Month: October 2013

I’m (Getting) Old(er than I used to be)

/ Lauren / Leave a comment
You get off my lawn.

You get off my lawn.

A few months ago, I found my first wrinkle. It had stealthily cozied up along the left side of my mouth pretending to be a smile line, but I eventually noticed that it is present whether I am smiling or not. Being a wrinkle. Breaking my heart a little bit.

People who know me may be surprised to learn how vain I am, especially since I’m incredibly lazy when it comes to my looks (I own a blow dryer but I use it maybe once a year, and I usually can’t be bothered to do simple things like throw on a pair of earrings for a night out). Despite not being very fashionable, the fact of the matter is that I am vain. Because I like the way I look, I can afford to be lazy, which is nice I guess (yay self-esteem!). And I don’t want the way I feel about myself to change just because I have a wrinkle. Or two.

I knew it would happen eventually, and I always imagined myself aging quite gracefully when the time came. I assumed that when I realized I had grown older I’d be in such a self-actualized place in my life I wouldn’t try to resist–I’d just throw my grey old hair in a bun and go with it. Wide brimmed sun hats! Glasses on a chain! Whooo! But maybe I’m not ready yet.

I am aware that 27 (and a half) is still young, but as 29-year-old “spinster” Valancy Stirling points out in L.M. Montgomery’s The Blue Castle, “Yes, I’m ‘still young’–but that’s so different from young.” And she’s right. To be young is to be unaware and unappreciative of your youth, to be in the process of blossoming with the promise of the best yet to come. To be still young implies that the sand in the hourglass is slipping swiftly through your fingers–to be still young is to be old soon. And it’s just not fair!

I didn’t have great skin in high-school, and I had not yet grown into my long limbs. The Teen and YM magazines I read all promised me that confidence and poise would come from being myself, and that my skin would be blemish-free once I was an adult. I clung to the idea that even if I wasn’t beautiful yet I would be someday. And my skin would be perfect. And I’d be a femme fatale. Or something. Even as I realized that the magazines had lied to me (sleep-deprived semi-impoverished stressed-out university students still get pimples, I’ll have you know), I held on to the dream. Eventually, my skin did clear up (mostly), and I did get better posture and self-awareness, and I did learn to comport myself with a little bit of grace, but even then I still believed, deep down inside, that a greater beauty awaited me. And I’m not talking about some kind of greater inner beauty that comes with wisdom and selflessness and spending one’s life in the service of others and blah blah blah. I’m talking a purely superficial, it’s-all-about-the-wrapping-paper kind of beauty. And now I’m realizing that whatever my greatest moment of superficial beauty was, it’s already happened. I may still be a big bloomy blossom, but my petals are starting to droop. Sigh.

Which I know is okay. Adults who are older than me will think I’m being awfully stupid and I am. But I don’t think I really realized how much “being young” has been part of my identity until I found this little wrinkle, and understood that youth really is fleeting. “Gather your rosebuds while ye may” goes the old refrain, and it looks like I’m just about out of rosebuds. At some point, I won’t be a “young woman” anymore, I’ll be a “woman”. And then a “middle-aged woman” and then an “old woman”.  And then dead, I guess, though at that point wrinkles will no longer be a problem.

My little tempest in a teapot has demonstrated to me that my own ideas of both age and beauty could use some reevaluation. As much as I like to think I am impervious to the dreaded “media” and their “ideals” of beauty (especially since I no longer subscribe to Teen), on some level it has registered that today’s young starlets are younger than me, not older, and on some level I think that bothers me. There goes my chance to be on the Disney channel.

I am also getting the strong feeling that ours is a culture that places extraordinary value on the achievements of the young, and on achieving while you’re young. Of course young people should be encouraged, but I don’t want to feel that my time to make a mark for myself is over just because I can no longer be a child prodigy. I’m tired of seeing internet bucket lists of things I must do and places I must travel before I’m 30 (btw, internet lists are usually written by people like me, who are not necessarily any more qualified or wise than anyone else but who have a  laptop and an internet connection and some time on their hands, so I wouldn’t take them too seriously). I’m tired of being told there are things I must do before I have children (bullshit–my parents did tons of cool stuff while they had us, though not without more effort I presume). The fact of the matter is that people are living longer than ever, which means the percentage of our lives that will be spent being “young” is going to be smaller and smaller. If we believe that we are done learning, done exploring, done being physical (in every sense of the word) and done being beautiful just because we are not “young” anymore, we’re going to spend most of our long lives jealous and miserable and buying shit we don’t need.

Cheers to new adventures!

Cheers to new adventures!

Which is stupid. Alice Munro just won the Nobel Prize for Literature, and she’s in her 80s. Assuming my good luck holds, I have decades of life in which to grow and have adventures and become good at whatever it is I do (which is not to say I can spend my remaining “youth” doing nothing, but just that I don’t need all my life to happen now now now).

As for my wrinkle, I’ll try to remember to wear more sunscreen and otherwise not worry about it. The only person I really feel I need to be attractive to (besides myself) is my fiance, and TC’s not a superficial person. Besides, we’ve spent so much time in the sun that eventually, we’ll both look like a couple of old leather bags anyways. Which is fine by me, as long as we’re together (and as long as we’re sun smart!).

Sometimes, it takes an early wrinkle to remind you that you’re still growing up. All the time. Every day. Which is fantastic. Now where are my glasses on a chain?

Sorry Pop, I’m a Closet Monarchist

/ Lauren / Leave a comment

queen-1_2403579bWhen I was in grade 5, my father helped fill the gaps in my social studies curriculum by explaining to me how the “Governor General” part of our parliamentary system really worked. He explained that the Queen was our head of state (which is why her face is on the money), but that neither she nor the Governor General actually DID anything to govern the country, and that Canada’s membership in the Commonwealth was really just a leftover from days gone by. Though I can’t remember the exact words my father used, the gist was that the monarchy was stupid and Canada didn’t need it.

Being a very politically minded ten year old with strong notions of what was “fair” and what was “stupid”, I wholeheartedly agreed with my dad. I even made up a song in support of Canada severing its ties to the monarchy (to the tune of O Canada–I sang it to my sister but she wasn’t a huge fan so I never sought to record it). For the most part, I still agree that to pretend Canada is ruled by a British monarch when in actual fact we are governed by a Prime Minister (and an increasingly powerful PMO) is a bit stupid.

So why did I just catch myself googling articles about baby Prince George’s christening? Why did I bother finding a YouTube video of the Royal Wedding a couple of years ago so that I could watch the ceremony and cry a little as two complete strangers exchanged vows? Why am I so fascinated by the life of the young Elizabeth II, and her parents before her? Why do I agree that Canada’s parliamentary system doesn’t make much sense nowadays while secretly hoping it will never never change? (With regards to the monarchy, I mean, not the more pressing ills plaguing it).

I don’t think it’s just celeb-worship–while I flip through an InTouch or Life&Style in the staff lunch room every now and then, I don’t seek out celebrity news or celebrity photos (though I seem to absorb more than enough of it anyways). And it takes more than being rich and royal to interest me (I’m not interested in the royal cousins, Sarah Ferguson, or any other Windsor-family offshoots). And Prince William is NOT a handsome man (despite what Maclean’s politely prints about him, he’s just not. He’s tall, he’s neat, and he does not yet appear to have a beer gut, but that’s it). So what the hell is the appeal?

Maybe it’s just nice to see a nice young couple behave nicely in public. Most young famous people in the news these days do NOT act very nicely in public. That last sentence made me sound about seventy years older than I actually am, but it’s true–I mean, Justin Bieber wore OVERALLS to collect his completely undeserved Queen’s Jubilee Medal for goodness sakes. (Someone I work with also received a Queen’s Jubilee Medal. He is a wonderful educator who devoted years of his life to volunteerism and to helping young people enjoy and understand math, and though Stephen Harper did not personally give him his medal, you can bet your ass my colleague dressed for the occasion). But I digress. My point is that the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge seem like a nice young couple who comport themselves very decorously through an endless stream of public engagements that I would find mind-numbingly boring. I also have a lot of respect for the Queen, who’s been comporting herself decorously through mind-numbingly boring public engagements (on average more than once daily) for over 60 years.

Is it absolutely stupid that some people, by virtue of their birth alone, are supported in relative wealth by the public purse, are pursued relentlessly by media, and are required to christen boats, tour cracker factories, and publicly announce the birth of their children? Yes. It’s stupid. It’s absolutely stupid. But there’s something comforting about it just the same. It’s not just that everyone likes the idea of a fairytale (and royal weddings in which the heir to the throne marries a commoner are the closest we can get to Cinderella’s ball)–there’s something about watching people carry out a duty they did not ask for, politely and without complaint, that does us good. With the exception of Charles’ and Diana’s carryings-on, the British royal family uphold an image of propriety in an increasingly vulgar world (a world where just the other evening a drunk man peed in my stairwell, such fun!). And it’s not a life I’d want, riches or no riches.

Do you think the pregnant Duchess enjoyed a slew of news cameras all but up her uterus as she was giving birth? Do you think William enjoys having stories about his dead mother smeared across newspaper stands and screamed on the nightly news every time some quack has a new conspiracy theory about her death? Do you think either of the royal couple enjoyed having their engagement and marriage compared to that of Charles and Diana, a marriage that failed so disastrously and so publicly they can never be free of it? Do you think the Queen enjoys touring the aforementioned cracker factories or standing on a barge in the pouring rain as a flotilla goes down the Thames in her honour (if someone was going to do something in MY honour, I’d ask to not be standing around in the rain, please). Do you think the royal family enjoys having to ask the British government for money every time their home (Buckingham Palace, which also doubles as a tourist attraction) gets a leaky roof or a past-due carpet? Of course they don’t. But they do these things, all of them, and they never act as though they mind. They understand the ways in which they are privileged and accept the ways in which they have to pay the price. In other words, they’re the absolute best kind of rich people, and for that, I bear them no ill will.

My respect for the Windsors’ commitment to their duty aside, perhaps I, like many other closet monarchists, just like being able to watch a young couple live out their (relatively) normal life–dating in college, getting engaged on vacation, getting married, having a baby, etc. I wonder if everyone should be assigned a random young couple whose lives they can follow with interest and a sense of good will even though they have no personal connection to them. Isn’t it nice to want happiness for total strangers who can do nothing for you? I think so. Whether you agree with the monarchy as part of a governing structure or not, you can’t deny that if “Will and Kate Windsor” were just a new couple in your neighbourhood you’d probably think they were very nice and wish them the best as they started their family. The fact that they’re “royal” really shouldn’t change that. Like a win for our favourite sports team, a turn of good fortune for the royal couple (like the delivery of a healthy baby) is something that people seem to rally around and be happy about. And why not?

Maybe deep down the real reason I am interested in the monarchy is because somewhere in my mind I have confused the Queen with my grandmother. A much more soft-spoken, well-dressed, and British version of my grandmother. Actually, Queen Elizabeth II and my Latvian grandmother are nothing at all alike, but I don’t care. I once saw a photo of the Queen at her wedding (when she was still Princess Elizabeth)–her gown was relatively simple with long white sleeves and a long filmy veil. Though my grandmother’s wedding dress was not similar in grandeur, her style was similar in sentiment–same post-war simplicity and modesty, same white sleeves, same long filmy veil (same hairdo too I think, though my grandmother did not have a tiara). Same soft black and white photographs, same tall husband standing with military erectness, beside and a little behind his new wife. All of this is absolutely fascinating to me.

I also once heard an anecdote in which one of the Queen’s hunting dogs brought her a nearly dead pheasant (this happened in 2000, I believe). Her Majesty took the bird from the dog’s mouth and wrung its neck until it was dead (I assume to end its suffering, as it had already been shot). I like to think that my grandma, who was raised on a farm (until the Soviets took it away), would do the same. Some may shy away from the harsh realities of pastoral life, but not the Queen and my grandma, no siree. If a pheasant’s neck needs wringing, they wring the pheasant’s neck–no harm, no fowl.

[Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I’m trying to cheer my dad up now that his daughter’s a monarchist against both our better judgement. I guess I was smarter at ten than I am at 27.]

UPDATE: My mom says I forgot to mention that I have a British passport–very true, I am a dual citizen. So if one is a subject of Her Majesty by virtue of being British, or by virtue of being Canadian, then perhaps I’m such a monarchist by virtue of being DOUBLY a subject of the Crown. Such fun!

Dear English Paper: Go Write Yourself

/ Lauren / Leave a comment

Dear English Paper,

I’ve been avoiding you, and I’m sorry.

In a way, this is all my fault. I took my first undergraduate English literature course when I was 18 years old and now, nine years later, I still don’t seem to have learned my lesson. I admit that it was arrogance on my part to register in a first-year fiction course with the assumption that I (who have been taking upper level English classes for the past few years) would find it easy. In my defense, I thought it might be interesting to get back to fiction basics, and also, the student bus pass I get when I take courses is SUPER cheap. All excuses aside, we’re here now, and I know it’s childish of me to hide from you.

But does this really have to be so hard? It’s not that I don’t want to write you, I do! In fact, I absolutely love having written an English paper, it’s just that I don’t want to go through the act of writing you, rehashing the same old MLA guidelines over and over, dealing with word counts and pretentious-sounding titles. We’ve been through it all before and every time it exhausts me.

We have some history, you and I. It’s not as though you’ve always been kind to me–I recall several occasions during which I was slumped on the rug between the shelves of the library’s journal collections crying because I couldn’t find the article I was looking for (and when I did find it, it wasn’t useful anyways). There’s been a lot of wasted printer ink. A lot of late nights. I give and I give and I give, English Paper, and it’s never enough for you, is it?

But I don’t want to blame you. You want me to be better. You want me to read more critically, think more deeply, and write more persuasively. I understand this, but it still hurts. In the dead of night when I’m hunched over my laptop and I want nothing more than to close my eyes and sleep or maybe, just maybe, read a damn book for pleasure now and again, it hurts.

I want you to know that the relief I feel every time I hand you off and stop thinking about you is immense. But something keeps drawing me back to you, English Paper, and I just can’t keep myself away–soon we are entwined in the same familiar dance: introductory paragraph, argument, textual support, properly cited references, conclusion… I spice it up with a few clever turns of phrase, something daring, something a bit flashy even, but soon that spark disappears and we go through the motions, plodding along, torturing one another until I’m so sick of you I stop caring whether I’ve done right by you, whether I’ve done the best I could.

Tell me, English Paper, how does the family dynamic affect the characters’ emotional growth in D.H. Lawrence’s Sons and Lovers? And would you say any of them find fulfillment? Why or why not?

But you won’t tell me. You’ll simply blink at me, your blank face transmitting nothing but my own words, words which seem foolish upon reevaluation. You will take my words, and give me nothing.

And yet, here we are. All paths lead to you. It is time for me to conclude this epistle and meet you face to face once more, on the barren white battlefield of our difficult and pedantic love.

Adieu, adieu

NiftyNotCool

DearEnglishPaper

Ridiculously Fun: Fighting Chance Productions’ Rocky Horror Show

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rocky-posterIf you’re still a “Rocky Virgin”, it might be time to pop your theatrical cherry with Fighting Chance Productions‘ season opener, the cult classic Rocky Horror Show, playing at the Jericho Arts Centre until October 26 (with “11:59 Midnight” showings October 12th, 19th, and 25th).

Fans of the 1975 film The Rocky Horror Picture Show starring Tim Curry will know what to expect, but those who have never experienced the castle of Dr. Frank-N-Furter on either stage or screen are in for a bit of a shock. This show is NUTS, and it doesn’t make a lick of sense, plot-wise. That doesn’t mean it isn’t a great time. Though the film was originally considered a flop, a devoted group of fans soon made The Rocky Horror Picture Show an engaging and interactive experience through the development of “official” heckles and the use of audience props.

Fighting Chance’s Rocky Horror Show embraces (and often relies) on these traditions to make the performance the fun that it is. The cast members expect to be heckled and are not surprised when the audience showers the stage in rice or playing cards (for the safety of the performers, audience members are asked NOT to bring their own props, and to instead purchase actor-friendly prop bags available at the venue for $5 if they want to throw things during the show). Not knowing any of the traditional heckles, I felt a bit left out, but after doing some internet research it seems that part of the mystique is having to attend a showing or performance of Rocky enough times in order to catch on, and since the heckling is sort of ever-evolving, it’s hard to find a definitive source anyways (the Official Fan Site for The Rocky Horror Picture Show does NOT publish a list, though it does help clarify the Rocky phenomenon). In the spirit of good fun, I do have a few tips to get you Rocky Virgins started:

  • Whenever a character says the name “Brad Major”, yell “ASSHOLE!”.
  • Whenever a character says the name “Janet Weiss”, yell “SLUT!”.
  • Whenever Brad asks a castle resident for a telephone, yell “CASTLES DON’T HAVE TELEPHONES!”
  • When Dr. Frank-N-Furter sighs, “Whatever happened to Fay Ray?”, yell “SHE WENT APESHIT!”
Erika Thompson and Will Hopkins play a nice young couple who don't know what they're getting into. Photo credit: Devin Kerringten

Erika Thompson and Will Hopkins play a nice young couple who don’t know what they’re getting into. Photo credit: Devin Kerringten

By and large, the performances (by both the leads and the chorus members) are pretty solid. Good singing, good dancing, lots of camp and naughtiness, but one performance truly stands out: Seth Little simply dominates as Dr. Frank-N-Furter, with a voice to match his physical prowess. Every purse of his painted lips or cock of his pencilled eyebrows is both perfectly natural and right on cue. Little speaks, moves, and sings with the ease of a seasoned drag veteran (one would think he wears a corset and heels every day of his life, and who knows, maybe he does…).  I love when a performer takes a difficult role (especially such an iconic one) and makes it seem effortless; Little is a pleasure to watch. A special nod should also go to Erika Thompson for her performance as the ingenue-turned-“slut” Janet Weiss, and Steffanie Davis for her delicious portrayal of Dr. Scott.

Few opening nights are without their technical hiccups and unfortunately during Tuesday’s performance serious microphone issues left some main characters without a mic for several musical numbers (thankfully never Dr. Frank-N-Furter), and overall, I felt the musicians needed to be turned down just a bit so as not to overpower the singing. The draped walls and cavernous ceilings of the Jericho make it a difficult singing space to begin with, so even with a talented cast doing their valiant best, a lot of lyrics were lost over the course of the night. Having worked with (and attended many productions by) smaller theatre companies, I am usually pretty forgiving of technical snafus (especially on opening), however, given that tickets to the Rocky Horror Show sell for $39.25 each ($34.25 for students/seniors), the audience really should be able to expect a fairly high level of technical mastery. I sincerely hope these technical issues are just a case of “Opening Night Murphy’s Law” and will be worked out for the remainder of the run–it would be a shame if they prevented anyone from enjoying what is an otherwise outrageously pleasurable show.

Luckily for Fighting Chance (and for the audience), if any show can handle a few technical disasters it’s the Rocky Horror Show. It’s raunchy, campy, and incredibly interactive. The characters know they’re putting on a show and they can react to technical mishaps with humour and cheek. The audience is never meant to forget that they’re watching a performance so it’s not a big deal if we can see some of the strings being pulled. Technical issues aside, the Rocky Horror Show is absolutely ridiculous and is ridiculously fun to watch.

The Rocky Horror Show runs until October 26 at the Jericho Arts Centre. Tickets can be purchased online or by telephone at 604.684.2787.

Disclosure: My tickets to the Rocky Horror Show were provided by Fighting Chance Productions. The content of the review is my own.

Yes, it’s raining, get off your lazy butt

/ Lauren / Leave a comment

It’s sweater weather! And it’s going to rain/is raining!

Which means, of course, that all you want to do is snuggle up inside with a book, a cup of tea, maybe a pot of chili, and stay there until May. Which is understandable, but doesn’t take advantage of the great cultural and recreational boon the rainy season provides you: the weather sucks so you don’t need to be outside. Which means you can be inside, experiencing the many indoor cultural and recreational amenities Vancouver has to offer. You can enjoy indoor experiences like:

Physical fitness/recreation – Unless you’re pretty hardcore, you will likely be doing a lot less jogging, cycling, Ultimate Frisbee, etc. now that the sky will be pouring rain almost daily. Which means this is the perfect time to try some indoor  fitness/recreation:VCSOnWhite

  • The Vancouver Circus School – Obviously, I’m a bit biased, because I’ve been training there for years, but I will say that hot weather makes sweating it out upside down near the ceiling on a pair of aerial silks a particularly gross experience. Now that the air’s cooled off, I can warm myself up by working up a sweat and I don’t have to worry that I’ll pass out from heat exhaustion 15 feet above the ground. Fall/winter is the best time of year to try out circus, trust me.
  • Hillcrest Aquatic Centre – I go there because they have a sauna, a hot tub, and an amazing feature called a “lazy river”–it’s a circular pool with a current where you grab a couple pool noodles and just float around in a circle. It’s hella relaxing and I could probably bob along like that for hours. Unlike at Wreck Beach, you have to wear a bathing suit, but I think it’s worth it. (For you fitness buffs, there’s actual lane swimming as well, but who needs that when you can float on the lazy river?)

Theatres – The 2013/2014 season is getting underway in Vancouver and, as usual, there is a lot going on. I recommend visiting the Georgia Straight’s arts listings (you can search for “Theatre” under the “Types” tab) for a fairly comprehensive list of what’s playing right now, but in particular there are two shows opening next week that have been on my radar:

  • The Rocky Horror Show – Fighting Chance Productions, playing at the Jericho Arts Centre October 8 – 26, with previews October 4 and 5. I should probably disclose that I’ve been invited by the company to attend, but regardless I’m pretty excited about it because I’ve never seen a production of the Rocky Horror Show and it has such a cult following. If you want to get into the Halloween mood or just into an outrageous one, I have a feeling this will be fun. LET’S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN!
  • Corporations in our Heads – Theatre for Living, kicks off October 10 and 11 at Mount Pleasant Neighbourhood House before going on a BC/Alberta tour, returning for a Vancouver run in December. Again, I was invited by the company to attend, but I won’t be able to until its December run (however, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t think about going next week). Though I haven’t yet seen the show I was so impressed and moved by Theatre for Living’s maladjusted this past spring that I can recommend this event without too many qualms. Whether you like it or not, I guarantee that you’ll have an experience (RSVP’s for the kick-off dates recommended–call 604-871-0508 for more info). If you, like me, can’t make the kick-off dates, you may want to keep Corporations in our Heads in mind for December.

Literature – There’s the obvious, you could stay in with a good book of course (it’s something I plan on doing a lot this winter). But you can also experience literature by leaving your house. Pretty wild, huh?VPLimages

  • The Vancouver Public Library – The downtown location is big, it’s beautiful, the selection is huge and there are lots of nooks and crannies where you can curl up and read a book if you so choose. There are also lots of smaller VPL locations scattered around the city so check them out if there’s a book you don’t own that you’ve been hankering to read.
  • Readings and Discussions at the SFU Libraries – Did you know that the readings and discussions hosted by the Simon Fraser University Libraries are open to the public? They are! And you know what? They’re also kind of fun. I recently attended a reading by SFU Writer in Residence Madeleine Thien (this one hosted by the Department of English) and it was fantastic. These are authors, poets, and academics at the top of their game, and they’re willing to share some of what they’ve got FOR FREE.
  • Jordan Abel launches Place of Scraps and Poetry is Dead Magazine launches their sound poetry issue – Vancouver poet Jordan Abel is launching his new book of erasure poetry, Place of Scraps, at the Western Front on October 10 (303 E 8th Ave., doors open 7:30) but FIRST (shameless plug alert), Poetry is Dead Magazine will be launching their new issue of sound poetry and I will be reading at it (same location/evening/time)! If you’ve never heard sound poetry before, you’re in for a crazy treat.

Museums – For such an outdoor-oriented city, there are actually a lot of museums in town. My recent favourite:UBC_MOA_sign

  • The Museum of Anthropology at UBC – We went there last Sunday when it was pouring buckets outside, and it was such a great way to spend a rainy afternoon. The artifacts and exhibits are so gorgeous, and so lovingly and carefully housed. The showstopper is, of course, the Great Hall – a massive atrium full of mid-19th century totem poles and house posts carved by Northwest Coast nations. Artistically and architecturally, the effect is breathtaking. That’s not to say the other exhibits aren’t interesting–the museum is much larger than it first appears, housing collections of art and artifacts from cultures around the world (hint: pull open the drawers beneath the glass cases, they’re meant to be opened and are full of more neat stuff). My party and I sat in front the beautiful The Raven and the First Men in the Bill Reid Rotunda for a long time. I was so taken with this sculpture I’m only now realizing I forgot to walk all the way around it to see the whole thing. Silly me. Guess I’ll have to go back.

The thing is, the ideas above are just ones from off the top of my head–things I’d done or heard about. You probably know of quite a few cool things too. So between the collective minds of an interesting city, there’s really no excuse to spend the entire winter on your couch.