Let It Snow

This post was originally titled, “Hibernation,” and was going to be a treatise on staying in during winter in order to avoid the cold and snow. I will admit it upfront: I do not like driving in the snow. It’s scary and can be stressful, and my little Honda Civic feels like a deathtrap. I dread having to drive anywhere: work, the grocery store, my condo. Still, we have only had two big snowfalls this winter, and if I wasn’t traumatized enough after witnessing a woman have to drive through a red light because she couldn’t stop, or after almost crashing into a railing over 294 because I was sliding, seeing cars end up in ditches, or having to–this is the worst–clean my car in the middle of a raging blizzard, I think I will be just fine. Here’s the thing: some really amazing things have happened to me during crazy snowstorms.

In 2000, my mom took me shopping on a day so snowy and crazy that the mall closed early, but not before I found the perfect little black dress for a party I was invited to by my crush.

In 1999, I went on a road trip with my sister and two cousins to Indianapolis for a Backstreet Boys concert (yeah, yeah, hilarious). We stayed there two nights. On the second night, the weather was insane, but we still drove to the drive through liquor store to get some beers. That was an awesome trip. It’s one of those things that I can’t believe we did, especially in those conditions. It makes for a great memory, though.

In 2009, my niece Juliana was born. It snowed that night. Having been born in August, I can maybe brag that it was sunny. I think snow makes for a cooler birth story.

In 1999, there was a snowstorm so bad that it forced everyone to stay in. My family and I hung out in the basement, played mahjong, and drank. Then, once the snow stopped and the alley and streets were clear enough so that we could go somewhere (and the piled up snow was taller than I was), we went shopping. We were carefree and simply enjoying each other’s company.

In elementary school, we used to play on the snow mounds made by the snowplows at the end of the parking lot during recess.

In 1994, I have this distinct memory of having walked in snow that was up to my crotch. I was wearing my school uniform: red plaid skirt, white tights, and boots. It was a wild thing for me to do, but a much more efficient way to get into the car versus walking around the snow.

For many years, the Zoo Lights Festival at Lincoln Park Zoo was something I loved to visit. Hanging out at the zoo, in the city, at night. Having hot cocoa and snuggling with someone you like or love. Bundled up in a great jacket, wrapped in a scarf, wearing gloves and earmuffs.

I was tickled to see people sledding and even skiing in a park by my parents’ house the day after the most recent snowfall. What a reward to enjoy the snow with your family and friends after a dreadful commute the day before.

I dread winter, I worry about driving in the snow, but I love winter in Chicago. I love that a little snow doesn’t stop us. I love how my snot freezes up when its below zero. I love sweaters and my puffy jackets and my wool coats. I love the feeling of turning off my car after driving through snowfall. I love snowmen and snowladies and snowpants.

So, let it snow, Chicago. Let it snow. Just try to snow on days or times when I don’t absolutely need to drive. And be kind to Lake Michigan and Lake Shore Drive.

The Accordion Years

Every summer, from age 10 through age 20, I could count on spending at least three days in a hotel, surrounded by music and musicians. I was one of those musicians, and I was armed with my axe. I was armed with my accordion.

How music became the big extra-curricular activity of my young years is simple yet mysterious. Show me an Asian-American and I’ll show you someone who took piano or violin lessons at some point in their life. The mystery is in how and why it became so important. My parents aren’t musicians. A musical career was never a goal of mine. I had a lot of peers, but none of them took it as seriously as I did.

At age 5, I began taking piano lessons, following in the footsteps of my older siblings. Around the same time, at the recommendation of family friends, my brother started taking accordion lessons. It was weird, interesting, and new. I used to watch him practice and would tag along for his lessons.

My bro. When I started playing, this accordion was handed down to me. It was my first of three accordions and my favorite.

Our entire family would support my brother during his competitions–competitions during which players are grouped by age and/or skill level, take turns playing a solo, and are judged and ranked by a professional musician. There weren’t just solo competitions, either. There were duets. And there were bands. I’m not talking about a rock band. I’m talking about a band of accordions. An accordion orchestra. A musical group made solely of accordion players, directed by a conductor.

I started accordion lessons at age 9. It would be easy to say that I loved playing because I was good at it. Upon further reflection, though, I know there were solid reasons for loving it. It was something I could share with my brother. It may be cheesy, but my brother truly was my hero and role model growing up. I had a wonderful connection with my teacher. She not only taught me how to play the instrument, she gave me great advice on life and love, and was the type of mentor that every young person should have. Playing led to relationships with people and shared experiences. I made connections that I wouldn’t have otherwise made.

I think what I loved most was the instrument itself.  The relationship between the accordionist and the accordion is physical and intimate. Not only did I carry the instrument, it was strapped onto me and was physically close to my body. The accordion breathes; the deeper the breath, the louder the sound. The accordion can whisper. It moves because I move. Transferring emotion to the instrument was easy. There’s something else about the accordion that I think I appreciated on a subconscious level. When an accordion player performs, the instrument is what the audience focuses on. I don’t know about you, but when I watch a piano player or guitar player, I’m looking at the performer, not the instrument. I was a shy girl, and the accordion was easy to hide behind. It did all the talking for me.

Here I am with accordion #2. Age 15.

I immediately began entering music competitions. I won first place at my first contest. In my entire competitive career, third place was my worst placement. It’s not as if I was competing against hundreds of people. There were always more piano or violin players. But that doesn’t mean that accordion competitions weren’t extremely competitive, at least for me. My goal was to always place first, and I usually succeeded.

I can’t speak for anyone else, but I was a serious competitor. I couldn’t eat anything until it was over. I couldn’t talk to anyone until it was over. Usually, all the competitors sit in the room and listen to each other play. After a few years, I couldn’t stand to do that, and would sit outside until it was my turn, then leave once I was done. One of my regrets is that I never watched my best competitor play. We competed in two categories at one of the national competitions I went to. He won one of the categories, I won the other. At the awards ceremony, I could tell that we were both disappointed for not taking first in both categories. The other players from his school were surprised he took 2nd in something. The other players in my school were surprised that I took 2nd in something. I really wish I could’ve seen him play. I never saw him again.

Two local organizations and three national organizations held competitions annually. I loved competing and would participate whenever I could. I had duet partners and I played in bands. I cheered on my friends who were also competing. It was a big deal to me. I was Illinois State Champion. Competing took me to Toronto. Minneapolis. Houston. Grand Rapids. Oconomowoc. Branson. Kansas City. Philadelphia. DC. New Orleans. I’ve played on the streets of Galveston, at the Liberty Bell, at the Daley Center, on the steps of the Capitol, in Jackson Square. My brother even toured the Philippines with a group of accordionists. I have trophies that I have no idea what to do with, including two that are four feet tall. I cried when our basement flooded and I realized that I had lost all my competition score sheets.

Professional photo! With accordion #3. My Gorbachev forehead scar really stands out in this photo.

When I decided to quit playing at age 19, I really quit. I put the accordion in the box and walked away. The years that I spent focusing and practicing seem like another lifetime, like they belong to another person. I take the accordion out once in awhile. My shoulders, arms, and legs ache from the weight of it (my heaviest one is well over 20 pounds).

These days, if you tell someone you play the accordion, they’ll reward you with cool points (thanks, Harmony, if you’re reading this). God knows that I never played the accordion to be cool. I played because I loved it and because I was really good at it. Being that-girl-that-plays-the-accordion was my thing, but it was something very private at the same time. Ask any of my non-accordion friends about my accordion career, if you can call it that, and they’ll have very little to tell you.

If I’m ever feeling brave enough and practice really hard, I might – MIGHT- post an audio or video recording of myself playing. In the meantime, enjoy this video. I saw this live.. it’s unreal to see it posted on the Internet.

And another. Video is shaky, but this is f’in awesome.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ny4lJj441Go

Girls Gone Wild

Girls can be pretty crazy when they shop, but you haven’t seen crazy until you attend a girls shopping event. Last night, I went to Shecky’s Girls Night Out. Now, I can talk about all the great stuff I saw, the awesome goodie bag, or the cute headband I bought, but the crowd is what I really want to talk about.

This is the first one of these I’ve gone to, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was mostly excited to get my goodie bag. A group of girls checked in at the same time I did. Here’s what happened:

Girl #1: Oh my god, this is sooo cool!
Girl #2: Look at all the people!
Girl #3: We get wristbands, how cool!
Girl #2: Let’s take a picture by the sign!
Girl #1: Did I leave my camera in the car?
Girl #3: Where’d my ticket go?
Girl #2: Smile, you guys! *camera click*

Those were the uber-excited girls. Next to them, you had the serious shoppers. I won’t even attempt to recap the conversations I heard because, let’s face it – I’m not cool enough to know what the hell they were talking about. But these girls weren’t there to have a good time. They were well-dressed, seriously looked at the merchandise, and talked at length with the vendors.

Most everyone was in a bubbly mood. Maybe it was because of the complimentary drinks. Maybe it’s because they were having a great time with their friends. Some people were total bitches, though, getting all mad because I was in their way. Uh, hellllooooo… can’t you see that it’s crowded?

Then there are the hogs and hoverers. The hogs stand and look at something and don’t move. They just stand there. In your way. Usually, the hogs end up buying nothing. The hoverers stand behind the hogs. They move their heads and bodies in any way they can in order to get a view of what the hogs are looking at. The ideal situation is when the hogs are 5 feet tall and the hoverers are 6 feet tall.

Me? I look from afar and get close only when interested. Events like this where the vendor is in your face are a little awkward for me. I feel badly when the seller is really nice but I don’t like their product. Sometimes I’ll decide not to purchase something if the seller isn’t genuine or if they’re pushy (eg, “Oh yes. That furry wristband is sooo you.”). I don’t like to haggle, I don’t like it when people watch me try on stuff, and I’m sometimes annoyed when other customers comment on what I’m looking at or trying on. Lastly, I always need a buddy at events like this.

I view Girls Night Out as an actual girls night out. You could get a makeover, a manicure, try on clothes and accessories comfortably, get advice from the vendors or any of the women around you, and truly be as girly as you want to be. Women of all shapes, sizes, ages, and ethnicities could be found at the event. The vendors didn’t seem to cater to a specific group: there was truly something for everything at the event. It was a safe haven. At what other event would you feel comfortable trying out stripper aerobics in front of a bunch of strangers? Don’t answer that.

Someone Dance With Me

Mom: What’s wrong?
Me: *sniff* N-n-nothing.
Mom: Why are you crying?
Me: Sh-shut up.
Mom: You’re crying at the TV? All they’re doing is dancing! Oh my gosh.

I.am.a.crybaby. I allow myself to get emotionally touched by television, movies, books, etc. It can be so freeing and cathartic that I sometimes deliberately watch or read something that I know will move me to tears.

It’s usually obvious things that make me cry: the end of most of the Harry Potter books, Buffy episode “The Body”, Steel Magnolias. But something surprising has affected me in ways that I cannot explain:

DANCE.

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Mata Traders: I Love My New Top

mata

I’m totally going to rip off Mindy Kaling right now and talk about something I bought over the weekend that I LOVE. I found the polka-dot printed scoopneck top pictured above at the Mata Traders tent at the Do-Division Street Fest. I tried it on at the festival, but unfortunately there were no mirrors. Thanks to mi prima and my blind faith, I got the size I thought fit best. I just tried it on…I LOVE IT. It fits pretty well and I think it makes me look pretty.

Mata Traders is based in Chicago. All of their products are fairly traded. Everything they sell is just beautiful. I’ve seen them a few times when they have set up shop at Lollapalooza. They also have a store in Andersonville.

Click here to find out more about Mata Traders.

Click here if you don’t get the Mindy Kaling reference. Or just follow Mindy on Twitter. You won’t be sorry – her run fantasies almost make me want to go running. Almost.

I Can't Believe I'm Admitting This, But…

…Jewel Taco Dip is the BEST junk food ever. It’s got cheese, chili, beans, tomatoes, and (usually) green onion. I wish I had a fresh package that I could take a picture of. Whenever I’m feeling really piggy, it’s the first thing I think of. I’ll definitely take a picture next time I get some, which hopefully won’t be for awhile.

Find the taco dip in the prepared foods section of your local Jewel grocery store.

Sweet Leaf Tea

sweetleaf

Yum. Picked up a bottle at Whole Foods today (and was pleasantly surprised when I looked at my receipt and saw that they were on sale). Refreshing and tasty – plus, it’s organic. And it reminds me of good times at Lollapalooza!