Amy Middleton Loves New York

I read a NYT article the other day about Dancing Matt Harding and his “popular internet video.” I didn’t care much for the article but I remembered feeling a combination of inspiration and envy when I saw his video a few years ago. I decided to check out his latest and greatest video. It is pure inspiration and goodness.

The music, which is quite beautiful, was composed by his friend and sung in Bangla by a woman they found online. it’s based on

Stream of Life by Rabindranath Tagor

The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day
runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass
and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth
and of death, in ebb and in flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life.
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.

Glasgow wasn’t everything I expected it to be- I expected it to be a place where people spoke English in a delightful accent I could enjoy and understand. Instead, I was staring blankly at Scotsmen, asking them to repeat themselves, and futilely attempting to process what they had said. It was a bit frustrating, that part. But the mere sound of how the words were said was compelling, and I found I was inadvertently trying to mimic it in an attempt to communicate.

In a rush to buy some nylons on the way to Mitch’s wedding, I had to resist asking “do you have any knickers, please” in a sing-song tone, to store clerks, although I almost wish I had. Instead, in my very flat American accent, I asked around until I was directed to Wolworths. The man at the register was wearing a red cowboy hat. He said he liked mine, but I didn’t understand what he said at first. He then was talking to another employee about how I had to choose his aisle because we were both wearing hats. Finally as I was leaving,

“I hope you have a nice day.”

“Thanks. You too.”

“Oh, I will. I’m wearin’ a hat.”

My 10 year reunion came and went last year and I stayed in New York. Outside of family obligations, few West Coast events outweigh the costs of cross-country travel for me. But this week, for no real reason, I am in Orange County. Tonight I met up with my best friend from high school who was in town from L.A. After she put her son to bed, we ran out to rent a movie. Standing in line at Blockbuster, deep in conversation about concessions, we looked up to see our high school calculus teacher. It’s been 11 years, but he still remembers our names, and the fact that I gave him a can of spam as a Christmas present. I still can’t get over how weird it is that I’m in Fullerton, renting a video with Cindy, and we see Mr. Knox. I almost feel like we should have been studying for an AP test rather than watching a movie.

Back at Cindy’s, she gets a call from our friend Melissa who still lives in the area, who says that another high school friend is visiting from Colorado. They come over, and the four of us sit in Cindy’s living room, reminiscing and chatting as if it were 1995. Of course, this time conversation is centered more on children, husbands, and “don’t worry, Amy, at least you look young.” It is still all very surreal and nostalgic. And far more worthwhile to me than having attended my official reunion.

The most delicous omelette I’ve ever experienced was on Friday at Uncommon Ground near Chicago’s Wrigley Field. Following that breakfast bliss I walked over to the L, and when I got off on Grand, the stairs smelled like chocolate. I tried to figure out what could possibly be producing such a delicious brownie batter smell, and couldn’t find anything. Later I asked my friend Peter about it, and he explained that it was probably the Blommer Chocolate Factory. “Even the bridges smell like chocolate here,” he said. Chicago is a magical place.

Most of my trip has been spent running around the city or chilling with Peter, but here are a few things that have been of particular interest:

The Winter WonderFest at Navy Pier has got to be one of the most amazing festivals I’ve seen…. ever. It blew me away in its magnitude and imagination.

Forever in pursuit of the Best Cup of Hot Chocolate (as defined by me), I was served hot chocolate in a bowl three of the four times I ordered it out here. All were good, none were Best.

The best pizza I had was Lou Malnati’s, which I went to on the review that it has the crispiest deep dish in the city, but even their Buttercrust (”Try it, ’cause Lou likes it!”) can’t compare to the crispiness and greasiness of Pizza Hut.

Peter is catsitting for the most unaffectionate outcast of a cat I’ve ever seen. She hisses at him when he feeds her and avoids any contact with people other than biting them. She perches on top of this little post, and I’ve been afraid she’s calculating her ability to spring on someone’s head and claw the life out of her. This cat has serious angst.

Being the fan of Alice In Wonderland that I am, I decided to go to the Children’s Museum of Chicago which featured an Alice Exhibit. Apparently they don’t let you do that without making you feel right creepy. As an “Unaccompanied Adult,” I had to temporarily surrender my state ID and wear a badge at all times so that I could be easily identified as a predator.