Well, this weekend was/is somewhat dedicated to moving, except there's not a whole lot to move. I got my futon up two flights of stairs on Friday night to sit opposite the living room's faux-fireplace, and some guy (found on craigslist) sold me a dresser for $20 and delivered it for free. Aside from such furniture-related events, taking eight hours of standardized tests (a rotten story for another rotten day), buying household things like brooms and trash can liners and 80's-style trappings for our 80's-style bathroom, welll, maybe that's all she wrote. Things to attain ASAP, in order of importance:

1) a carafe
2) some way of heating edibles, be it microwave or gas
3) a bed

Ahhh! We got approved for an apartment. Moving in this weekend. Exciting!

In other news, I am workin' at a holistic healer's office to pay the billz and I received a gratis realignment yesterday. I felt light-headed and drifty and FANTASTIC. More, ploooooioiissssseeee.

Prior to living in Japan I had never been fully exposed to the glories of public transportation. And while the efficiency and cleanliness of JR East has likely spoiled for life my judgments of public transpo, I intend to be an appreciative and satisfied patron for quite some time. I'm currently doing a solid job of it, what with my car parked in Mundelein and ridiculous gas prices inspiring me to leave it there for many moons. Yesterday, while experiencing the stylings of the #70 Division eastbound bus and seriously enjoying the antics of the driver and my fellow passengers, I was struck by the different forms of entertainment available to Japanese and American riders in their respective countries.

The most entertaining form of train antics in Tokyo was definitely the wide range passengers falling asleep in awkward and revealing positions, i.e. with heads back and mouths open, leaning unabashedly on their fellow riders, or bobbing their heads in a state of oscillating sleep/wakefulness. Other forms of entertainment included: lasses busting out huge cartoon-decorated mirrors and artfully applying/touching up their makeup regardless of others' proximity, men perusing pornography (cartoon or otherwise) or other cleverly concealed literature, women wearing yukata (and men in jinbei) during fireworks season, drunken salarymen and uni students being hoisted between two slightly-more-sober comrades and, if this does indeed count as entertainment, being totally smashed up against people/glass/metal and trying not to feel awkward.

On the CTA, though, the entertainment is much more varied and often involves conflict or anger. First and foremost I notice that my fellow Americans are not afraid to look me in the eyes during my travels, meaning that my travels often leave me wondering whether I look particularly good or particularly bad. Yesterday's trip involved a heated (and totally baffling) shouting match between the driver and a disgruntled patron much to the enjoyment of everyone on the bus who could see/hear the whole ordeal. After the shouting match, enter stage right: a fellow with a totally souped-up haircut and some amazing jewelry who appeared to know about half of the bus. He rode about one block, all the while eating french fries, telling questionably funny jokes (?) and causing gales of laughter amongst his cohorts. On the *same* bus the driver asked me for directions as I got off: "hey, do you know where there's a library around here? I'm supposed to park there if I'm ahead of schedule." Ridiculous.

So the moral of the story: public transportation provides a worldwide civic stage, and we should all love it for that.

Today was an exciting one. I worked four hours, took the train out to Mundelein and back, went for a non-epic but definitely enjoyable run, sat through a super performance of Verdi's Requiem and finally went out. The capstone experience of the whole day was definitely seeing the gentleman featured to the left (both vocalist and sex symbol according to the scads of acclaim on his website) display his fearsome vibrato vocalizations. Ah, no, on second thought I think the capstone experience was actually the post-concert reminiscing about my former fantastic Tokyo roommate Olivia (if you click on that link, yes, I look rough . . . but she, always, unfailingly, looks good). The reminiscing was ROTCL¹ hilarious, and I've come to the conclusion that in times of trepidation (?), a solid Tokyo reminiscence can be topped by few others . . . not even by heavy operatic bass vibrato, though it comes close.

¹Rolling On The Couch Laughing

I don't think I've written a weekend play-by-play in many moons. Ready Set GO.

Friday I got pretty sick, possibly due in part to a delicious omelet and pancake dinner at the Golden Nugget. I was up until 4:00 a.m. Gross.

Saturday the weather was beautiful in the a.m. and as Jake and I had been impressed while carrying out an epic 20k¹ run up to Montrose Harbor sometime last week, four of us decided to head up there for grilling and sake drinking to celebrate hanami (for an alternate explanation/account of 2005's debauchery look no further). It was an awesome idea until a steely army of clouds absconded with all available sunlight, the temperature dropped sharply, our 46 pounds of meat refused to cook all the way through, and we were foiled by both a lack of tinfoil (oh, snap!) and the non-existence of fuel for starting/maintaining the type of trash-can bonfire that our neighbors were cultivating much to our green-eyed envy. This chilly debacle was soon remedied, however, by the George Foreman and an egg-dying bonanza that washed our cares away.

Sunday held its own delights. I woke up in the blitzingly early a.m. to go to a church service at which my roommate was playing/sight-reading in an Easter quintet. Due to navigating the CTA like never before (while wearing a truckload of black clothes as my Easter hat and petticoats wouldn't fit into the suitcase out of which I'm currently living), I made it on time and afterward enjoyed the company of musicians amidst the stylings of an Easter brunch including (in order of appearance) beer, mimosas, french toast and show-stopping ambrosia salad. After the champagne took its toll, a rainy 3:00 train ride provided access to the day's second house of worship, this time to see Jake's roommate Vicki's theater troupe's papier mâché-puppet-laden musical version of the Passion of Christ. Awesome. I've been waiting to see that performance for months (seriously), and it did not disappoint. Naturally, the papier mâché and the long, rainy ride home whetted our appetites for the day's second huge meal of jellybeans, beer, lamb, a million other savory tidbits, and collared greens.

Then I exploded. The end.

¹It looks way impressive using kilometers, no?

Still waiting on that apartment . . .

Today I was the recipient of a delicious haircut at the salon located directly inside the building in which I'm currently a resident. After extensive work trying to set up an appointment for a free cut as a model, I caved and purchased the service. Sigh. But it was totally worth it. For one blitzingly red hot New York minute, I considered risking blasphemy by claiming today's cut even more glorious than my $2.00 Chinese haircut, but, mmm, nothing can beat the Chinese haircut. NOTHING.





So I'm posting this photo as an exercise in both vanity and curiousity as to the quality of the so-called "multimedia messages" sent from my wee Nokia. I'm fairly impressed, having imagined no product emblazoned Verizon could possibly live up to the amazing functionality of my old Vodafone as well as mine appears to have done.

I could in theory be posting more photos of adventures such as apartment hunting, running, temping, tutor training (boring, boring, boring, boring) or purchasing/sampling Crack Sandwiches (not boring) from the Korean supermarkets on Pulaski during one occurence of what have become regular fits of Asian nostalgia/withdrawl. BUT I don't have the USB cable that connects my camera to my compy. Alas. So sit tight . . .

Yesterday I applied for the awesomest of awesome apartments. It's in a deliciously sweet location just north of Lakeview and has beautiful windows with stained glass details, a garden-level finished basement, copious amounts of sunlight, built-in shelves aside a faux (fawks)-fireplace, wooden floors and mint-green tile, acceptable proximinity to the Montrose stop on the Brown Line (map), ownership by a devoted ND subway alumnus, an amazingly fitting price and . . . a bathroom in the kitchen. Woah -- a bathroom in the kitchen?! What's that all about? I don't know either. But it doesn't matter; I would jubilantly shower in the sink every day for a year if it meant doing it in this apartment. I MEAN IT. Allegedly a couple other folk already applied, but I'm hoping winning charm and ND ties will get me in the door. GOSH.

Of course, this apartment does indeed violate some of the stringent parameters set with/by our comedic agent at the apartment people, those being:

1) A White Hen inside the building
2) An indoor pool
3) A fenced-in courtyard for the purpose of sunbathing
4) A Phoenix¹ lounge²

One may think these parameters impossible to meet but, in fact, we have seen each of them in some form at least once. But never all four together. It's almost too much to hope for.

¹As an addendum to prior posts, of interest to perhaps only Lizett, and according to copious googling, allegedly there should be NO plural for the word phoenix because according to mytholody there is never more than one Phoenix in existance at any one time.
²One surrounded on three sides by windows

My jasmine tea smells like a donut, but tastes like jasmine tea. Is there any culinary/scientific explanation for such a phenomenon? I need answers, and I'm not satisfied with this article's explanation that, "with respect to the attributes surface and one hole the doughnut and the [tea mug] are equivalent," because appearance/design has nothing to do with flava', if you know what I'm sayin', and I think you do.

My housing situation is unchanged, and the parties I throw every night in my host's absence are totally awesome. My transpo situation is slightly changed, as I recently drove to a driveway in Mundelein where I dropped off my car, over which vigil will be kept for a to-be-determined time period by my fantastic aunt and uncle. Time for a CTA pass. Woo.

Peace.

I tried to sign for an apartment yesterday and then another this morning, both of which were snatched away at just the last minute. They both packed a fairly potent punch, which I imagine is why they were snatched up so quickly. The appropriately vindictive course of action is to TP each apt. once the snatching tenants have moved in. I'll take pictures.

Ryan Former-Grad-Ass's air mattress is my current temporary abode, and I have earned my keep a thousand times over in my productive response to the following conversation.

Eliz: Ugh. Sunlight . . . east-facing windows . . . burning . . . retina . . . 7:00 a.m . . . GOSH.
Ryan: Yeah, it sure is bright. It's been like this every morning for the past eight months, and I just don't know what to do about it. It's a really difficult situation, with no solution in sight.
Eliz: Maybe you could get curtains?!
Ryan: Well, I am pretty handy, but not that handy. I am also pretty delicate.

I can't really make the story very interesting, except to say that I took matters into my own hands, and this process involved a trip to one home improvement store, one fabric store, one third party's apartment (access to Jake's roommate Vicki's sewing machine), and I guess that's it. And the result is gloriously cavelike, if such a descriptor exists.