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Saturday,
March 19, 2005

Back in the city of Big Shoulders

Although I started to have doubts yesterday afternoon when my head exploded right behind my left eyebrow and my left side started going numb. Of all the times to get a migraine -- WHY NOW?

Somehow I staggered to the airport and on the plane, although I'm really surprised I didn't hit anyone on 114. Luckily there was no one sitting next to me, so I was able to huddle under my jacket and doze for an hour and a half. When I landed in Chicago, the pain was gone but I was still wiped -- I suspect it was brought on by the front that swept through Dallas yesterday, and changing climates foxed it.

I hit Alamo and picked up my Chevy Impala (quite nice, and a heckuva rate for the weekend -- $72 with tax), and headed to the SpringHill Suites near the airport. I highly recommend this place, by the way -- for $93/night (including tax) I got a mini-suite with refrigerator, microwave, sitting area, lots and lots of pillows, and I could even kinda pick up the wireless connection from the lobby (they offer free high-speed internet, but I was sprawled on the bed and feeling lazy). The only issue is a really small parking lot -- I parked in the furthest corner, and I guess I'll find out in a half hour if my rental made it through the night.

The schedule for today -- go down to Belmont and Clark and do a bit of poking around in my favorite stores, then head out to Savanna around 1-ish. Check into the hotel there, rest, change into my costume, get made up, then head out to the house for the party. Apparently there will be a lot of photographic coverage, so I need to see if I can snag pictures later.

Speaking of later, I'll talk to y'all then. The shops, the shops, they call me. . .

Whoa. . .

That's really the only way I can describe this evening.

Okay, some background -- I met someone I'll call the Pink Princess on various gossip newsgroups back in the 1990s. These days we're both on a private mailing list, and I maintain her husband's business website, so while I've never met either of them, I've talked and emailed to them both extensively.

Their 30th wedding anniversary was this weekend, and they planned a huge gala event for it. Since the 30th anniversary is pearl, the theme of the party was "The Persian Pearl Gala" -- all attendees were requested to come in some sort of Persian/Arabic/Indian/vaguely middle-eastern costume, and the party was held at their mansion in Savanna.

Pinky had been kind enough to pay for a room for me at the Savanna Super Eight (a very nice motel, by the way -- highly recommended if you're ever in the town), so I got there around 5:00 PM, stretched out for a bit and unkinked from the trip, then dressed up in my purple and blue belly dancing costume, some funky new earrings and a great pair of brocade slippers I'd found at Pink Frog on the corner of Belmont and Clark. Following directions from the concierge, I made my way to the base of the hill where their house is, and found a whole tribe of sheiks, belly dancers, odalisques and other Middle Eastern inhabitants lined up on the sidewalk waiting for a pair of vans to ferry them up the hill. It must've been quite the striking sight -- two little kids kept peering out the window of a house across the street, and one of them actually came out to the sidewalk and said, "Whoa!" Some of the ladies in the line debated slapping a veil on the kid's head and schlepping her along to the party, but the mother probably wouldn't have appreciated it.

Finally, it was my turn to ride up to the mansion. And it really is a mansion -- the way they describe it on their website is, "a magnificent Victorian castle located in Upper Illinois, it is situated high on a hill in a small town overlooking the Mississippi River. The interiors are both luxurious and intimate, rather like a palace on a domestic scale." Which is an understatement, if anything -- in addition to being a successful businessman, the Prince is also a painter and sculptor, and does all the artwork for the themed rooms. Pinky is his favorite model -- you can wander through the various rooms and play "Find the Princess" as you look for her in the artwork.

But back to the adventure -- we were dropped off in a courtyard, and entered a medieval reception hall that held coatracks, a table with a molten chocolate fountain and various fruits and other nibbles that could be "enrobed" in chocolate, and another table with a yummy blue punch in both alcoholic and virgin formats that sparkled from lights installed in the base of the bowls. Once you had a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries and a glass of punch, you could wander through the Russian Rococo Library and Chinese Tea Room into the Fragonard Music Room, where chairs were arrayed for the first event of the evening -- a concert of musical selections from KISMET, THE KING AND I and similarly themed musicals and operas, performed by a quartet of singers, a violinist and pianist.

My only bobble of the evening came halfway through the concert -- I'd done something to my leg yesterday, and the calf muscle kept cramping badly while I was in a sitting position. Luckily, I was sitting next to the entrance to the half-moon-shaped Chicago Conservatory, so I was able to slip in there during a break in the music -- hidden from the rest of the guests, I could walk around, stretch out the muscle and enjoy the rest of the concert without breaking into agonized screams, which is always good. Besides, the conservatory is absolutely glorious -- because real plants didn't do well in there, they installed beautiful silk flowers everywhere, and the central fountain features a tree that drips water into the fountain basin. There are life-sized butterflies and dragonflies scattered everywhere, and someone the Prince rigged it so that they slowly flap their wings every so often -- very realistic. There's a large bust of the Prince in one corner, above a sculpture of a beloved dog that they lost a couple of years ago, and in the other corner is a group of classical statues with the Princess as the central figure (I think she's supposed to be Water).

After the concert, a pair of talented belly dancers entertained the audience, and I pulled my zills out of my purse and accompanied them on a couple of songs (well, it seemed like the appropriate thing to do) while the hosts slipped upstairs to get everything ready in the newly finished Persian Suite. After the show, we were encouraged to file upstairs to the suite, which was comprised of four rooms -- the Chambre of the Kali-Ma (beautifully roofed with tented multicolored saris and featuring a statue of the Kali-Ma), the Chambre of Ali-Baba (a small display room), The Chambre of the Maharajah (similar to Kali-Ma, but done in saris of dark blue, maroon and gold), and the Chambe of the Twin Peacocks (an intimate room featuring walls covered with peacock feather-patterned fabrics and tapestries, and two beautiful stained glass windows on either side of a large window of an art glass peacock), shown at right.

I spent the rest of the evening drooling over the Princess's collection of tiaras and crowns, chatting with the singers, eating some absolutely nummy Persian nibbles and demonstrating my belly dancing moves for the baritone. Around midnight, people started making their excuses to go, so I went in to say goodnight to the Princess. "But we haven't had a chance to talk yet!" she exclaimed. When I explained that I hadn't wanted to monopolize her time, she said that everyone thinks that, and winds up leaving her in one room while they congregate in other places.

I don't need an engraved invitation, so I sat down and made myself comfortable. Eventually most of the guests left or retired to their rooms, and the Prince, Princess, four friends of theirs, myself and the resident pack of furbabies hung out and chatted until 2:45 AM. At that point, I really needed to stagger back to the hotel and crash, so I thanked the Prince and Princess again for inviting me and headed out into the quiet, chilly streets of Savanna.

All in all, it was an incredible, thoroughly enjoyable event. And now, I need to sleep.