i went to a fundraiser on saturday night where a bizarre confluence of events left me staring out into a pool of rather attractive men without the expected contingent of thin, pretty women flanking them. while i choose to remain stymied by my inability to work this situation to my advantage, i actually know exactly what went wrong. for one thing, if i hadn't been so absorbed in making the pseudo-anthropologic obseravations that follow i might have faired a little better. sometimes there's honestly nothing better to do than to assess a situation from a blogger's perspective, entertaining oneself with bitter and witty condescension... but other times the right thing to do is probably to forget about the blog, have another drink, and go flirt with the boy in the northface fleece. if only i knew the difference...
on the other hand, it's really hard to catch someone's eye when everyone's eyes are closed. such is the case when every man in the joint is ensconced in soul-searching, meditative bliss under the mysterious power of the north mississippi allstars.
i have a long standing gripe with phish heads. not that i have any particularly beef with phish or widespread panic or any of the other granola jam bands, but i've always been a bit annoyed at the way the throngs of trust-fund hippies freak out and follow them around in the country in their jeeps, as if it's actually some kind of respectable endeavor. don't get me wrong, i'm sure it's exhausting to obtain and smoke that much weed, but i just don't get it. what is entirely clear however, is that in the absence of phish or widespread panic the jam band cohort will cling for dear life to the next closest thing. suddenly the concerts of your favorite new orleans funk band or the quintessentially preppy dave matthews band are bursting at the seams with the entire under 30 population of colorodo.
as it turns out, this is an aging population, and now these people have jobs and mortgages and are smoking less pot and drinking more blue moon. they ALL wear that black fleece northface jacket with the padded elbows (i should be careful here since i also wear that jacket), but they just don't have the time or energy to be full time fanatics. instead, they show up to see the north mississippi allstars the park west where yet again they become hard-core followers. they know all the words, recognize all the songs by the 2nd chord (you know they do when you see the one fist shoot up into the air as an act of recognition), and they dance, dance, dance, remembering their glory days. the result of this is my finding myself surround on all sides but a group of awfully cute, well-to-do guys, and bopping their heads in unison, way too captivated by the music to notice me.
oh how the mighty have fallen.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Sunday, February 18, 2007
zzzzzzzzzzzen
while my good blogmate is living the jet-set lifestyle of drunken debauchery in new orleans followed by more-respectable work-sponsored-conference drunken debauchery in florida, i am leading the slow life back here in chicago, trying to recover from a rather busy work week with a peaceful weekend at home. mb and i have been feeling a little stretched lately, and so planned a relaxing and healthy weekend.
i am learning, though, that a healthy lifestyle has its limits in a type-a-personality household. forget our breakfast-making on saturday - food pyramid was somewhat marred by mb's declaration "you know, i really feel that we are food artistes, and butter is our paintbrush" - or our evening argument about how many extra chocolate chips really need to be added to the top of the tollhouse pre-made chocolate chip cookie dough. it's more that, well, i tend to miss the point of relaxing activities. this morning at yoga class, i kept trying to get mb's attention to mock our mutual lack of ability to balance on one foot after the hip-workout of yesterday's snowshoeing. and when it came time to lie meditatively on the floor in between sitting poses, i was frustrated that mb's mat was just a little too far away for me to kick him so he could see me mouth the words "i'm bored. when's breakfast?" (it wasn't just my boredom... i saw him eyeing the clock every two minutes.) and later, while heading into old st pat's for mass, not only did i spend the hour engaged in the celebrated catholic tradition of spending the entire kneeling time scoping the rest of the room for potential dates for my blogmate (this is such non-novel territory i'll skip), but i picked up every possible piece of reading material at the back of the church. you know, to make every non-prayer second informative... this afternoon i am back at home trying to study a little, all curled up with tea and candle and cookies (ah yes, and book), and i'm checking my phone for messages every ten minutes.
i'm sure there's a place for centering one's mind in the present. i'm sure it would make me more effective and efficient and calm and such. but... wait, what was my concluding point again? i got distracted thinking about cookies.
i am learning, though, that a healthy lifestyle has its limits in a type-a-personality household. forget our breakfast-making on saturday - food pyramid was somewhat marred by mb's declaration "you know, i really feel that we are food artistes, and butter is our paintbrush" - or our evening argument about how many extra chocolate chips really need to be added to the top of the tollhouse pre-made chocolate chip cookie dough. it's more that, well, i tend to miss the point of relaxing activities. this morning at yoga class, i kept trying to get mb's attention to mock our mutual lack of ability to balance on one foot after the hip-workout of yesterday's snowshoeing. and when it came time to lie meditatively on the floor in between sitting poses, i was frustrated that mb's mat was just a little too far away for me to kick him so he could see me mouth the words "i'm bored. when's breakfast?" (it wasn't just my boredom... i saw him eyeing the clock every two minutes.) and later, while heading into old st pat's for mass, not only did i spend the hour engaged in the celebrated catholic tradition of spending the entire kneeling time scoping the rest of the room for potential dates for my blogmate (this is such non-novel territory i'll skip), but i picked up every possible piece of reading material at the back of the church. you know, to make every non-prayer second informative... this afternoon i am back at home trying to study a little, all curled up with tea and candle and cookies (ah yes, and book), and i'm checking my phone for messages every ten minutes.
i'm sure there's a place for centering one's mind in the present. i'm sure it would make me more effective and efficient and calm and such. but... wait, what was my concluding point again? i got distracted thinking about cookies.
Friday, February 16, 2007
remorse is for sissies
the i-love-new-orleans rant that follows is probably wildly inappropriate, in light of the fact that i'm allegedly here to "be with my family" and "honor the one-year anniversary of my grandmother's death..." but to be fair, i'm doing most of the drunken parade watching and frantic po-boy eating flanked by willing-accomplice parents (thus fulfilling the "spending time with my family" requirement), and the ceremony tomorrow will not be presided over by a rabbi or anything remotely resembling a rabbi, so much as by 6 to 10 denim-clad, vaguely solemn family members who are too busy grumbling about the bone chilling 40 degree temperature and supressing their smoldering resentment about various things to think, much less say anything meaningful about my recently departed grandmother. and i definitely pick eating, drinking, and hollering over playing tech guru for my parents. for one thing i don't really know enough about computers to be anyone's guru, and for another, even i can tell that their computer is jacked.
it's been an interesting mardi gras. post-katrina new orleans is more of a shrine to itself than it has ever been, well set up for a suddenly nostalgic ex-pat to the midwest like me. local microbrew is cheaper in any restaurant than a bottle of miller lite is at the avereage chi-town bar, and my parents have been eager to parade me through the various new eating and shopping establishments, where i've had my fill of fried oysters and post-storm satirical t-shirts (i.e. "new orleans, it's not beautiful being easy"...). speaking of parades, within an hour of my arrival i was headed to muses, the all-woman parade, armed with a squeeze bottle full of southern comfort (i misinterpreted my mother's disdainful looks as "why is my daughter an alcoholic?" when in fact she meant, "why can't you just fill your backpack with beer like a normal person?"). there we found my good friend lining up with the other pussyfooters, a crew of 30+ year-old marching dancers, flanked by their, ahem, pussyhandlers, all pissed off and excited because their rival crew, the cameltoe steppers had stolen their trademark colors (i swear i'm not making this up). the beauty of girl parades is that everyone catches lots of stuff without much self-degradation... not the case the next night at hermes, a more standard parade, where my father watched, fascinated, as i successfully sauntered up to the floats, again and again returning with armloads of light-up loot (the quality of mardi gras takings has improved markedly in the last few years - it's not even worth taking if it doesn't blink or have lip gloss or isn't a beer coozy). i'd feel bad about getting so blatantly tanked in front of my dad if he hadn't taken a shot of whiskey before we left the house.
as i was driving around, frantically in search of the krewe of o.a.k.s drunken meandering through uptown (picture a big elaborate pub crawl) so that i could once again march with the pussyfooters, remembering my former tradition of once a year debaucherous hook up (after said pub crawl) with my old middle school crush, it dawned on me that the most interesting aspect of all this year's mardi gras love fest has been recollection of a distinctly different era in my life - a time that was thinner, drunker, and, um, sluttier. i'd be more ashamed if it didn't make for such an impressively nostalgic romp around the city with my old friends, to the tune of, "omg did i ever tell you what i did after that party?"
new orleans: you could feel guilty, but why?
it's been an interesting mardi gras. post-katrina new orleans is more of a shrine to itself than it has ever been, well set up for a suddenly nostalgic ex-pat to the midwest like me. local microbrew is cheaper in any restaurant than a bottle of miller lite is at the avereage chi-town bar, and my parents have been eager to parade me through the various new eating and shopping establishments, where i've had my fill of fried oysters and post-storm satirical t-shirts (i.e. "new orleans, it's not beautiful being easy"...). speaking of parades, within an hour of my arrival i was headed to muses, the all-woman parade, armed with a squeeze bottle full of southern comfort (i misinterpreted my mother's disdainful looks as "why is my daughter an alcoholic?" when in fact she meant, "why can't you just fill your backpack with beer like a normal person?"). there we found my good friend lining up with the other pussyfooters, a crew of 30+ year-old marching dancers, flanked by their, ahem, pussyhandlers, all pissed off and excited because their rival crew, the cameltoe steppers had stolen their trademark colors (i swear i'm not making this up). the beauty of girl parades is that everyone catches lots of stuff without much self-degradation... not the case the next night at hermes, a more standard parade, where my father watched, fascinated, as i successfully sauntered up to the floats, again and again returning with armloads of light-up loot (the quality of mardi gras takings has improved markedly in the last few years - it's not even worth taking if it doesn't blink or have lip gloss or isn't a beer coozy). i'd feel bad about getting so blatantly tanked in front of my dad if he hadn't taken a shot of whiskey before we left the house.
as i was driving around, frantically in search of the krewe of o.a.k.s drunken meandering through uptown (picture a big elaborate pub crawl) so that i could once again march with the pussyfooters, remembering my former tradition of once a year debaucherous hook up (after said pub crawl) with my old middle school crush, it dawned on me that the most interesting aspect of all this year's mardi gras love fest has been recollection of a distinctly different era in my life - a time that was thinner, drunker, and, um, sluttier. i'd be more ashamed if it didn't make for such an impressively nostalgic romp around the city with my old friends, to the tune of, "omg did i ever tell you what i did after that party?"
new orleans: you could feel guilty, but why?
Thursday, February 08, 2007
the freak show continues
when it comes to gym geeks, we've blogged, mocked, complained, pointed and laughed quite extensively over the past few months... and while we may never tire of this most amusing subject, perhaps the rest of you have. so i would like to present a variation on the theme, now that i've discovered that the opposite extreme also exists at the ratner center. in case you were wondering, yes, it's possible to be too hip for our gym.
yesterday i discovered a girl who a appeared to have gotten lost on her way shooting a jay-z video. i say that because only a hip hop (or maybe raggaeton) back up dancer would show her face anywhere in quite such a ridiculous getup, especially with that much pomp and circumstance. i apologize for those of you who don't enjoy fashion play-by-plays...
1) ass tight, ultra-low-rise, black capri-pants with a hot pink stripe down the side.
2) white knee socks, 70's style with the colored stripes at the top
3) black retro saucony running shoes
4) short, tight camouflage baby tee with the bottom and sleeves cut off
5) GIANT faux-tiffany (or perhaps real-tiffany) silver necklace with heart-shaped pendant
6) hair down, perfectly manicured with super blond highlights (brown underneath)
7) gobs of eye make up
8) weight-lifting gloves
as if she wasn't calling enough attention to herself, it seems that between sets she
would come back into the locker room where she would pace back and forth in front of the mirror, staring at herself, no doubt perfecting the VERY scary expression on her face.
i was frankly terrified.
yesterday i discovered a girl who a appeared to have gotten lost on her way shooting a jay-z video. i say that because only a hip hop (or maybe raggaeton) back up dancer would show her face anywhere in quite such a ridiculous getup, especially with that much pomp and circumstance. i apologize for those of you who don't enjoy fashion play-by-plays...
1) ass tight, ultra-low-rise, black capri-pants with a hot pink stripe down the side.
2) white knee socks, 70's style with the colored stripes at the top
3) black retro saucony running shoes
4) short, tight camouflage baby tee with the bottom and sleeves cut off
5) GIANT faux-tiffany (or perhaps real-tiffany) silver necklace with heart-shaped pendant
6) hair down, perfectly manicured with super blond highlights (brown underneath)
7) gobs of eye make up
8) weight-lifting gloves
as if she wasn't calling enough attention to herself, it seems that between sets she
would come back into the locker room where she would pace back and forth in front of the mirror, staring at herself, no doubt perfecting the VERY scary expression on her face.i was frankly terrified.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
priorities
mb and i drove up to wisconsin this weekend for various wedding-planning-related items, the most awesome of which involved a trip to fox valley cheesecake company, located in the booming metropolis of omro. i'll summarize by saying that it pays to get married in the middle of nowhere- holy cheap cheesecake! so yummy. but even better was the excellent customer service - rodney (the owner, who we are sure is younger than we are) assured us that we could come and taste AS MANY TIMES AS WE NEED to make sure we're sure about the details, and was very willing to answer all of our questions. so far:
me: "we can taste as many times as we need?" *drool*
mb: "tell me about that 1950s mannequin in the corner of the room. does she make you uncomfortable?"
so we have signed a cake contract. and we have learned that yes, sometimes the store's decorative mannequin sometimes makes rodney uncomfortable, but that it was worse when she used to live in the back room and scare rodney into thinking she was a real person when the lights were off. this brings our actually-completed wedding tasks to cake, bobblehead animations of wedding party on website, and bridesmaid dresses for $78 apiece from nordstroms. note the conspicuous lack of actual contract for location or date. whatever. it's coming. the important part is that even if the wedding falls through, mb and i have agreed that before departing for the caribbean we will collect our 150 little cheesecake tarts and show up on a friend's doorstep to stuff ourselves silly with raspberry white chocolate and turtle goodness.
me: "we can taste as many times as we need?" *drool*
mb: "tell me about that 1950s mannequin in the corner of the room. does she make you uncomfortable?"
so we have signed a cake contract. and we have learned that yes, sometimes the store's decorative mannequin sometimes makes rodney uncomfortable, but that it was worse when she used to live in the back room and scare rodney into thinking she was a real person when the lights were off. this brings our actually-completed wedding tasks to cake, bobblehead animations of wedding party on website, and bridesmaid dresses for $78 apiece from nordstroms. note the conspicuous lack of actual contract for location or date. whatever. it's coming. the important part is that even if the wedding falls through, mb and i have agreed that before departing for the caribbean we will collect our 150 little cheesecake tarts and show up on a friend's doorstep to stuff ourselves silly with raspberry white chocolate and turtle goodness.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
good evening, sports fans
maybe it's not just the undergrad nerds? mb and i went to check out a new neighborhood gym last night, and after a quick warm-up on the treadmills (during which mb decided he had to lap me on *stationary treadmills* - honestly, who is that competitive???) we headed over to the weights. there was the usual throng of big guys admiring their own arms and preening in the mirrors, which i know is standard. but who was the guy grunting and shouting under the strain of the AB BALL??? now that's just not that hard core. i don't like doing ab workouts, but that's just silly.
on a sports-related note, to some of our favorite male blog readership: what is up with getting the ncaa tickets? jo-na would like to attend with you. especially as one of us lives within walking-ish distance to the united center.
on a sports-related note, to some of our favorite male blog readership: what is up with getting the ncaa tickets? jo-na would like to attend with you. especially as one of us lives within walking-ish distance to the united center.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
hidden treasures
some people might say that it's silly to fly half way around the country to a new city and not leave the hotel. but those people probably wouldn't have a bottle of southern comfort and a giant mardi gras king cake in their room. they might remind me that there must be things do in nashville , and there's definitely nothing going on at the sheraton music city that doesn't happen in any hotel anywhere. those people have not, however, found themselves hanging out at the hotel bar drinking jack daniels (they make it here), discovering that there's a talent scounting conference going on in this very hotel. if they knew that, they'd also know that our seat from the bar afforded us an excellent view of the parade tired, emotionally spent amateur models (or even better their mothersr) sneaking out for a drink and cigarette. they also wouldn't have found that they could just follow one of these people back into the ballroom, where they would just be able to sit inconspicuously in the back, frankly intoxicated watching the runway walk of at least 100 anorexic 15 year olds sauntering around stage, trying desperately to get that bitchy turn on the catwalk down (we practiced in our room later - it's not that hard).
if you'll excuse me, i need to get back to the room so i can eat some king cake, drink some so-co, and figure where in this town one can eat BBQ and watch new orleans spank chicago. geaux saints!
if you'll excuse me, i need to get back to the room so i can eat some king cake, drink some so-co, and figure where in this town one can eat BBQ and watch new orleans spank chicago. geaux saints!
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
ode to the undergrads taking up the gym equipment last wednesday afternoon
oh, little undergrad, with your scrawny self and your shiny tracksuit and your grunting and flailing and clanging the weights together with your efforts. how you wanted to look big and tough; i saw you struggle mightily with those 60 pounds, not stopping to consider that your poor form might limit your weight training prowess.
and oh, even scrawnier undergrad, with your moppy uncut hair and your sleepy drool on the left elbow of the chest press as your slack jaw rests on the machine rather than actually lifting anything. i hope you had peaceful dreams of nietzche and schrodinger.
oh, high-topped black basketball shoes and the black socks that accompany you... how happy i am that finally you have found a home where your fashion statement is not stigmatized, but rather is celebrated by the pasty white calves that love them so. the peasant dresses and military jackets with whom you associate are waiting patiently in the locker room for your return.
who needs magazines on the stationary bike? i mock because i love, my friends.
and oh, even scrawnier undergrad, with your moppy uncut hair and your sleepy drool on the left elbow of the chest press as your slack jaw rests on the machine rather than actually lifting anything. i hope you had peaceful dreams of nietzche and schrodinger.
oh, high-topped black basketball shoes and the black socks that accompany you... how happy i am that finally you have found a home where your fashion statement is not stigmatized, but rather is celebrated by the pasty white calves that love them so. the peasant dresses and military jackets with whom you associate are waiting patiently in the locker room for your return.
who needs magazines on the stationary bike? i mock because i love, my friends.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
bar hopping for bottom-feeders
it was a long-anticipated weekend... and now i don't think n. will ever be seen with me in public ever again. ever.
it's not that i had high expectations for the bars on southport. in fact, when offering up our watering hole options i did, in fact, describe them as "small non-descript irish bar" and "big non-desccript irish bar." killing time in a smoky, crowded, aging frat boy bar woulnd't be so bad if the aging frat boys weren't still so obviously younger than us... and the musical mantra of this kind of establishment wasn't the non-descript folky irsh late 90s cover band. when it comes to lofty music taste i am, obviously, all talk. i may appreciate indie rock, but i'm not exactly a believer. and i just don't that sad bastard music is ever the right answer (for that you can listen to the fray or coldplay or U2- not nearly as painful). so it was frankly awful, but at least it was funny and we could sing along - or at least m and i thought so. n. was too busy trying to teleport himself back to wicker park, and the clientele was just to young to find any nostalgic value in "closer to fine."
then it was on to the buffy sing-a-long. in the back of my head, i always knew it would be a geek infested circus, and had the presence of mind to buy tickets ahead - a move without which i wouldn't even have been able to stand in the line that wrapped all the way around the block. i'd envisioned a small throng of goth kids, some sci fi dweebs, and handful of out-of-place stragglers like us - not the hoards of people, who honestly looked pretty normal... until we got inside. standing outside with their coats and confirmation numbers i really thought these people looked like garden-variety yuppies, but once we were all settled inside and the show started i realized that they were exactly the kind of vampire-obsessed weirdos i'd dreaded, masquerading as normal people.
i spent saturday recovering from my late-night outing. later i went to an unusually crowded avenue tavern to watch the saints win their first ever playoff game, and then found myself back on southport, at a medium-sized nondescript irish bar (its black facade with gold lettering not being at all helpful in distinguishing it from every other bar on the block). there were, of course, aging frat boys, and there was, of course, a non-descript folky irish late 90s cover band. and that's where i drew the line - let 'em bastardize dave matthews, i don't care, but "don't you forget about me" is off limits.
it's not that i had high expectations for the bars on southport. in fact, when offering up our watering hole options i did, in fact, describe them as "small non-descript irish bar" and "big non-desccript irish bar." killing time in a smoky, crowded, aging frat boy bar woulnd't be so bad if the aging frat boys weren't still so obviously younger than us... and the musical mantra of this kind of establishment wasn't the non-descript folky irsh late 90s cover band. when it comes to lofty music taste i am, obviously, all talk. i may appreciate indie rock, but i'm not exactly a believer. and i just don't that sad bastard music is ever the right answer (for that you can listen to the fray or coldplay or U2- not nearly as painful). so it was frankly awful, but at least it was funny and we could sing along - or at least m and i thought so. n. was too busy trying to teleport himself back to wicker park, and the clientele was just to young to find any nostalgic value in "closer to fine."
then it was on to the buffy sing-a-long. in the back of my head, i always knew it would be a geek infested circus, and had the presence of mind to buy tickets ahead - a move without which i wouldn't even have been able to stand in the line that wrapped all the way around the block. i'd envisioned a small throng of goth kids, some sci fi dweebs, and handful of out-of-place stragglers like us - not the hoards of people, who honestly looked pretty normal... until we got inside. standing outside with their coats and confirmation numbers i really thought these people looked like garden-variety yuppies, but once we were all settled inside and the show started i realized that they were exactly the kind of vampire-obsessed weirdos i'd dreaded, masquerading as normal people.
i spent saturday recovering from my late-night outing. later i went to an unusually crowded avenue tavern to watch the saints win their first ever playoff game, and then found myself back on southport, at a medium-sized nondescript irish bar (its black facade with gold lettering not being at all helpful in distinguishing it from every other bar on the block). there were, of course, aging frat boys, and there was, of course, a non-descript folky irish late 90s cover band. and that's where i drew the line - let 'em bastardize dave matthews, i don't care, but "don't you forget about me" is off limits.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
bender
a few months ago we ran a piece on hangover movies which, in my humble estimation, went over really well. less well received (but much more entertaining) have been my blogmate's witty and sardonic digs at indie rockers and the people who love them.
my relationship with indie rock (and with hangovers) is complicated. i feel i should resist, but i can't. ultimately it's unavoidable; if you have a vague aspirations of coolness, but really don't want to work that hard it's the way to go. i'll leave it at that, since i just convinced n to join me at the buffy sing-along and i don't want to piss him off (how much would it suck to go to the midnight showing of "once more with feeling" alone?).
so i offer my nominations for reigning best hangover music and open the floor to discussion:
franz ferdinand
modest mouse
the killers
my relationship with indie rock (and with hangovers) is complicated. i feel i should resist, but i can't. ultimately it's unavoidable; if you have a vague aspirations of coolness, but really don't want to work that hard it's the way to go. i'll leave it at that, since i just convinced n to join me at the buffy sing-along and i don't want to piss him off (how much would it suck to go to the midnight showing of "once more with feeling" alone?).
so i offer my nominations for reigning best hangover music and open the floor to discussion:
franz ferdinand
modest mouse
the killers
Monday, January 01, 2007
aud lang syne
perhaps new year's resolutions are not the product of insightful reflection, so much as they result from the new year's day hangover and the self-loathing that accompanies it. ugly, tired, nauseated- of course we feel compelled to change our lives.
at 8AM i found myself wide awake and feeling suspiciously fine - i seized the moment, hopped out of bed, cleaned up and did the (many, many) dishes (that's what i get for deciding i was classy enough to serve drinks out of real glassware). i finished just as the insidious feeling of impending misery was setting in, and had myself curled up under a blanket on the couch with club soda, leftover spinach and artichoke dip, and the PBS brittish mystery drama marathon just in time. hours later i woke up to that all-too-familiar searing pain behind my right eye. let's be honest- there was no way i was getting away with five dirty gin martinis without feeling this way.
given how muddled i felt, i'm surprised i managed to draw any meaningful conclusions about anything today, but i did finally understand that day-after bloody marys aren't actually a hangover remedy, so much as they are a gesture of resilience. as good as i mixed them this year, it's not about how they taste- it's about how cool they make us feel.
i also found time (and consciousness) to find more fault with yahoo avatars. there are no dark circles under the eyes, no trashed apartments, no disheveled hair and rumpled clothes. i understand that it's weird that my avatar is always crying - i'm not really that despondent of a person. but it's the closest i can get to the way i'm actually feeling, which is just plain wretched.
at 8AM i found myself wide awake and feeling suspiciously fine - i seized the moment, hopped out of bed, cleaned up and did the (many, many) dishes (that's what i get for deciding i was classy enough to serve drinks out of real glassware). i finished just as the insidious feeling of impending misery was setting in, and had myself curled up under a blanket on the couch with club soda, leftover spinach and artichoke dip, and the PBS brittish mystery drama marathon just in time. hours later i woke up to that all-too-familiar searing pain behind my right eye. let's be honest- there was no way i was getting away with five dirty gin martinis without feeling this way.
given how muddled i felt, i'm surprised i managed to draw any meaningful conclusions about anything today, but i did finally understand that day-after bloody marys aren't actually a hangover remedy, so much as they are a gesture of resilience. as good as i mixed them this year, it's not about how they taste- it's about how cool they make us feel.
i also found time (and consciousness) to find more fault with yahoo avatars. there are no dark circles under the eyes, no trashed apartments, no disheveled hair and rumpled clothes. i understand that it's weird that my avatar is always crying - i'm not really that despondent of a person. but it's the closest i can get to the way i'm actually feeling, which is just plain wretched.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
new years' resolutions?
got any?
since meeting my college roommate, i have always adopted her yearly new years' resolution: have more fun. it's nice - i never have to feel bad about resolutions like exercise more, eat healthier, be nicer, and so on. but i can think of a few that should go on the list this year:
1. stop calling blogmate every five minutes to tell her "i hate everything."
this is hard, because we've had a stressful few work weeks, but for 2007 i will try to substitute with some other more benign cliche. "it's the right thing to do" in particular works well and can be employed in events where i am asked to do something i don't like (in place of "i hate everything") as well as at the end of hard days such as yesterday when my blogmate asks me, "so can we drink tonight?" much more versatile. i can work on this.
2. get out of board game rut.
in college mb would bring a cribbage board on vacations, and set up in front of various non-midwestern scenery (eiffel tower, castles, etc.) he shared this love with ck, my blogmate and me in st. lucia last spring, and since then we enjoy bringing our somewhat-obscure little card game out to bars. when my blogmate and i play, we kind of hope to attract the attention of some young male bartender. unfortunately, every time we've tried this we've only attracted the wrong bartender, like the one with four kids or the short one with bad teeth *sigh*. so i'm thinking of expanding our bar-game base. i was secretly hoping for dominos for christmas, but no such luck. oh well, an excuse to go shopping for myself once the checking account recovers.
i did receive games over the holidays, which is awesome! but mb, butterknife, b's husband and i demonstrated recently that just the receipt of more gifts is not enough to break the cycle. we have spent the last several holidays together playing "apples to apples" for hours on end, and the game is fun but so addictive that we're all a bit burned out from last year. i had purchased for butterknife a much-desired trivial pursuit 80s edition, and we tried mightily to stop playing apples to apples in favor of the new game - which lasted for about 20 minutes until we realized that although we are children of the 80s, we have no idea which former reagan aide said which memorable thing. so we switched to my new present from ck, a more promising game called "quickword," which is a series of word puzzles kind of like boggle. anyone who knows butterknife's husband and me knows that our vocabularies are substantial, and we were quite excited about getting to stop feeling so lame about the 80s and start kicking ass with the word games. but no such luck - total word block. mb, who spends a great deal of effort pretending he only knows little words, was all over this one, with entries like "surreptitiously," while the rest of us could only produce "so." after another 20 minutes we guiltily looked around the table and went right back to apples to apples, which we promptly played until midnight when there were no cards left and we were all falling asleep at the table. doh. maybe the new games need more booze? i'm willing to work on this.
3a. Finish new awesome website.
3b. Stop working on new awesome website (it's for our wedding) and start working on actual wedding.
i won't post the actual link here, but email me if you want to see pictures of our wedding party and parents as bobbleheads. mb and i not having cable or bunny ears for the tv has resulted in some extra free time which we have used to learn more about photoshop and making animated gifs. but don't go looking at the "wedding info" section, because it's the only blank part. perhaps for 2007 we'll do something about that, hopefully before we decide to learn how to make flash movies.
accepting additions to the resolution list now - either for yourself or for me. come on - it's the right thing to do. :)
since meeting my college roommate, i have always adopted her yearly new years' resolution: have more fun. it's nice - i never have to feel bad about resolutions like exercise more, eat healthier, be nicer, and so on. but i can think of a few that should go on the list this year:
1. stop calling blogmate every five minutes to tell her "i hate everything."
this is hard, because we've had a stressful few work weeks, but for 2007 i will try to substitute with some other more benign cliche. "it's the right thing to do" in particular works well and can be employed in events where i am asked to do something i don't like (in place of "i hate everything") as well as at the end of hard days such as yesterday when my blogmate asks me, "so can we drink tonight?" much more versatile. i can work on this.
2. get out of board game rut.
in college mb would bring a cribbage board on vacations, and set up in front of various non-midwestern scenery (eiffel tower, castles, etc.) he shared this love with ck, my blogmate and me in st. lucia last spring, and since then we enjoy bringing our somewhat-obscure little card game out to bars. when my blogmate and i play, we kind of hope to attract the attention of some young male bartender. unfortunately, every time we've tried this we've only attracted the wrong bartender, like the one with four kids or the short one with bad teeth *sigh*. so i'm thinking of expanding our bar-game base. i was secretly hoping for dominos for christmas, but no such luck. oh well, an excuse to go shopping for myself once the checking account recovers.
i did receive games over the holidays, which is awesome! but mb, butterknife, b's husband and i demonstrated recently that just the receipt of more gifts is not enough to break the cycle. we have spent the last several holidays together playing "apples to apples" for hours on end, and the game is fun but so addictive that we're all a bit burned out from last year. i had purchased for butterknife a much-desired trivial pursuit 80s edition, and we tried mightily to stop playing apples to apples in favor of the new game - which lasted for about 20 minutes until we realized that although we are children of the 80s, we have no idea which former reagan aide said which memorable thing. so we switched to my new present from ck, a more promising game called "quickword," which is a series of word puzzles kind of like boggle. anyone who knows butterknife's husband and me knows that our vocabularies are substantial, and we were quite excited about getting to stop feeling so lame about the 80s and start kicking ass with the word games. but no such luck - total word block. mb, who spends a great deal of effort pretending he only knows little words, was all over this one, with entries like "surreptitiously," while the rest of us could only produce "so." after another 20 minutes we guiltily looked around the table and went right back to apples to apples, which we promptly played until midnight when there were no cards left and we were all falling asleep at the table. doh. maybe the new games need more booze? i'm willing to work on this.
3a. Finish new awesome website.
3b. Stop working on new awesome website (it's for our wedding) and start working on actual wedding.
i won't post the actual link here, but email me if you want to see pictures of our wedding party and parents as bobbleheads. mb and i not having cable or bunny ears for the tv has resulted in some extra free time which we have used to learn more about photoshop and making animated gifs. but don't go looking at the "wedding info" section, because it's the only blank part. perhaps for 2007 we'll do something about that, hopefully before we decide to learn how to make flash movies.
accepting additions to the resolution list now - either for yourself or for me. come on - it's the right thing to do. :)
Friday, December 22, 2006
hippie holidays
i hope everyone is enjoying the holiday season, that nobody is struggling to fill last-minute holiday requests like "please, honey, would you mind picking up some butane for my kitchen torch so that i don't have to lie to my grandmother when she asks me how i'm enjoying my creme brulee set from last year?", and that everyone's home decorating is done to your satisfaction.
me?
i have picked up the butane.
but the holiday decorating is getting out of hand.
it started out simply enough, with a plan to host an appetizer party a few weeks ago, and with the realization that our apartment doesn't really have enough space to hold guests, appetizers, and a tree, we decided to scrap the tree and decorate our free-standing bike rack for a very merry bike-mas. it actually turned out great - faux pine garland and white lights strung in triangle fashion with a few ornaments here and there, presents at the bottom of the bikes. the bike-mas tree was a hit of the party, second only to mb's re-creation of his mother's famous beef smokie chubbies (for the uneducated, that's mini-hot dogs wrapped in crescent rolls).
add to the bike-mas festivities mb's beloved "zwarte piet" dolls, which means "black pete" in dutch; they are the friendly but politically-incorrect-in-america traditional christmas elves in holland. i'll summarize their presence: mb loves them. i love hiding them. so ensues the now-annual holiday tradition of each of us taking turns hiding the zwarte piet dolls in each others' stuff.
all fine so far. but now add ck's much-loved holiday gift to mb: wind-up hopping lederhosen. mb loves them, and i also love them. we gave them a prominent home on the dresser right next to the small lego "little jo-na" that mb gave me a few years ago (it really looks like a teeny lego replica of me; weird.) but last night i headed for bed to find the lederhosen sitting on my pillow next to mb. this gives me the feeling that the holiday festivities are taking over just a little.
i can't help but feel like my life is becoming a little bit too animated. mb and i are generally good-natured and happy people, but we realize that there are limits. for example, this weekend we watched a video on the life of ram dass (some guy who was a harvard professor with timothy leary who got booted from harvard after they started running experiments where they tried to create a placebo-controlled trial of hallucinogens to stimulate religious experience). when they did the segment where ram dass brings all the hippies back to his father's farm near boston while they all skip around in a big circle and bathe naked in the stream, we decided that we are not *that* good-natured. and last night, when we were reading the travel-blog of mb's hippie college friends who left their jobs to take a two-month stint camping around the country with no particular plans or destinations, hearing about their enthusiastic descriptions of the "energy" of the desert and the good vibes of parking lots despite entering said parking lots forgetting that their bikes were on top of the car (oops - ouch), we coined a new term:
some people are so good-natured that you just want to mock them.
so my hippie-mocking cynicism balances the take-over of the lederhosen a little, i think.
right?
me?
i have picked up the butane.
but the holiday decorating is getting out of hand.
it started out simply enough, with a plan to host an appetizer party a few weeks ago, and with the realization that our apartment doesn't really have enough space to hold guests, appetizers, and a tree, we decided to scrap the tree and decorate our free-standing bike rack for a very merry bike-mas. it actually turned out great - faux pine garland and white lights strung in triangle fashion with a few ornaments here and there, presents at the bottom of the bikes. the bike-mas tree was a hit of the party, second only to mb's re-creation of his mother's famous beef smokie chubbies (for the uneducated, that's mini-hot dogs wrapped in crescent rolls).
add to the bike-mas festivities mb's beloved "zwarte piet" dolls, which means "black pete" in dutch; they are the friendly but politically-incorrect-in-america traditional christmas elves in holland. i'll summarize their presence: mb loves them. i love hiding them. so ensues the now-annual holiday tradition of each of us taking turns hiding the zwarte piet dolls in each others' stuff.
all fine so far. but now add ck's much-loved holiday gift to mb: wind-up hopping lederhosen. mb loves them, and i also love them. we gave them a prominent home on the dresser right next to the small lego "little jo-na" that mb gave me a few years ago (it really looks like a teeny lego replica of me; weird.) but last night i headed for bed to find the lederhosen sitting on my pillow next to mb. this gives me the feeling that the holiday festivities are taking over just a little.
i can't help but feel like my life is becoming a little bit too animated. mb and i are generally good-natured and happy people, but we realize that there are limits. for example, this weekend we watched a video on the life of ram dass (some guy who was a harvard professor with timothy leary who got booted from harvard after they started running experiments where they tried to create a placebo-controlled trial of hallucinogens to stimulate religious experience). when they did the segment where ram dass brings all the hippies back to his father's farm near boston while they all skip around in a big circle and bathe naked in the stream, we decided that we are not *that* good-natured. and last night, when we were reading the travel-blog of mb's hippie college friends who left their jobs to take a two-month stint camping around the country with no particular plans or destinations, hearing about their enthusiastic descriptions of the "energy" of the desert and the good vibes of parking lots despite entering said parking lots forgetting that their bikes were on top of the car (oops - ouch), we coined a new term:
some people are so good-natured that you just want to mock them.
so my hippie-mocking cynicism balances the take-over of the lederhosen a little, i think.
right?
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
glass half full
i won't lie. since thanksgiving i've definitely done my share of sulking. for one thing, self-loathing is a fairly distasteful experience, and since i attempted the turkey trot knowing full well that i was on the brink of serious injury, i can only blame myself for the searing pain and the limping and the crutches. so i hate the hobbling, and i hate myself for doing it.
that said...
there's something to be said for having a stress fracture.
that i appear to have done this to myself while running, or even better, while attempting a 10 mile bike/sprint suggests some sort of dedicated and accomplished athleticism. i'd even go so far as to say "hard core." no one has to know that said bike/sprint was completely out of my league.
and i'm told by kl and dh that i look cute when i'm so vulnerable and pathetic.
so i get to be badass and adorable?! i can't lose!
still woozy under the effects of all the attention, sympathy, and looks of admiration, i decided to take it one step further and go on my first ever helicopter transport of tiny sick baby. nevermind that i almost shrieked in terror while in the MRI machine, being fearless is fun, and flight doc just sounds cool.
i probably don't have to tell you that the helicopter experience was somewhat hair-raising, what with my overwhelming sense that we were about to fall right out of the sky. i also probably don't need to inform any of you that no amount of badass injury or life-saving can will save you when what you need is interpersonal know-how.
it figured that the other doc on the flight was someone i've known peripherally for a couple of years, and that i've had to be a little icy with him several times in the past, as he constantly feels the need to make veiled references to a brief romantic stint that once transpired between me and a friend of his (more adventures in self-loathing, but that's a story for another day).
it came out in small talk while in flight (over the headsets, mind-you) that he'd recently broken up with his rather serious and live-in ex-girlfriend, and of course i got roped into admitting that no, i wasn't seeing anyone either. flight doc made some "oh, so should we catch a movie later?" crack that was just weird enough to make me a little uneasy (since i was already practically sitting on his lap in the tiny helicopter cabin). not knowing what else to do, i gave a a really weak, "oh, you don't want me, i'm damaged goods," and started talking about my stress fracture.
i almost got away with it, but as we were landing the PILOT called me out on this not so slick maneuver, again over the radio for everyone to hear. "jo-na, am i imagining things or did he just ask you out and you said something about your leg?" again i failed to be quick-witted at the moment it really counted, and muttered something about the two of us going way back, and was left limping along behind to the stretcher, feeling like a complete tool.
i would be mortified by this experience, except that it offers the chance to work my stress fracture, my helicopter baby rescue, and the fact that i once dated a 5'4" nicaraguan man all into one, convenient, self-promoting story.
it's like my boss always says: never be sad about your data
that said...
there's something to be said for having a stress fracture.
that i appear to have done this to myself while running, or even better, while attempting a 10 mile bike/sprint suggests some sort of dedicated and accomplished athleticism. i'd even go so far as to say "hard core." no one has to know that said bike/sprint was completely out of my league.
and i'm told by kl and dh that i look cute when i'm so vulnerable and pathetic.
so i get to be badass and adorable?! i can't lose!
still woozy under the effects of all the attention, sympathy, and looks of admiration, i decided to take it one step further and go on my first ever helicopter transport of tiny sick baby. nevermind that i almost shrieked in terror while in the MRI machine, being fearless is fun, and flight doc just sounds cool.
i probably don't have to tell you that the helicopter experience was somewhat hair-raising, what with my overwhelming sense that we were about to fall right out of the sky. i also probably don't need to inform any of you that no amount of badass injury or life-saving can will save you when what you need is interpersonal know-how.
it figured that the other doc on the flight was someone i've known peripherally for a couple of years, and that i've had to be a little icy with him several times in the past, as he constantly feels the need to make veiled references to a brief romantic stint that once transpired between me and a friend of his (more adventures in self-loathing, but that's a story for another day).
it came out in small talk while in flight (over the headsets, mind-you) that he'd recently broken up with his rather serious and live-in ex-girlfriend, and of course i got roped into admitting that no, i wasn't seeing anyone either. flight doc made some "oh, so should we catch a movie later?" crack that was just weird enough to make me a little uneasy (since i was already practically sitting on his lap in the tiny helicopter cabin). not knowing what else to do, i gave a a really weak, "oh, you don't want me, i'm damaged goods," and started talking about my stress fracture.
i almost got away with it, but as we were landing the PILOT called me out on this not so slick maneuver, again over the radio for everyone to hear. "jo-na, am i imagining things or did he just ask you out and you said something about your leg?" again i failed to be quick-witted at the moment it really counted, and muttered something about the two of us going way back, and was left limping along behind to the stretcher, feeling like a complete tool.
i would be mortified by this experience, except that it offers the chance to work my stress fracture, my helicopter baby rescue, and the fact that i once dated a 5'4" nicaraguan man all into one, convenient, self-promoting story.
it's like my boss always says: never be sad about your data
Saturday, November 25, 2006
home for the holidays
so i feel a little bad about blogging at my family's expense. i get off so easy when it comes to family. they're great... and i invited them here.
but here's the backdrop:
my dad, grumpy, with his week-long, miserable bout of intractable hiccups
me, despondent, with my blown knee, hobbling around on crutches
my brother, groaning, wondering what he did to deserve this, trying to figure out how to have a phone conversation with his new, still under-the-radar girlfriend without my parents noticing.
at their absolute worst my parents are still very cool people and 98% of the time i walk around feeling very fortunate that i'm the progeny of relatively hip, open-minded, well-educated parents who rarely make me crazy.
except when they make me crazy.
mom (examining the various pride and prejudice interpretations i have on DVD): "where's the new one?"
me: "you mean the 2005 keira knightley version? it's in your hand."
dad: "[jo-na], when was this old version filmed?"
me: "i don't know dad"
mom: "no, not that one. the other new one."
me: "what?"
mom: "the one with gwyneth paltrow."
dad (holding the old, two-volume version): "how long is this one"
me (to mom): "you mean emma"
me (to dad): "i don't know dad, long."
mom: "yeah, that's it."
dad: "but where did you get this version? did you buy it?"
me (to dad): "it was a gift"
me (to mom): "that's not pride and prejudice mom, it's, um, emma."
dad: "when was this old version filmed?"
mom: "i thought it was pride and prejudice."
me (flustered): "but it's even called, 'emma,' "
mom: "what's the other one that's about emma."
me: "oh, clueless?"
mom: "yeah, clueless, that's the one i like."
dad: "how long is this one?"
boy am i glad that i stocked the bar before they got here.
but here's the backdrop:
my dad, grumpy, with his week-long, miserable bout of intractable hiccups
me, despondent, with my blown knee, hobbling around on crutches
my brother, groaning, wondering what he did to deserve this, trying to figure out how to have a phone conversation with his new, still under-the-radar girlfriend without my parents noticing.
at their absolute worst my parents are still very cool people and 98% of the time i walk around feeling very fortunate that i'm the progeny of relatively hip, open-minded, well-educated parents who rarely make me crazy.
except when they make me crazy.
mom (examining the various pride and prejudice interpretations i have on DVD): "where's the new one?"
me: "you mean the 2005 keira knightley version? it's in your hand."
dad: "[jo-na], when was this old version filmed?"
me: "i don't know dad"
mom: "no, not that one. the other new one."
me: "what?"
mom: "the one with gwyneth paltrow."
dad (holding the old, two-volume version): "how long is this one"
me (to mom): "you mean emma"
me (to dad): "i don't know dad, long."
mom: "yeah, that's it."
dad: "but where did you get this version? did you buy it?"
me (to dad): "it was a gift"
me (to mom): "that's not pride and prejudice mom, it's, um, emma."
dad: "when was this old version filmed?"
mom: "i thought it was pride and prejudice."
me (flustered): "but it's even called, 'emma,' "
mom: "what's the other one that's about emma."
me: "oh, clueless?"
mom: "yeah, clueless, that's the one i like."
dad: "how long is this one?"
boy am i glad that i stocked the bar before they got here.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
monday morning quarterback
one of the the things i love about my good blogmate is that, like my father, she has blind faith in my abilities. this faith gives me the false belief that i can, in fact, do the things she thinks i can.
for a while we can both feel good about ourselves.
but then it all breaks down.
in her ever patient indulgence of my triathlon and boy-meeting fantasies, my blogmate helpfully suggested that ck and i participate in a ride n' tie (some kind of bike/run race) last week, as a first peak into the world of the chicago tri world, and a way to jump start the winter training.
seems like a good idea, right? ck was up for it because, well, ck is always up for anything (which is perhaps the thing the collective jo-na loves most about her), and neither she nor i were too worried that the description of this event was a little vague on the website.
we started to get nervous when ck picked up the race packets. "organized chaos," was how the guy described it.
as it turns out, the ride n' tie isn't so much as a competitive biking and running as it is sprint training for crazy people. we probably should have realized that only people of a certain disposition are up and out at 8AM for a late november race in schaumburg. we also probably should have realized that we are not of said disposition. we also should have realized that the biking was just a way to make the time between the sprints SHORTER.
after much swearing and complaining and passing each other up on the course muttering to each other about the drinks the instigator of this madness was going to buy us, we finally limped across the finish line. 10 miles. two people. one bike. much running. much pain. MANY crazy people. we felt pretty bad about our 2nd-to-last place finish until we realized that the winners came in at a sub-five-minute pace.
we felt much better about ourselves once it was all over, and have been alternating states of soaring triumph and searing pain, wondering just who we think we are.
for a while we can both feel good about ourselves.
but then it all breaks down.
in her ever patient indulgence of my triathlon and boy-meeting fantasies, my blogmate helpfully suggested that ck and i participate in a ride n' tie (some kind of bike/run race) last week, as a first peak into the world of the chicago tri world, and a way to jump start the winter training.
seems like a good idea, right? ck was up for it because, well, ck is always up for anything (which is perhaps the thing the collective jo-na loves most about her), and neither she nor i were too worried that the description of this event was a little vague on the website.
we started to get nervous when ck picked up the race packets. "organized chaos," was how the guy described it.
as it turns out, the ride n' tie isn't so much as a competitive biking and running as it is sprint training for crazy people. we probably should have realized that only people of a certain disposition are up and out at 8AM for a late november race in schaumburg. we also probably should have realized that we are not of said disposition. we also should have realized that the biking was just a way to make the time between the sprints SHORTER.
after much swearing and complaining and passing each other up on the course muttering to each other about the drinks the instigator of this madness was going to buy us, we finally limped across the finish line. 10 miles. two people. one bike. much running. much pain. MANY crazy people. we felt pretty bad about our 2nd-to-last place finish until we realized that the winners came in at a sub-five-minute pace.
we felt much better about ourselves once it was all over, and have been alternating states of soaring triumph and searing pain, wondering just who we think we are.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
but it's ART!
while helping throw a baby shower this weekend for our good friend jz (formerly known as twinset, although i submit that the name has to change with the still-stylish-but-more-laid-back mommy-attire these days) i was talking with dwtacc (whose name should also really change: are opinions about the acc still relevant here?) about her recent expedition to the museum of contemporary art. apparently berets can be worn without irony in certain settings. also, apparently i could be an up-and-coming artist, since people drawing single diagonal lines on paper get featured as "early works" at the mca.
i'm going to start asking mb (does his name have to change? does it have to be mf now? i don't like that as much) to wear the beret i bought him as a joke a few years ago to our living room from now on. two reasons:
one, we're having an appetizer-and-mulled-wine party in a few weeks, and mb decided that on the evite we should list "location" as "fancington," our joking name for the apartment. let me be clear, this place is not so fancy, especially with the millions of bikes all over the place, but compared to the place in hyde park with the huge bugs and the lack of reliable heat or water, and with the dishwasher, well, we think we're living in high style. plus, according to ck's book that i read, jackie o named all of her homes, and who are we to be outdone? so i think since berets are apparently fine in such high society, it's time his made a more regular debut.
two: we recently got netflix and i am going to start making the claim that we're not movie-watchers so much as art film connoisseurs. similar to the merging of the cds that comes with every deepening relationship, we are introducing each other to our favorite films from college. we take turns on the queue, and after last night's debut of "last dragon" (which was fanTAStic!) i think the level of film here at fancington will soon be reaching an all-time high. next up, i think, are "glen or glenda?" by the great ed wood, and "tron."
my insightful blogmate (whose name will NOT change, although the associated praise-adjectives do vary somewhat) pointed out yesterday that we all believe more strongly in the things we were exposed to in high school or college, like her anger with the starbucks people that burn the latte-milk after years of barista-hood. so maybe the films at fancington aren't GOOD so much as they happened at an impressionable point in our young past(s). but if single lines on paper are contemporary art, breakdancing-martial-arts and cross-dresser-mockumentaries featuring bela lugosi are practically religious icons.
i'm going to start asking mb (does his name have to change? does it have to be mf now? i don't like that as much) to wear the beret i bought him as a joke a few years ago to our living room from now on. two reasons:
one, we're having an appetizer-and-mulled-wine party in a few weeks, and mb decided that on the evite we should list "location" as "fancington," our joking name for the apartment. let me be clear, this place is not so fancy, especially with the millions of bikes all over the place, but compared to the place in hyde park with the huge bugs and the lack of reliable heat or water, and with the dishwasher, well, we think we're living in high style. plus, according to ck's book that i read, jackie o named all of her homes, and who are we to be outdone? so i think since berets are apparently fine in such high society, it's time his made a more regular debut.
two: we recently got netflix and i am going to start making the claim that we're not movie-watchers so much as art film connoisseurs. similar to the merging of the cds that comes with every deepening relationship, we are introducing each other to our favorite films from college. we take turns on the queue, and after last night's debut of "last dragon" (which was fanTAStic!) i think the level of film here at fancington will soon be reaching an all-time high. next up, i think, are "glen or glenda?" by the great ed wood, and "tron."
my insightful blogmate (whose name will NOT change, although the associated praise-adjectives do vary somewhat) pointed out yesterday that we all believe more strongly in the things we were exposed to in high school or college, like her anger with the starbucks people that burn the latte-milk after years of barista-hood. so maybe the films at fancington aren't GOOD so much as they happened at an impressionable point in our young past(s). but if single lines on paper are contemporary art, breakdancing-martial-arts and cross-dresser-mockumentaries featuring bela lugosi are practically religious icons.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
elliptical therapy
right on the heels of my good blogmate and i deciding that we had to abandon the "i hate everything" moto in exchange for the more reasonable and well-intended, "it's the right thing to do," i find myself pondering the kind of misanthropic question that can only lead to trouble: why is everyone lame?
after a particularly distasteful self-extrication from work this morning i went straight to the gym in order to enable some quality perseverating and expend the last of my dwindling energy supply on the elliptical machine. easier said than done, as i realized when i got there that i'd lost my membership card. this prompted a little more eye contact that i really wanted from the guy behind the counter, who looked more like someone who'd just come back from a 3 month, marijuana-intense trek through the himalayas than the average nerd with the big math book that usually mans the entrance. i should have left well enough alone when he asked me how my day was going, but i was a little incensed at the question (since it was 9AM and i was dirty, tired, and sleep-deprived), and attempted some kind of crack about how i wished i'd slept in my own bed. sherpa guy understandably took this entirely the wrong way and yet again i was back to painful self-extrication.
once i was finally up and going on the elliptical machine i thought a bit about my blogmate and mb's music classification scheme and decided that the mix cds i've been compiling in my head for the last three months could be broken up pretty neatly as "run," "bike," and "wallow" (i also considered "seduce," "flirt," and "high-brow"). i then moved on to more meaningful thoughts like, "people suck" and "online dating is like poking a sleeping bear with a stick," before giving in to some serious stewing about the rise and fall of the stock analyst. (pay attention, rw, this one's for you.)
a few weeks a weeks ago i went on a date that would objectively be described as "fine," although in the larger scheme of things might be more like "great," just by virtue of it's not totally sucking. then commenced a week of vaguely flirty, albeit somewhat unsatisfying emails, until he abruptly went dark. i wasn't going down without a fight, and in a moment of post-call, post-jogging delerium, i enlisted my good blogmate to help me send a last email, inviting him to a drinking event that seemed right up his alley in a funny sort of way.
oops.
the response came fast, and initially seemed like the rejection i'd anticipated. roughly, "can't. busy. sorry."
fine.
if only he'd stopped there. "pseudo-goth wine bars aren't' really my thing. i don't think they're anyone's thing."
ouch!
and more to the point, wtf?
i ellipticized furiously, trying not to think about how much my knees were hurting, and did some final tweaking to my carefully crafted, snarky mental response:
"i would argue that competitively priced belgian beers, found stumbling distance from a good friend's house should be everyone's thing. but that's neither here nor there, as i believe the expression you're looking for is 'no thank you.'
"come to think of it, i believe the expression i'm looking for is 'what's your problem?' "
i understand that this response can only exist in my head (and possibly for all of you to enjoy), and that i can't go around antagonizing stock analysts just because i'm disgruntled. but this whole experience has left me in a state of recalcitrant ill humor, which i suspect will only be remedied when i start stalking that really hot guy who sits in the window at the argo tea on broadway.
after a particularly distasteful self-extrication from work this morning i went straight to the gym in order to enable some quality perseverating and expend the last of my dwindling energy supply on the elliptical machine. easier said than done, as i realized when i got there that i'd lost my membership card. this prompted a little more eye contact that i really wanted from the guy behind the counter, who looked more like someone who'd just come back from a 3 month, marijuana-intense trek through the himalayas than the average nerd with the big math book that usually mans the entrance. i should have left well enough alone when he asked me how my day was going, but i was a little incensed at the question (since it was 9AM and i was dirty, tired, and sleep-deprived), and attempted some kind of crack about how i wished i'd slept in my own bed. sherpa guy understandably took this entirely the wrong way and yet again i was back to painful self-extrication.
once i was finally up and going on the elliptical machine i thought a bit about my blogmate and mb's music classification scheme and decided that the mix cds i've been compiling in my head for the last three months could be broken up pretty neatly as "run," "bike," and "wallow" (i also considered "seduce," "flirt," and "high-brow"). i then moved on to more meaningful thoughts like, "people suck" and "online dating is like poking a sleeping bear with a stick," before giving in to some serious stewing about the rise and fall of the stock analyst. (pay attention, rw, this one's for you.)
a few weeks a weeks ago i went on a date that would objectively be described as "fine," although in the larger scheme of things might be more like "great," just by virtue of it's not totally sucking. then commenced a week of vaguely flirty, albeit somewhat unsatisfying emails, until he abruptly went dark. i wasn't going down without a fight, and in a moment of post-call, post-jogging delerium, i enlisted my good blogmate to help me send a last email, inviting him to a drinking event that seemed right up his alley in a funny sort of way.
oops.
the response came fast, and initially seemed like the rejection i'd anticipated. roughly, "can't. busy. sorry."
fine.
if only he'd stopped there. "pseudo-goth wine bars aren't' really my thing. i don't think they're anyone's thing."
ouch!
and more to the point, wtf?
i ellipticized furiously, trying not to think about how much my knees were hurting, and did some final tweaking to my carefully crafted, snarky mental response:
"i would argue that competitively priced belgian beers, found stumbling distance from a good friend's house should be everyone's thing. but that's neither here nor there, as i believe the expression you're looking for is 'no thank you.'
"come to think of it, i believe the expression i'm looking for is 'what's your problem?' "
i understand that this response can only exist in my head (and possibly for all of you to enjoy), and that i can't go around antagonizing stock analysts just because i'm disgruntled. but this whole experience has left me in a state of recalcitrant ill humor, which i suspect will only be remedied when i start stalking that really hot guy who sits in the window at the argo tea on broadway.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
ode to art film
as some of our loyal readers predicted, the movie i saw at reeling, the chicago lesbian and gay international film festival (which was inexplicably sponsored by canada) was actually very interesting and quite good, although i did preemptively make it very clear to dh that under no circumstances were we staying for the post-film panel discussion ("feminism and gender identity"). at least i knew it was coming this time, rather than getting ambushed by the post preformance deconstruction (lest we forget the heated debate that followed the staged reading of the indian political drama - admittedly i probably wouldn't have been so bitter about that if i hadn't been there chasing a boy).
in flipping through the festival's program, i was very, very sad to discover that i've got a prior committment this wednesday, prohibiting me from viewing, "in the blood," another of this year's offerings. read on:
"in the blood is homo-horror at its finest! cassidy clarke is a closeted jock at an NYC college whose homophobia has kept him from unlocking a hidden inherited ability: seeing the future while fantasizing about the nearest stud. meanwhile, there's a serial killer on campus targeting young co-eds, and his baby sister, jessica, is exactly the killer's type. what will cassidy do when he realizes every time he fantasizes about a guy, he's plagued by images of jessica covered in blood?"
will someone PLEASE go see this movie and give me a full report?!
in flipping through the festival's program, i was very, very sad to discover that i've got a prior committment this wednesday, prohibiting me from viewing, "in the blood," another of this year's offerings. read on:
"in the blood is homo-horror at its finest! cassidy clarke is a closeted jock at an NYC college whose homophobia has kept him from unlocking a hidden inherited ability: seeing the future while fantasizing about the nearest stud. meanwhile, there's a serial killer on campus targeting young co-eds, and his baby sister, jessica, is exactly the killer's type. what will cassidy do when he realizes every time he fantasizes about a guy, he's plagued by images of jessica covered in blood?"
will someone PLEASE go see this movie and give me a full report?!
Monday, November 06, 2006
fidelity
over the weekend mb and i started the important process of preparing for our marriage: we consolidated the cd collections. this, as it turns out, is quite an undertaking, since mb has A LOT of bootleg jam band shows from college, and A LOT of euro-trash trance and techno from living in holland.
i know every modern person at some point compares themselves to high fidelity, so pardon the modern-day cliche, but i really felt like a perverse version of the "how do you catalogue albums?" scene. we definitely couldn't alphabetize since mb has at least 50 cds that all start with "dj" something dutch. as mb put it, "soooo much dj psycho bitch..." plus, as n has pointed out a long time ago, it's a little weird to have boy bands right next to punk. not that we have boy bands or punk, really. so we have loosely conceptually-based ordering by life phase. jam bands, live shows, electronic, and mixes made by us or our friends all get their own sections. studio albums have r&b going to "brother-music" (modest mouse, radiohead, etc) thru beastie boys to trip-hop, a brief stop through my old roommate's contribution of prince, beck and cake (which are only related in their being my favorites in her collection), a short and patchy classics collection featuring siouxsie and the banshees next to earth wind and fire and james taylor... then to the dregs, like my blogmate's and my still-current obsession with crappy world music, my undergrad lesbian-rock phase (come on, you liked indigo girls and ani difranco too!) quickly followed by my alternative-christian-band phase (do you remember sixpence none the richer? that stupid "kiss me" song? it totally fits in that spot). we round out with single-band collections (beatles, barenaked ladies, bob marley) and our combined-but-still-paltry i-do-too-have-culture collection of assorted jazz and classical music that we heard once and bought it to look smart sitting on our shelf.
so i am glad that we are tackling the important issues of facing our life together. no sitting around weighing the details of where we're having our wedding or whether orange or red flowers will look better, no sir. only the good stuff. now if only i can convince my parents of that when we see them over thanksgiving and i have absolutely nothing to report in the way of actual wedding plans, with no brother and butterknife there to bail me out of the cross-examination.
sm, is this what you had in mind by "bridezilla"?
i know every modern person at some point compares themselves to high fidelity, so pardon the modern-day cliche, but i really felt like a perverse version of the "how do you catalogue albums?" scene. we definitely couldn't alphabetize since mb has at least 50 cds that all start with "dj" something dutch. as mb put it, "soooo much dj psycho bitch..." plus, as n has pointed out a long time ago, it's a little weird to have boy bands right next to punk. not that we have boy bands or punk, really. so we have loosely conceptually-based ordering by life phase. jam bands, live shows, electronic, and mixes made by us or our friends all get their own sections. studio albums have r&b going to "brother-music" (modest mouse, radiohead, etc) thru beastie boys to trip-hop, a brief stop through my old roommate's contribution of prince, beck and cake (which are only related in their being my favorites in her collection), a short and patchy classics collection featuring siouxsie and the banshees next to earth wind and fire and james taylor... then to the dregs, like my blogmate's and my still-current obsession with crappy world music, my undergrad lesbian-rock phase (come on, you liked indigo girls and ani difranco too!) quickly followed by my alternative-christian-band phase (do you remember sixpence none the richer? that stupid "kiss me" song? it totally fits in that spot). we round out with single-band collections (beatles, barenaked ladies, bob marley) and our combined-but-still-paltry i-do-too-have-culture collection of assorted jazz and classical music that we heard once and bought it to look smart sitting on our shelf.
so i am glad that we are tackling the important issues of facing our life together. no sitting around weighing the details of where we're having our wedding or whether orange or red flowers will look better, no sir. only the good stuff. now if only i can convince my parents of that when we see them over thanksgiving and i have absolutely nothing to report in the way of actual wedding plans, with no brother and butterknife there to bail me out of the cross-examination.
sm, is this what you had in mind by "bridezilla"?
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