Secondhand Sunday

Sunday, January 31, 2010

I'm basically too lazy to think of anything new to say so I'm re-posting a "vintage" entry.

If you aren't in the mood for repeats, please feel free to change the channel.


Original Post Date, June 13, 2009

My sister sent me this video from David Letterman's Stupid Pet Tricks.

Since Bernie is too chubby to even hold like that, here's her version of playing dead.

C Cleveland

Saturday, January 30, 2010

Since many of us in are in the midst of a cold winter blast, have you ever wondered where the salt comes from that's used to clear your roads? One source is the Cargill Salt Mine in Cleveland.

Millions of years ago, ancient seas dried up, leaving behind a bed of salt over 50-feet thick. Limestone and shale deposits buried the bed and retreating glaciers left the Great Lakes on top. This salt was accidentally discovered when drillers searching for oil found salt instead.

In the early 1800's, most of the salt used in Cleveland was brought in from Pennsylvania and New York. It proved to be a costly commodity given the demand but by 1863, thanks to chance discoveries, Ohio was the third largest salt producing state.

Fast forward to 1957, when International Salt Company (now owned by Cargill) acquires Whiskey Island, the peninsula in the Cuyahoga River 1.5 miles from downtown Cleveland. Whiskey Island is the surface entrance to a vast rock mining city under the city.

Salt mine seen above the bridge

From the highway that runs alongside it, the mine looks like any other industrial site in a busy, Great Lakes port. But working here is not at all like working in any other industrial job. To start their day, workers make a daily descent in an elevator cage that takes four minutes to carry them down 1793 feet to the the 9000 acre reserve.

There, the 400 miles of underground roads link the rooms of salt. Each room is 45 feet wide and 18-20 feet tall, separated by large safety pillars of salt. These pillars support more than 350 vertical feet of deposits above the galleries currently excavating the bed called F2-B. The rock salt removed after blasting one room can be up to 650 tons in weight. This room and pillar system has been used for centuries.

The salt mine produces almost 2 1/2 million tons of salt a year. Nightly, miners bore holes for explosives in the rock face and in the morning, the loose salt is dumped into machines that break it into smaller pieces. It's processed in an underground mill before it's taken to the surface, 20 tons at a time.

Salt isn't a rigid, break away type of rock and because of this, it has movement to it. Workers leave about half the salt behind in a room and close it off to increase ventilation.

You would think that cutting away large quantities of rock would cause some structural changes and you would be right. However, it's difficult to distinguish if the deformities in the area under Whiskey Island are from the loss of weight of salt being removed rather than merely representing natural variations in the rock unit's composition so I think we're safe for now.

No, sadly, they don't offer tours.

Stripper Chick Wisdom

Friday, January 29, 2010

Chrissy's real truth about life that no one will tell you.

"There is no light at the end of the tunnel.

This is it."

No reasonable offer refused

Thursday, January 28, 2010

I've really been thinking about this whole Jim situation. I think we all know it's just going to get worse since he's already making his move before the ink even dries on his divorce papers.

So I've decided to sell my house. I just put the sign up today.

Lunches with Lisa

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

My sister, Lisa, is a total germophobe. I'm amazed that she doesn't walk around in a plastic bubble all day.

"No, I can't give you a sip of my drink."

"Oh my God, did your finger just touch that chicken wing? You better eat it! I saw you. I saw your finger touch the chicken wing!"

"Now why would you sneeze in your hand? You know you're supposed to sneeze in the crook of your elbow."

Yesterday, she was at the lunch table as I walked up, just looking down at her food.

"What's the matter?" I asked, "Why aren't you eating yet?"

She stared at her waffle fries and chicken tenders. "I forgot my Purell upstairs. Do you have your Purell?"

The only reason I have a purse sized Purell is because Lisa gave it to me. I rifled through my purse as she anxiously waited. "Sorry, no luck. They have those disinfecting foam dispensers over by the napkins."

She got up to give her hands a once over and I fully anticipated seeing her walking back to the table, arms bent upward at the elbow, fingers extended like she had just prepped for surgery and couldn't risk contaminating her hands.

What I got was far better. I happened to glance up at the man seated at the table across from me and he was laughing and looking in Lisa's direction.

There was my sister, rushing toward the table with her glasses in hand, wiping her cheek. As she got closer, I saw that her face, hair and blouse were all spattered with a white substance. She looked like a naughty school girl in a soft core porn movie. Who am I kidding? A girl like me doesn't watch soft core porn.

Make that hard core.

As she sat down, I said, "So, do you think he's gonna call you?"

She was laughing so hard, I don't think she even heard me.

"Oh my gosh....I pushed button....squirted everywhere...."

Now you think she would have learned this the first time it happened to her.

I bet she won't forget her Purell again.

Don't do it, MTV!

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

I'm 43 years old and I can't get enough of Jersey Shore. I think it's for the same reason that I love The Bachelor. I see myself in many of these girls who are trying so hard to be the prettiest one to get the attention of the hottest fist pumping guy. Kind of like I do now, actually, only I didn't have to wear Spanx back then.

If you aren't up to speed, Jersey Shore is the MTV reality show about a group of Guidos and Guidettes that spend the summer in Seaside Heights, New Jersey working in a T shirt shop and sharing a house.

The Guidos spend their days tanning, working out and doing laundry and their nights trying to hook up with every skank on the Shore. I know, I didn't get the laundry thing, either, but I guess Ed Hardy shirts aren't going to wash themselves.

The Guidettes just sleep all day, drink all night and suck on pickles. No really, pickles isn't "code" for co-- or anything. It's really pickles.

Apparently, when MTV had this brainstorm to produce the show, they auditioned thousands of hopefuls and threw a few hundred dollars per episode at each person they chose for the opportunity to be famous.

No one realized that it would be so popular that even people like me would forgo Masterpiece Theatre to see Mike "The Situation" take off his shirt. And what do you do with wildly popular reality shows? You keep running them over and over and over.

The seemingly simple cast may not be so dumb after all. They are negotiating the second season in "Friends" fashion, "Pay us all the same exorbitant amount or we walk!" The only thing they're forgetting is that they have no real talent, which I suppose is part of their appeal.

I, for one, say, bring in a new cast of Guidos and Guidettes and keep it fresh. Who wants to see Ronnie and Sammi in a relationship? Boorrriinng.

But, MTV, if you do decide to keep the current cast, maybe you could spice things up with an older woman as a love interest or something?

"Hey, Mike, if you show me yours, I'll show you mine."

"Will work for pickles."


For this, I showered?

Monday, January 25, 2010

I tried to convince my doctor that I had become F-A-T from the medication that she had prescribed for me in the spring. She concurred that it may have attributed to my weight gain and so, she agreed that we could try switching meds.

I waited patiently for my medication to come from my new mail order prescription company. It arrived a little over a week ago, just as I ran out of my other pills. I read through the handout that came with the prescription and it listed many of the same possible side effects that the other drug had.


*muscle weakness

*chest pain




*feeling light-headed


You know, the usual CYA list that drug companies utilize.

I was happy to see that Anorgasmia wasn't on the list however, lack of sexual desire was. So it looks like I won't have any trouble actually having an orgasm, I just won't want to.

The first few days, I felt fine. The third day, I was feeling a little light-headed and nauseous. My sister told me to call the doctor but I was sure that I could work through the side effects like I had the last time. At least I didn't have that catatonic Stepford Wife thing going on again.

By Friday, I could barely move my head without feeling like I was going to fall down and I would intermittently get that head rush feeling while sitting at my desk. But I was gonna work through it because hello.....I might actually lose weight on this drug.

Saturday, I was too afraid to shower because I thought I might fall down in the tub. You people who live alone know what I'm talking about. That fear of falling and hitting our heads or choking on food and not being able to perform the Heimlich on ourselves. No one will find us until the rotting stench of our corpse alerts the mailman that something is wrong.

Sunday, I felt even worse and I decided to take a shower in case I had to call 911. Well, I didn't want be stinky when the hunky paramedics got here...

I dropped the soap but didn't want to bend over and pick it up so I just kept kicking it until it finally looped high enough off the side for me to catch it. I safely exited, put on my robe and decided to lay down on the couch.

What happens next could be titled, A Day in My Life..

My cell phone beeped that I had a text message but I was too lazy to get up and answer it. Then my home phone rang and since it was on the coffee table, I reached over to answer it.

"Hi Christine, it's Jim!" (only close friends like you guys call me Chrissy)

For those of you who don't know, Jim is my next door neighbor.

"Hi Jim. How are you?" the pounding in my head got worse.

"Good! I just wanted you to know that I'm officially divorced!"

Oh dear God, I thought to myself, but I managed a "congratulations" and we chatted for a few minutes. Inevitably, Jim wanted to come over and chat some more.

"Sorry, Jim, this isn't a good time."

And inevitably, he mentioned that "if I ever wanted to get together for dinner or something, that would be great."

Now I felt dizzy and I hadn't even stood up. I fumbled through an excuse to get off the phone and was lying there holding my head when the reminder beep on my cell went off again.

It was loud and annoying so I got up to see who it was. It was from my old boyfriend Sparky's brother's girlfriend, Carrie. We had never met while Sparky and I were dating.

She explained to me that she had moved here a few years back and still didn't really have many friends and Sparky had said what a great person I was and how much fun I was and would I like to get together sometime?


I called a girlfriend and read her the text.

"Isn't this odd?"

"Yes, but aren't you curious?"

"If I'm so fun and great, why isn't he dating me? Why is he setting up a play date with his pseudo sister-in-law?"

"Because you have that special gift for dating only emotionally unavailable men. It doesn't mean that he doesn't think you're great, he just can't handle you, so he wants to vicariously experience you through her."

I haven't responded back to Carrie yet.

I decided to go to the drugstore armed with my list of alternate meds that my insurance company had sent me because the Stepford Wife drug has become "non-formulary" which means three times the co-pay. I needed to see what my options were to switch drugs again.

I was sitting patiently in a chair, waiting for my pharmacy consultation when I glanced over at the woman sitting next to me in the cramped waiting area. She seemed to be taking great pleasure in the newspaper article she was reading when all of sudden she let out a chuckle and looked over at me.

Oh God, here we go...

"My goodness, would you look at this?", she leaned over and turned the page toward me. "Doesn't she look like the happiest, nicest person?"

My eyes went to where her finger was pointing and I let out a maniacal laugh at this culmination of my goofy day. She grinned even larger.

"Wow. She sure does.", I said,"I would love to hang out with her!" Maybe Carrie could come along.

She was pointing to the photo of a dead woman in the obituaries.

But I'M the one who's on medication...

Secondhand Sunday

Sunday, January 24, 2010

I'm basically too lazy to think of anything new to say so I'm re-posting a "vintage" entry.

If you aren't in the mood for repeats, please feel free to change the channel.


Original Post Date, January 25, 2009

I worked out two days in a row. And I expect a medal for doing so. I HATE working out. And I think that anyone who says they enjoy it, is lying. Now, I do love the way I feel after working out but the actual working out part? Not so much.

I've never been what anyone would remotely describe as athletically inclined. Very early on, I tried to find excuses to get out of gym class but it usually didn't work. Even though I did mature early, it was a stretch to convince the gym teacher that I had my period in the second grade.

Between the 5th and 6th grade, I had a huge growth spurt and suddenly became the belle of the ball when it came to picking sides for volleyball and basketball. Over the course of the year, though, they realized my skills weren't any better at a higher altitude and I was once again relegated to being one of the remaining two.

"I guess we'll take Chrissy."

Their other choice was a boy who spent all of elementary school with at least one of his appendages in a cast.

I didn't become completely horrified by PE class until the year I entered junior high at 13. While I knew that the physical requirements would be greater, I didn't realize that my worst enemy wouldn't be the parallel bars but the dreaded gym suit.

It was a gold one piece number that zipped up the front. It had no collar, an elastic waist and a striped top over a solid bottom that barely covered your butt. When I say gold, I know you're picturing royal dressing gowns. Well, don't. It was more like a mustard color. And not that sunny French's mustard color but more like muddy Grey Poupon.

It came in three sizes, Small, Medium and Large and was a poly/cotton combo. If you were over 5' tall, it didn't really stretch very much lengthwise and I think that's how the term "camel-toe" came to be. Since it was the year 1979, there weren't many of us wearing tampons yet, so when it was your "time of the month", your "camel-toe" now looked like it was carrying cargo on its back.

There were no slim pads with wings, no mini pads, no lightdays pads. There were Kotex Maxi and Kotex Maxi plus. Each was about 3 inches thick and if you were lucky, the adhesive strip would stay in place all day. Or at least through gym class.

You always knew the girls whose strips didn't stay in place because by the end of 4th period, they were wearing a sweatshirt tied around their waist. C'mon, girls, you know what I'm talkin' about. Oh, the horrors!

We had to master a President's fitness test in order to be able to pass the class, so we practiced. A lot. I spent most of the 7th grade with my inner thighs raw from attempting to climb the rope and touch the ceiling while making sure that my butt wasn't hanging out.

They tried to fool me into thinking that these skills would be useful later in life but I can't recall any job interviews that have required me to climb a rope or dodge a ball.

Instead, I'll claim my small victories.

Like working out two days in a row.

C Cleveland

Saturday, January 23, 2010

The Arcade, located downtown between Euclid and Superior Avenues near Public Square, is one of America's first indoor shopping malls. Built in 1890, it was designed by John Eisenmann and George H. Smith. The $875,000 cost was financed by wealthy Clevelanders, including John D. Rockefeller and Marcus Hanna.

Arcade circa 1940

This unique structure consists of two 9-story brick and masonry towers, one facing Euclid Avenue and one on Superior Avenue. The towers are connected by a 5-story atrium with a 100-foot high glass skylight ceiling. The inspiration for the Arcade was the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele in Milan, Italy.

Galleria Vittorio Emanuele

The atrium is adorned with elaborate metalwork and railings, and the top floor is decorated with a series of gargoyles.

Arcade gargoyles

It was the first Cleveland building to be listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

Original staircase

The Art deco influence of the 1940's was seen in the renovation of the Euclid Avenue facade and the Superior Avenue staircase. The Euclid Avenue facade was altered to allow two sculpted medallions of Charles F. Brush (the creator of the arc light, the first streetlight) and Stephen Harkness. Both men were former presidents of the Cleveland Arcade Company.

Arcade medallion for Charles F. Brush

The suburban flight of the 70's caused many merchants to leave the Arcade and it was actually threatened with demolition until a new owner had the sense to maintain the grandeur of days gone by.

The Arcade underwent another renovation in 2001 when a public/private partnership between Related Midwest and the Hyatt Corporation worked to renovate this gem at a cost of $60 million.

The Hyatt Regency redeveloped it into a hotel. The Regency occupies the two towers and the top three floors of the atrium. The lower floors remain open to the public with retail merchants and a food court. The atrium area is also rented out for events and weddings.

Hyatt Regency

Hotel suites top levels

Suite at the Hyatt

Detail of staircase

Detail of facade

Detail of metalwork


The Arcade is truly one of Cleveland's architectural wonders!

Stripper Chick Wisdom

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Chrissy's real truth about life that no one will tell you.

"You should definitely stay in a relationship with that selfish, alcoholic loser that doesn't have a job because I'm sure he'll change for you."

Lunches with Lisa

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

My sister, Lisa, has a fondness for character watches. Some have musical alarms or funny voices. Luckily, in the medical field, you can wear quirky watches or goofy scrubs and no one blinks twice. In fact, both can be great conversation pieces to calm otherwise anxious patients. This story is not reflective of that benefit.

A few weeks ago, Lisa decided to wear her Pepe le Pew watch. She was filling in for another MA and so, was working with an attractive, 40-something female physician. A 29 year old male patient was coming in for a hemorrhoid procedure and as a medical assistant, it is Lisa's duty to hold different body parts down or shift them so the physician has an optimal view.

As one might expect, in this case she was to spread the patient's buttocks as he knelt on the exam table, bent over at the waist. The patient was in perfect position and the procedure started. Once it starts, it's imperative that Lisa hold that position. A few minutes in, she was asked to hand the physician an instrument so she carefully removed one hand and reached over her other arm to retrieve it.

As she did, she grazed her watch and must have flicked the sound button. The soothing sounds of Pepe le Pew serenading his lover resonated in the room.

"I'm in the mooood for looooove...simply because you're near meeee. Funny but when you're near meee...I'm in the mood for loooove."

As it was going through the first verse, Lisa very calmy said, "Um, it'll just play one more verse. Sorry about that..."

The patient never showed up for his follow up appointment and hasn't been heard from since.

Just do it already

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

The local YMCA and one of the hospitals have teamed up to start a program called Go! Fit here in town. They're offering a FREE 3 month membership to any county resident for any local YMCA or Curves location.

I called my friend Michelle, who already has a membership at the Y and asked her if she wanted to buddy up and join me. Sure, she said, and I'll sign my son up to swim while we're there. Yay! It sounded like a plan.

Since it's probably been about 6 years since I've worked out in a gym, I decided to get my workout clothes ready the night before.

I squeezed into my bike shorts. Oh, no, my ass looks huge in these.

I pulled on my black leggings. Black still doesn't prevent my legs from looking like two sausages.

I slipped on my baggy sweats. Oh geez, now I just look like a frump.

So what does any self-respecting woman do? That's right. I went and bought new workout clothes.

The next day, Michelle and I headed to the gym, which is literally a little over a mile from my house. I confidently strode toward the front desk, rockin' my bright top and yoga pants.

"I would like to sign up for the GO fit program, please."

"Great! Just to let you know, we've gotten a higher demand than we anticipated, so we're going to have to delay your start until February 12."


I felt like I was on the Biggest Loser and getting kicked off the ranch before I even weighed in. Really? You didn't anticipate that you might get a large response when you offered a free membership to 1,300,000 residents of the county?

I disappointedly looked at Michelle, who suggested I stay as her guest. I gave them my contact information and followed Michelle into the women's locker room. For those of you who watched the first episode of this season's Biggest Loser, you know that they had the contestants do their initial weigh-in in front of their friends, family and town members. It was a devastating wake up call for all of them.

So I headed to the scale and told Michelle to watch me weigh myself.

"I don't need to watch you weigh yourself," Michelle looked away.

"I need to be shamed into losing weight. Just stand there and see what I weigh."

It was a traditional balance beam scale and Michelle watched as I slid the clunky 150 pound marker over.

"See? You don't even weigh 150!"

"No....I weigh more than 150. I need to slide this thingy over."


Slide...not balanced....slide....not balanced...slide...still not balanced. There we go.

"Look. This is what a pig I am."

"What? There's no way you weigh that! The scale must be broken. Excuse me! Could you come over here, please, this scale is broken," Michelle yelled down the hall.

"SHH!!!! It's not broken. That's really what I weigh."


I followed Michelle into the fitness room and I jumped on the Stairmaster. There were a spattering of people there and we were all facing the mirrored wall.

As the Stairmaster started taking me through the random routine, I gradually started to feel stronger.

This isn't so bad, I thought to myself as I glanced in the mirror. I look pretty cute in my hot pink top.

Step. Step. Step. Step.

Hey, I think I see definition in my thighs already.

Step. Step. Step. Step.

I glanced over at the guy in (way too) short shorts. Hey, look at me! I'm so athletic. I shouted in my head. He didn't look.

Step. Step. Step. Step.

I stared at the woman in the red sweatshirt. Look at me. Look AT me! Nothin'.

Step. Step. Step. Step.

I bored holes in the back of the man's head who was sitting on the bike in front of me. Hey. Hey. You. You. Look up. Look up. Look in the mirror. Look UP!

Step. Step. Step. Step.

As the speed increased on the stairs, my breathing became more shallow and I felt myself starting to sweat. (I don't delicately perspire - I SWEAT) I glanced at myself in the mirror and could see the sweat trickling down my neck and staining my tee an even darker shade.

Keep going, Chrissy! Think of your Lucky jeans that you haven't fit into since the summer.


I looked at myself in the mirror.

Oh God! My face was bright red, my tee shirt soaked and my hair was plastered to my cheeks. I looked awful.

I caught "short shorts" looking at me in the mirror.

Stop looking at me! I'm hideous. Stop, I say. STOP!

The random routine ended and I slunk off the stairs, trying not to draw any more attention to myself. I know now that I pushed myself too hard the first day.

I mean, really, who can do five minutes right off the bat??

Stripper Chick Wisdom

Monday, January 18, 2010

Chrissy's real truth about life that no one will tell you.

"You just got married? Congratulations!

I give you eighteen months, tops."

Secondhand Sunday

Sunday, January 17, 2010

I'm basically too lazy to think of anything new to say so I'm re-posting a "vintage" entry.

If you aren't in the mood for repeats, please feel free to change the channel.


Original Post Date, September 22, 2009

I had the dubious distinction of being the tallest student in my 5th grade glass at 5 feet 9 inches tall. Needless to say, I was what they call "an early bloomer". While all the other little girls were ruminating over their latest Barbie, I was arguing with my mother over whether to use the sticky sanitary napkins or the belted ones at "that time of the month".

Since I was the first girl in my gaggle of friends to become a young woman, I took solace in the fact that I would have boobies before them. My sister, two years older than me, already had enviable buzooms. And my mother, in her all Double D glory was anxious to take her little girl shopping for her first bra.

I pictured spectacled Audrey, who had a penchant for singing "Zippity Doo Da", looking at me in all her four-eyed envy. And cute little Jennifer who would suddenly wonder why all the boys wanted to push me on the swings instead of her. Oh, the power I would yield at Anderson School!

Yeah, well, that didn't happen. By some cruel twist of fate, I inherited my father's boobs instead of my mother's. I waited patiently, year after year, hoping that my breasts would catch up to the progress my legs and increasingly widening ass had made.

My sister loved to give me birthday cards every year that mocked my barely A cup. Most despised was the card with a picture of a roll of toilet paper on it and this nasty little taunt on the front, "Why don't you rub this on your chest so it will grow?"

Couldn't wait for the punch line when I opened it, "It seems to have worked on your butt!"

And so, my boob envy was born. Over the years, I resigned myself to sneaking peeks at the girls spilling out of their tank tops or teeny bikinis. I never chastised a boyfriend for staring as long as he pointed them out to me. Do I have latent homosexual tendencies? Maybe. You be the judge.

I'm happy to report that I no longer need to ogle girls with enviable ta-tas because I'm now a member of the inner circle.

I've gained about 25 pounds in the last 10 years and it seems like 20 of them have shown up above my waist. You won't hear me complaining, though. I find every opportunity to walk past construction sites so the girls can jiggle and say hello to the workers. Of course, I feign disgust when they hoot and holler because what kind of girl will they think I am if I don't?

If I'm talking to a man and I notice him furtively glance down at the girls, it takes every ounce of me not to say, "Aren't they magnificent? Do you want to touch them? It's okay."

Yes, my boob envy years are over. What a great feeling to put this chapter behind me.

Speaking of behinds, walking in front of me this morning was this girl with the most exquisite ass.....

C Cleveland

Saturday, January 16, 2010

John Long Severance and his wife, Elisabeth, pledged $1 million in 1928 for construction of a permanent home for The Cleveland Orchestra. Prior to then, the Orchestra performed in auditoriums and theaters throughout the city and on the road.

Not long after the Severances announced their pledge, Elisabeth died unexpectedly.

Elisabeth Severance

John Severance devoted himself to making the hall a memorial to his beloved Elisabeth. The final cost was nearly $7 million with almost half coming from Severance himself.

The building was designed by the Cleveland architectural firm, Walker & Weeks, who also designed the Cleveland Public Library. The Georgian exterior complements the classic architecture of the Cleveland Museum of Art, which sits directly across the street.

Cleveland Museum of Art

Both are situated in the heart of University Circle, which houses major cultural, medical and educational institutions.

University Circle - (Hint..I work in one of these buildings!)

From 1998-2000, Severance Hall underwent a $36 million renovation and restoration project. The renovation included construction of a new concert stage, improved patron access and amenities in public gathering spaces, improved accommodations for musicians and artists, including expanded backstage facilities and new lighting, communication, and technical support systems to facilitate broadcast and recording of The Cleveland Orchestra.

The restoration included the 2,100-seat Concert Hall, the 400-seat Reinberger Chamber Hall, the Grand Foyer, and other patron spaces. In addition, refurbishment and restoration of the hall's original E.M. Skinner Norton Memorial Organ by Schantz Organ Company, and re-installation of the organ's 6,025 pipes as part of the new concert shell.

Skinner Organ

Lerner Lobby

Smith Lobby

Concert Hall

As if this weren't enough, a five-story addition (39,000 square feet) was constructed at the rear of the building. This space allows for additional backstage facilities to accommodate a wider variety of musical presentations as well as a full service restaurant and facilities for private events.

Severance Hall is truly a magnificent concert hall befitting the world renowned Cleveland Orchestra.

Severance Restaurant

Ong Gallery

Detail of Reinberger Chamber Hall

Reinberger Hall

My favorite addition? A 150% increase in women's restrooms!

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