The day I've long been dreading is upon us. Tomorrow I will attempt to run my first half marathon. Training had started strong nine weeks ago, but after a liquor and beer filled trip to California last month, my training schedule has been all but derailed. But, I'm no quitter so I've got to try to run anyway- all 13.1 miles of it.
I have a sneaking suspicion that my favorite part of this race will be the dinner I had tonight. CARBO LOAD! Sans guilt! Nothing better than eating strawberry ice cream in a Ghirardelli chocolate dipped waffle cone (not part of the meal I'd planned, but after hours combating crowds on Michigan Ave., I felt I'd earned it) followed by a very large bowl of whole wheat penne pasta topped in my favorite homemade sauce. Amazing the things you can eat when you're on the cusp of burning 1,500 calories.
Food coma is setting in so I'm off to bed. I'll be waking up at the ungodly hour of 5AM for the big event. Wish me luck!
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Lollapalooza is almost here!
It's finally official that I'm going- just bought my 3-day ticket! I had such a great time last year, I simply cannot wait to do it again. I'm especially looking forward to Lady Gaga. An added bonus is getting more utility from the Gaga glasses I bought for Halloween, even if they do make me look like I'm trying to conceal a hangover on an episode of Star Trek. Also really pumped on seeing MGMT and Kaskade. I plan on spending a lot of time at DJ stage this year.
Of course, a public festival wouldn't be complete without adequate people watching and documentation, so rest assured that I will be on the lookout for bad ink as always. Who could forget this gem below that I spotted during Snoop Dogg's performance last year? A warm welcome to Lolla indeed.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Support Our Troops ...and mine, especially!
My little brother is now in his 4th week of 12 at boot camp. Last we heard, his feet were completely blistered (he is flat footed to begin with, and apparently they are in the worst shape of the entire platoon). I can tell from his letters that the mental and physical exhaustion he's enduring is beginning to take its toll. Please help lift his spirits on his journey to become one of the few and the proud. If you could just take a minute and write him a quick note or letter, it would mean a lot to him and to my family!
Recruit Maniaci, Gianluca F.
3rd BN Lima Co. Platoon 3245
38001 Midway Avenue
San Diego, CA 92140-3245
3rd BN Lima Co. Platoon 3245
38001 Midway Avenue
San Diego, CA 92140-3245
If you write my baby bro, THANK YOU!
I will post more updates on his experience as I get them.
I will post more updates on his experience as I get them.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
She's Gone Country, Back to Her Roots
Welcome to my new blog! I had to start fresh with a new page due to security reasons, so if you are reading this, thanks for following me to my new internet home.
I've come a long way since my first posts on the old blog. It's been over a year since I moved to Chicago on a whim and began writing about my (mis)adventures. I continue to grow and learn every day that I'm here, making it happen. Though there isn't anything material to prove my successes thus far, the intangible personal triumphs in the past year have been numerous. The biggest one- breaking out of the California mold.
This past weekend was spent with family in Iowa, the land where my mother was raised and where I was born. It is wonderfully simple and unlike anywhere else.
My family moved to Orange County when I was only six months old, and I've visited Iowa every summer, save one or two, since then. It feels like a home away from home and is where the fondest memories of my childhood took place. Hide-and-go-seek tag on the farm, apple tree climbs, and rides on Grandpa's lawnmower are things I'm going to fondly remember forever.
But that was childhood. Once I went to college it was different. Coming of age behind the Orange curtain had skewed my view. Attending the fancy private university on a hill didn't help. I got caught up in it all, and the things I'd come to value were not in line with the way my Midwestern mother and immigrant father had raised me. In recent years during my visits, I felt slightly awkward and out of place but couldn't put my finger on why. The environment I'd been living in had made me lose touch.
After graduation, reality hit me like a ton of bricks. The lavish life I'd been living- shopping, lunch dates, last minute trips to Vegas, spring breaks in Cabo- was no longer feasible. The economy had tanked, and though grateful for the job I'd landed as a law firm file clerk, it wasn't the occupation I'd hoped for while in business school. And while I certainly appreciated my parents welcoming me home, I felt as though I'd taken a few steps back when I moved in again. I was stagnating and immersed in a culture which prizes the things I could no longer attain. My solution? Change surroundings.
The first time I set foot in Chicago, I felt a vibe that sucked me in. It was down to earth, genuine, familiar. A manageable bustle and one that was grounded. It didn't occur to me until this past weekend at my grandparents' house, but Chicago and the Midwest have got me back to being me. The me that my parents taught the lessons of hard work and sacrifice. The me that puts family above all. The me that knows that when we return to dust, our worldly possessions will not matter. That what will matter are the people and legacy we leave behind- honor, integrity, and love for others are what's important. Sure, I've always known these things, but talking the talk doesn't matter if you aren't walking the walk and really living it.
While in Iowa this weekend, my mom and I went to an Alan Jackson concert. During the song Small Town Southern Man she leaned to me and said, "This song makes me think of your grandpa." And she's right, sub the word "Southern" for "Iowan" and it's him to a tee. If you've never had the pleasure of meeting my grandpa, he is one of the most wonderful, selfless, and wise men I've ever known. He's devoted to his wife and family and it's the simple pleasures that he cherishes. He's got a saying for every situation (and is a primary source for what some people have come to call "Alessia-isms," though I can't take credit for any of them). He's the most level-headed guy you'll ever meet. For some reason, in that moment when my mom leaned to me, it all clicked. I felt the happiest I had in ages. I stress about finances and not getting to live how I'd like to, but none of that matters or creates happiness. And I finally really realized it. Drinking apricot brandy while we play pinochle late into the night; having our morning coffee in the gazebo, telling stories about the olden days. That's the good stuff, and it can't be bought. I've more or less hit the familial jackpot, and I'm rich in the best way possible.
I'm feeling especially blessed after this weekend, seeing and truly, deeply appreciating how lucky I am to have a family so grounded and loving. Surrounded by grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles, whether we were dogging Uncle Tom (for a carp getting stuck in his bike spoke as he "drove" through a flood) or sitting in the gazebo telling stories and drinking beer for hours, there was a lot of good stuff. I'm lucky to have finally gotten back to my roots this weekend. Cheers to Midwestern sensibility and finding it again.
I've come a long way since my first posts on the old blog. It's been over a year since I moved to Chicago on a whim and began writing about my (mis)adventures. I continue to grow and learn every day that I'm here, making it happen. Though there isn't anything material to prove my successes thus far, the intangible personal triumphs in the past year have been numerous. The biggest one- breaking out of the California mold.
This past weekend was spent with family in Iowa, the land where my mother was raised and where I was born. It is wonderfully simple and unlike anywhere else.
My family moved to Orange County when I was only six months old, and I've visited Iowa every summer, save one or two, since then. It feels like a home away from home and is where the fondest memories of my childhood took place. Hide-and-go-seek tag on the farm, apple tree climbs, and rides on Grandpa's lawnmower are things I'm going to fondly remember forever.
But that was childhood. Once I went to college it was different. Coming of age behind the Orange curtain had skewed my view. Attending the fancy private university on a hill didn't help. I got caught up in it all, and the things I'd come to value were not in line with the way my Midwestern mother and immigrant father had raised me. In recent years during my visits, I felt slightly awkward and out of place but couldn't put my finger on why. The environment I'd been living in had made me lose touch.
After graduation, reality hit me like a ton of bricks. The lavish life I'd been living- shopping, lunch dates, last minute trips to Vegas, spring breaks in Cabo- was no longer feasible. The economy had tanked, and though grateful for the job I'd landed as a law firm file clerk, it wasn't the occupation I'd hoped for while in business school. And while I certainly appreciated my parents welcoming me home, I felt as though I'd taken a few steps back when I moved in again. I was stagnating and immersed in a culture which prizes the things I could no longer attain. My solution? Change surroundings.
The first time I set foot in Chicago, I felt a vibe that sucked me in. It was down to earth, genuine, familiar. A manageable bustle and one that was grounded. It didn't occur to me until this past weekend at my grandparents' house, but Chicago and the Midwest have got me back to being me. The me that my parents taught the lessons of hard work and sacrifice. The me that puts family above all. The me that knows that when we return to dust, our worldly possessions will not matter. That what will matter are the people and legacy we leave behind- honor, integrity, and love for others are what's important. Sure, I've always known these things, but talking the talk doesn't matter if you aren't walking the walk and really living it.
While in Iowa this weekend, my mom and I went to an Alan Jackson concert. During the song Small Town Southern Man she leaned to me and said, "This song makes me think of your grandpa." And she's right, sub the word "Southern" for "Iowan" and it's him to a tee. If you've never had the pleasure of meeting my grandpa, he is one of the most wonderful, selfless, and wise men I've ever known. He's devoted to his wife and family and it's the simple pleasures that he cherishes. He's got a saying for every situation (and is a primary source for what some people have come to call "Alessia-isms," though I can't take credit for any of them). He's the most level-headed guy you'll ever meet. For some reason, in that moment when my mom leaned to me, it all clicked. I felt the happiest I had in ages. I stress about finances and not getting to live how I'd like to, but none of that matters or creates happiness. And I finally really realized it. Drinking apricot brandy while we play pinochle late into the night; having our morning coffee in the gazebo, telling stories about the olden days. That's the good stuff, and it can't be bought. I've more or less hit the familial jackpot, and I'm rich in the best way possible.
I'm feeling especially blessed after this weekend, seeing and truly, deeply appreciating how lucky I am to have a family so grounded and loving. Surrounded by grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles, whether we were dogging Uncle Tom (for a carp getting stuck in his bike spoke as he "drove" through a flood) or sitting in the gazebo telling stories and drinking beer for hours, there was a lot of good stuff. I'm lucky to have finally gotten back to my roots this weekend. Cheers to Midwestern sensibility and finding it again.
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