Down the rabbit hole

reddalek

On stage at Common Room

On stage at Common Room

Remember Common Room? Wednesday night was the fourth outing of this theatre taster event, and the inaugural ‘interview an audience member’ segment which – as you can see – I made it into.

And this got me thinking… man, I really need to go see more of these plays which I’m hearing so much about. And that’s how I ended up spending this afternoon chasing a rabbit with a French accent all over the neighbourhood of Andersonville in Upended Production’s Alice.

Inspired by Lewis Carroll, the audience (who all take the role of ‘Alice’) are broken into small groups – each assigned a different rabbit – and move between whimsical and fantastical scenes staged in nearby streets, bars, shops. On the routes between each ‘scene’ there are also weird and wonderful sights and mini-interactions with the audience, like this:

One of the many roaming cast members. (Hopefully.)

One of the many roaming cast members. (Hopefully.)

I have to admit, I was a little worried it would feel a little too surreal in the sense of ‘arbitrary random stuff’, but actually everything felt very carefully put together and was surprisingly thought provoking. There are so many people I would recommend this to, and most of them don’t live in Chicago, but if you do you should check it out. (And next week I am going to see another production promoted through the Common Room – hurray!)

Late night pizza bite

Late night pizza bite

Have been doing a bunch of other fun stuff, too. Like meeting up with the one and only Emily Boyd, who was visiting town from New York! I also almost broke Randi’s Californian heart by introducing her to the concept of full English breakfasts, which we made this morning. (Tastes like home!)

I also saw Saved, cheered on the Baltimore Orioles in the baseball playoff season, got treated to a swanky lunch at the Art Institute by a friend of Carolyn’s (still haven’t managed to go in to the Art Institute, mind) and went to my first Chicago jazz club. Which was a bit of a fail, actually, because although the jazz was good I decided that I’d prefer to be able to actually hear the conversation I was having, so we retreated to a regular jazz-free bar instead.

Aside from my own entertainment and shenanigans, in the past few weeks I’ve also started volunteering for two separate tutoring/mentoring projects. I will probably write more about these elsewhere, after a couple more weeks, but suffice to say it’s always an interesting challenge to work with children. And I don’t mean that as a euphemism for ‘difficult’ or ‘unpleasant’ – it’s just something which demands conscious adjustment after not actually being a child for a while. Pretty rewarding if you can get it right, though.

Just home from Six Flags, a US chain of theme parks with one place not far from Chicago, which I had suggested as a great option for a work team outing. It turned out to be perfect timing, too, because this was also Jill’s last week at Groupon, and I can’t think of a better way to say goodbye than riding a load of rollercoasters together. (My favourite was Goliath, for the record.) I have always been spoilt in loving the people that I work with, but it must make all the difference in the world.

Team photo (Robert, Jill, Katie, me)

Team photo (Robert, Jill, Katie, me)

This week I also returned to Second City, making good on my vow from my first visit. This time we saw the main stage show – and each consumed a pitcher-worth of cocktails – which is an excellent recipe for any evening.

On Saturday I also made it to the Chicago Botanic Garden with Randi, It was a pretty British-style trip, actually: catch a train to somewhere with a tea room, and pretend you haven’t noticed that it’s just started raining. But I’m very glad I remembered the suggestion to go, because it was beautiful, and just a really lovely place to wander about. (I can’t say the same for the patch of suburbia around it, which makes crossing the road feel like an expedition through an alien landscape. Love the city, hate the strip mall.)

Botanic Garden

Botanic Garden

In other news:

  • I now have a rudimentary understanding of the rules of American football.
  • In return, I have begun to indoctrinate newbies into the wonder of Doctor Who.
  • UK timezones worked in my favour for once when it came to the Scottish referendum, because by the time I went to bed the result was pretty clear. Which was a relief, I’ll admit, but it’s pretty exciting that there’s still a head of steam for further devolution and constitutional reform. I hope both sides can end up feeling like winners in the end.

Well, I came back from Malaysia, obviously. But not before a lovely evening up on Helipad with Zee and Ellen, which – as its name suggests –  is a bar sitting atop a skyscraper. It’s remarkably calm up there, which is probably just as well because I could imagine a rowdier crowd occasionally bumping people off the edge.

Helipad

Helipad

Back in ‘merica, I hit another milestone of cultural acclimatisation by whacking my first birthday piñata, plus a bunch of other fun meetings and gatherings. (Which included a pool party. I mean seriously, a pool party? My life is absurd.) I also saw Guardians of the Galaxy. Which was OK, I guess, though I wasn’t sure exactly what it was aiming at. (How funny is this supposed to be exactly?) And I have to admit, after X Men: Days of Future Past on the plane back, I am ready for my next film to be something a little grittier. Y’know – the moody existentialist broodings of a failed artist, in French – or something like that. Never thought I’d be asking for that.

I’ve also been wandering around feeling a little sad about Scotland. On the one hand, a peaceful referendum on self-determination is pretty much a miracle of democracy: this doesn’t happen very often, and something to feel proud of. But at the same time, I share the same apprehensions of lots of other English people for entirely selfish reasons. Scotland is great, and often wiser than its southern neighbour, and would be perfectly fine as an independent country within the EU. The fear is what kind of conservative backlash this may trigger in the rest of the UK. We’ll find out next week, I suppose!

In the meantime, and on a cheerier note, I finally got some photos on my wall up. There are lots of important people missing, but everyone here is loved:

Memories from home

Memories from home

My favourite moment in Malaysia so far happened inside the ‘Dark Cave’ at the famous Batu Caves just outside of Kuala Lumpur. Everyone turned off their torches until it was pitch black, and we had a minute of silence for the victims of MH17. This was the sort of darkness you’re almost never allowed anymore. No fire exit signs, smartphone screens or glowing standby lights to adjust to over time. My eyes kept straining for light, but nothing came back. And it was so glorious. I could have happily stood there for an hour, feeling very very peaceful and zen.

It can’t last, of course. Especially not when an Australian tourist insists on shining his torch straight at a snake after being politely but repeatedly asked not to. If I spoke Parseltongue, I tell you, that constrictor would have received some immoral encouragement.

Monkeys!

Monkeys!

The other animal of note at the Batu Caves are the monkeys – which I still get an odd thrill from being around. Not that I trust them, of course. Monkeys are obviously untrustworthy: any fool who’s seen The Jungle Book can tell you that. But still… monkeys!

I didn’t do a great deal in Kuala Lumpur itself, besides wander around Independence Square, and visit the first museum I came across. The prime exhibit there was a scale model of the city, which lit up and flashed myriad colours while bombastic music played and screens boasted of Malaysia’s growing GDP per capita and impressive tourism income. It’s an interesting country, Malaysia. One of my taxi drivers described it as a harmonious society of three cultures. Another scoffed heartily at this description and preceded to give me a lengthy and personal denunciation of its constitutionalised discrimination.

I really don’t mind taxi drivers ripping me off when they’re willing to talk politics.

The Sultan Abdul Samad Building

The Sultan Abdul Samad Building

Anyway, on Sunday I took a day trip to Melaka, which is smaller and prettier and more ‘historic’ than KL. Mosques, temples and churches jostle side by side, befitting an old trading town ruled by a succession of three European colonial occupiers. Although in one of the Chinese temples, I did read the following sentence which read very curiously indeed to my Europeanish eye:

Worshippers sometimes request the services of a more experienced person to pray on their behalf.

Stark contrasts

Stark contrasts

On that note, saying where I’m from is complicated now. I mean, it’s not really, but you know when a tour guide asks they don’t really care and would probably appreciate a simple one-word answer as you shuffle past. So what do I say? London? Chicago? I staved off an identity crisis when I got back to my hotel room late on Sunday night, immediately started the kettle and settled down for some tea and Peter Capaldi’s first episode of Doctor Who. Like praying towards Mecca, it doesn’t matter where you are in the world when it’s New Who time: just orient yourself towards iPlayer and enjoy.