Thoughts on Concertgoing

Last night, Brian and I went to a Josh Ritter show at the Vic Theater in Lakeview. I didn't realize how long it had been since I'd been to a general admission concert in an old venue like that. We saw the Swell Season at the Vic a couple of years ago, but we must have arrived there early because we nabbed decent seats in the balcony. At the Vic, the first section of balcony seats are actual theater seats with armrests. The upper section of the balcony is made up of vinyl benches, so you have to guess if there is any room in a row or if people need that extra personal space. The floor is covered in what my family calls "cinemuck" -- a sniglet for that unidentifiable sticky substance lining the floor of a theater that is the result of years of neglect and many, many spilled beverages. (Literally, my shoe came off four separate times in our two minute search for a seat last night.)

We decided to just go to the main floor and try to stand in a spot with a view. Being out of practice at this type of concertgoing, we found a spot directly behind a guy who can only be described as a sequoia. This guy was probably 6'3" with shoulders like a cartoon superhero. And, he didn't move an inch through the entire show, which was quite lively. At least we knew if we were able to see around him, we should stay in that spot, because he was like the Rock of Gibraltar.

We stood in front of this nice kid from Indiana who asked me before the show if I'd seen Josh Ritter live before. He told me he'd seen him three times (this was my second show, Brian's third) and was clearly a fan. So much of a fan, in fact, that he sang along, verbatim, with each of the first three songs on the playlist in my ear. He must have gone to get drinks or something and eventually was not standing with his chin just over my shoulder for the rest of the show, so that wasn't as bad as it could have been. I am all for singing along, but from now on I will make sure I'm not so close to anyone around me that they might hear me and only me singing.

A few years ago, the state of Illinois enacted a smoking ban in all public places, including drinking establishments. I suggest they lift the ban in old music venues that have limited cleaning staff. The smell of stale cigarette smoke would be preferable to the scent that lingers in buildings like the Vic. It's sort of a cross between a sweaty foot and two-hour-old quesadillas...and they don't serve food in that place. In my 20s I'd have to air out my clothes after a night out because of the smoke smell that would get into my jeans. Last night I still had to do that to get the sweat smell out. Not my sweat, mind you. I guess we're all healthier despite the smell.

Other than these issues, the show was great. Josh Ritter is one of those performers that seems to really love his audience and his music. I can't remember the last time I paid such close attention to the songs I wasn't familiar with. And suprisingly, the whole experience taught me that we need to get out of the suburbs more often and take in more live music in this incredible city.

Honk if You Like Sitting Up

Eamon started sitting up a couple of weeks ago. The other night I made a run to Toys R Us to buy some blocks and a couple of other new items. Every time he plays with a new toy that requires him to sit up, he turns and looks at me like he's so proud of himself. When I took this picture, one of about 20 I took while he was "driving" this car, he literally posed for me, moving his hand from the green stickshift, to the steering wheel, to the horn for a quick "honk!"

God help me when this kid starts crawling.

Girl Gang

We live in an extremely safe suburb. Reading the local newspaper's blotter is hilarious, because the worst crimes reported involve someone's North Face fleece jacket getting stolen from their car (and at the end of the report it's revealed that the "victim" had left the car doors unlocked and the jacket on the front seat). Even the adjacent Chicago neighborhood has the lowest crime rate of any 'hood in the city. There is the occasional report of gang tagging on public property, but it's very rare.

Today Eamon and I were on our way home from a walk uptown when I spotted a group of teenaged girls walking towards us. I chuckled to myself at the memory of a friend who'd moved here after us and was slightly alarmed by the large numbers of high school kids hanging out in the coffee shops and movie theaters. Apparently large groups of clean cut teens make him nervous. I joked to Eamon, "There's a gang of teenagers, Eamon, think we can take 'em?"

As we got closer, however, I noticed something about these girls. They were all wearing bandanas on their heads. Some red, some blue. Were they the Park Ridge crips and bloods? What's next, "age" riots between the wealthy baby boomers and active senior citizens in town? It was both comical and confusing.

Stop stealing my playlist

A few years back, I got an iPod shuffle to give myself a little music during my daily (ahem) runs. As a teenager, I was a huge mix tape maker, always trying to come up with that perfect list of songs that would begin and end on the perfect notes. I still make mix CDs now and then, and I take pride in the playlists I create. Sometimes I think it's almost too easy now with iTunes to track down a single and purchase it with the click of the mouse. But I digress...

I thought I was so clever in creating my first running playlist, putting "Goodbye Girl" by Squeeze on it. A month later, an Under Armour commercial (featuring a girl going out for a run with headphones on) appeared on TV. Then I discovered the Kanye West song "Touch the Sky," whose lyrics always help me go a little faster. Soon I heard that played on some commercial for the NCAA or some other athletic organization. Recently I saw a cute little song I'd added to the list, "She Moves in Her Own Way" by The Kooks, now serves as the background for a Crystal Light workout drink. Come on now...It was bad enough when the Who sold every one of their songs to promote anything anyone would pay them for, then Iggy Pop's "Lust for Life" became associated with cruise ships. All my favorite songs become commercials.

Write a jingle, people.

Big Day Out

Yesterday was Eamon's first trip to Chicago's museum campus and lakefront and fortunately it was 75ish with blue skies all around. We met cousins Erin, Megan and Sean and Aunt Becky for a stroll by the water, with a stop for the big kids (and me) for ice cream. Nothing beats an ice cream sandwich on a warm, sunny day, by the way.

Regrettably, I forgot my camera at home, but when we pulled in the driveway and I got out to bring him inside, I decided this image pretty much sums up the effects of a day of fresh air. He was totally conked out. I can't wait for summer.

Getting Out of the House

Now that Eamon is able to fully see the world around him, I am making more of an effort to get out for longer periods of time and let him see and interact with different people. Last week we took him to the park for a turn on the baby swings (see picture). It was late in the day for him, so he was only semi-impressed with the experience. Today, however, we stopped at a different park in the neighborhood adjacent to our suburb, and he was so excited about that swing and everything around it (a train stop and the trains that came through, for one) that his mouth was wide open the entire fifteen minutes we were there.

Yesterday we finally made it to the "mom and baby" yoga class at the studio in Lincoln Square where I took prenatal yoga last summer. It really should be called, "Yoga for New Moms: It's Okay If You Bring Your Baby and S/He is Really Loud and Fussy." Most of the class involved Eamon lying on the blanket at the top of my mat while I did the poses. In fact, at the start of the class, we moms were instructed to lie on our backs with our arms out as she talked us through some relaxation techniques. I peeked down at Eamon and he was in the exact same pose as the adults. Soon, though he got a little antsy and I had to stop a couple of times to console him. Toward the end of class, we put the babies on our bellies and did some good abdominal exercises, which made him giggle and subsequently drool all over my shirt. Soon he was distracted by the cute 7-month-old girl on the mat next to us. He gazed at her for at least two minutes. She was cute, I have to say.

It's fun to watch him notice new people; he studies their faces awhile and decides whether or not he should smile cutely or frown and then burst into tears. Most often he smiles, especially at the ladies. Either way, it's nice to see him take in the big world outside.

Where to?

I had to post something new just so I wouldn't have to look at the picture of the three latest E! celebu-idiots.

Brian and I will be celebrating our 10th anniversary this November. It really doesn't seem like ten years, except when I think about some of the things I picked out for our wedding. One of the only things I still like is my dress. Amazing how one's tastes change from 25 to 35.

In celebration, and as an excuse to go on vacation, we are planning a trip of some sort. Nothing extensive, since we are now not only funding a retirement savings but also a college tuition savings, but a long weekend or four-day vacation would be great. We've considered Mexico, since it's a direct flight and relatively inexpensive, but we've been there already and, like our restaurant experiences, we hate to go to the same place twice. It's just such a big world, why repeat destinations? We've done the Caribbean, specifically the British Virgin Islands, but I suppose we could consider a different part of that region. We'd love to see more of Europe -- I am dying to get to Bruges, Belgium, but that is a long flight and we're leaving Eamon behind (sniff). And it takes just as long to get to Hawaii from here.

The possibilities are not exactly endless, but it is fun to think about going somewhere new to celebrate our 10 years together. Maybe we should get out the world map we had in our first apartment and throw a dart at it. The dart would probably land in, like, downstate Illinois.