Elevator Low and Rydell High

Last night was the last Movie in the Park in Grant Park for the season, and they were showing "Grease." We had a group of six girls there, spread across three blankets, and good food and many bottles of wine for the occasion.

The crowds filled the park, covering every square inch of grass possible, facing the enormous drive-in-style screen. The sound was good, and people actually quieted during most of the dialogue to let everyone hear the movie that has been a girl's night staple since 1978. The musical parts, however, became a virtual sing-a-long and it was just hilarious hearing thousands sing about "Summer Lovin'" and "Grease Lightning." There were even a few in shiny pink satin Pink Ladies jackets and bobby socks. Well done, ladies!

Even before I made it to the park to meet Jill, I had to bring the preparations. I had a blanket in my office for the occasion, and left in such a hurry that I got down to the lobby floor and remembered it, and went back up to grab it. Boarding the elevator for the second time, I pushed the lower level lobby button, and watched the doors close.

Two others boarded on lower floors (my office is up on 27) and then we made it to the express portion of the ride where we zoomed from the 19th floor down to the lobby. Inevitably, my ears popped.

This time, however, when the elevator car passed the lobby, it jerked, bounced, and went quiet. We hung there. We were literally suspended between the two floors. Granted, we were only one (and a half!?) floors off the ground, but I couldn't help but envision a Bourne Identity-style crash to the ground, with someone inside the elevator shaft standing atop the car hanging on to the steel cables.

Or, I couldn't help but think of the guy in New York who was caught in an elevator on the weekend for 41 hours. The link shows a time-elapsed video of his ordeal. I didn't want to be THAT guy.

We used the emergency call button to talk to the lobby, and had to yell in order for them to hear us. That was a ridiculous scene—three people standing in a tiny box, yelling at the wall. If only someone could see us now.

After we identified the elevator car we were in, they urged us to wait. We did. About five minutes passed, and I felt as if we were moving. The mind does weird things, especially as one starts to panic, so I wasn't sure if I was inventing the movement or if we were really sliding downward.

We must have been sinking that last 1/2 floor (10 feet?), because all of a sudden, the doors slid open and we were there. In the lower level, safely.

Relieved, we poured out and went on our way. It had crossed my mind that I had snatched some candy from our vending machine, so that could tide me over. And, I had the blanket and a book, so I could at least be cozy and occupied.

But, I did realize that I was leaving to go buy the wine for the movie in the park, so I didn't yet have that on my person. The cups and the corkscrew? Yep, had those. Maybe we could have pulled a MacGuyver with those and gotten ourselves free?

Luckily we didn't have to, and I made it to the park in time to see Danny and Sandy frolicking on the beach.

Sidenote/tangent: did anyone else realize, as you watch Grease as an adult, that a) there are a lot of subtle sexual innuendos in the movie that went right over my head as a pre-teen, and b) Danny and Sandy and all the T-Birds and Pink Ladies look WAY older than high schoolers. They look more like they're 30. I'm just pointing it out.

Grease is the word! (for an elevator cable, too?)

Should've Gone with the Peter Gabriel

A woman who showed up Sunday outside John Cusack’s Malibu home—despite a restraining order barring her from approaching the actor—was arrested on suspicion of stalking.

Do you think she went with the old 'hold the boom box up outside the window' approach, just to get John to Say Anything?

Or did she go all High Fidelity on him and list out the top 10 reasons why he should be friends with her?

Did she claim that it was Serendipity that had brought them together?

Nope.

In filing for his restraining order, Cusack accused her of throwing over his fence a bag containing love letters, rocks and screwdrivers.

Screwdrivers? I do hope they mean the kind with orange juice and vodka. Yum.

Otherwise, her behavior (and my puns) are just Grosse. Point Blank.

Crash Into Me

I watched the Oscar-winning film "Crash" again this week, and I feel the same way I did the first time. A sticky combination of sadness and acknowledgement.

The sadness part is easy.

There are sad storylines, sad endings, sad people and sad scenarios. This sadness is okay, though, because it proves that I'm a feeling and sensitive human being. And, it can be cured by a dose of Seinfeld or something else uplifting like eating a whole bag of Twizzlers Twerpz and telling myself it was just a movie and that it isn't real. But it is, and I know that deeper in my heart than I'd care to admit.

The acknowledgement part is a little more complex.

The message of the movie, in my humble and un-researched opinion, is that we ALL judge others based on stereotypes. And, that deep down, we don't really mean to be racist or judgemental or ignorant, but we sometimes are. And, we are often dealt the consequences of these actions, and we must acknowledge this.

I also think there is an underlying message of goodness—even the terribly unlikable characters, namely Matt Dillon's crooked cop—have a softer and more loving side to them that they don't show the world, just those whom they love. And, I'm certain that this is true to some degree. It is even possible that serial killers are nice to their mothers. But, I wonder about this notion. Are people inherently good, and we make bad decisions that make us bad people? This brings up the nature vs. nurture argument that is too heady for me to attack, but is definitely on my mind today.

Living in a relatively diverse city, but recognizing the divide that exists here geographically, socially, etc., it is impossible to ignore the fact that we are faced with countless opportunities (loosely using that word) to judge, or be judged, based on nothing more than what's on the surface. The color of our skin, the clothes we wear, the tattoos/piercings we boast, the cars we drive, the jobs we hold, and even the pets we walk. We pass judgements on people so quickly we're often not even aware that we're doing so. I'm guilty, and so are you.

I suggested to a few friends that I wondered if we all, meaning, all Americans, had to watch Crash, and engage in a healthy and vibrant discussion of the messages therein, would we be nicer and more forgiving of each other? Would we reduce our judgements down to those only when earned by specific words or behavior? Would we operate more "as one?"

Their opinion was a sad one, saying that people would likely inevitably revert back to their old ways after a few days/weeks of behaving more openly. That it was similar to how the country collectively "decided" to be nicer to one another after 9/11, and how within a month, the realities of human nature crept back in. It can also be likened to how you make all these geniune promises to change around the New Year, and by February first, you're back comfortably in your old rut. Given the movie's clever title and tagline, "Moving at the speed of light, we are bound to collide into with each other.", it would seem that much is true.

However, with the topic of race on everyone's mind, and the cover of every newspaper in America, I wonder about it though. Are we a country that could actually change?

It is possible that I am being too naive, and too simple-minded, to ascertain from all of this that educating Americans on racial stereotypes, and how to avoid falling into the same bad behaviors, would help?

Or are we just stubborn jerks with bad habits?

Personally, the final and resounding message of the movie was that of fear. Don't let fear dictate how you respond to people. Fear was a prevalent force in the movie, and it is alive and well in every city, town and suburb across America today, both in our hearts and in our minds. My wordsmith friend Sallie once told me that "responsibility" really was "response ability"—we have the ability to respond to a situation with dignity, open-mindedness, kindness, honesty and grace. I think those are real American values that we can use, and learn from.

Quite possibly I'm over thinking it, but it was worth a shot. And, a Netflix rental if you've not seen it. I didn't reveal anything that won't unfold within minutes of the opening credits anyway, except for a few opinions that are based on nothing more than life experiences and semi-critical thinking. Oh, and yes, I cried this time, too. Revealed that one just to level the playing field.

We're all human. At least that much is black and white.


Image courtesy of phlog that

I'll Drink to That

As St. Patrick's Day nears, I get more and more excited. And, more and more Irish, to tell you the truth. This entire city claims any percentage of Irish blood they have and wears it proudly.

Last night I saw the U2 3D IMAX movie at Navy Pier, and while the proximity to St. Patrick's Day was a coincidence, it sure did reinvigorate my love of the renowned Irish rockers. Their sound is timeless, the guitar work is incredible, and I just plain feel good while listening. Don't judge. You likely have some mainstream music floating around on your iPod.

The movie was great fun—life sized Bono, giant Larry Mullen, enormous Adam Clayton, and of course, an unwieldy version of The Edge. You could see everything, the band sounded amazing, and it really was like you were at the concert in Buenos Aires. Or Rio. Minus the sweating, crowd surfing, body shuffling and likely 12 hours in line outside to get in the arena.

[Author's side note/plea, I beg you not to comment by ripping on Bono's political rants, activism or lyrical world views. At least he puts his money, and his time, where his mouth is.]

Back to the tunes. In honor of the impending holiday (a.k.a. public drinkfest and excuse to wear the oft under-appreciated shade of kelly green), I give you my list of top Irish bands, in my particular order:

U2 (quite obviously)
The Cranberries
Snow Patrol
The Chieftans
Van Morrison
The Pogues
Sinead O'Connor
Flogging Molly—they definitely get best name, right?
Enya
The Corrs
Westlife
Thin Lizzy*
Boomtown Rats*

And, an honorary mention for Dropkick Murphy's. Yes, I'm aware they're from Boston (thanks, Janine). But their music makes me think of the sweaty Irish dancing scene from the dregs of the Titanic. And that can't be all bad, right?

*I had to look these up. Knew the names, knew one or two songs, but frankly, that's all. I confess.

Sliante!

Almost Famous

I walked right through the set of a motion picture this morning.

No, I didn't miss my flight back from LA. And, yes, I was fully awake.

In fact, I was dressed and on my way to work. Sure throws off that "she was just having a dream" theory. I had just crossed the bridge over the Chicago River, and then I see the ginormous movie camera on a huge black pivoting thingy. My cousin "in the biz" says that's called a crane camera. Ok then.

I see the crane camera, and then spot the sign below that says something about a motion picture being filmed, and that they're not held responsible if you are caught on camera doing something stupid like picking your nose. Or wearing ugly shoes. They're not liable.

As you may expect, I love movies, television and am especially fond of anything that involves showing Chicago off to the world. Only if it makes our fair city look good. Which, incidentally, half the time it does not. It was NEVER summer on "ER" and "Save the Last Dance" makes this city appear totally and completely dank, dark, scary and gang-infested. Which a lot of it is not.

I digress.

So, back to the set. I was quite pleased that they didn't stop me from walking through, but rather allowed me to enter the set, and cross through the "action" even after the director shouted just that.

Quiet on the set! We have a REAL LIVE CHICAGO COMMUTER COMING THROUGH. Oooh. I add authenticity.

Anyway, I didn't recognize the actors, but did notice that one guy had fake tears running down his face. Or was that the cold wind? The female actor was watching me walk, and in my head, she was thinking "that's just what I would be wearing if I worked at a cool Michigan Avenue ad agency." Yeah, probably not. She was probably eyeing the craft services table and was musing on her next latte purchase from Starbucks. But a girl can imagine, can't she?

I was secretly thrilled to be wearing my sunglasses (for that added vibe), and was really glad I'd put in the extra 10 minutes to straighten my hair. And put on lipstick.

Because you just can't risk looking dowdy, homely or otherwise unhip when your 10-seconds of fame hits the editing room floor.

Don't Discount the Irish Jig

Say what you will about my musical tastes, but I love U2.

I think they have an amazing (albeit historically similar) sound to their songs, and they can really rock out a live show.

And, now they are available in 3-D at your local IMAX Theater. (Bigger-than-Life Bono! Large Larry! Enormous Edge!)

I must admit that I will be going to see this, and will likely have to bite my tongue not to sing along out loud (now wouldn't THAT be fun for the rest of the theater-goers?)

Reading the article on cnn.com about this today, my favorite line was Bono's response to what it has been like to play for such amazing crowds all over the world. He commented that it was incredible to play in Mexico City, Rio de Janeiro and other Latin cities. He states, "Irish people are essentially Latin people who don't know how to dance."

As an Irish woman, who has partied for St. Patrick's Day many a time here in Chicago, I'll have to agree.

But then, on St. Patty's Day, isn't everyone Irish?

Better Than Licking the Pole

With the lovely white snow turning to grey mushy mess, and the holiday cards stacked on my table begging me to stay in and address them all, I did what any smart, seasonally-spirited woman would do.

I poured myself a glass of wine, turned on the Christmas lights, and reintroduced myself to my old friend Tivo.

Tivo has been good to me this season. He's loyal, dedicated, generous and, most of all, thoughtful. He records things he thinks I might like, based on other shows I've watched or recorded, and saves them for me to review.

Sometimes I am a bit embarrassed by what is in the list from Tivo.

For a while there, it was full of nothing but HGTV shows—"Divine Design," "My First Pace," "ReDesign," "Color Splash," and more. I am a huge fan, but, there is a limit to how many DIY decorating shows I can watch—especially given that I live in a 1,000 square feet apartment, that is totally decorated. Meaning, not much more I can do to it.

I digress.

So, the Tivo list lately has included some questionable doses of reality TV—"The Hills" (shameful, Tivo, but I love you for it), "The Girls Next Door" (can't do it), and "A Shot of Love" (wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole).

But, this weekend, Tivo was extra special kind to me. He recorded, one after another, all of the cheesy, sappy, romantic and all around silly Christmas movies. Makes you wonder what tipped him off?

I had a list of about 12 different ones, featuring titles like, "Under the Mistletoe," "A Christmas Romance," "The Christmas Shoes," "Christmas in Paradise," "Holiday in Handcuffs" (not kidding), and "Snowglobe."

Embarrassed to admit it, but I watched each one.

At some point in the last week and a half, I have practically overdosed on these flicks. I mean, there is a reason that most of them are on ABC Family channel. Because the only people who can stand that much MUSH are those with suburban homes, 12-foot pine trees, loving husbands, adorable children, jovial neighbors and, okay, overbearing in-laws.

Otherwise, you're just a sad single gal who should be out drinking spiced rum cider with her joyous single friends. Right?

I can't be blamed. I think Tivo has had it planned all year—get her nestled snug on the sofa, under a blanket and the glow of the fake Christmas tree, arms distance from the assorted wrapped gifts for loved ones, and spread red and green greeting cards all around the table—and then hit her with the holiday lineup.

All in all, I learned a few things from this cinematic overdose. (I'll share with you so you don't become trapped in the holiday movie marathon like I did, and waste the last precious moments of good shopping mayhem pre-Christmas):

• whatever you wish for while closing your eyes, staring out into the snowy yard, will come true

• if your husband dies or leaves you, by next Christmas you'll be back dating again (but only after you've been visited by his ghost and he's given you his blessing to "find love again")

• the malls in movies are never as unpleasant, crowded, hot or filled with crabby shoppers as they are in real life

• matching mittens, scarf and hat look pretty damn cute on actresses who are a size 2, but I still suspect I'd look like an overgrown doll who was left in the hands of Carson Kressley as a child

• snow doesn't melt on the hair or shoulders of people in the movies—just rests there, glistening—and it definitely never gets grey and mushy

• I'll take a Thanksgiving turkey over a Christmas goose any day

• Santa could use a few months on Weight Watchers, but then what would be the point of the big black belt?

• dimples are still a turn-on (ok, that was because of Mario Lopez, so sue me)

• B-list actors are making holiday movies by the dozen, with no apparent shame

• snow angels are definitely always going to be awesome, no matter how they try to ruin them in Hollywood

All in all, there are really valuable lessons to be learned there. Consider it my gift to you this season.

Totally biased side note: "The Christmas Story" is still the all-time best holiday movie, with markedly less fake cheer, mushy romance and a solid dose of a realistic, grumpy Santa. Apparently I cried when my Mom and Dad took me to see it in the theater as a kid—guess I didn't like the fist-fight scene. What a wimp. Maybe my parents can be blamed for my affinity towards cheesy Christmas movies?

Now get out there and go caroling, stay inside and bake cookies for your friends, or something else very suburban and spirited.

Your jovial neighbors will thank you.