Godietz!

reddalek

I have this Modest Proposal for fixing the US drinking age. 21 is well above the international norm of 18 for legally purchasing alcohol – although it turns out to be 25 in some parts of India, who knew? – and the usual justification is that drinking and driving is a bad idea. Drinking and driving is a terrible idea, no doubt, so why not go one further and allow 18-21 year olds to choose? You could either register for a driving licence, or a drinking licence, but not both. They’d be different colours. For those who need to drive, it would be status quo. For those who don’t, they could sign away the risk and, in return, no longer have to confine their drinking to dodgy college parties. It’s win-win, except for the conveners of dodgy college parties.

I put this idea to Will Guzzardi, a State Representative for Illinois, at a fundraising thing hosted by 270 Strategies, but he didn’t seem to think it was a priority. And given that the Republican governor of Illinois is among those indulging in brazenly racist rabble-rousing against Syrian refugees this week, maybe he has a point.

As always, a powerful counterweight to such baseness is the joy and love of good people. This was no better demonstrated than at Robert and Julie’s wedding. They are both such wonderful people, and it’s impossible not to be happy at how happy they are. To make things even better, Katie and Brandon were in town for it, and I realised how much I missed Katie’s facial expressions.

Pictures below are borrowed (with permission) from Stephanie Bassos Photography, who will make you want to get married just so you can have some of your own.

Robert and Julie

Robert and Julie

Groupon, past and present

Groupon, past and present

Other than that, I’ve mostly been planning Thanksgiving / Christmas / post-Christmas-but-it’s-still-cold getaways. Randi and I did see Chapter Two last night, a play which felt very much from another time and place, which is good because it actually was (New York, 1977). There was a somewhat jarring switch from light-hearted dad-jokes in the first half to an outpouring of emotion in the second – a situation of the main characters’ own making, since they decided (for unclear reasons) that they had to get married in a week. Unless their wedding photographer was leaving the country, I couldn’t relate.

For the past two weeks I’ve been travelling again for work. Back to Warsaw first, and this time joined by Bex who very graciously endured my abridged, second-hand re-enactment of an Old Town walking tour. It was also great to see Mark and Caroline again, and along with a couple of others we visited what I can only assume is one of the city’s premier gambling establishments. Alas it still failed to arouse my interest in actually gambling (no surprise there) and so instead I amused the Italians by ordering tea (with milk) at the bar. I was desperate.

Bex, Sara, Rossella and me

Bex, Sara, Rossella and me

Caroline, Mark and Rossella in a Warsaw casino

Caroline, Mark and Rossella in a Warsaw casino

After a couple of hours wandering around Brussels on a layover, my next stop was Morocco. Having been advised that Marrakesh would be a more interesting place to spend a weekend than Casablanca, I started there.

Inside the Majorelle Garden

Inside the Majorelle Garden

I was excited – this was actually my first visit to any African country whatsoever, let alone Morocco – and spent Sunday exploring the city. (Yes, I know I’m wearing a super-touristy hat: it’s only because I needed to get some change for entry into the Saadian Tombs.) The central square, Jemaa el-Fnaa, is breathtaking and the souks alongside are fun to explore, just as long as you watch out for the motorbikes which some people see fit to ride through the packed, narrow paths.

I’m also very glad I visited the Majorelle Garden – it’s a small, enclosed space but is astonishingly colourful and peaceful inside. The perfect calming antidote to a bustling market, and the last thing I saw before catching my train to Casablanca. (A three hour ride, in wonderful old-fashioned compartment style for about $14. The rest of the world should take note.) I’m pretty sure the two Spanish men to my right were complaining about the English, though.

Jemaa el-Fnaa

Jemaa el-Fnaa

In the souk

In the souk

Looking out over lunch

Looking out over lunch

Catching the train to Casablanca

Catching the train to Casablanca

I should mention that Morocco is very much an Arabic and French speaking country, and the limitations of my English-only tongue were particularly evident in the taxi journey from Casablanca’s main railway station to my hotel. I was somewhat confused when another passenger joined us – this turns out to be a normal and, I guess, somewhat economic quirk of their taxi system – and then the driver grew increasingly impatient with my inability to answer any of his questions. Thankfully, the atmosphere lightened when he stopped the car in order to hide away some cash in a secret cubby hole hidden in the middle of the steering wheel, and we both started laughing together. You don’t really need to share a language to bond. A shared love of the absurd will do.

With Francisco

With Francisco

I didn’t get a chance for much touristy stuff in Casablanca, although I was well taken care of by Francisco and Jessica while I was there, and enjoyed hanging out with other visitors from the French office. We did make it to the world’s third-largest mosque one night, right by the sea, which was beautiful.

The Atomium at night

The Atomium at night

But soon it was time to go home, and fortunately this time the mysterious gods of yield-management airline pricing granted me an overnight stay in Brussels. So as a lovely bonus to the whole trip, my parents popped in by train so we could have dinner together and see the city sights by night.

So now, in terms of tourist sightseeing, I can tick off the Grand Place, the Mannequin-Pis (or the “peeing boy statue” as everyone actually says) and the Atomium. We worried the latter would be a wasted cab ride – with nothing to see in the dark – but were pleased to discover that at night it lights up and sparkles more than a Twilight vampire.

Oh, and in the midst of all of this, I also scored theatre tickets to Harry Potter and the Cursed Child from an intense online booking queue. But that is a story for next year…

Dinner in Brussels

Dinner in Brussels

At the Manneken-Pis

At the Manneken-Pis

Before I write my fun ‘I’ve been travelling!’ post, I need to catch up on some Chicago things:

Learning science

Learning science

Supporting Todd support the Blue Jays

Supporting Todd support the Blue Jays

Puzzling

Puzzling

Jatherine 1, Jatherine 2

Jatherine 1, Jatherine 2

(Clockwise: the Adler Planetarium’s ‘After Dark’ night – the same formula as London’s Science Museum, which is ‘add alcohol, remove children’ – had some cool shows and a decent lecture on dark energy. We all supported Todd through some tormenting Blue Jays games. Belatedly celebrating Catherine and Jason’s engagement – HURRAY! – with specialist wine glasses. And going, on Karl’s invitation, to the Puzzled Pint: an evening of trying to crack fiendish clues in morse code and so on.)

Also, two more shows: Home Before Dark – our pick from Common Room this month – a story of adolescent sexual exploration and abuse, and a technical rehearsal of the excellent The Play About My Dad, telling stories from Hurricane Katrina through the meta lens of a doctor in Mississippi and his playwriting daughter. This is still running until the end of November, and it’s well worth seeing.

(Tangent: I’d love to claim that endlessly blogging about plays in Chicago has now paid off into backstage invitations, but actually this came courtesy of director Marti Lyons, connected to Randi through work and coincidentally also the person behind probably our favourite play to date, Bethany, last year.)

It’s a lazy Saturday morning: drinking tea, lounging around in TARDIS pyjama bottoms (courtesy Randi) and trying to empathise with Todd’s baseball doldrums. So it’s a good time to go through my blogging backlog – which will sorta be like finding last month’s copy of Time Out down the back of the sofa with the pages all stuck together, or ‘a list of things which it’s too late to go and see’.  Internet gold.

  • The last ever performance of long-form comedy improv team 3033 at the iO, with Ellen and Kannan. We actually turned up for the penultimate show, but enjoyed it so much that we stayed for the later one too.
  • Another famous iO show, TJ and Dave, with Karol. This is actually something you could still go and see! It’s also a pleasantly subtle and understated take on improv comedy, with carefully-observed characters rather than going surreal and wacky.
  • But you can’t go and see Cholesterock: Dark Side of the Spoon, because we were at their closing night too. A shame, because this musical history of rock ‘n’ roll and fast food was perfect for a fun Friday night. Special thanks to Chrissy for our comp tickets, and for making us feel cool when picking up comp tickets.
  • We also saw The Martian with Nolan and Siri, in the third of a trilogy of high-quality sci-fi movies which Nolan has enticed me to go see. This one has a simple feel-good premise, but it’s well done and enjoyable to watch.
Great socks

Great socks

In addition, I’ve ticked off a few more Chicago landmarks:  the smells and tastes from Garrett Popcorn during a day out with Randi’s young cousins, a brief trip to the Art Institute during mentoring, and finally making it down to the University of Chicago campus in Hyde Park. This last adventure was – weirdly enough – prompted by Alastair Campbell’s book tour, and we spent an evening at the Institute of Politics watching him in conversation with David Axelrod. Both men, it must be admitted, come fresh from Ed Miliband’s complete and unabridged defeat – and the subsequent Corbyn explosion – so it felt an odd moment to talk about Winners. Still, it was good to see him again, and be among the niche type of crowd who can appreciate a good Peter Mandelson impression.

We found a bridge

We found a bridge

One sitcom which is never getting picked up

One sitcom which is never getting picked up

As much as I’d like to deny I’m in my mid-twenties – I was perfectly comfortable with 17, and see no compelling reason why that needed to change – one sure sign that I’m wrong is the up-tick in wedding invitations. And it softens the blow, since weddings are fun: especially when it’s two people as great as Shelby and Benno. (Shelbenno? Shelbo? There’s no settled consensus.) Special thanks to Todd and Carolyn for driving us to Grand Rapids and back last weekend! And also to Studio 6.23, whose photo I have nicked above 🙂

Randi’s parents have been visiting Chicago this week, which gave us another opportunity to see Improv Shakespeare. This time, approximately seventeen million below-the-legal-drinking-age University of Chicago freshers also turned up, which probably explains the introspective title It’s Lit. Still great, though. This weekend we also took the architecture boat tour, which was surprisingly good (considering how many other tours I’ve had by this point) and benefited from a great and enthusiastic tour guide.

On the river

On the river

Disclaimer: the following paragraph will contain mild allusions to Doctor Who spoilers.

Entirely uncoincidently, her parents’ night to themselves at Second City coincided with the start of the new series of Doctor Who. I love this show. All the hard work converting Randi into a fan has now paid off, and we were both totally captured from that moment in the pre-credits sequence (which I had no idea was coming). And Capaldi has warmed up a little, too… I expect he’ll really hit his stride this year, and it is going to be so awesome.