, with the pretty flowering plants and poolside bar and grill. Needless to say, it was very relaxing.

This was a great way to spend the afternoon and an even better way to kick off Year Two. As I lay back on the lounge chair and looked at the scene around me, a smile crept across my face. The sun was shining and I had a spectacular view of the Chicago skyline. After a summer filled with homesickness, I was reminded of how much I love this city and what a great life I have here when I'm not sulking and pining for home.

I've had a great time this last year, and can't wait to see what the next one will bring. Hopefully a lot less crying, a lot more smiling and a few more visits to that rooftop pool.

Flying High and Having Fun

This past weekend, I joined my friend Ally and her roommate to watch the 52nd Annual Air and Water Show at North Ave Beach. The show is the largest free one of its kind in the U.S. and something I was excited to experience.

We got to the vicinity of the beach around 11 a.m., just in time to see Vince Vaughn parachute from the skies (he performed a tandem jump with the U.S. Army Golden Knights). Once we got to the actual lake, we managed to find a patch of sand to call home for the day and unloaded our supplies. We brought all the necessities to last the near six hours we would be there, including chicken drumsticks and wings, vodka-soaked watermelon and “rummy” bears. You know, the important stuff.

We lounged back and watched as planes performed loop-de-loop tricks with their loud engines, leaving smoke patterns in their wake; Army and Navy aircrafts putting on shows that demonstrated how fast their planes could go and shamelessly plugging recruitment. It was the scary but exhilarating to watch the planes free-fall from the sky. There was even a helicopter that performed loops and dives and falls!

While there were many great highlights of the day (not including the sunburn I got despite lathering 55 SPF sunscreen on my pale Irish skin), here are a couple of the best people watching (and listening) moments:

• You’d think there were only about three songs ever written about flying. “Learn to Fly” (Foo Fighters), “My Hero” (Foo Fighters) and “Danger Zone” (Kenny Loggins) were played on repeat, and if I never heard these songs until the next Air and Water Show, I would be perfectly okay. Now, if they had played Kenny’s "Hangin’ With the Boys," seeing we were on a beach with volleyball nets, that would have been awesome.


• Friendly competition between military organizations. Some of the men narrating the demonstrations had quite the sense of humor, especially the Navy. At the end of the Navy’s flight demonstration, the narrator closed with this: “And remember: real pilots land planes on boats.” What made it even funnier was that it preceded a demonstration by the Army.


• We had our own personal—and very enthusiastic— commentator who stood behind us for the last few hours yelling things like: “Here they come!”and “What a beautiful aircraft!” We figured he was some sort of an idiot savant (not in a mean way), because he seemed to know a lot about the planes before the announcer even described them to the audience.

I managed to take a few videos with my camera and uploaded them to my YouTube account. There are four videos in total: one of the Blue Angels, one of a Navy Seal parachuting from the sky while holding an American Flag, one with four planes doing tricks and one with a single plane performing tricks. Click here to view them.

F-Bombs and Yankee Haters? Yup, I've Found Red Sox Oasis

Last Saturday, Corey, Jamie and I attended a Red Sox Meet Up to watch the Sox/Yankees game. To our pleasure, it felt like we had been transported back to Boston for the afternoon. When the Yankees started tacking on runs, the F-bombs and crashing of silverware and plates started to increase.

We couldn’t help but look at each other and smile. We were home.

While this over-zealous reaction to the game might have been annoying last year at this time, it was a welcome breath of fresh air as I sat in a bar outside Wrigleyville. For once, I wasn’t forced to watch any Cubs games or pretend the root for the White Sox. When Adrian Beltre hit a homerun, we all cheered and clapped like it was a walk-off dinger and didn’t have to look over our shoulders to make sure it was okay to do so.

For an afternoon it was acceptable to wear my Red Sox hat and I got to hang out with people who hate the Yankees as much as I do. When I moved here, I hoped to find a community like this, the place where those people I see on the El and walking down the street with their Boston ball caps go to talk Sox.

A couple months ago one of my friends told me about MeetUp.com, where there are interest groups for pretty much everything in pretty much every location. It didn’t take long to find the Red Sox group. It took me longer to actually make one of the Meet Ups.

Last week, I got an email inviting me to the Patriots Meet-Up group. I quickly responded and RSVP’ed to the September 12 Meet Up to watch the Pats open the season. I hope this group is just as homey, filled with just as many J-E-T-S haters and Squish the Fish fans as the other Boston group.

When I’m around those people who also feel the urge to vomit when a Peyton Manning commercial comes on the TV and who love Tom Brady despite his bad hairstyle choices, then I know I’m really home. Or at least the next best thing.

(Optimus) Prime Location

This is what happened to me on my way to work this morning when I ran into the Transformers 3 set...

Kidding... but that background is an actual shot of the set I took one day. My dad said he wanted a picture of me and Optimus Prime together, so this is what I came up with (I love Photoshop!). A little humor to start the day! :)

Boston English

When I first moved to Chicago, I knew there would be some adjustments. East Coast girl meets Midwest lifestyle-- it just sounds like a match made in Comedy Central heaven. At first I noticed that everyone was a lot nicer, not necessarily always in a rush and said pop when referring to soda. I also had the opportunity to order tater tots with every meal.

However, as I immersed myself deeper in the Midwest culture, I got a little more homesick and a lot prouder of where I’m from (never thought I'd say "I grew up in Worcester, MA" with so much love). It’s also one of the reasons I love my internship so much.

What does that have to do with anything, you may be thinking. Settle down you impatient Massholes (sorry Mom)! For the last two months I have been working around people who have grown up in or around the Chicagoland area and study me like a science experiment when I say a word they don’t recognize.

For example: on my third day, we had a meeting with HR to fill out paperwork. As we entered the office, I realized that I had left my passport on my bureau, and kept apologizing for doing so. It was all well and good, except the three people I was with (my boss, co-intern and HR representative) had no idea what I was talking about. I guess they didn't want to be rude and ask, but eventually had to in order to understand why I didn’t have the proper identification. I explained that my bureau was a dresser, you know, the place where you put clothes in draws (they made fun of that one, too).

Their wide eyes filled with laughter. Then they wanted to know more.

I went down the list: jimmies, frappe, bubbler…pause for 15 minutes as we die of laughter from the word bubbler. At this point, my boss (or “colleague” as she likes to be called) is pulling in opinions from other people in the office just to make sure she isn’t the only one unaware of these words.

Not a day goes by when she doesn’t ask me to say “very berry,” which I apparently pronounce in a funny way.

Yesterday, we were talking about bowling and I asked if there was candlepin bowling here or if it was just big balls.

Crickets.

I look up and my co-intern and boss are staring at me with disbelieving, confused eyes. I think they were initially entertained by my use of the phrase “big balls” but had absolutely no idea what candlepin was until I proved I indeed did not make it up (Wikipedia has had my back on several occasions, like frappe and bubbler).

I secretly love the attention I get for saying these different words and like even more that it makes me different from everyone else. Here, I am a unique individual who says “very berry” and drinks from a bubbler.

Although I never like to be the butt of a joke, I love when they tease me for my East Coast talk. I also know they secretly love the entertainment, too. Last week at work, the interns had to deliver presentations to the President/CEO and other staff. My boss told me I should mention some of the funny words and write them all down on a separate slide at the end of the PowerPoint presentation. I did, and it was a hit, eliciting a few laughs from the room.

I called that slide (shown above) “Boston English,” because, well, that’s what Wikipedia calls it. No really, it exists.

In order to prevent myself from picking up the hard ‘o’ sound Chicagoans make when they speak, I make it a point to say “wicked” as much as I can and embrace my “Boston English” vocabulary on a daily basis. I may or may not even experiment with dropping an ‘r’ or two once in a while, just for fun. I can’t lose my Eastern edge. I’m from Worcester, after all.

Una Bella Notte

My friend Bernie and I went to the Italian Festival in the Little Italy neighborhood last weekend. I had been waiting for the chance to celebrate my Italian heritage—and most importantly my love for Italian food—since I moved here.

After attending several festivals honoring other cultures like German and Chinese, I was ready to indulge in some carbohydrates courtesy of Italy. We walked around the festival grounds, browsing the options before narrowing down our choices to toasted ravioli, mini meatball sandwiches/sliders and for the main course, stuffed eggplant (which was unbelievable). We topped it off with handmade cannolis.

In addition to the elaborate food, there were three stages of entertainment, including a man singing on the Piazza DiMaggio. The Piazza is a beautiful plaza with fountains and a statue of Yankee (and Italian-American) legend Joe DiMaggio, dedicated to the Italian-American immigrants who flocked to the Taylor Street neighborhood—“Little Italy”—in the early 1900’s. It is located across from the National Italian American Sports Hall of Fame.

There were also several extreme Jersey Shore inspired guidos and guidettes crawling around. The vendors were not only stocked with Italian soccer gear (despite the Azzurri’s poor showing in the World Cup), but they also had shirts that said “Jersey Shore Guidette” and “Jersey Shore Fist Pump Team” written in the symbolic red-green-white colors. I chose this as the low point of the festival and would have lost my appetite had I not already stuffed my face—and stomach—with delicious food.

There was even a game area at the festival, but I decided to eat my money’s worth rather than risk it on the chance I might win an inflatable hammer or stuffed teddy bear. Oh yeah, and there was a Bocce court.

I even met a new friend… this Roman soldier. I honestly think he dressed up for fun and not because he had to as part of the festivities. Hey, his get-up sure beats a blow out, gold-plated jewelry and a fake spray tan!

Smoke and Mirrors

I can officially cross "fancy nightclub" and "fake celebrity encounter" off my Chicago bucket list.

Last Saturday night, my roommate Laura and I attended my friend’s birthday party at one of those fancy clubs often mentioned in Monday’s gossip columns when recapping the weekend’s star sightings. I’m not a club kind of girl, so I found it amusing—and myself a little out of my element—when I saw a red carpet rolled out for us to walk on as we entered the building. However, we were allowed in only after waiting an ample amount of time of course, simply to remind us we weren’t at your every day establishment (there was no other reason fro the wait as the place was nowhere near filled when we got inside). Luckily, I didn’t have to pay the $20 entrance fee because we were in our group and they waived the cover for “the ladies.”

The best part of the waiting-in-line experience was when the group of scantily dressed girls in front of us decided they had “like been waiting for like ever” and it was “like so stupid” and they started to walk away. I bet Laura the bouncers would try to stop them because they had sky-high heels and hem lines, and ever lower cut tops. As soon as the doorman noticed the mass exodus of skanks, he ran after them. I watched as he then lead them through the VIP entrance without collecting a cover charge from any of them.

I literally laughed out loud. While I have never been to L.A., I can imagine that this is what it might look like on your average Saturday night. Except the girls would never have left the line nor have been chased, as there would have been a queue of appropriately dressed females behind them.

After we made it past the Ivory Tower of bodyguards with tight black shirts and pretentious earpieces (I wonder if they even work), the inside wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before in a club with much less red tape.

While I would have preferred to spend my night sipping on a $5 beer while sitting on sticky bar stool, it’s not every day one gets beyond the velvet ropes of club heaven (rolls eyes) and I don’t get to hang out with this friend very often, so I was happy to be there. Even if it meant nursing an overpriced vodka and diet. I knew this would happen, so I planned—err, drank—ahead of time to accommodate my student budget.

Within an hour or so of being there, I started talking with a guy and we bonded over our dislike for this particular club and the obnoxious house music bumping in the basement level where we were hanging out. Eventually, he asked if Laura and I wanted to meet his friends. We agreed, as it would hopefully rescue us from the present situation. We followed him up to a VIP room where a group of guys were enjoying bottle service.

As we made our way through the introductions, one of the friends introduced another friend as “this is my boy, he plays for the Chicago Bears, he’s ____” (the identity of this Bears defenseman will remain nameless as to protect the innocent).

I looked at him and said “You are not ____.”

They all chimed in and tried to valiantly convince me—to no avail—that this was indeed ____. This guy looked a lot like ____ , only a lot smaller, and had I not known any better (which I’m assuming they pegged me as a girl who didn’t), I probably would have believed them. Never one to be caught as the butt of any joke, I held fast to my belief that this was not ____.

I asked to see his I.D., agreeing to believe him once I did.

“I don’t need one of those,” he said.

“Then how did you get into this club?” I asked.

“Man, you talk too much,” he said.

He then proceeded to ask me and Laura to leave their little VIP area. We did so with pleasure as we both got a free Grey Goose and cranberry out of it. He was probably mad I didn’t fall for his game. And now I have a story I can tell over and over again.

Once we were returned to the subterranean, I caught up with the guy who brought us to his friends’ VIP party in the first place. He asked why we left and I told him what happened. He felt bad for his rude friend (he later said he was more of an acquaintance than a friend), laughed once I did (assuring him I though the story was funny) and proceeded to tell me that the guy pretending to be one of Chicago’s favorite Bears players was a cop who got made fun of a lot in high school.

The sad part of the story is that I’m sure a lot of girls fall for that guy’s story: a man who looks a lot like ____, surrounded by bottle service in a VIP section of a popular celebrity hangout. However, once again my sports knowledge saved me and prevented me from falling victim to a celebrity look-a-like. Although looking back I wish I had played it better in order to get a second free drink out of it!

Seven Things I Miss About Summer

Everyone says that there is no place like Chicago in the summertime. Strangely, I've found myself the most homesick during these warmer months.

In order to make it through my tough spinning class this past weekend, I closed my eyes and pretended I was biking along the coast of Maine. Then it got me thinking: what else do I miss about the East Coast summer?

1. Walking along the Maine beaches, the sand sinking beneath your feet as the surf crashes against your ankles, immersing them in the cold, salty Atlantic water. You can wade through Lake Michigan, but you better check the water alerts for E.coli first.

2. Ice cream adventures to Scoop Deck and Meola's. Here, I can walk a couple blocks to Baskin Robbins, or over a mile to the closest-and pretty much only--homemade ice cream joint in the area. We have plenty of cupcakes but the homemade ice cream options are limited.

3. Worcester Tornadoes baseball games. Nothing beats a summer night baseball game, especially when it comes with cheap tickets, beer and fried dough. Though it's independent baseball, it tops the over-priced, underachieving Cubs.

4. Though Chicago has street festivals like Burgerfest and Ribfest, there's nothing quite like a family cookout--planned or impromptu. A hand-packed burger cooked to perfection by Dad on the grill paired with tasty macaroni salad whipped up by Mom in the kitchen is my favorite summer meal. I like my burgers with a side of chips, not a bump from behind by a sweaty festival-goer.

5. The smell of a campfire rather than the blaring sound of fire engine sirens.

6. Boston Beer Works blueberry and watermelon beer. Chicago brewed 312 doesn't quite compare to a Sam Summer from the tap and a fresh lemon wedge.

7. Mini golf outings. Haven't found the places or the competition/friends to experience this in Chicago yet.

The ocean and the lake are both blue, but they couldn't be more different to me. I guess I'll always be an East Coast girl at heart, especially when it comes to summer fun. A month from today I'll be back, but my mind is already there. When it comes to summer, there's just no place like home.

Transform-ing Chicago

As you may or may not have heard, Transformers 3 is currently filming in Chicago and will be for seven weeks. Shia LeBeouf, Josh Duhamel, Patrick Dempsey and that Victoria's Secret model chick who is replacing Megan Fox are all here and taking over the city streets.

Each week, the film shuts down a strip or area of downtown in order to film. While Chicago is expected to make $20 million off playing host, many people I know are already tired of the film's inconvenience of extra traffic, tourists, street closures and bus reroutes. To give you an idea: Michael Bay and company had a chunk of Michigan Ave closed from last Thursday at 8 p.m. through 5 a.m. this morning (Monday). This included the Michigan Ave Bridge, which was reportedly used in this weekend's dramatic explosion and helicopter scenes (my boss said she saw the bridge up with cars hanging from the edges).

While I didn't catch any of the action this weekend, I was able to see it on Friday, as they set up shop right where I work. I had a great view from the 43rd floor, and some coworkers and I spent most of the day peering out the window scoping the scene and taking turns passing a pair of binoculars (which weren't necessarily needed but they gave us a close up view of LeBeouf when we finally spotted him). At one point, they even filmed something in the Chicago River... as the crew members jumped into the water and swam around with equipment, I wondered if anyone told them that the water isn't exactly safe for swimming.

At the beginning of the month, the building manager sent an email warning people of the closures and the schedule of action. My favorite part of this email (and my dad's least as he now realizes that Optimus Prime and Voltron aren't real) was this:

Since the Transformers robots are all digital creations, you
won't be able to see them during filming

Duh.

During lunch on Friday, I took a walk over to the set in order to get a view of the wreckage, the man-made craters in the streets and perhaps even Optimus Prime (oops, forgot about the part that he wasn't real). I got some good pictures of the set and the smell of burning cars still lingers in my nose, but I didn't get close enough to see any of the actaul filming. So I returned to my 43rd floor perch where I could see them set the cars on fire and people running around.

Before my retreat, I did learn one fun tidbit from a security guard: the cars in the wreckage and in the scene aren't from a junkyard. Paramount buys them and then blows them up themselves. They then use the spare scrap metal for pile-ups like the ones you will see in the slide show below.

Enjoy! (I made it on a free website, so you have to click the X to get rid of the advertisement in order to see the captions).

Festival Season is Here

So, I haven't written in a while. Mostly because I've been busy adjusting to my full time internship and being lazy in this intense heat. Either this is a bad summer or it's just a lot more humid and hot in the Midwest than it is on the East Coast. Mother Nature is kicking my little box fan's ass.

Although I haven't posted anything, it does not mean I haven't been up to exploring and taking advantage of all that Chicago has to offer in the summer.

Sky High Visit

Fourth of July weekend came and went but ended with a blast... my brother came to visit! He was in Milwaukee with his college roommates over the holiday and took a bus down to Chicago to hang out with me for a few days after. We did touristy things like went to the top of the Willis Tower (Sears Tower) and had pizza, and took a boat tour. Even though I took the architecture tour in May when Christina came to visit me, it was so fun and different the second time around... guess there are just so many buildings and history in this city!

At the Willis, Sean and I stood on the glass ledge that juts out 4.5 feet from the 107th floor--when you look down, you are standing nearly a mile up over the city. And another fun fact... Sean timed the elevator ride and it takes 60 seconds to travel the 107 floors.

It was great to hang out with Sean and show him around. We even ducked into the original Billy Goat Tavern (inspiration for the SNL "Cheezeborger Cheezeborger" skit). And of course, I had to take him to get some s'mores pizza! I'm already planning out his next visit filled with all the things we didn't get to do this time.

Man Food and Music

One of the charming parts about Chicago summers is the fact that there are multiple street festivals every weekend. It is my goal to attend at least one a weekend, and I have been pretty good with it. In June, a couple friends and I hit up Ribfest. It was as deliciously awesome as it sounds.

Last Sunday, my friend Bernie and I went to Burgerfest in the Ravenswood neighborhood. There were seven different burger vendors from the neighborhood so we picked a few different ones and split them in order to get the full festival experience (the photo is of our favorite one from John's Place, it was delicious and voted the winning burger of the festival). Not only did we get to indulge in delicious burgers (and I may or may not have drank a pina colada out of a pineapple), but I got to see one of my favorite bands.. the Gin Blossoms!

The concert was going great until it started to pour rain. After a 15 minute rain delay, the rain stopped and the band came back on and played a few more songs. Until it started pouring again. This time, however, one of the guitarists got a little shock so they cancelled the rest of the show because it was unsafe and there was no end in sight to the rain. I heard all my favorites.. except "Hey Jealousy," which the crowd kept chanting at every song break. During the rain delay, people started singing the words in hopes the band would come back out and play it. Bernie and I splashed our way home, laughing all the way at the ridiculousness of the whole experience.

Chinatown Festival

Today, my roommates and I went to the Chinatown Summer Festival. Although it wasn't as cool as I thought it would be, it was still a nice way to spend the afternoon. And I'm pretty sure I sweat out all the calories of that Crab Rangoon and bubble tea I had (the fried delicacy brought back flashes of my Freshman 15 as they were the main culprit). I was expecting there to be tons of food and authentic Chinese items for sale. However, there were only a few stands with food and many of the little store set-ups looked like a Dollar Store threw up on them. Too bad I had already bought my sponges and plastic wrap at Target the day before.

(That's me channeling my inner Ninja Turtle and playing around with some nunchucks)

Despite the many strange stands, there were a few shining moments. The sole purchase I made was from one of the places with bamboo plants and bonsai trees. I was very excited to walk away with my new lucky bamboo tree. Here's to hoping it brings me some good luck! And perhaps many more adventures this summer!

The Time I Kissed the Stanley Cup

My fun-filled weekend continued on Sunday when I woke up early to attend the 41st Annual Chicago Pride Parade in Boystown. I went for a few reasons:

1) To experience one of Chicago’s biggest events (1.2 million turned out for the parade)

2) To experience a parade other than a sports championship rally (a la Celtics and Blackhawks)

3) To do some reporting for RedEye Wrigleyville, seeing it was one of the biggest weekends for our neighborhood blogs.

Going into the parade I planned to find out how the community--the gay community in particular--felt about having participation from both the Blackhawks and the Cubs this year. Blackhawks player (well, former player--he was traded last week) Brent Sopel was carrying the Stanley Cup at the parade (it's actually a really great story) and for the first time ever, the Cubs had a float in the parade.

The parade was fun to watch and the overall experience and atmosphere was overwhelmingly positive and beautiful. There is so much hate and violence in this world that it was very nice to see a million people coming together to show love and support for each other whether they were black, white, gay, straight, etc.

Although fun, the parade was very long. I left before it finished in order to shower and relax after a busy weekend. Upon returning home, I accomplished the shower part, which felt good on my slightly sunburned skin. However, I was right back out the door 30 minutes later when I found out that Brent Sopel and the Stanley Cup would be at a bar in Wrigleyville and like any good reporter covering her beat, I decided I needed to find out what was going on. And I've always wanted to see the Cup, my favorite sports trophy of all time.

When my roommate Laura and I got to the bar, we were asked to donate $10 which guaranteed us a chance to take a picture with the Cup (the money went to Sopel's charity). The Cup left at 5 p.m., we got our picture taken with it at 4:58. Just in time! After I snapped a photo with the Cup, I laid a big fat one on it. It was cold. And if I caught cooties from it, I wouldn't have even cared. I kissed the Stanley Cup. The only thing that would have made this better would be if it was in Boston and belonged to the Bruins.

After I stepped away from Stanley, the day got even better. After following around and asking--and in turn probably annoying--the event organizer, I was able to ask Sopel a few questions for a post on the RedEye Wrigleyville blog. They were both really nice and I was proud that my curiosity turned into a stellar scoop for the blog! And I got to kiss the Cup. Did I already mention that??

Here is the post I wrote about the event, including my interview with Sopel. I tweeted the story out the next day (aka sent it out on Twitter) and Sopel tweeted me back thanking me for it!

I'm not sure how July is ever going to compare with my extremely eventful and exciting June (meeting Evan Lysacek and kissing the Stanley Cup), but it's surely set the bar pretty high!

Cheesy Post of the Day

This is me outside Wrigley Field.. next to a giant noodle. Clever advertisement for Kraft Macaroni 'n Cheese or just hideous? You decide.

I'm a Crosstown Cool Kid

I can cross another thing off my Chicago Bucket List: Attend White Sox-Cubs Crosstown Classic game.

After my radio debut and the crushing USA World Cup loss, I headed to the game with Greg who recruited me to join him because he had an extra ticket. The game started at six. We got there around four.

Four is also the number of important things I learned on this day:

1. People tailgate at baseball games in the Midwest. And do they! Guess that's what happens when your baseball team actually has a parking lot. The tailgating party we attended was stocked with all kinds of food from taco dip and chips to brats and burgers to cookies and Twizzler bites. I was thoroughly impressed. I probably should have eaten more of the food there seeing I had only eaten a PBJ sandwich all day and started drinking to keep up with the crowd. Let's just say I remember that the White Sox won thanks to Paul Konerko's homer in the eighth inning, but not much else from in between.

2. There is a game called "Bags" that is very popular here. Pretty much everyone had a set at their tailgating party. It's kind of like the washer game, but in this one you try to throw beanbags into a single hole cut out of a big wooden stand. Most people had theirs painted White Sox, Cubs and Bears themed. Some even had one side Bears, one side Cubs with matching bean bags. This game is everywhere. They even have tournaments in the bars during the summer.

3. When one team is mediocre and the other is awful (guess which one is which), the trash talking boils down to "Hey nice shirt... it sucks."

4. Fans at U.S. Cellular Field are much nicer to you when you're not wearing the opposing team's gear, or any gear at all. Not hot dog throwing incidents from what I can remember. But that's not saying too much.

I also discovered that there really are Red Sox fans everywhere. I made friends with the group of guys sitting next to me in the stands. I became good friends with the Cubs fan in the group because he also loved the Red Sox (he looked a lot like suspended Cubs pitcher Carlos Zambrano so I kept calling him Carlos). This guy named his son Boston because he was born around the same time the Red Sox won the World Series in 2004. I honestly thought he was lying but his friends assured me he wasn't. And I thought all the people who named their kids Trot and Brady were die-hard!

I was there to witness the White Sox winning the first annual BP Crosstown Cup. People care so little about this new trophy that the stadium was nearly empty by the time the Sox were given the award on the field. And it's not just because BP is the unfortunate sponsor. It's because it's a dumb idea.

It's also a dumb idea to drink lots of beer and not eat all day. Let's just say Sunday was a little painful. Evidently, I learned five important things that day.

Radioing in a New Experience

On Saturday, I made my radio debut! Fellow neighborhood blogger Zach Morrison and I (he writes for the Boystown blog and I, as you know, write for the Wrigleyville one) were invited to be on the ChicagoNow Radio show on WGN720.

Before Saturday morning, I was more excited than nervous. However, once I got to the WGN green room waiting to be taken in to the studio I started to get really nervous. I was so afraid I would say something stupid or stutter or sound really annoying. The words of my high school journalism teacher kept running through my head: "If you want to be on TV or radio you better change your voice."

However, I decided to pay more attention to my roommate's reassuring words that my voice wasn't so bad and was determined to go in and just have a good time. If I was self-conscious, I wasn't going to do well.

Once we got in the studio, the hosts were so nice and made us feel very comfortable. It was a lot of fun and the time went by so quickly. During the show, I felt more important than I actually was because tourists were looking into the studio from Michigan Ave and taking photos of us on air. I tried not to laugh at them.

After the show was over, both the producer and the hosts told us what a great job Zach and I did. We're hoping they liked us enough to invite us back! :)

Being on the radio was such a great, exciting, new experience to have. Working with the RedEye Wrigleyville blog has already given me so many fun opportunities... and to think I almost dropped the class that introduced me to it all!

You can listen to the commercial-free version of Saturday morning's Boystown and Wrigleyville segment of the show here. Enjoy!

A Wildly Good Time

On Friday night, my friend Christiana and I ventured to the Lincoln Park Zoo to see one of my favorite bands, Lifehouse, in concert.

Although neither of us were sure how the concert would be set up, we quickly found out once we entered the zoo. There was a large grassy area in the middle of the zoo just past the monkey house where hundreds of people gathered with blankets and chairs. We found a spot on the side of the stage, laid out on our blankets and waited for the concert to begin.

Lifehouse was amazing in concert and it was a really good time. When the concert started we left our blankets behind and stood pretty close to the stage. While I loved standing up close, I was a little worried someone might try to steal my trusty Patriots blanket. Luckily, no one did.

During the concert, the lead singer Jason Wade told the crowd how he grew up a giant Chicago Bulls fan and rocked his Michael Jordan jersey amidst rabid Seattle Sonic fans. And how a concert in a zoo was also a first for the band.

"I've played in a lot of different places over the last 11 years but I ain't never played in a zoo before!" Wade told the crowd. "But I'm kind of diggin' it!"

Because it was such a small area, the concert was very intimate. The only negative: the smell. At one point early on in the evening Christiana looked at me and asked, "why does it smell like wet, dirty animal? Oh wait, it's because we're in a zoo!" Boy those wafts of smelly, wet animal were strong when they hit.

Overall, I love Lifehouse and the Zoo and attending a concert in such a unique place was a fun Chicago experience. And one I would totally do again!

A Thank You to My Favorite Coach

Today is Father's Day and I can't help but think of my love of baseball whenever I think of my dad.

Like on my 10th birthday, when I got my first real baseball mitt and spent the remaining daylight hours tossing around a ball with my father in the backyard. He also coached me on a few of my softball teams and set up a board on the back of the shed where I practiced pitching.

My father taught me many important life lessons as both my softball coach and my dad. There is one moment in particular that has stayed with me through the years. I was about 12-years-old; I was on the All-Star team and thought pretty highly of myself in comparison to the rest of the team. I also thought I was privileged in some way because my dad was the coach. One night at practice, I didn't get to bat. I was irritated, and in protest of the travesty I decided to throw down my glove and sit on it right at third base. I figured that would show him, but in turn he just showed me a seat on the bench.

From that night on, I think I was always a little more patient when it came to waiting my turn in practice. I also learned that just because I was an All-Star and because my dad was the coach, I wasn't going to get any special treatment. It was a lesson in the anatomy of a team--and in life--and I have never forgotten it.


Looking back, I realize I never fully appreciated everything my dad did for me. After working all day, he'd take me to practice and games, things that ate up his whole night when I'm sure he would rather be doing something else (like drink beer and chop wood). Instead, he did it not only for me, but also for my sister who joined me on the team and for my brother years before.

There isn't a home video where I can remember my dad not being present (and not just because he was the only one who knew how to operate the camera). I remember one home video moment when me and my sister, about four and two-years-old, respectively, greeted my father with dirty hugs when he came home from work. He didn't even flinch out of fear his dress shirt would get ruined.

My sister and I were both messy from a hard day of play in the sandbox when Megan started to eat some green tomatoes from mom's tomato plants (which I'm sure we picked earlier to add to our "soup"). My favorite part of this moment is when my dad, dressed in a shirt and tie and fresh from his day job, began his job as dad almost immediately and tried to pry the green tomatoes out of Megan's messy mouth and hands.

It might sound like a silly story, but it reminds me that my dad was always there for us, whether we needed or wanted him to be there or not. Because he was "Mr. Mean" and made multiple uses of paint sticks and flyswatters (trust me, the threat of bug guts is enough to scare any kid), all three of us grew up to become pretty great adults. I have two pretty great parents, who were willing to teach us everything they knew and above all, give us all the love they had.

Now that I am 27 and living nearly 1,000 miles away, I often find myself in a nostalgic state of mind and thinking back on fun family times. I never had a lot of the materialistic articles my friends had when they were growing up (like designer clothes and fancy toys), but I do have a renewed appreciation for the things I did have and would never trade them for the world if I had to do it all over again.

Like the millions of memories I have from summers spent camping. Because of that, I know how to make a real S’mores, roast hot dogs on a stick and make apple pies over the campfire. And because of my dad, I know how to build and start a proper campfire and understand the ins and outs of fishing, even without proper bait (balls of white bread and bologna will do). And even though I still refuse to hook a worm and unhook a fish, my dad made sure I knew how to do it right nonetheless.

Although there are many things I still fear in life, my dad has helped ease some of them. Last summer when I was getting worried about moving and again in the fall when I was homesick and concerned about my finances, he was there to assure me I'd be fine. He shared stories of his Navy days and how little he was able to survive on. He told me a few months away from the family would be doable; he spent months and sometimes even a year at a time stuck at sea and away from his parents. He told me how when he went to Purdue, he moved to Indiana with nothing but a large chest full of his belongings (this was perhaps in reaction to the several boxes I shipped to Chicago).

This Easter, my dad sent me a package to remind me that he and my mom were thinking of me back home. He filled a shoe box with dollhouse furniture and taped jellybeans to the bottoms of each one. He called it an "Easter Egg Hunt in a Box." It made me laugh and reminded me of all the years he probably got up very early to hide the eggs, and the one year he tried to make us believe the Easter Bunny had left a jellybean trail to our baskets.


On this Father's Day, I hope a simple blog post will let my father know that I am thinking of him on his special day.

Dad, if you're reading this just know that the life lessons you tried to instill in me while growing up have stuck. I know sometimes I don't always tell you how much I appreciate you, like those times when you helped me with my taxes, changed my car's oil and coached my softball teams (all at one time or another surely complemented with an attitude), I remember each one and promise to repay you someday.

And while I watch the Red Sox play on TV tonight, I will remember the times I sat with you in your basement workshop listening to the Bruins on the radio. That was the moment I came to love following professional sports. And maybe one day if I'm lucky enough to cover a game in real life, I'll think of you again and how you've made me the person I am today.

Thanks for being the World's Greatest Dad (the t-shirts and ties don't lie). Happy Father's Day to the best coach any daughter could ask for.

Holy Chicago Thunderstorm Batman!

I think I just witnessed/survived the most exciting thunderstorm of my life.

Hurricane winds, severe thunderstorms and golf-ball sized hail. And I got to watch it all roll in and through Chicago from the 43rd floor of the building I work in on Michigan Avenue (I started my summer internship at the McCormick Foundation this past Tuesday).

Call me crazy, but I love thunderstorms (I probably could have been a storm chaser in another life). Around 2 pm today the building manager sent an email warning us of the impending severe storm and the potential of busted windows due to the hail and extremely high winds (predicted to hit up to 80 mph). However, when everyone else was moving away from the windows, I was moving toward them to get a better view (and of course to snap a few pictures to share with you!).

Winds were clocked at 77 mph and Chicago Breaking News reported that two windows were blown out at the Willis (Sears) Tower. Sounds crazy, but I could feel the building swaying a few times (just a slight imbalance) and when I put my hand to the window, I could feel it wildly vibrating. The rain blew in sheets and appeared to cascade down the sides of buildings like a waterfall. There was no hope for a few pigeons I saw flapping around, losing the battle to the wind.

The severe part of the storm lasted only about 20 minutes, and I escaped from work a little early in order to make it home before the next wave of storms hit.

I made it safely home with my umbrella in one piece. However, it was quite a challenge to juggle the umbrella and keep my dress from flying up... I wish I had known there would be hurricane-like winds this morning when I was picking out my outfit for the day!

Enjoy the photos I took with my camera phone. These pics even made it into the RedEye's storm photo gallery (#7 and 31), which I recommend peeking at if you'd like additional visuals on how bad this storm was.

Ice Skating with the Star

Yesterday was one of the best and most fun days ever. I got to ice skate with Evan Lysacek.

My friend works for the private jet company Flexjet, which is what the Olympic gold medalist (and let's not forget Dancing With the Stars runner-up) used to get from DWTS rehearsal to the Smucker's Stars on Ice tour spots. On Saturday, Flexjet rented out a skating rink in Vernon Hills and hosted an event for a few of its customers to meet, greet and skate with Evan (a Naperville, IL native). My friend, knowing how much I love the skater whom me and my roommate fondly refer to as "Prince Charming," invited me to tag along.

Evan is the most down-to-Earth, nicest person/celebrity ever. At times he acted so normal, I forgot he was even famous. He did a Q&A and mingled with the 40 something people who were there. He even brought his real gold medal (which is heavier than I thought it would be!).

I got the chance to talk with Evan and take a few pictures with him and his medal. But the highlight was when he saved me from falling on my ass. I was doing my special move, where I try to stop without falling by crouching down with my elbows tucked in looking much like a ski jumper and also probably a royal idiot. However, it didn't work so well and as I started to fall forward, someone was at my side to help balance me. When I looked and saw it was Evan, I nearly fell over again, this time because, well, it was him. Prince Charming for sure.

When I explained my special stopping move to him, he laughed and mimicked me, adding a couple fancy swerving moves to it. I called him a show-off and when I tried to copy, he had to help me from falling again. Guess I should have paid closer attention to the skating demo he gave earlier. We skated the rest of the lap together. I told him it made my year.

We had a couple of other encounters that afternoon, like when he signed a photo for me. When he was finished, I asked if he'd like me to sign something for him in return. He thought it was a great idea, and asked if I could make it out to "Evan... that's E-V-A-N." He is not only handsome, but he also has a sense of humor.

Although it's been almost 24 hours since the event, I still haven't come down from my high of meeting and skating with him. I think he made a lot of peoples' years, seeing he was very personable and sweetly skated with the little kids there. He seemed like he actually wanted to be there and was enjoying himself.

And then I woke up the next day... and realized it wasn't a dream and that it all really happened. Definitely one of the best days ever.

Lord Stanley Comes to Chicago

Let me preface this blog post by saying: I will forever be a Bruins fan, no matter where I live or what happens around me.

For example, when something like this happens: "The Chicago Blackhawks are your 2010 Stanley Cup Champions!"

While the excitement of a Stanley Cup final and the temptation of seeing Lord Stanley's Cup in person might make anyone jump on a bandwagon, I proceeded with caution. I felt like rooting for the Blackhawks meant I was cheating on the Bruins. Then I decided the Flyers--who beat the Bruins in an epic playoff comeback blah blah blah--needed to be beaten and I wouldn't want any team other than Chicago to do it.

And they did! And I was excited. After all, this might be the closest I come to a Stanley Cup Champion for a while (thanks to Jeremy Jacobs), so I decided to enjoy it.

On Friday, I woke up early and staked out a spot along Michigan Ave with my friend Christiana in order to catch the parade. Christiana is a New Orleans native (which has no hockey team) and adopted the Blackhawks as her team when she moved to Chicago.

Even at 8:30 a.m., two hours before the parade started, the streets were crowded. We found a giant concrete flower pot to stand on for a better view and so we didn't have to stand shoulder to shoulder with other sweaty fans. By 10 a.m., there was no breathing room. The Chicago Tribune reported that 2 MILLION people came out to the victory parade and rally. Guess that's what happens when Lord Stanley returns to a city after 49 years (it was the longest championship drought in NHL history)!

I was nervous about going to the parade, seeing Lissa and I nearly got trampled to death (this is not an exaggeration) at the Celtics 2008 victory-parade-turned-fiasco. However, Chicago was ready. They had hundreds of cops on hand, people passing out free bottles of water and announcements over the loudspeaker reminding anxious fans to hydrate because it was so hot out. There was also a LOT more room for people to stand here than there was for the parade in Boston.

The parade was a lot of fun and Christiana and I took tons of pictures to capture the moment for our friends--die-hard Hawks fans--who couldn't make the parade. After the parade passed, people spilled into the streets and followed the train to the rally, chanting "Let's Go Hawks" as they marched down Michigan.

After the crowd died down, I gathered up some confetti from the ground to keep as a souvenir. I also may or may not have thrown it in the air over myself. Just so you know, I pretended it was black and gold confetti raining down on me. Someday it will be. Because someday the Bruins will also be reunited with Lord Stanley.

I Get By With a Little Help From My Friends

When I decided to move halfway across the country last summer, I had one major concern: what would I do if something happened back home? What if an emergency required me to get home to Boston immediately? What would I do?

Last week, my worst fear came true. My grandmother passed away after a long battle with Alzheimer's.

My mother called to break the news, and as soon as I hung up the phone a wave of panic swept over me. I wanted to fly home, there was no question of whether or not I would, it was just a matter of figuring it all out. An overwhelming task.

Most airlines offer bereavement discounts, but 10% off a $500 flight with two connections didn't help much. I had just won a scholarship (DePaul's Excellence in Journalism award) worth $2,200 two days earlier and was planning on using it for school but decided I could tap into that to fly home to say goodbye to Nana.

Thankfully, I didn't have to. My friend Greg and his mom--who works for United--helped me fly home for cheap. I feel so fortunate to have had this opportunity. Their generous help made a difficult situation easier, both financially and emotionally, because I no longer had to worry how I would get home or how I would afford it. I flew standby and eventually got a direct flight home on Friday morning.

Being home was extremely bittersweet; everyone in our large family was there and it was great to see them. It was even nicer hanging out with my parents, sister and brother (who I haven't see since Christmas). And thanks to all the kind words, thoughts and prayers of our friends and other side of the family, we made it through an emotional few days.

Most of all, this emergency situation and sad circumstance showed me something very important: I have many amazing people in my life. It seems like an obvious acknowledgement, but it's something we all sometimes take for granted in our day-to-day lives. I knew I had great friends, but the outpouring of love and concern from them through cards, emails, phone calls and Facebook messages was extremely heartwarming. The support of friends, both old and new, really made a difference. Smiles were hard to come that weekend, but each message and act of kindness reminded me of how lucky I am to have so many great people in my life.

It may sound cheesy, but it's hard to put into words how loved I felt. I guess it is true, you really can get by--and through your worst fear-- with a little help from your friends.

A Day at the Beach

I woke up sad this morning.

The 90 degree heat, bright sun and clear skies made for an absolutely gorgeous day in the city, but I couldn't help thinking about my family cooking out and hanging on the beach in Maine... without me.

After a little pouting, I decided to join my roommates and head to Chicago's version of the beach: sand patches along Lake Michigan. I had never been, but was both excited and skeptical to see what is was all about. I knew it could never compare to the ocean, the waves or--no offense to my roommates--the company.

Perhaps it's the warm weather and the summer season in general that awakens massive amounts of nostalgia in me. Ever since I was a tyke, I've spent summers adventuring with my family, whether it was camping, trekking down to Pennsylvania in a motor home or spending long weekends up at the cottage in Maine. Days at the beach followed by afternoons sipping on seltzers and noshing on chips, waiting for the evening which would almost always involve a walk on the beach and a trip to Scoop Deck for a massive ice cream cone. Warm memories of clever conversation and comfortable moments of silence are often taken for granted. Now that I know I can't be sitting on that porch talking about nothing with my parents, it means everything.

As I lay on the sand working on my Irish tan (aka sunburn), in between thoughts of sunscreen application and worries of burning to a crisp, I thought fondly about my past but also tried to realize the privileges of my present. Sand is still sand (although it isn't as sticky here), and although this freshwater lake isn't the ocean, it does a good job filling in. As I looked down the beach and out to the water, I saw bright blue water for miles (with the occasional clump of floating seaweed dotting the plain) and people having fun. So why wasn't I joining them?

I decided that I would always have the memories of the ocean, and hopefully a week to spend up in Maine this summer with my family. In the meantime, I need to soak in my surroundings and enjoy being in one of the greatest cities in the world. For example: instead of having to drive through two states to get to the ocean, I only have to walk a mile and a half to get to the lakefront. I have ice cream in the freezer and cold beers in the fridge. And at the rate I talk to myself these days, I can have plenty of clever conversation.

But there will always be an increased amount of nostalgia to sadden me a bit every time the mercury starts rising on days like these. But I just have to remember how I handled today.

When I got home from the beach, I made myself a drink and called my family. Just because the body of water is different, doesn't mean everything else has to change.

Fire Drill

On Thursday, my sports writing class took a field trip to the Chicago Fire game to play sports reporters.

The Fire is the city's professional soccer team (MLS) and plays in a neighboring suburb. Thankfully one of my classmates drove so I didn't have to take the El to Midway airport and then hop on the shuttle to the stadium. Although it sounds like a lot of work to get to a soccer game, I think it's great that the team makes it convenient for car-less fans to get to the matches.

Seeing we got to the stadium early, the three of us decided to tailgate with some cupcakes another classmate brought along. We felt pret-ty cool wedged between fans tailgating with burgers and beer! We thought about trading our fourth cupcake for a beer.

After stuffing our faces with delicious desserts, we headed to the press area to take advantage of the night. My professor secured press access for the few of us who responded the quickest, including access to the post-game press conference and the locker rooms (although we never did get in there). There, we ate some real food before heading to our seats with the normal people.

Toyota Park is one of the few soccer specific stadiums in the country. There is no bad seat in the place and the close proximity to the players and the field add to the fan-friendly experience. The section behind one of the goals, the section next to us, was filled with fans who chanted and waved flags the entire match (yes, it was as annoying as it sounds).

The match ended in a 1-1 draw (which is soccer speak for tie), so the coach and the players weren't all that excited to speak with the press after the game. The mood was somber as we stood outside the locker rooms in the "mixed zone." I was a little disappointed that we couldn't get into the locker room, as I really wanted the full true reporter experience. However, because they had tied (and were acting like they had lost) and I didn't really have any good questions to ask about the technicalities of that evening's effort (mostly because I don't understand the details of the game yet), I was a little relieved.

Oh well, at least I got a cupcake out of the deal. Also, in my post-game research for my assignment/article, I discovered that the New England Revolution will be in town in August. I will definitely be in the crowd. As long as I can navigate my way to the shuttle and all.

Not So Tickled Pink

It seems I am going to need a new roommate. My current one has just informed me that she is in the market to buy a pink Blackhawks hat.

The only thing I hate more than pink sports apparel is overcooked zucchini and the Yankees.

I’m not talking about Breast Cancer Awareness hats. As someone who has lost family members to the disease, I would wear a pink ribbon hat in a second to support the cause. I am talking about pink baseball caps that have been mass produced by professional sports organizations in order to capitalize on the growing audience of fashion-seeking, bandwagon fans.

Pink hats, or any other type of pink sports apparel, scream “bandwagon fan.” Women who wear the stuff give off a vibe worse than a middle-aged man drinking alone in a bar dropping cheesy pick-up lines. Without saying a word, they shout “I don’t really care about this game but my boyfriend wanted me to come.” A pink hat or bedazzled jersey coupled with a pair of sky-high stilettos is a sports fan’s worst nightmare.

I can trace my disdain for blush colored baseball caps back to 2004, when the Boston Red Sox won their first World Series in 86 years and all of a sudden it was cool to be a Sox fan again. Subsequently, I stopped being able to get tickets to games and watched helplessly as pink hat fans flooded Fenway Park.

The same thing happened during the 2007-2008 basketball season when the Celtics introduced the Big Three (Boston signed Ray Allen and Kevin Garnett to complement Paul Pierce) and later won the NBA Championship. Now when I go to games my legs are cramped sitting in an overcrowded arena in scalped seats next to a girl in a pink Paul Pierce jersey texting on her phone.

In an effort to take region out of the equation—and to prove I’m not just drunk off a handle of Hater-ade— I asked my sports-loving friend Lisa from Dallas her thoughts on the issue. Thanks to Jessica Simpson—who supported her Dallas Cowboys quarterback beau Tony Romo by donning a pink jersey in 2007—Lisa also drowns in waves of pink hats at sporting events.

“It’s the only way to get some women to watch or go to sporting events,” she said. “In Dallas you can tell a woman is only going through the motions of liking sports if she is wearing a pink hat. To sum it up, pink is for posers.”

While I may hate pink hats and bandwagon fans, I loathe what they represent more (after all, someone had to think up the idea of a pink hat before women started wearing them). The pink hat may be one of the most glaring examples as to how much of a business baseball and sports in general have become. To some, it’s just a hat. To others, it’s a personification of owners and organizations sucking the purity out of America’s pastime. Teams will do anything—and sell anything— to make money.

As my soon-to-be-former roommate asked, “What’s wrong with pink hats? They’re still buying tickets and supporting the team.”

Therein lies the problem. No longer is it enough for teams to market the game and their players, but sports is now seen as much of a commodity as the pink hat itself. How else can you explain the $300 seats at the New Yankee Stadium? What blue-collared baseball fan can afford seats like that? Some games have even become giant social events (let’s hear it for 75 percent of the “fans” sitting in the bleachers at Wrigley Field).

Major league organizations might not care what they are selling or to who, as long as they are raking in the dough like autumn leaves. But real fans—like myself—have a problem with it.

The movement against pink hats may be at its largest in Boston (which explains my subtle opinion on this matter). We suffered through the losing seasons. I wore my green Celtics jersey and relaxed my legs across empty seats at games B.C. (Before Championship) and cheered on the Sox despite the alleged curse of Babe Ruth. Now that Boston teams are winning, the pink hats infiltrate the stands, soaking in the winning percentages and blissfully unaware of the heartache that used to fill their very same seats.

So I guess the real enemy is not pink, but green—the color of money and the hue of overcooked zucchini. Without this particular ‘green monster’ in modern sports, we might find ourselves pink hatless.

While I can’t control the influx of pink hats in modern sports, I can however make sure my apartment is quarantined from the epidemic. This is why my roommate will be evicted immediately should she dare follow through with her threat to purchase a pink Blackhawks cap.