i hate everything.
no offense to my blogmate and mb (mbm & mb...) but today i hate bicycles and the people who ride them.
after spending the better part of last week wallowing in congested, vomiting misery on my couch i was finally forced to pull myself together and go to work today... but from the second i left my apartment it was all wrong. i was pulling out of the driveway before i realized that my nice hot cup of coffee was still sitting on the kitchen counter, and on the road less than 3 minutes before everything went to hell. i was specifically aware that bike the drive (the yearly cyclist love fest where they close off LSD to cars for some good, old-fashioned two-wheeled fun) was happening this weekend, but specifically thought that it was happening yesterday. i'm still way too chicago-dumb to attempt an efficient maneuver through city streets without any help from mapquest, and proceded to work my way south in a slow, disorganized way that was anything but sexy... and that landed me at work a good 20 minutes late.
things might have moved a little faster had it not been for all the wholesome, happy, bike-helmeted families that were meandering their way westward, obstructing not only my usual route to work but also clogging every intersection between me and my destination.
i'd like to think that my irrational rage was born from my own, inner outdoorsy-ness and my sadness that i couldn't join in on the fun. but really i'm just a bitter girl who hates everything.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Monday, May 22, 2006
yours in hating everything,
as i've previously mentioned, i've recently picked up the habit of serially text-paging my blogmate messages that only say "i hate everything" or some variant thereof.
please add weather to the list of things that i hate.
as my blogmate recently pointed out, i compulsively check my email every morning when i wake up. what my blogmate probably doesn't know is that like clockwork, when i'm done checking my email i check the weather forecast.
but there's no point. in addition to never having any email at 5:30 in the morning (unless my blogmate was up late and desperately needing to tell me something), the weather has absolutely no bearing on my life.
though i resent, in theory, the fact that it's late may and still consistently darned cold outside, neither rain, nor sleet nor hail change things for me at all. nice weather, nasty weather, either way i go to work and come home and only experience the weather for the duration of my drive down lakeshore. ok, i'm occasionally inconvenienced when it's raining as i walk the 12 yards between the parking lot and the door, but that's about it.
in fact, the impact the weather has had on me lately me is to 1) make me extremely resentful when people tell me how nice it is outside and 2) make me miserably sick for the last 6 days. not sick enough to keep me home from work. just enough to give me that crappy, death-warmed-over feeling.
my miserable allergy-attack-cold thing led me to walgreens today, where the guy behind the counter wouldn't sell me any generic sudafed because i didn't have ID. i'm two weeks from turning 29 and i'm getting carded for cold medicine.
i also hate cold medicine, my need for it, and my lack of ability to buy any.
please add weather to the list of things that i hate.
as my blogmate recently pointed out, i compulsively check my email every morning when i wake up. what my blogmate probably doesn't know is that like clockwork, when i'm done checking my email i check the weather forecast.
but there's no point. in addition to never having any email at 5:30 in the morning (unless my blogmate was up late and desperately needing to tell me something), the weather has absolutely no bearing on my life.
though i resent, in theory, the fact that it's late may and still consistently darned cold outside, neither rain, nor sleet nor hail change things for me at all. nice weather, nasty weather, either way i go to work and come home and only experience the weather for the duration of my drive down lakeshore. ok, i'm occasionally inconvenienced when it's raining as i walk the 12 yards between the parking lot and the door, but that's about it.
in fact, the impact the weather has had on me lately me is to 1) make me extremely resentful when people tell me how nice it is outside and 2) make me miserably sick for the last 6 days. not sick enough to keep me home from work. just enough to give me that crappy, death-warmed-over feeling.
my miserable allergy-attack-cold thing led me to walgreens today, where the guy behind the counter wouldn't sell me any generic sudafed because i didn't have ID. i'm two weeks from turning 29 and i'm getting carded for cold medicine.
i also hate cold medicine, my need for it, and my lack of ability to buy any.
to our very good and guilt-ridden friends...
you are all lovely people.
mb and i are very excited about the upcoming move, and have been talking about the various stages of packing, gas leaks, throwing things away, etc. with many of you. and like good friends, you have all been happy for us. we love you and are excited to welcome you to our new home in a week or so.
let us set the record straight to ease your collective conscience. we are hiring movers. i have never seen so many confused and vaguely guilty faces, ranging from the explicit "umm, i know it's my job as friend to offer to help you to move -- do you need me?" to the more subtle "yeah... ummm... so my sister? is also moving that day. sorry, would love to help you..." to the joyful "sweet! no more third-floor walk-up?"
we understand your reluctance to move our furniture -- you've already helped us so many times in the last three years, have lost toenails and watches on the steep wooden back staircase, have lost parts of your cement front driveways while i come careening through in a truck whose size exceeds my driving skills. we are also reluctant to move our own furniture. and to those who have regularly asked "you're HIRING? like paying MONEY? that doesn't seem like you," yes, even we think it's worth it this time.
so rest easy, thank you for three years of lifting, dragging, lending showers when ours stops working, laundry when ours stops working, etc. your next job will be to come admire the new place. there will be beer. we'll keep you posted.
mb and i are very excited about the upcoming move, and have been talking about the various stages of packing, gas leaks, throwing things away, etc. with many of you. and like good friends, you have all been happy for us. we love you and are excited to welcome you to our new home in a week or so.
let us set the record straight to ease your collective conscience. we are hiring movers. i have never seen so many confused and vaguely guilty faces, ranging from the explicit "umm, i know it's my job as friend to offer to help you to move -- do you need me?" to the more subtle "yeah... ummm... so my sister? is also moving that day. sorry, would love to help you..." to the joyful "sweet! no more third-floor walk-up?"
we understand your reluctance to move our furniture -- you've already helped us so many times in the last three years, have lost toenails and watches on the steep wooden back staircase, have lost parts of your cement front driveways while i come careening through in a truck whose size exceeds my driving skills. we are also reluctant to move our own furniture. and to those who have regularly asked "you're HIRING? like paying MONEY? that doesn't seem like you," yes, even we think it's worth it this time.
so rest easy, thank you for three years of lifting, dragging, lending showers when ours stops working, laundry when ours stops working, etc. your next job will be to come admire the new place. there will be beer. we'll keep you posted.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
self-subversive?
excellent. plan avoid-yuppie-lifestyle is well underway.
after a pleasant conversation with a co-worker about her husband and kids, and her laughing about how much more exciting the single life must be, i headed off for work saturday morning. when mb picked me up (raining, no car, etc.) we returned to casa hyde park, which had been brewing a huge gas leak all day. this seemed to explain mb's headache and nausea, i guess... so i called and argued with the building manager for awhile, who finally came up to check out the situation, decided that he personally did not smell any gas, and left. i called the gas company, who in 30 minutes showed up and validated our concerns by saying that they could smell it halfway up the stairs. now having a new connector of some sort, we opened all the windows, turned on the fans, and decided to have that single night on the town my friend had been mentioning. mb made the wise suggestion that since we're leaving hyde park in 2 short weeks, we owe it to the 'hood to spend our evening here. fish and chips at the very deserted pub were good, but memoirs of a geisha was not. that movie is pain heaped with awkwardness complicated by suffering and more pain. an hour in, i poked mb and mentioned that the movie was a little weird. he whispered back that he'd rather be sniffing gas fumes. so back we went, and spent the rest of our most awesome evening in a now gas-fume-free but freezing apartment.
so now things are well-ventilated and everything, and we're getting ready to move soon. (aside: we think the new place should have a name, like the kennedy's "wexford" or something. we're debating between "snootington" and "fancington." any votes?) lest i worry about our immediately fitting in to the new neighborhood and becoming the yuppies that we fear, the place won't look clean or conservative any time soon. when i mentioned that i'd picked up 20+ copies of a local lgbt paper, i didn't mean for packing gifts, i meant for packing our apartment. our granite counters and stainless steel appliances will easily be tempered by the million scantily clad men smiling from the pages of the chicago free press.
even better, mb reminded me that some of our new neighbors are mormons. he's planning the welcoming statement now: "hi, i'm mb and this is my live-in girlfriend. it's great to meet you! hey, would you mind giving me a hand carrying this crate of booze wrapped in soft gay porn?"
we're going to fit right in.
after a pleasant conversation with a co-worker about her husband and kids, and her laughing about how much more exciting the single life must be, i headed off for work saturday morning. when mb picked me up (raining, no car, etc.) we returned to casa hyde park, which had been brewing a huge gas leak all day. this seemed to explain mb's headache and nausea, i guess... so i called and argued with the building manager for awhile, who finally came up to check out the situation, decided that he personally did not smell any gas, and left. i called the gas company, who in 30 minutes showed up and validated our concerns by saying that they could smell it halfway up the stairs. now having a new connector of some sort, we opened all the windows, turned on the fans, and decided to have that single night on the town my friend had been mentioning. mb made the wise suggestion that since we're leaving hyde park in 2 short weeks, we owe it to the 'hood to spend our evening here. fish and chips at the very deserted pub were good, but memoirs of a geisha was not. that movie is pain heaped with awkwardness complicated by suffering and more pain. an hour in, i poked mb and mentioned that the movie was a little weird. he whispered back that he'd rather be sniffing gas fumes. so back we went, and spent the rest of our most awesome evening in a now gas-fume-free but freezing apartment.
so now things are well-ventilated and everything, and we're getting ready to move soon. (aside: we think the new place should have a name, like the kennedy's "wexford" or something. we're debating between "snootington" and "fancington." any votes?) lest i worry about our immediately fitting in to the new neighborhood and becoming the yuppies that we fear, the place won't look clean or conservative any time soon. when i mentioned that i'd picked up 20+ copies of a local lgbt paper, i didn't mean for packing gifts, i meant for packing our apartment. our granite counters and stainless steel appliances will easily be tempered by the million scantily clad men smiling from the pages of the chicago free press.
even better, mb reminded me that some of our new neighbors are mormons. he's planning the welcoming statement now: "hi, i'm mb and this is my live-in girlfriend. it's great to meet you! hey, would you mind giving me a hand carrying this crate of booze wrapped in soft gay porn?"
we're going to fit right in.
Friday, May 12, 2006
help a girl out
why didn't someone tell me that chicago free press was a gay men's newspaper before i picked up 20 copies of it for packing filler?
material girl? a flight of ideas.
i am rapidly but anxiously reaching the conclusion that stuff is good.
after months of mocking my blogmate's dental hygiene preferences, i recently purchased one of those new battery-operated auto-rotating toothbrushes. i can honestly say that my teeth haven't felt this clean since, well, since i last saw dentists regularly. (i'm sorry, but on the south side the only dentists i've found who take my insurance are named rufus, and i can't get past it.) so i'm pleased with the new discovery (and mb is super jealous), but added to my increasing love of pedicures and accessories... it's becoming a problem. we're also moving in a few weeks, leaving behind our undergrad-style walk-up where the floors slant and the lights dim when the microwave comes on, in favor of a newer place with extras like washer-dryer, central heat and air, shower that (hopefully) works on demand.
so here i am, feeling a little guilty and trying to avoid the slippery slope, feeling good for the decision not to replace stella right away and share mb's car for awhile, and who is trying to interfere? my parents. they think it's completely unreasonable that i not have my own car and are calling every other day to find out if i've bought another yet. their reasons thus far:
"but you need one"
"but then you won't come visit us"
"don't you work?"
so i think the material line is jagged. i'm completely willing to justify a much more frivolous though inexpensive option like electric toothbrush (mmmm...) but getting more stubborn by the phone call about not replacing stella, which i could probably put to better use than a crest uber-kleen or whatever. i'm not sure where the line is; i'm currently planning to save money by taking a wine-making class down in beverly, but then buy a big wine rack to house the case of cheap wine that will then come home with me.
so i'm inconsistent. or maybe i'm doing just fine, and the electric toothbrush and wine rack are just fine as long as i don't have gold chains for my palm pilot holster like guido. that's the best thing about guido. all of the rest of our idiosyncrasies smooth right over.
after months of mocking my blogmate's dental hygiene preferences, i recently purchased one of those new battery-operated auto-rotating toothbrushes. i can honestly say that my teeth haven't felt this clean since, well, since i last saw dentists regularly. (i'm sorry, but on the south side the only dentists i've found who take my insurance are named rufus, and i can't get past it.) so i'm pleased with the new discovery (and mb is super jealous), but added to my increasing love of pedicures and accessories... it's becoming a problem. we're also moving in a few weeks, leaving behind our undergrad-style walk-up where the floors slant and the lights dim when the microwave comes on, in favor of a newer place with extras like washer-dryer, central heat and air, shower that (hopefully) works on demand.
so here i am, feeling a little guilty and trying to avoid the slippery slope, feeling good for the decision not to replace stella right away and share mb's car for awhile, and who is trying to interfere? my parents. they think it's completely unreasonable that i not have my own car and are calling every other day to find out if i've bought another yet. their reasons thus far:
"but you need one"
"but then you won't come visit us"
"don't you work?"
so i think the material line is jagged. i'm completely willing to justify a much more frivolous though inexpensive option like electric toothbrush (mmmm...) but getting more stubborn by the phone call about not replacing stella, which i could probably put to better use than a crest uber-kleen or whatever. i'm not sure where the line is; i'm currently planning to save money by taking a wine-making class down in beverly, but then buy a big wine rack to house the case of cheap wine that will then come home with me.
so i'm inconsistent. or maybe i'm doing just fine, and the electric toothbrush and wine rack are just fine as long as i don't have gold chains for my palm pilot holster like guido. that's the best thing about guido. all of the rest of our idiosyncrasies smooth right over.
Monday, May 08, 2006
goodbye guido, bye-bye beefcake
at 2:30 AM this morning i found myself lying wide awake in bed, completely unable to fall back asleep, trying to sort out which unpleasant factoids about my ex-boyfriend were actually true (yes, he did get married to someone else uncomfortably close to the time we broke up, no, he i and did not get married and divorced in october of 2003). i fell back asleep just in time for my alarm to go off at which point i dragged myself out of bed and actually managed to get myself to work a few minutes early, giving me just enough time to enjoy a nice bowl of oatmeal before getting started on my day. but a leisurely breakfast wasn't really in the cards for me, and no sooner than i had walked in the door i found myself bombarded by angry phone calls from angry people who had me convinced that i was a blind, incompetent moron.
i was feeling pretty lousy about the way the day was going until i looked around and noticed the conspicuous absence of our visiting intern guido (or at least that should have been his name - he also went by beefcake or "that body builder guy")...
then things started looking up.
working with guido was a double whammy of awfulness. for starters, he was possibly the most useless rotator we've ever had. i'll never know if he was actually as thick-headed as he seemed to be, but i've never seen anyone demonstrate such an astounding lack of work ethic. getting him to do anything was like hitting your head against a wall.
for all his uselessness, he might have gotten away with it had he made a little less of an aesthetic spectacle of himself. he was completely ridiculous. he was about as thick as he was tall, with a shiny bald head and perpetually red face. not his fault, except that one could only become so muscle-y by spending all one's waking hours at the gym (possibly with the help of anabolic steroids). and he wasn't just huge and thuggish. he wore horrible clothes - baggy pants with pleats in weird colors with tight shirts and shoes and belts that always perfectly matched and were always just a bit too ornate. he would then adorn these belts with various gadgets, all held in holsters with little gold chains. palm pilot, cell phone, beeper, stethoscope. he even had holsters for his ridiculous pens. i realize that it sounds silly to hate someone for their choice of writing instrument, but every day he would show up with a different, big, shiny, obnoxious fountain pen. you'd think with such a flashy pen he'd write something down occasionally, but you'd be wrong.
so although i keep emailing and text-ing my blogmate messages that only say, "i hate everything," i at least have the solace of knowing that i never have to see guido again.
i was feeling pretty lousy about the way the day was going until i looked around and noticed the conspicuous absence of our visiting intern guido (or at least that should have been his name - he also went by beefcake or "that body builder guy")...
then things started looking up.
working with guido was a double whammy of awfulness. for starters, he was possibly the most useless rotator we've ever had. i'll never know if he was actually as thick-headed as he seemed to be, but i've never seen anyone demonstrate such an astounding lack of work ethic. getting him to do anything was like hitting your head against a wall.
for all his uselessness, he might have gotten away with it had he made a little less of an aesthetic spectacle of himself. he was completely ridiculous. he was about as thick as he was tall, with a shiny bald head and perpetually red face. not his fault, except that one could only become so muscle-y by spending all one's waking hours at the gym (possibly with the help of anabolic steroids). and he wasn't just huge and thuggish. he wore horrible clothes - baggy pants with pleats in weird colors with tight shirts and shoes and belts that always perfectly matched and were always just a bit too ornate. he would then adorn these belts with various gadgets, all held in holsters with little gold chains. palm pilot, cell phone, beeper, stethoscope. he even had holsters for his ridiculous pens. i realize that it sounds silly to hate someone for their choice of writing instrument, but every day he would show up with a different, big, shiny, obnoxious fountain pen. you'd think with such a flashy pen he'd write something down occasionally, but you'd be wrong.
so although i keep emailing and text-ing my blogmate messages that only say, "i hate everything," i at least have the solace of knowing that i never have to see guido again.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
freak show
ok. now, i understand that 1) i have no love life at all and am in no position to casually wave off potential suitors and 2) that i am not infrequently guilty of the crime of randomly and inappropriately becoming infatuated with people i don't know and cannot have. seriously- farbeit from me to criticize someone for their romantic whimsy. but the following scenarios have occurred this weekend and i take this constellation of events as a bad sign.
1) at the uber-trendy vida lounge on cinco de mayo some 22-year-old guy in a sox jersey and big (stupid) sombrero actually groped my chest under the thinly veiled guise of examining my blinky corona necklace party favor.
2) at a random dive bar on milwaukee and addison a greasy pony-tailed man in one of those baja hoodies that were so popular in 1993 approached ck and i to see if either one of us gave a good massage, because he had just beaten up his friend and his friend could sure use a good massage.
and finally
3) roy the cable guy came knocking yesterday afternoon (interrupting my transfixtion on my mind-numbing, error-ridden spread sheets) and after craning his neck around the door to see the inside of my apartment tried to strike up a conversation about my listening to boy dylan and how much he loves bob dylan and what's your name and you should call me.
really???
1) at the uber-trendy vida lounge on cinco de mayo some 22-year-old guy in a sox jersey and big (stupid) sombrero actually groped my chest under the thinly veiled guise of examining my blinky corona necklace party favor.
2) at a random dive bar on milwaukee and addison a greasy pony-tailed man in one of those baja hoodies that were so popular in 1993 approached ck and i to see if either one of us gave a good massage, because he had just beaten up his friend and his friend could sure use a good massage.
and finally
3) roy the cable guy came knocking yesterday afternoon (interrupting my transfixtion on my mind-numbing, error-ridden spread sheets) and after craning his neck around the door to see the inside of my apartment tried to strike up a conversation about my listening to boy dylan and how much he loves bob dylan and what's your name and you should call me.
really???
Thursday, April 27, 2006
our hero rides off into the sunset...
and so our story comes to a close.
last we left off, i think my stella was towed off to midas. on monday morning i explained to them that all her lights came on but the engine didn't even think about turning over. why everyone thinks that sounds like a battery problem is beyond me, and why midas insisted it might be my battery when hamed and the aaa guy had both tried to jump my car is also beyond me. so it came as no big surprise when don from midas called and said "guess what? it's not your battery!!" and also as no big surprise when he ran some fancy-pants diagnostic test which told him exactly what the cab driver from friday night said without ever seeing the car -- bad starter. although unlike what the cab driver said, which was that the mexicans would fix my starter for $130, somehow at midas this same repair was going to cost $489, because also struts and something related to steering needed something or another. i don't know, i stopped listening at $4. i'm a little suspicious that don raised the price of my repair artificially (you think? at midas?) because he conveniently remembered that i was looking to get rid of the car. suddenly his daughter needed a car, and he had $400 to pay me, and that extra $82 diagnostic charge disappeared. so yesterday i took the title over to midas and left with $400 in my pocket. that seems better than a $500 repair. so now i feel that stella has a proper home with exactly what she needs: a young student who doesn't have money for a nicer car but needs to get to work, and has a father who happens to be a mechanic. everything comes to a nice happy ending. and puts me squarely where i belong, making better use of my two bikes.
it does, however, put me in the position of needing to name my bikes, which i haven't done in the few years that i've owned them. taking suggestions, with stella having been retired, and cicciolina in use as the name of my cell phone (i can't think of a better phone name than that of an italian porn star in parliament, can you?) anyone? the two girliest bikes on the road need names -- a mint green giant mountain bike, and a black specialized road bike with anodized purple wheels and matching water bottle cage? just get me a little white plastic basket with flowers for the fronts and i'll be in business.
last we left off, i think my stella was towed off to midas. on monday morning i explained to them that all her lights came on but the engine didn't even think about turning over. why everyone thinks that sounds like a battery problem is beyond me, and why midas insisted it might be my battery when hamed and the aaa guy had both tried to jump my car is also beyond me. so it came as no big surprise when don from midas called and said "guess what? it's not your battery!!" and also as no big surprise when he ran some fancy-pants diagnostic test which told him exactly what the cab driver from friday night said without ever seeing the car -- bad starter. although unlike what the cab driver said, which was that the mexicans would fix my starter for $130, somehow at midas this same repair was going to cost $489, because also struts and something related to steering needed something or another. i don't know, i stopped listening at $4. i'm a little suspicious that don raised the price of my repair artificially (you think? at midas?) because he conveniently remembered that i was looking to get rid of the car. suddenly his daughter needed a car, and he had $400 to pay me, and that extra $82 diagnostic charge disappeared. so yesterday i took the title over to midas and left with $400 in my pocket. that seems better than a $500 repair. so now i feel that stella has a proper home with exactly what she needs: a young student who doesn't have money for a nicer car but needs to get to work, and has a father who happens to be a mechanic. everything comes to a nice happy ending. and puts me squarely where i belong, making better use of my two bikes.
it does, however, put me in the position of needing to name my bikes, which i haven't done in the few years that i've owned them. taking suggestions, with stella having been retired, and cicciolina in use as the name of my cell phone (i can't think of a better phone name than that of an italian porn star in parliament, can you?) anyone? the two girliest bikes on the road need names -- a mint green giant mountain bike, and a black specialized road bike with anodized purple wheels and matching water bottle cage? just get me a little white plastic basket with flowers for the fronts and i'll be in business.
Monday, April 24, 2006
sttteeeeelllllaaaa.....
so you tell me. what counts as charity here, anyway?
it is now three days later in the never-ending saga of stella's retirement. it turns out that my cab driver's beloved "automex" does not, as far as i can tell, exist. i think la mexicana incognita is a little disappointed (as am i) that she doesn't get to go all latina with the mechanics, but such is life...
also, sadly, stella had not been kidnapped by hamed or the cab driver. i found her parked safely in a lot behind lalo's on lasalle. feeling a few twinges of nostalgia for my sweet car, the only one i've ever owned (and also because i learned that aaa does not tow straight to salvage yards) i called aaa and a pickup truck came to move stella to the midas across the street faster than i could order a margarita for the wait. this wrecks my blogmate's and my streak of waiting for tow trucks while drinking, but i can't complain. this bought me a day and a half of procrastination since midas was closed until this morning.
what to do now? while at work saturday morning i managed to amuse my co-workers with my never-ending internet hunt for salvage yards, car donation charities, etc. i found:
- a salvage yard that would give me $125 if i could get stella there, $60 if they towed
- some charity called kars4kids, which claims to pick up the car, donate to some other charity that gives the money to youth in some fashion, and give me a voucher for 2 nights' hotel stay in some resort-esque locale
i was feeling good about the charity/hotel option (especially since aaa wouldn't tow me straight to the salvage yard) until this morning, when i actually looked up the charities in question on some non-profit evaluation sites. i was initially excited since their links included stuff like gottorah.com, which along with my new-found love for matisyahu, might further my previous designation as honorary jew (for the purposes of holidays, anyway), except that nothing on any web site actually told me my car money would actually go to said causes.
i had a long drawn-out conversation with mb last night where i told him i had known stella's time was coming, but wanted her to pass with more dignity than this. he told me it's like caring for the elderly, where you love them but can't bear the burden anymore and have to ask for help, except that the elderly don't get sold for parts.
so feeling even guiltier, i called another salvage place this morning to see if i could get a better estimate. hooray! bob at the salvage place told me that they just bash cars in, but he knew a lady who was looking for a cheap car to get around town, and once i got an estimate from midas could i call him? so now i'm wondering if i can an estimate for what i think is the starter (~$170 repair, i think), and an ok from salvage-bob saying the lady in question could give me the cost of the starter repair plus ~$100 (maybe total $300?) i could sell her my stella. this makes me feel less like i'm sending stella off to a yucky nursing home or pulling out her feeding tube, and more like she's retiring to be a walmart greeter or something minimally productive.
i think it might be the right thing. but i invite opinions.
to be continued... again...
it is now three days later in the never-ending saga of stella's retirement. it turns out that my cab driver's beloved "automex" does not, as far as i can tell, exist. i think la mexicana incognita is a little disappointed (as am i) that she doesn't get to go all latina with the mechanics, but such is life...
also, sadly, stella had not been kidnapped by hamed or the cab driver. i found her parked safely in a lot behind lalo's on lasalle. feeling a few twinges of nostalgia for my sweet car, the only one i've ever owned (and also because i learned that aaa does not tow straight to salvage yards) i called aaa and a pickup truck came to move stella to the midas across the street faster than i could order a margarita for the wait. this wrecks my blogmate's and my streak of waiting for tow trucks while drinking, but i can't complain. this bought me a day and a half of procrastination since midas was closed until this morning.
what to do now? while at work saturday morning i managed to amuse my co-workers with my never-ending internet hunt for salvage yards, car donation charities, etc. i found:
- a salvage yard that would give me $125 if i could get stella there, $60 if they towed
- some charity called kars4kids, which claims to pick up the car, donate to some other charity that gives the money to youth in some fashion, and give me a voucher for 2 nights' hotel stay in some resort-esque locale
i was feeling good about the charity/hotel option (especially since aaa wouldn't tow me straight to the salvage yard) until this morning, when i actually looked up the charities in question on some non-profit evaluation sites. i was initially excited since their links included stuff like gottorah.com, which along with my new-found love for matisyahu, might further my previous designation as honorary jew (for the purposes of holidays, anyway), except that nothing on any web site actually told me my car money would actually go to said causes.
i had a long drawn-out conversation with mb last night where i told him i had known stella's time was coming, but wanted her to pass with more dignity than this. he told me it's like caring for the elderly, where you love them but can't bear the burden anymore and have to ask for help, except that the elderly don't get sold for parts.
so feeling even guiltier, i called another salvage place this morning to see if i could get a better estimate. hooray! bob at the salvage place told me that they just bash cars in, but he knew a lady who was looking for a cheap car to get around town, and once i got an estimate from midas could i call him? so now i'm wondering if i can an estimate for what i think is the starter (~$170 repair, i think), and an ok from salvage-bob saying the lady in question could give me the cost of the starter repair plus ~$100 (maybe total $300?) i could sell her my stella. this makes me feel less like i'm sending stella off to a yucky nursing home or pulling out her feeding tube, and more like she's retiring to be a walmart greeter or something minimally productive.
i think it might be the right thing. but i invite opinions.
to be continued... again...
Saturday, April 22, 2006
the day stella lost her groove (some stories need to be told in full detail)
don't ever say something if you can't live with the consequences.
my car insurance payment is due this summer, and i was starting to think that my car (lovingly named stella, so that when i lost her in parking lots i could bellow a la streetcar) was getting a bit old and unreliable, and although she and i have been together since grad school, maybe it was time that she retire. i looked into blue book values for stella, realized she'd be worth $600 in trade-in, which means about $400 on the street or $100 in the salvage yard, and decided that all of that was not worth the $900 i'm paying in insurance.
now shift gears (no pun intended) to my excitement as being asked to be the stand-in date for our friend dwtacc as she attended the wedding of one of our co-workers. as we got ready to go to the ceremony last night, i volunteered to drive, thinking i knew hyde park better to find the chapel... but as we headed afterward toward the downtown reception, one of those creepy inner voices started hinting to me that maybe my unreliable stella was not the best choice for this adventure...
the reception was fabulous. cheers to our usually quiet friend jt for such amazing one-liners as "hey, i think gramps wants a piece of the reverend" and his smooth post-running-man dance moves. but on leaving the reception and attempting to pick up my poor stella, a fairly tipsy but apologetic valet apologized that my car was not starting. i figured he just didn't know the key-jiggle required to get my car going (i suppose the lexus suv's he normally parks there don't have this issue), shrugged, and dwtacc and i laughed as we noted his empty malt liquor bottle and slight waver in his step as he led us down a back alley toward my stella. sure enough, no engine-turnover for my baby. i think the tipsy-valet-guy was a little surprised that i didn't shout or throw a high heel at him (maybe a little more high-maintenance clientele downtown?) and just said, "well, i work in seven hours. where can we put this car so i can come deal with it later?" and he was so relieved that soon a legion of red-vested men were pushing my car into a mysterious back lot to wait for me until after work today.
so feeling a little suspicious that my car and car key rested with a red-vested drunk guy who i only knew as hamed, dwtacc and i hopped into a cab, and i thanked dwtacc for being the next (last?) of my friends in chicago to get stuck in a car adventure with me (twinset and my blogmate already have many stella tales under their belts). when the driver asked if we'd been having a good evening and i answered that the night had been great until my car died, the driver proceeded to interrogate me about the details of my car and its non-working-ness. i figured the best thing that could happen to me was that someone might steal the car so i could file an insurance claim, so i obliged with as many details as i could barring my name and social security number and all that. first he offered to buy the car from me outright (how do you negotiate a price with a cab driver who's driving you because the car he's trying to buy doesn't run???) then he decided i should have the car fixed, then he promptly announced that the only people who should fix my car were the mexicans. dwtacc, who shall hereafter be referred to as la mexicana incognita (lmi?), calmly asked the cabbie why only mexicans could fix my car: "because they're cheaper." and when lmi asked "where are these mexicans?" we were, i think, initially told "everywhere" but then were provided an address for (i can't actually believe this) "automex."
needless to say lmi and i were fascinated. first drunken red-vested hamed, then the mexican-virtue-extolling cab driver... the cab driver spent the whole ride to hyde park so engrossed in a conversation in some unrecognizable language that i was sure my car would be gone from the red-vested parking lot long before i got to automex...
(to be continued...)
my car insurance payment is due this summer, and i was starting to think that my car (lovingly named stella, so that when i lost her in parking lots i could bellow a la streetcar) was getting a bit old and unreliable, and although she and i have been together since grad school, maybe it was time that she retire. i looked into blue book values for stella, realized she'd be worth $600 in trade-in, which means about $400 on the street or $100 in the salvage yard, and decided that all of that was not worth the $900 i'm paying in insurance.
now shift gears (no pun intended) to my excitement as being asked to be the stand-in date for our friend dwtacc as she attended the wedding of one of our co-workers. as we got ready to go to the ceremony last night, i volunteered to drive, thinking i knew hyde park better to find the chapel... but as we headed afterward toward the downtown reception, one of those creepy inner voices started hinting to me that maybe my unreliable stella was not the best choice for this adventure...
the reception was fabulous. cheers to our usually quiet friend jt for such amazing one-liners as "hey, i think gramps wants a piece of the reverend" and his smooth post-running-man dance moves. but on leaving the reception and attempting to pick up my poor stella, a fairly tipsy but apologetic valet apologized that my car was not starting. i figured he just didn't know the key-jiggle required to get my car going (i suppose the lexus suv's he normally parks there don't have this issue), shrugged, and dwtacc and i laughed as we noted his empty malt liquor bottle and slight waver in his step as he led us down a back alley toward my stella. sure enough, no engine-turnover for my baby. i think the tipsy-valet-guy was a little surprised that i didn't shout or throw a high heel at him (maybe a little more high-maintenance clientele downtown?) and just said, "well, i work in seven hours. where can we put this car so i can come deal with it later?" and he was so relieved that soon a legion of red-vested men were pushing my car into a mysterious back lot to wait for me until after work today.
so feeling a little suspicious that my car and car key rested with a red-vested drunk guy who i only knew as hamed, dwtacc and i hopped into a cab, and i thanked dwtacc for being the next (last?) of my friends in chicago to get stuck in a car adventure with me (twinset and my blogmate already have many stella tales under their belts). when the driver asked if we'd been having a good evening and i answered that the night had been great until my car died, the driver proceeded to interrogate me about the details of my car and its non-working-ness. i figured the best thing that could happen to me was that someone might steal the car so i could file an insurance claim, so i obliged with as many details as i could barring my name and social security number and all that. first he offered to buy the car from me outright (how do you negotiate a price with a cab driver who's driving you because the car he's trying to buy doesn't run???) then he decided i should have the car fixed, then he promptly announced that the only people who should fix my car were the mexicans. dwtacc, who shall hereafter be referred to as la mexicana incognita (lmi?), calmly asked the cabbie why only mexicans could fix my car: "because they're cheaper." and when lmi asked "where are these mexicans?" we were, i think, initially told "everywhere" but then were provided an address for (i can't actually believe this) "automex."
needless to say lmi and i were fascinated. first drunken red-vested hamed, then the mexican-virtue-extolling cab driver... the cab driver spent the whole ride to hyde park so engrossed in a conversation in some unrecognizable language that i was sure my car would be gone from the red-vested parking lot long before i got to automex...
(to be continued...)
Thursday, April 20, 2006
the day the music died
one of my favorite ways to kill time at work is to fuel my obsession with matisyahu. i realize it's a little silly that i had to go all the way to the caribbean to discover him, but i swear, he wasn't this famous before i left. when i heard him playing at target yesterday i realized that yet again, my attempts to be edgy had been thwarted.
edgy or not, it turns out that matisyahu is carried by epic records, and the epic records offers high quality, add-free, uninterrupted streaming of the music videos of their artists, allowing me to watch "king without a crown," and "king without a crown (live at stubbs)" over and over and over again. conveniently enough, epic also carries shakira, so i can also watch "hips don't lie" to my heart's content.
when i had finally managed to overdose on matisyahu and shakira i started perusing the other videos that epic promotes, and that's when i stumbled upon teddy geiger, who on first inspection looks like just another garden-variety angsty boy with a guitar. but the longer i watched the video, the more i started to hate him and his heart-on-the-sleeve drivel.
he looks and sounds like a younger, less good john mayer (see pictures), and he has an earnestness that makes me crazy, wailing on about how he's "gonna muster ever ounce of confidence" that he has to get some girl to notice him. but it was seeing the video, and examining the girl in question that put me over the edge.
unless she's his real-life girlfriend, there's just no excuse. the video features our young martyr dejectedly playing his guitar on the street, wistfully watching a very nice, very pretty, very plasticky girl who looks like she stepped right out of an abercrombie & fitch ad, stupid sherpa boots and all (she could also be a contestant on "the bachelor"). she's strolling down the street with her tool-looking boyfriend (who kind of looks like stiffler from "american pie"), giggling, talking on her cell-phone, and just being obnoxious.
it doesn't make any sense. teddy geiger has perfectly mastered the look of the misunderstood hipster: shy, skinny, shaggy-haired, perfectly beat-up jeans and thrift store shirt. he'd be perfect in greenwich village or wicker park and it makes absolutely no sense that he'd be writhing around so miserably for this kind of girl. she's too blond, too perfect. if they'd picked the usually gaunt, dark haired heroin-chic type i'd understand... sort of. but why america's favorite tri-delt?
if this is the best that the post-boy-band pop music era has to offer i think i'll stick with shakira.
edgy or not, it turns out that matisyahu is carried by epic records, and the epic records offers high quality, add-free, uninterrupted streaming of the music videos of their artists, allowing me to watch "king without a crown," and "king without a crown (live at stubbs)" over and over and over again. conveniently enough, epic also carries shakira, so i can also watch "hips don't lie" to my heart's content.
when i had finally managed to overdose on matisyahu and shakira i started perusing the other videos that epic promotes, and that's when i stumbled upon teddy geiger, who on first inspection looks like just another garden-variety angsty boy with a guitar. but the longer i watched the video, the more i started to hate him and his heart-on-the-sleeve drivel.
he looks and sounds like a younger, less good john mayer (see pictures), and he has an earnestness that makes me crazy, wailing on about how he's "gonna muster ever ounce of confidence" that he has to get some girl to notice him. but it was seeing the video, and examining the girl in question that put me over the edge.
unless she's his real-life girlfriend, there's just no excuse. the video features our young martyr dejectedly playing his guitar on the street, wistfully watching a very nice, very pretty, very plasticky girl who looks like she stepped right out of an abercrombie & fitch ad, stupid sherpa boots and all (she could also be a contestant on "the bachelor"). she's strolling down the street with her tool-looking boyfriend (who kind of looks like stiffler from "american pie"), giggling, talking on her cell-phone, and just being obnoxious.
it doesn't make any sense. teddy geiger has perfectly mastered the look of the misunderstood hipster: shy, skinny, shaggy-haired, perfectly beat-up jeans and thrift store shirt. he'd be perfect in greenwich village or wicker park and it makes absolutely no sense that he'd be writhing around so miserably for this kind of girl. she's too blond, too perfect. if they'd picked the usually gaunt, dark haired heroin-chic type i'd understand... sort of. but why america's favorite tri-delt?
if this is the best that the post-boy-band pop music era has to offer i think i'll stick with shakira.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
what would shakira do?
transient infatuation with uber-trendy pop culture icons is a part of life- i understand this. but why is that suddenly i can't get enough shakira? not that i'm a raging feminist or anything, but i've always taken issue with her blatant self-institution as the world's most sensational sex symbol... and her weird warbly voice.
i guess that even though i reject all women who appear on the cover of maxim on principle, i'm also a big believer in jumping on media bandwagons. life is just easier if you like what's on the radio. for example, road trips aren't nearly is painful when you've learned to tolerate country music (or christian rock, but that's a whole other can of worms).
so after six weeks in st. lucia where "hips don't lie" (shakira featuring wyclef, for those of you who remain un-brainwashed) played like clockwork on the radio (sometimes twice in a row) and on tempo (caribbean MTV for those of you who just tuned in), i got completely sucked to dark and disturbing world of shakira obsession. the girl has got it all- she can sing, she can dance, and she's really hot. AND she gets to flaunt her hotness in a way that's neither subtle nor tasteful. not only is it not fair, but it's just plain raunchy.
and for some reason i love her for it.
i guess that even though i reject all women who appear on the cover of maxim on principle, i'm also a big believer in jumping on media bandwagons. life is just easier if you like what's on the radio. for example, road trips aren't nearly is painful when you've learned to tolerate country music (or christian rock, but that's a whole other can of worms).
so after six weeks in st. lucia where "hips don't lie" (shakira featuring wyclef, for those of you who remain un-brainwashed) played like clockwork on the radio (sometimes twice in a row) and on tempo (caribbean MTV for those of you who just tuned in), i got completely sucked to dark and disturbing world of shakira obsession. the girl has got it all- she can sing, she can dance, and she's really hot. AND she gets to flaunt her hotness in a way that's neither subtle nor tasteful. not only is it not fair, but it's just plain raunchy.
and for some reason i love her for it.
Monday, April 17, 2006
priorities
my new work schedule has some built in sitting-around time in the morning... and free breakfast. so it seemed logical to form a little routine, where i finish my coffee, eat my turkey sausage, and peruse the headlines on the internet. it's been a few years since i read the paper regularly (thank you NPR for keeping me the loop all this time) and i'm having trouble adjusting to the internet format. it just seems aesthetically wrong. i'm also unwilling to register (even though it's free) to actually read the articles, so i jump from the new york times, the chicago trib, to cnn.com skimming headlines and looking at pictures.
lest i manage to absorb some real news, i made an amusing, though not very surprising discover today. we could all go on and on about the vapid articles in the paper and on TV, and about how none of us are interested in real current events. i often use that as justification for my non-news-watching and non-paper-reading. but i learned this morning that most of us gravitate away from real news, even when it's offered to us in easily accessible, point-and-click format.
here are the "top stories" as listed by CNN:
- Iran pledges $50 million to Palestinians
- Pentagon fights back over Rumsfeld
- Nepal protesters fired on, 1 dead
- Group: Iran may be expanding nuke plants
- Hussein trial resumes, adjourns again
and here are the "most popular":
- Two sex offenders slain; suspect kills self
- Jolie reportedly to have baby in Namibia
- Suspect blogged about cannibalism
- Crash tests: Toyota Prius, small cars and minivans
- An inside look at Opus Dei
i guess it's not so surprising that the average american is more interested in angelina jolie than they are in donald rumsfeld, but what is surprising is that "Rangers catch bear after deadly attack" didn't feature more prominently on either list.
lest i manage to absorb some real news, i made an amusing, though not very surprising discover today. we could all go on and on about the vapid articles in the paper and on TV, and about how none of us are interested in real current events. i often use that as justification for my non-news-watching and non-paper-reading. but i learned this morning that most of us gravitate away from real news, even when it's offered to us in easily accessible, point-and-click format.
here are the "top stories" as listed by CNN:
- Iran pledges $50 million to Palestinians
- Pentagon fights back over Rumsfeld
- Nepal protesters fired on, 1 dead
- Group: Iran may be expanding nuke plants
- Hussein trial resumes, adjourns again
and here are the "most popular":
- Two sex offenders slain; suspect kills self
- Jolie reportedly to have baby in Namibia
- Suspect blogged about cannibalism
- Crash tests: Toyota Prius, small cars and minivans
- An inside look at Opus Dei
i guess it's not so surprising that the average american is more interested in angelina jolie than they are in donald rumsfeld, but what is surprising is that "Rangers catch bear after deadly attack" didn't feature more prominently on either list.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
back to reality...almost
coming home from my six week caribbean adventure was a bit of a jolt. i understand that nothing would really have made it easier, except perhaps some sort of insider tip that my crush-du-jour was waiting impatiently for my return. in reality, crush-du-jour (cdj?) may or may not know my name and has probably found some impossibly skinny, broody asian girl to date by now.
it didn't help that my return to the mainland marked the abrupt end of an extravagant, 3-week drinking binge which transitioned itself rather unpleasantly to a smoldering but miserable hangover on the plane.
it also didn't help to find my apartment still occupied by my now arch-nemesis house-sitter who drank all my liquor and killed all my plants... but that's a story for another day.
as one might have expected, i showed up to work the morning after my return pretty darned tired and cranky. that said, i think i came back with a sense of well-being and optimism that i most certainly did not possess in february. maybe it was the sunshine, or the rum, or the snorkeling... or maybe it's just the tan. my blogmate has been trying to tell me for years that a great tan makes everything better, and now i wholeheartedly agree. for one, it just screams, "ha ha, i went to the st. lucia while you were stuck here festering in the dregs of chicago winter," but it also exudes an ill-defined yet strangely powerful aura of fabulousness.
unfortunately, the new, glam, hi-lighted persona that i've confabulated doesn't integrate very well with the alter-ego i couldn't help but develop (over the last year, really) under the effect of nick hornby novels, the OC soundtracks, john cusack movies, "the time traveler's wife," steven frears movies, and now "sex, drugs and cocoa puffs." somewhere in there i think i failed to recognize that i don't get to be a cool hipster swing-chick, no matter how many movies and books i absorb about punk, sarcastic, witty, drinking, smoking hipsters.
i've almost got it together.
it didn't help that my return to the mainland marked the abrupt end of an extravagant, 3-week drinking binge which transitioned itself rather unpleasantly to a smoldering but miserable hangover on the plane.
it also didn't help to find my apartment still occupied by my now arch-nemesis house-sitter who drank all my liquor and killed all my plants... but that's a story for another day.
as one might have expected, i showed up to work the morning after my return pretty darned tired and cranky. that said, i think i came back with a sense of well-being and optimism that i most certainly did not possess in february. maybe it was the sunshine, or the rum, or the snorkeling... or maybe it's just the tan. my blogmate has been trying to tell me for years that a great tan makes everything better, and now i wholeheartedly agree. for one, it just screams, "ha ha, i went to the st. lucia while you were stuck here festering in the dregs of chicago winter," but it also exudes an ill-defined yet strangely powerful aura of fabulousness.
unfortunately, the new, glam, hi-lighted persona that i've confabulated doesn't integrate very well with the alter-ego i couldn't help but develop (over the last year, really) under the effect of nick hornby novels, the OC soundtracks, john cusack movies, "the time traveler's wife," steven frears movies, and now "sex, drugs and cocoa puffs." somewhere in there i think i failed to recognize that i don't get to be a cool hipster swing-chick, no matter how many movies and books i absorb about punk, sarcastic, witty, drinking, smoking hipsters.
i've almost got it together.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
directions to madam popo's
head out of st. jude's via the back gate, following the main, paved road into augier
at the first intersection turn left
go straight past blue boy's pub on your left
stay on the left at the next intersection, richard's pub will be on your right
at the next intersection hang a hard left- round the bend pub is on that corner on the right
continue straight down the road, passing the "pigs for sale" sign on your right
continue past the unusually large pothole in the middle of the road
on your left you'll come to a heineken sign, and pass under two power lines that have orange aerial markers- just past that you'll come to a narrow alley
turn right into the alley and head down a ways- on your right you'll see the oven
if there's no one there, continue further down until you come a a house with a cement porch- if the plastic tarps are down you're out of luck. if not, the lady inside is madam popo
at the first intersection turn left
go straight past blue boy's pub on your left
stay on the left at the next intersection, richard's pub will be on your right
at the next intersection hang a hard left- round the bend pub is on that corner on the right
continue straight down the road, passing the "pigs for sale" sign on your right
continue past the unusually large pothole in the middle of the road
on your left you'll come to a heineken sign, and pass under two power lines that have orange aerial markers- just past that you'll come to a narrow alley
turn right into the alley and head down a ways- on your right you'll see the oven
if there's no one there, continue further down until you come a a house with a cement porch- if the plastic tarps are down you're out of luck. if not, the lady inside is madam popo
Saturday, April 01, 2006
local meal
i could start a lot of funny stories with that title: the goat back or sheep back or "turkey" (which we think is actually goat) mystery parts (spinal cord and all), or the fact that every st. lucian stops us to inform us that we are truly eating a "local meal" said with more pride than we would assign to eating vertebrae...
but what i'm actually thinking of is the new delicacy of "st. lucian sandwich," which consists of my blogmate sandwiched between two dancing dreadlocked lucians last night at the gros islet jump-up. there we were, laughing at my silly guidebook that says you need a local guide to take you to this every-friday-night block party if you're a girl, munching our way through barbecue chicken and "bakes" (which are actually fried and delicious) -- we finally had enough piton to start dancing when we realized the actual problem with being a girl at the jump-up: not allowed to dance without someone else's pelvis heading your way. that being said, these pelvises (pelvi?) are fairly benign, as they were located inside the very high-watered pants of a steve-erkel-esque man with his tongue hanging half out of his mouth.
again, we congratulated ourselves on a job well done.
but what i'm actually thinking of is the new delicacy of "st. lucian sandwich," which consists of my blogmate sandwiched between two dancing dreadlocked lucians last night at the gros islet jump-up. there we were, laughing at my silly guidebook that says you need a local guide to take you to this every-friday-night block party if you're a girl, munching our way through barbecue chicken and "bakes" (which are actually fried and delicious) -- we finally had enough piton to start dancing when we realized the actual problem with being a girl at the jump-up: not allowed to dance without someone else's pelvis heading your way. that being said, these pelvises (pelvi?) are fairly benign, as they were located inside the very high-watered pants of a steve-erkel-esque man with his tongue hanging half out of his mouth.
again, we congratulated ourselves on a job well done.
Friday, March 31, 2006
refugees run the seas 'cause we own our own boats
we'd like to think of ourselves as sophisticated travelers, who embrace local culture with sensitivity and insight, who tread lightly when exploring the country's delicate ecosystems, who drink in moderation, who savour the flavours of west indian cuisine...
but who are we kidding?
while we have managed to engage in the activities listed above, the modifiers are a little off.
since we landed in our suprisingly posh condo we've clocked hours and hours of time watching "tempo," the caribbean MTV equivalent. we're both riveted by the amazing displays of west-indian, jamaican, puerto-rican, and cuban bling. we've been dutifully writing down the names of all our favorite artists, only to discover that there's only one CD store on all of st. lucia, and that even after we'd fully terrified the teenage kid behind the counter, he didn't really have anything to sell us.
when the music gets too bad, even for us, or when it's time for the dreaded "downtown island" (sort of akin to "cribs") we flip to HBO or TNT to watch astoundingly bad movies that are only entertaining in their "place that semi-celebrity" capabilities. the came goes roughly like this:
me: "hey, isn't that ryan phillipe"
blogmate: "who?"
me: "you know, married to reese witherspoon?"
blogmate: "who?"
me: "he was in 'cruel intentions'!"
blogmate: "huh?"
we've also been engaged in a lengthy debate about whether leonardo dicaprio and matt damon, are in fact similar enough to be confused with one another.
blogmate: "this is just like that leonardo dicaprio movie"
me: "which one"
blogmate: "the one about the janitor who does math"
me: "you mean matt damon"
blogmate: "what's the difference?"
sometimes we break up the monotony by going on long, sweaty, un-graceful treks to beaches and mountains, that involve alot of tripping, falling and swearing.
then we get home, drink vast quantities of locally produced lime rum, and plan the next day's meals which are a delicate balance of creole fish with plantains and fritos.
our parents would be proud.
but who are we kidding?
while we have managed to engage in the activities listed above, the modifiers are a little off.
since we landed in our suprisingly posh condo we've clocked hours and hours of time watching "tempo," the caribbean MTV equivalent. we're both riveted by the amazing displays of west-indian, jamaican, puerto-rican, and cuban bling. we've been dutifully writing down the names of all our favorite artists, only to discover that there's only one CD store on all of st. lucia, and that even after we'd fully terrified the teenage kid behind the counter, he didn't really have anything to sell us.
when the music gets too bad, even for us, or when it's time for the dreaded "downtown island" (sort of akin to "cribs") we flip to HBO or TNT to watch astoundingly bad movies that are only entertaining in their "place that semi-celebrity" capabilities. the came goes roughly like this:
me: "hey, isn't that ryan phillipe"
blogmate: "who?"
me: "you know, married to reese witherspoon?"
blogmate: "who?"
me: "he was in 'cruel intentions'!"
blogmate: "huh?"
we've also been engaged in a lengthy debate about whether leonardo dicaprio and matt damon, are in fact similar enough to be confused with one another.
blogmate: "this is just like that leonardo dicaprio movie"
me: "which one"
blogmate: "the one about the janitor who does math"
me: "you mean matt damon"
blogmate: "what's the difference?"
sometimes we break up the monotony by going on long, sweaty, un-graceful treks to beaches and mountains, that involve alot of tripping, falling and swearing.
then we get home, drink vast quantities of locally produced lime rum, and plan the next day's meals which are a delicate balance of creole fish with plantains and fritos.
our parents would be proud.
Monday, March 27, 2006
petit problem in gros islet
as my blogmate and i furrowed our collective brow at our flat tire (can a tire be very flat or are they all the same degree of deflatedness?) at the beach today we thought longingly back to our 36 hour blitz through coconut bay all-inclusive resort.
let us summarize: land cruise. beach chairs, pina coladas, waterslides, lime rum and diet cokes, lazy river, vieux fort special, lounge chairs, caribbean explosion, buffet lunch, dirty banana, dancing jerk pork carver at buffet dinner, lucian driver, worst most emotionless steel drum cover band EVER, worst white wine ever, lime rum and sprite, gin and tonic, more lime rum and sprite, more worst cover band ever, ten minutes at the gym, one more lime rum and sprite for the road, all-you-can-grilled-cheese, fountain diet coke (a rarity in this country), and best of all, a room to sleep in with ALL FOUR WALLS and much fewer mosquitoes and barking dogs than we thought possible.
our state of despair about the flat tire lasted the entirety of the 40 minutes that it took us to attempt to change to the spare, be assisted by a bored-looking taxi driver, find a "tyre" station, get the "tyre" fixed (for the standard st. lucian rate of $3.50), and find ourselves seated over pitons and spicy fish cakes at our new favorite beach dive.
from this we conclude that some things are just done more quickly in st lucia than in chicago. but this might be the only thing that's fast in st. lucia.
let us summarize: land cruise. beach chairs, pina coladas, waterslides, lime rum and diet cokes, lazy river, vieux fort special, lounge chairs, caribbean explosion, buffet lunch, dirty banana, dancing jerk pork carver at buffet dinner, lucian driver, worst most emotionless steel drum cover band EVER, worst white wine ever, lime rum and sprite, gin and tonic, more lime rum and sprite, more worst cover band ever, ten minutes at the gym, one more lime rum and sprite for the road, all-you-can-grilled-cheese, fountain diet coke (a rarity in this country), and best of all, a room to sleep in with ALL FOUR WALLS and much fewer mosquitoes and barking dogs than we thought possible.
our state of despair about the flat tire lasted the entirety of the 40 minutes that it took us to attempt to change to the spare, be assisted by a bored-looking taxi driver, find a "tyre" station, get the "tyre" fixed (for the standard st. lucian rate of $3.50), and find ourselves seated over pitons and spicy fish cakes at our new favorite beach dive.
from this we conclude that some things are just done more quickly in st lucia than in chicago. but this might be the only thing that's fast in st. lucia.
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