I know I was just raving about my unbridled love for New York City, and I’d hate for you to find me fickle; but damned if I’m not utterly, ridiculously in love with Chicago, Illinois.
Not sure I could sum it up in just one reason why, and hell, I only ended up here because of a colossal letdown and changing plans for an already booked trip elsewhere. Then it turns out to be just about the best part of my entire time away, so it just goes to show that I know nothing, clearly.
It’s a beautiful city – the dramatic skyline to rival New York, but on wider streets that call to mind Parisian boulevards. A perfect mix of space and spectacle, in other words. It goes without saying that the world-famous architecture is a treat for the eyes, but more than anything the order of it all is bizarrely soothing. Legend has it that we have Mrs O’Leary’s cow to thank for burning most of the city down in 1871, thus allowing them to plan and create the aesthetically pleasing neatness that forms the city today.
The best view of it all comes from the famous Sears Tower (and if you call it the Willis Tower, you’re just a dumb tourist. If you want to hear how Chicagoans feel about corporate rebranding of institutions, get them talking about those New York interlopers – Macy’s) Seeing the city from the 103rd floor is really seeing it – and it’s the 5th highest building in the world, after all. Not a problem for someone like myself who has absolutely no fear of heights. Never troubled me, in fact I’ve hurtled off a bridge in my time without worrying too much about it.
Turns out that bravado evaporates when faced with the simple task of stepping out onto perspex over 103 floors of um, nothing. Now I understand why people describe vertigo as such a violent reaction, having never experienced it before I thought they were a bunch of exaggerating wusses. I won’t doubt their agonies again because that was a purely physical reaction as my feet ignored my mental commands to step forward. Perhaps it was the lack of feeling anchored/tied to anything, but my knees locked in defiance and my stomach performed a triple somersault that would make any 12 year old gymnast green with envy.
Of course, once you actually force yourself out there, the feet register a solid surface underneath them and the freaking out storm quells. I tried not to be too jealous of the people who could not only look down while standing out there, but in fact roll around and act like they weren’t a million miles up on just a piece of fortifed…whatever. A humbling experience, to be sure.
It’s addictive as a place to explore though – the fact that Chicago sits on the shore of Lake Michigan just might be its most attractive feature. The sand and the fresh air is delightful, even with crashing waves to set the scene. Still, it’s fresh rather than sea water and I must admit the boat cruise I took was the highlight of just about everything. The guy taking the tour said I looked ‘blissful’ and I’d really have to agree.
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- This is what we call a ‘rictus grin’ JFC
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- And just like that.. I have a new team ;)
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- Let’s Go Cubbies
Sunday brought my most ‘American’ of experiences – the baseball game. I’m not going to rewrite history here, I didn’t even think it was a sport in the true sense of the word before I saw it for myself. Whether it was the easy camaraderie on the El to the game, or the warm welcome from the stadium staff, but by the time my new cap was in place and my ‘Cubbies’ scarf was tied around my neck, I was beginning to get the bug. This was not, after all, just cricket without the crumpets.
I was surprised to discover the rules aren’t any more sophisticated than rounders, though all the statistical side of it is a tad too nerdy for me I’m afraid to say. The hecklers became apparent after a few beers, and I knew I had found my people when they started casting aspersions about the Astros’ relief pitcher’s wife. But for the accents and the action on the field, it could almost have been Anfield on a spring Saturday afternoon.
Alas, my Liverpool luck seemed to have travelled with me, and those darned Astros sneaked a 3-2 victory on the day. The Cubs might suck, but they’re my boys now and I’ll be keeping an eye on their scores while squinting at the jargon that comes with this funny, insular little sport. I wouldn’t have had such a perfect weekend without such amazing hosts, so many heartfelt thanks to Mr & Mrs ‘Flippet’ for their awesomeness.
Chicago, I think we can safely say I’ll be back.
I really don’t know where to start with this acquittal in a rape prosecution. Granted, it’s not your typical ’she was asking for it with what she wore’ defence (the one that you know, isn’t a defence at all). No, a jury decided that since skinny jeans are notoriously difficult (though not impossible) to remove single-handedly, the woman must have ‘helped’.
This is one of the issues that leaves me feeling like I can’t sit back and ignore feminism, or claim not to be a feminist. As long as this is a threat, as long as this most heinous of crimes continues to go largely unpunished (seriously, the conviction stats make me want to cry) then women have no hope of being equal. Not that I’m suggesting every man is a would-be rapist, but if we continue to blame women for a crime that was committed against them then we’re going about it entirely the wrong way.
Is that poor woman supposed to feel guilty that she didn’t shove on a skirt that day instead? Would her attacker have been punished more appropriately, or would that kind of clothing simply become ‘easy access’? Damned if you do, damned if you don’t – it’s not hard to see why so many rapes go unreported. If I lived in Australia today, I’d have considerably less faith in the criminal justice system.
Get your clicking fingers ready, ladies and gentlemen, because the Addams Family is smart enough to acknowledge its cultural history right there in the overture. There’s no buzz quite like an excitable full house, and the Lunt-Fontanne was positively crackling with energy.
And well it should have been, since what we got over the ensuing two hours was well-performed fun. Nathan Lane is almost peerless when it comes to holding an audience in the palm of his hands, and I’d be hard pressed to find a weak point in the cast. For me, the highlight has to be the immensely fabulous Bebe Neuwirth, her infamous froideur making it seem somehow inevitable that she’d one day play Morticia. When you think about it, it makes an almost cosmic kind of sense.
Her sensational tango (complete with garters on display), split-second comic timing and inimitable deadpan stole every scene she was part of, which isn’t easy when surrounded by the talents of Lane, Carolee Carmello and Jackie Hoffman. She elevates Sergio Trujillo’s choreography in a way that makes her every movement seem like some sort of elegant ripple in liquid silk. My God, I’d kill any one of you to get back in time and see her do Velma on stage.
Sure, this musical isn’t going to be winning the Pulitzer any time soon (unless they really break with convention next year) but if it’s going to be silly, high camp fun, at least it’s original. I’m sick to the back teeth of jukebox musicals, the greatest offender remains Mamma Mia, with its non-book wedged in between songs that don’t actually fit any kind of narrative.
Even more amusing than the one-liners and pidgin Spanish is the fact that while the critics have been lining up since Chicago to take pot-shots, the show appears to be a critic proof smash. I seem to recall that the Barbican production of Les Mis was slated back in 1985, and you tell me – how’s that show doing these days? In a time when everyone on their wife (including yours truly) is lining up to voice their snarky opinions, it’s sort of refreshing to know that people can still make their own minds up (unless we’re talking about We Will Rock You, in which case you forfeit your right to an opinion).
You won’t come out onto W 46th St feeling like your world has been changed, nor will you be grasping for tissues like you might be after Next to Normal, but you will have a bloody good time. And with the price of tickets what they are, doesn’t that count for something?
The Addams Family is playing at the Lunt-Fontanne Theatre, W 46th St, New York, NY. Tickets are available through Ticketmaster.com
In case you were wondering, this rate of death and unnecessary suffering in horse-racing is why I refuse to bet on the so-called sport. It saddens me on far too deep a level that this rate of pain and waste of life is barely remarked upon in the face of a quick flutter or making a few quid online.
Racing, particularly with the outlandish jumps involved in some of the more treacherous courses is incredibly hard on the horses, and when animals as majestic and powerful as that are being run into the ground or carelessly broken, isn’t it going too far?
