see as i saw

This year's Christmas gifts to my parental units were experiential.  At the end of the day, spending time together engaged in a jointly agreeable activity seemed more meaningful than any material item that I could buy them.  And my hypothesis was proven correct; I'm not sure that my parents have ever thanked me so effusively for their gifts.

While mom and I had pre-Christmas day theater date at the Nutcracker, dad and I had a post-Christmas day theater date at Lincoln.  I suppose it was a theater kind of year, although it's safe to say they were vastly different environments.

Despite knowing the plot line and how Lincoln would end, thanks to all of the U.S. history classes of my youth, I found myself quite enmeshed in the story and the details.  Part of my time was spent mulling over whether Abe was an introvert, because that's been a theme piquing my interest during the past few months.  Then, of course, I wondered about the amount of historical accuracy.  Given that it was a Spielberg film, I hoped it was fictionalized only as much as necessary to fill in holes (and obviously there's always a bit of dramatic flair).

After sifting through a few articles where Lincoln/Civil War-era historians weigh in, it seems as though the script stuck pretty close to reality along the way.  And the details that were fabricated or amped up were not of a variety that it made the story misleading.  On top of that, I do believe that Mr. Spielberg made a film that Americans may watch without bemoaning how boring history is.

Despite my appreciation for the 70 degree December day, it's thrown me off-balance.  Pair that with the fact that it's Monday and clearly I was incapable of gaining equilibrium.  That means I have nothing thoughtful or provoking to share, no stories or adventures of substance.  Unless, of course, you're interested in the cilantro-garnished chorizo taco that I ate for lunch.  Highlight of the day.

Actually, I take that back.  Lunch was usurped on its pedestal by the later realization that a business trip next Tuesday will put me within 1,026 AAdvantage miles of the 30,000 needed for the lowest class "free" ticket to Ecuador.  And it just so happens that the timeframe in which I want to go is considered part of the off-peak season (also a necessary caveat to get the flight for 30,000 miles).

Thanks to some site where I was taking surveys for points during my unemployment this summer, I redeemed those points for 500 additional miles.  And a little internet digging tonight may have warranted me a promo code that doubles any miles earned through the end of the year.  That should be me at no more than 526 miles shy and hopefully the double miles pushes me beyond 30,000.

I'm not getting my hopes up that a flight will actually be available, because word on the street (internet) is that these lowest-class tickets are hard to get a grasp on.  Hopefully, since Ecuador isn't a huge destination for the average American, I'll have a fighting chance.

 I have a tendency to use the phrase "nerding out" with relative frequency.  Today it was used in conjunction with the categories of words and Excel formulas.

One of my co-workers developed an affinity for the word "evangelism" in the past 24 hours, and it became fodder for office conversation.  Clearly this seemed like a relevant time to share my favorite word.  Sesquipedalian.  It's quite apropos; feel free to look up the definition and you'll see why.

Then it also seemed relevant to share my word find of the week, thanks to Catch-22: avuncular.  There are very few occasions that I would have a purpose for this word, but I'm determined to find at least one.  Although, no one will be likely to follow my train of thought since it's not exactly one the 1,000 most used words in the English language.

After a morning of word nerding, it was time to dig into Excel.  Granted, I've been seeking new formulas for stats analysis over the past four weeks.  Today just happened to be filled with "vlookup", pivot tables and "concatenate" formulas.  There's also an "isna" formula that's become my close friend.  I can't help it, Excel formulas are like my own nerdy form of digital magic.

I love and embrace my nerdiness; it probably makes sense that I end up working in tech start-up environments.

I'm sure you've seen just as many articles and debates about the death of face-to-face communication, especially in regards to Generation Y and whatever they're calling the youngins these days.  As I was texting away this afternoon, I started thinking about the way in which this habit has changed the way we write...or type, rather.

Traditionally, it seems that writing was of a more formal nature, obeying punctuation and syntax rules.  As we've relegated phone calls and personal interaction to the past, the non-verbal forms have taken on more casual proportions.

Abbreviations and acronyms are only part of it.   In fact, we try to type out our communication to convey even the intonations and expressions that you would experience in person.  Emoticons :-/, draggggging out words with repeated letters...ellipsis to demonstrate a dramatic pause or open-ended thought...

I'm as guilty as most (although I do avoid the acronyms, they just bug me), hiding behind my technology for communication.  As a self-professed introvert, it's easier and more comfortable to send an email or a text.  Since it's become a social norm, I don't generally think twice about it either.

Yet, as a lover of all things grammar, punctuation and syntax, I have a difficult time accepting the virtual slaughter of the written word.  Pun intended.

After a day wrought with never-ending rain, we took a gamble and headed for the lakeshore.  Something that was once so prominent in my life, Lake Michigan sunsets, has become a rare treat now that I live on the sunrise side of the lake.  So during this weekend excursion home, I was intent on getting in at least one sunset in 2012.

Although the weather seemed likely to be a deterrent, it actually created a unique atmosphere for the scene.  While the light and color radiating from a sunset usually seems to take up the entire sky, the storm clouds left us peering toward the shores of Wisconsin for a peek.  To the south, the orange tones were streaked and blurred with rain.  For a couple of short minutes, standing at a vantage point high above the beach, we watched the sun slip through the cloud cover and over the horizon.

I'd be lying if I said this wasn't the typical tone of my Friday nights.  After sunset, we made our way back to the house for our rendition of girls' night: a glass of wine, comfy clothes and catching up on life.  No shame in being tame.

As if my travel list of "must go" destinations isn't long enough, and my current means just aren't enough, I let myself do things like follow travel-related Twitter accounts and click on travel sections within blogs.  Today those two actions alone have left my heart with anticipatory palpitations over the prospect of going on a South African safari, feeling insignificant in the powerful presence of Iguazú Falls, and camping at the base of yet another waterfall in Iceland.

Maybe I dream big about my future travels as a distraction from spending so much time in the same 550 square feet or the same three-mile radius.  It's no secret that I've enjoyed my sabbatical, but I'm beyond ready to return to an occupied life (which, consequently, can reinstate the means for feeding my wanderlust).

There's a promise that I have made to myself, but now I'm going to put it in writing.  It increases the odds that someone will hold me accountable for following through, just in case I start to over-think instead of act.  As soon as I secure regular income again, it's time to invest in a dSLR.  I want to transition myself from phone-tographer to photographer.

There is no doubt in my mind that I am an introvert by nature.  In my various perusings this summer, I've been coming across a fair amount of writing on this topic.  There tends to be an emphasis on extroverted traits in the United States, making them a sort of golden standard - especially in job-related situations.

Well, actually I was walking up to hydration station number three about fifteen minutes before the sun even managed to creep over the horizon.  As painful as a 4:30am wake-up call is to my body's equilibrium, there's something awe-inspiring about sunrise and early morning - seeing the world wake up, seeing the city before it wakes up.  I actually recommend a little jaunt down Lake Shore Drive at sunrise if you can manage to find the motivation.

So dawn found me mixing and pouring Gatorade, and the following three hours were spent handing them to runners representing their various Big Ten schools.  Clearly I was representing for the green and white, cheering on Spartan runners.  But I was benevolent enough to provide Gatorade to thirsty Wolverines, Buckeyes and Badgers (among others).

I can't help but be revved up for the start of football season.  It's like you put that many alum in one place, throw a fight song on the speakers, and you can't help getting infected by school spirit.  I didn't know a single person there, but we all smiled and yelled "GO GREEN!" at one another with the utmost familiarity.  Yes, part of me chose a college based on academics, but a decent portion of my decision was based on selecting a "pseudo-family" that I was excited to be a member of for life.

Just over a week ago, I decided to give my eardrums a break.  My comfortable earbuds crapped out a couple months ago, so I downgraded to the spare set that you always keep but would rather never have to use.  Besides the general discomfort, I actually started experiencing some inner ear pain and ringing on the left side.  That's when I realized just how much I was filling in hours of solitude with my iPod's company.

I imagine that I've been wearing headphones of some variety since the early nineties, and my parents have been admonishing me about going deaf over that same span.  And I only use a moderate volume on my personal music devices.

A little digging turns up a 60/60 rule - keeping your earbud time to 60 minutes a day at no higher than 60% max volume.  I guarantee I was breaking at least half of that rule nearly every day.  But, I'm rather averse to permanent hearing damage.  Supposedly the first thing to go is the middle ranges, those required to hear conversations in noisy restaurants.  There's nothing but noisy restaurants in Chicago and who wants to be that girl on a date?  "Huh? What?"

The day started pleasantly and promising enough.  By 10:00am I had already worked in a three mile walk by the lake, a shower and breakfast.  I made a command decision that today would be a Starbucks coffee day, thanks to a few bucks remaining on my gift card.  After navigating the crowd in my tiny neighborhood coffee joint, my iced coffee and I traveled to a park bench.

It was more than an hour before the sun started to fade out and the dark sky rolled in.  I was making such great progress on The Grapes of Wrath, only five pages left.  Determination to make that book a part of my past instead of my present (it's been a struggle to read a book I'm not enjoying) allowed me to convince myself that I could easily make it home before the rain.  I was partially correct.

Finally finished, I started toward home, a mere three blocks away.  The sky was ominous and intriguing, so I saw no harm in stopping for a photo.  Then the dust started gusting into my eyes, leaves were pouring out of trees onto my head, and I could hardly walk forward or in a straight line.  Garbage bins were crashing and burning onto the path one or two steps behind me.

It became unclear whether I should duck into a doorway or try to make it home.  Part of my mind was flashing through scenes from Twister, anticipating an F5 in the next thirty seconds.  Ultimately, I decided that I'd rather be in my own building should it come to that; there was comfort in the idea of a secure underground level.  As I started crossing the street, my mass of hair whipping in front of my face, there was a sound of metal screeching on concrete.  Sure enough, a large metal sculpture on the sidewalk corner had just tipped into the street as easily as a chess pawn.  If that wind was taking down ten feet of metal, I had no business being outside.  Time to pick up the pace.

I jogged the next block and a half, noting tree branches on cars, people cowering in alleys and doorways, other people jogging toward wherever, metal torn away from telephone posts, dislodged signs.  These winds had been in effect for no more than three minutes and I was clueless about what else was coming.

Once I stepped inside my building, and checked that my car was debris-free, my heart rate slowed, but I noticed that there was a little tremor in my hand.  Checking out the weather radar quelled any worries, seeing that I was on the northernmost edge of a front heading southeast.  Of course, that made me wonder what the center of the storm looked like.  A few highlights, according to the National Weather Service: "damaging wind in excess of 60 mph, large hail, deadly lightning".

A recent conversation brought up a latent item on my to-do list: volunteering.  I have long wanted to get involved with an organization or cause and make a meaningful difference.  There were brief spasms of motivation, passive internet browsing for opportunities.  At the end of the day, I always tended to lean on my job as a crutch.  Weekdays were a time crunch.  On weekends I was "exhausted" and wanted the time to relax.  Loads of excuses, no action.

With this in the forefront of my mind, I decided to spend fifty minutes of my day watching Undercover Millionaire, a show that I was vaguely aware of.  Let's get something straight: I'm far from a millionaire and am not capable of emulating that whole writing big checks part of the show.  What really stuck with me was their tactic for finding organizations in whichever town they set foot in.  Hit the pavement and walk into any place that looks like a non-profit or has a sign loudly yelling, "NEED VOLUNTEERS!"  Yet another instance where I've let my overthinking turn into lack of action. Sure, there may be some things that my skill set is better suited to or an organization that really hits home for me.  Honestly, though, no matter who I help...I'm helping.  And isn't that the point?

I have heard grumblings about the inconveniences of redeeming frequent flyer miles, whether it was coming from a rewards-based credit card commercial or an actual consumer.  Frankly, I didn't even attempt to accrue airline miles until a few years ago when my travel frequency (and distances) hit an uptick.  Upon nearly closing in on the magic number that qualifies me to fly for "free", I'm learning some things.

A trip to Central America or a subset of South American countries will cost you 15,000 miles each way. My sights set on Ecuador, and my points balance around 26,000, I was practically ready to pack my bags.  Until I started perusing the rewards flight schedule.  On about two days each month, I can find a flight from Chicago O'Hare to either of the international airports in Ecuador at a cost of 15,000 miles.  Across a span of six months, I could not find a single day that would grant me access back to the United States for less than 30,000 miles.  So, I guess that debunks the 15,000 miles each way story.

I tried looking into flights on another airline within the same alliance, because word on the street is that they'll accept your miles, too.  Unfortunately, their site provided me with a less than friendly user experience and I simply gave up.  A final attempt at creative thinking was my last ditch effort for the day.  What if I redeemed 15,000 miles for my outgoing flight, then paid for the one-way flight back home?  As it turns out, that one-way return flight cost only $88 less than an entire round-trip ticket.  Hardly worth it.

The good news is that through all of this, I'm pretty positive that Ecuador will be my next destination.  It's just the when and how long that remain to be determined.

 Sometimes the universe hands you days that are so beautiful that you can't help but make concessions.  Friday was meant to be a productive day, and it was until noon.  Then my book and I found a park bench in the sun.  Today made such a valiant effort to be better than yesterday that I felt obliged to partake in another act of indulgence.  There's something about summertime weather that calls for a margarita.  And when you have a margarita, you might as well throw in some enchiladas.

I have lived in Chicago for nearly three and a half years, and I'm always wondering how I can live so close to Lake Michigan and not know anyone with a boat.  There were so many watercraft just pining away in their slips today, unused and unloved.  Don't boat owners know that there are people like me who would love to extend much needed attention to their expensive toys?  Do you think there's any potential in a service that's like dog walking, except you take people's boats out for a spin?  If not, then I guess I'll continue to be a failure at having a friend (or even an acquaintance) with a boat.

Usually I turn right on the Lakefront Path, because the beach and lake views don't disappear.  I decided to finally give into the left turn and was graciously rewarded.  I make no secret of my love for the scent of lilacs; who needs roses.  Multiple rows of lilac bushes qualified this as a grove, in my opinion.  It seems I wasn't the only camera wielding Chicagoan that was smitten either.

I also spent a little time in the park, just me and a Coelho book basking in the sunshine.  That is until a toddler approached my bench.  I said hello, expecting her to toddle by or be swept up by a parent momentarily.  Nope.  She climbed up next to me and smiled like we were old friends, started spewing gibberish and giggling.  I helped her figure out how to set her bottle down so it didn't tip, she reached for my apartment keys.  Finally dad appeared with the stroller and parked himself two feet in front of us.  Interestingly, he didn't sweep her up and rush away (I suppose that means I don't look threatening?).  I played a couple rounds of word recognition with the kid.  (She got "keys" correct, but called my book a "rock"...)

There's a point to this story, beside the fact that a dad let his baby interact with a random girl in the park. I found myself slightly envious of her unworried, free-spirited nature.  She had no qualms walking right up and interacting with me.  There was no over-analyzing, no fear of rejection or awkwardness.  When she saw something of mine that interested her, she didn't stop herself from being inquisitive.  Obviously we give more concessions to a two-year-old who is just discovering the world.  I probably would've been less supportive of a 40-year-old woman acting the same way.  So, my question here is: when does it stop being seeming socially acceptable to approach people without invitation and insert yourself into their day?  What is the dividing line between innocent and invasive?

Nothing like living in the Midwest, segueing from 85 degrees and humid yesterday to 60 and breezy today.  Despite heat, humidity or rain, I have urged myself to work out four days in a row.  I couldn't actually tell you the last time that I put together four consecutive workouts; it wasn't in 2012.  Given my budgetary restrictions, overpriced Chicago gyms aren't on the agenda.  So, I'm relying on my own motivation and taking it to the lakefront every morning.  There's something inherently peaceful about facing the water or the skyline, even when you're doing lunges and squats.

My goal is six days a week, but five will be acceptable.  That sounds more hardcore than it is.  These aren't very high intensity workouts.  I do have to consider the fact that I could come up against some rather worthy opponents still: cold and rain.

If only I could've actually spent today napping on the beach, instead of just employing it as a play on words for this photo.  Although 60 degrees and sunny is nice for the spring time, it just doesn't live up to that amazing summer-like week in March.

My only hesitance about using this photo for today is that the bulldozer says, "GO SOX".  I would like to provide a disclaimer stating that I am not a Sox fan.  But I'm not exactly a Cubs fan either.  It seems that my blood runs thick with Michigan sports teams, even if I'm no longer a resident.  So, just pretend that dozer says, "GO TIGERS" - or, better yet, "GO WINGS".

Since the renouncement of my unlimited monthly rides CTA pass, I've been sticking pretty close to home most days.  Most things outside of two miles from my front door don't warrant a visit.  This has been standard operating procedure for just over a month; I keep waiting to run out of photo inspiration, especially since I've been walking these same areas for three years.  Perhaps my eyes are just a bit sharper these days, but there seems to be no end to interesting shapes, colors, textures and juxtapositions.  When the summer weather becomes a little more dependable, I'll consider braving the Chicago streets on my bike and expanding my exploration radius.

Once upon time, my friend was in the homestretch of his twenties.  He used to describe himself throughout these years as "abstractly approaching 30".  At the time, I was freshly 21 and brushed off the concept of feeling old while you're still in your twenties.  There came a day when I hit that hidden threshold and found snapshots in time where I just feel plain old.  Now that I'm 28, I'm also adopting the terminology.  As of this first day of spring in 2012, I'm abstractly approaching 30.

Although my standard is one photo a day, I felt the need to make today a condensed, visual journey of how an unemployed urban dweller spends their birthday in unseasonably warm weather.  Is it anything mindblowing?  Not at all.  I would say, hands down, that it was the most relaxing and enjoyable birthday I remember having...probably ever.  

My morning started with reading in bed, followed by a self-made french toast breakfast.  A shout-out to Starbucks for providing me with a free iced mocha to enjoy while I walked to DSW, where I bought myself a small birthday present of new summer sandals (and thanks to a coupon, a free package of athletic socks).  Then I spent three hours soaking up the sun at the lake, alternating between reading, napping and people watching.  Usually I wear a winter jacket on my birthday, or carry an umbrella in best case scenarios; today I wore my swimsuit.  The icing on the cake (pun intended) was a ringing in 28 in company of the people that Chicago has made near and dear to me.

Over the years, I have spent a lot of effort not allowing myself to attribute meaning to birthdays.  There were too many of them that underwhelmed expectations.  I can honestly say that the past two years, in all of their simplicity, have chipped away at my skepticism.  There are good people surrounding me and I've realized that my birthday only highlights that, helping me remember to be thankful.  So, the 28th birthday is in the books and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm heading into a new year with optimism and anticipation.

On this particular Saturday in Chicago, there are generally two annual activities people partake in: watching the river get dyed green and drinking heavily from the morning hours and beyond.  I choose to forge my own path.  Instead of standing in hordes watching a river, I ran along the lakeshore.  Then I sunk into the comfort of my own couch to watch some more March Madness.  That's more my style of a March holiday.  Instead of spending half of a paycheck drinking green beer, I used a coupon and helped myself to some Jamba Juice.

So, maybe it makes me the minority, more like a resident of a retirement community than Chicago.  Luckily I have friends that share in this view of a relaxed Saturday sans drunken debauchery.  Since I do have a bit of Irish heritage, allow me to wish you a Happy excuse-to-get-wasted-regardless-of-ancestry day!  I would say that I had just as much fun as anyone in the bars, while I spent less than $5 and won't drag through Sunday sporting a hangover.