It's the Final Weekend

Looking up through the sky light in my office, there are patches of blue. It's been a while since the sky was actually visable. This peek into the heavens, albeit soon to be masked again my clouds and snow, is enough to relax the tension that's been building into a perpetual, dull headache.

I'm in a good mood. I finished one book last night and began a new one this morning on the train (The Awakening and East of Eden respectively). I'm wearing my new, vintage, silver llama pin. His face looks like the llamas in "It's a Small World After All" with a crescent eye and a small smile. It's Friday and I'll soon be lunching with Sergio.

This is the final weekend of my show, Escape from the Haltsburg Boys Choir. It's almost completely sold out! There are literally a couple of tickets left for tonight only and that's it. I'll miss these fantastic people, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit relieved to have some weeks of rest lined up ahead of me. Not really rest though. I'll be rededicating myself to studying so come June I'll pass the GRE with a score high enough in the quantitative section to get into grad school.

But I don't want to think about that right now.

Right now I want crack open this beautiful new book. That's as far ahead as I'm thinking on this quiet Friday. There is plenty of time to worry in the coming months.

Grey, Grey, Grey

The colors of a Chicago winter are monotonous to say the least. When struggling down an ice encrusted sidewalk, it's like existing in a black and white movie, the odd bright coat pulling you briefly out of your stupor. It's cold and it's damp and this city is seriously lacking and redeeming qualities at this point. My hunched shoulders have forgotten what it feels like to be unburdened by a coat. My nose has forgotten there was a time it didn't snivel out of doors. I'm exhausted by it all, like the lead tinted sky is bearing down on me.

There's a tiny sadness that perches on my shoulder, huddling close to my ear that has one enemy, the sun. Perhaps it was my over consumption of sunlight growing up in Florida that has left me an addict, tired and angry when in withdrawal. I think in aching longing of laying stretched out in the backyard, book in hand, sweat upon brow, slightly uncomfortable in the mid-summer heat, but undeniably happy.

You would think that for a girl as pale as I am that perpetual shade would be a good thing. In fact I love my fair skin. I'd not feel like myself if my skin bronzed. But I miss being warm. I miss huddling under a wide brim hat and lathering myself in sunscreen. I miss that tired feeling you get only after spending a summer day outside, beaten by a relentless sun.

But I suppose the grass is always greener. One day it'll be hot and I'll long for the crisp, apple scented air of autumn. I'll curse the burn left on my tender shoulder blades. I'll sit in front of my less than impressive window air conditioning unit in my thinnest of airy nightgowns, praying for a break in the impenetrable heat. But until that day, I'll continue to shake my fist at old man winter and his inability to agree with my fragile disposition.

The Field Museum

I have found that place in Chicago which truly makes me feel at home, that little niche where I can wander wide eyed, overflowing with new knowledge, and overwhelmed by what this tiny dot in our mind bogglingly huge universe can produce. The Field Museum with it's nearly complete Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton, Sue, and its plethora of mummified cats from ancient Egypt, fills me with an excessive joy that I rarely have found outside of the Nitrous Oxide my dentist would give me when I was little.

I'm fascinated by ribs. It's a weird thing to be intrigued by, I know. When I stood below the massive Sue, her ribs kept my gaze. I just imagined these very ribs, 67 million years ago, gently inflating and deflating as she took in precious air. Maybe it's because it's refreshing to find something familiar belonging to something so foreign.

Don't get me started on Egypt. People, dead for thousands of years, look like they could just about open their eyes and stroll out of their glass cases. Did you know that in Ancient Egypt I would have been an inch taller than the average man? Besides the fact that I would have been an Egyptian model, they also worshipped cats. Do we need any more proof that I was born in the wrong time?

Now I have a membership. I have big plans for frequent visits to the museum. My little plastic mold T-Rex with "The Field Museum Chicago" stamped across its base, sitting on my desk will serve as a reminder of the ample amount of awesome that awaits me up those marble steps and through those ionic columns.

Friday Morning Musings

It's cold, grey Friday morning in Chicago. The train always has significantly fewer people on it than other days of the week. I can't help but wonder, what are these jobs that don't happen on Friday? Or maybe a large amount of the population, on any given Friday decide to take a sick day.

It's been a busy and quick week. I've eaten way too much Jimmy John's. I've discovered I may or may not have a minor addiction to caffeine (much to my chagrin). I've begun researching going to grad school for Anthropology. I've watched copious amounts of 30 Rock. I've continued to hate the Chicago winter. Plus a show last night.

Today my parents get into town! I'm so happy they can come up and see my show. Plus we're going to go the Field Museum, I'm going to see Sue (one of my dreams coming up here), and purchase a magnet/coffee cup with her bright, toothy smile plastered on it.

This is shaping up to be a dull post, so I apologise. I'm pretty happy and content at the moment with only the ache of grad school swirling around in my stomach (but I think we're all tired of hearing about that, I know I'm tired of talking about it). So without further ado, I'll leave you to your Fridays.

Another Day, Another Book

I finished reading A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson today. I have to say, I'm pretty sad it's over. I don't think I've ever felt this way about nonfiction before. Even with A People's History of the United States, one of my favorite books in the history of my literacy, I was pleased with it's ending point. Mr. Bryson has left me wanting more.

With a heavy heart I placed it back in my bag and pulled out The Glorious Cause by Robert Middlekauff, a 700+ page behemoth outlining the history of the American Revolution. My spine is already moaning at the prospect of carrying it around for the next month or two. But I'm excited. I'm ready to be re-immersed in American history. I may have a fiery love affair with anthropology and astronomy, but history is my rock, that steady spouse who puts up with my slight insanity and stands with strong, open arms.

I'll let you know how this goes. Honestly, I've been thinking about rereading the Harry Potter series again for kicks. If we're going to continue the analogy, Harry Potter is like my An Affair to Remember lover. I don't know. We'll see. What I do know is that I'm ready to be in school again. And on that note, we'll end this all over the place blog entry.

Escape from the Haltsburg Boys Choir

I didn't have a caffeine addiction. I've been careful to keep my coffee intake to times of pleasure, never for a pick-me-up. And then this week happened. Tech week. My schedule of waking up at a quarter to six and crawling into bed no earlier than 12:30 has taken its toll on my (apparently old lady) body. I have resigned myself to the coffee as necessity routine.

But it's worth it. We have a show, people! We are doing theatre! We're telling a story that I believe, at the very least, people will enjoy. This is the zenith of our months of hard work. We did it ladies and gentlemen, and now it belongs to the audience. We're ready, it's beautiful, so let's do it!

I'm proud of this show. I'm proud of our wonderful cast who are some of the kindest, most talented people I've had the pleasure of working with. I'm proud of our production staff who have worked so diligently to make sure we didn't walk on an empty stage naked. I'm proud of our writer and composer who wrote a musical, A MUSICAL! We are a group of awesome people and I don't care who knows it.

I hope my noxious gushing hasn't sent you running for the closest bottle of Dramamine. Seriously, come see the show that received both a cease and desist letter (back when we had a different name) and a tweet from The Vienna Boy's Choir. We almost got sued. If that's not edgy, groundbreaking theatre, I don't know what is.

Math

I need to go to Grad school. It's no longer a want, it's a need. The thought bounces around brain in some form or another probably 80% of my day. I'm left chewing my bottom lip (my own personal form of nervous torture) and pulling my hair. I wouldn't be nearly so nervous if I didn't have such an ugly beast standing in my way. Math.

Math has always been my antagonist. This angry relationship began earlier with my dismissal of the times table. Do I really need to memorize 9X4 when I've got such a thing as a calculator? Well, funny you should ask, but I do. Turns out multiplication is the basis for everything and the mean standardized testing people consider use of a calculator "cheating".

So instead of my usual groaning and finger pointing, I'm going to grab math by the you-know-what's and tame it once and for all. I'm restarting the basics, memorizing that pesky times table. By July, I'll get the 500 I so desperately need and want on the quantitative section. I'll conquer that standardized piece of dream killing manure. It will bend beneath the power of my brain!

Honestly, I just feel stupid. I feel like I took 12+ years of math tutorial for granted. I've skimmed by on just enough and now it's not enough. This disability has the potential to ruin my life. I'm terrified of a stupid test. Well no more! Master's in History, here I come!

Doom

In the grey Chicago winter, with it's barren trees, cloud laden skies, and shriveled vegetation, it's hard not to turn your mind to the rather more bleak than usual thoughts of one's own impermanence. Life, as we know it, is a fleeting, brief thing, the end spurred on by our fragile, inefficient bodies. When compared to other animals, we are ill adapted to live in nearly every environment. We're hairless. We lack attached weapons. We generally not even that strong. If it wasn't for our over sized brain and subsequent ingenuity, we'd be s.o.l. But we're smart (well, at least compared to say a lizard) so we've adapted to our shortfalls.

So we're okay. Not. We may have evolved to exist tentatively on our planet, but let's talk about those things which could potentially wipe us out. Meteors. There are copious amounts of rocks whizzing around our galaxy. Most are undocumented. The chance of seeing a meteor before impact is slim. The chance of seeing one more than six months from impact is almost none. Chances are, there will be a flash in the sky followed by your death about one second later. Even on the opposite side of the world you'll die, albeit a much more slow death of starvation from "winter" brought on by skies covered by debris. In short it's a lose-lose situation in which the outcome is cockroaches rule the world.

But let's say in this galactic game of Russian Roulette we win, the active super volcano beneath Yellowstone National Park which is 30,000 years overdue to erupt will make sure we aren't left disappointed. With a caldera something like 48 miles across (so big it wasn't discovered until areal pictures were taken). I really don't want to think about the kind of explosion slowly building up beneath the bison and campers.

I've been spooked. Thank you Bill Bryson and your A Short History of Nearly Everything, a very good book which I highly recommend. It's not all scary, I promise. The likeliness of either of these scenarios happening in our lifetime is not very high, but I still catch myself glancing at the sky, half expecting to see a big, burning ball, about ten times hotter than the surface of the sun, hurtling towards me at a speed I can't quite comprehend.

Now that I've gotten all the scary out of my system, here's a picture of a kitten: