Monday, June 28, 2010
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.
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."
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!
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.
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.
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!
Sunday, June 20, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, June 18, 2010
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).
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.
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!).
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.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
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.
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.
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 te
mptation 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.
mptation 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)!
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.
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