The second week of break brought cooler temps for M and me, but we still enjoyed plenty of activities.
Watching movies, playing board & video games, reading:
While watching Avatar: The Last Airbender:
Me: I used to watch this with my sister.
M: Really? How old is she?
On secret agents retiring: They need to stop going to rich people's parties if they don't want to be agents anymore. That's where trouble starts.
Playing LEGO Batman: I'll be Flatman, you be Ribbon.
To G, out sick from school: What is there to do on facebook in the middle of the day?
After getting off the phone with his mom: Wow, G, Mom actually thinks you're sick.
Playing Pictionary:
M: I was gonna draw Miley Cyrus, but, you know...
Me: What?
M: You wouldn't get it because you're not a kid.
Playing Risk: Your first mistake was keeping all your armies in South America.
Playing Stratego: You should probably never lead an army into battle ever.
After reading for two hours straight (yes, I read too & yes, he loves reading):
M: I wanna watch Family Guy now.
Me: Why?
M: Because it's funnier than you.
As you probably gathered, the kid's a jokester. I plan to continue cultivating this side of him in the months to come.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Friday, March 23, 2012
Spring Break: Week One
I'm not in college, or any school for that matter, but I'm still in the middle of Spring Break. That's right, M has TWO weeks off school. Here are some highlights from Week One:
Beach Day with M:
After handing me a shell: "Here's something nice, now go make me a lounge chair out of sand."
"People are at work or school, but I'm at the beach! You're at the beach too...AND you're at work. You have the best job ever."
Me: That cloud looks like a viking ship.
M: That cloud looks like suspended ice particles.
After digging a giant hole in the sand, he lays flat on the ground and puts his head in it: "Is this what ostriches feel like?"
Playdates, bike rides, library trips, random observations:
On being able to stay awake for The Hunger Games midnight premiere: "I mean, it's not like you'd be going to see Water for Elephants. Who would go to a midnight showing of that? Clowns?"
On the neighbors' backed up sewage problem: "Yesterday it smelled like zoo. Today, fish."
"Do you think you could be an assassin if your only weapon was wire?"
"We started off playing Keep Away, but that turned into War, as these things do."
"I want to mow the lawn, but dandelions are all over...my aunt used to pour paint thinner on dandelions."
"What if Katniss had a balloon as her weapon, not a bow and arrow? Everything would be so different."
Beach Day with M:
After handing me a shell: "Here's something nice, now go make me a lounge chair out of sand."
"People are at work or school, but I'm at the beach! You're at the beach too...AND you're at work. You have the best job ever."
Me: That cloud looks like a viking ship.
M: That cloud looks like suspended ice particles.
After digging a giant hole in the sand, he lays flat on the ground and puts his head in it: "Is this what ostriches feel like?"
Playdates, bike rides, library trips, random observations:
On being able to stay awake for The Hunger Games midnight premiere: "I mean, it's not like you'd be going to see Water for Elephants. Who would go to a midnight showing of that? Clowns?"
On the neighbors' backed up sewage problem: "Yesterday it smelled like zoo. Today, fish."
"Do you think you could be an assassin if your only weapon was wire?"
"We started off playing Keep Away, but that turned into War, as these things do."
"I want to mow the lawn, but dandelions are all over...my aunt used to pour paint thinner on dandelions."
"What if Katniss had a balloon as her weapon, not a bow and arrow? Everything would be so different."
Thursday, March 22, 2012
St. Patrick's Day in Chicago
Ethnically speaking, Irish-Americans have the majority in Chicago. So if you're gonna celebrate St. Patrick's Day here, you gotta be ready for an entire day of green debauchery.
We (residents of the Naw/siblings/roommates/Crew) started the day with breakfast at 10 here at the Naw, about the same time the river was being dyed downtown. At noon, when the parade started, we were about ready to leave and join the nonsense. Clearly none of us are Irish as no tears were shed over missing the two major events of the day.
Not that we really missed anything--we still saw the river, in all of its green glory. It was my first time seeing it such a bright kelly green, but if I didn't know it was dyed, I wouldn't have been shocked to see it that color naturally. The Chicago River is not known for its pristine waters.
Because the weather was awesome, everyone and their Irish cousins were out. People crowded around the river front and paraded/stumbled/strolled in packs up and down the streets. The seven of us decided to make our way to the lake front, for the view and a reprieve from the masses. First we made a pit stop at Potbelly's, where we made friends in the bathroom line, and we were on our way.
The lake, as always, didn't disappoint. It was calm and while the sun beat down unforgivingly, the water was about the temperature of green beer straight from the tap. So no swimming, just toe-dipping. Fine by us. We lazed around by the lake until the heat got to be too much, then headed back to the Naw for a midday sleep.
We finished up the holiday by making a giant dish of baked macaroni & cheese and demolishing it while catching up on the NCAA Madness. The sounds of our neighbors having a party downstairs mixed with our conversation and music and I'm pretty sure anyone walking by last Saturday night thought anyone living at the Naw has the good life. We do.
We (residents of the Naw/siblings/roommates/Crew) started the day with breakfast at 10 here at the Naw, about the same time the river was being dyed downtown. At noon, when the parade started, we were about ready to leave and join the nonsense. Clearly none of us are Irish as no tears were shed over missing the two major events of the day.
Not that we really missed anything--we still saw the river, in all of its green glory. It was my first time seeing it such a bright kelly green, but if I didn't know it was dyed, I wouldn't have been shocked to see it that color naturally. The Chicago River is not known for its pristine waters.
Because the weather was awesome, everyone and their Irish cousins were out. People crowded around the river front and paraded/stumbled/strolled in packs up and down the streets. The seven of us decided to make our way to the lake front, for the view and a reprieve from the masses. First we made a pit stop at Potbelly's, where we made friends in the bathroom line, and we were on our way.
The lake, as always, didn't disappoint. It was calm and while the sun beat down unforgivingly, the water was about the temperature of green beer straight from the tap. So no swimming, just toe-dipping. Fine by us. We lazed around by the lake until the heat got to be too much, then headed back to the Naw for a midday sleep.
We finished up the holiday by making a giant dish of baked macaroni & cheese and demolishing it while catching up on the NCAA Madness. The sounds of our neighbors having a party downstairs mixed with our conversation and music and I'm pretty sure anyone walking by last Saturday night thought anyone living at the Naw has the good life. We do.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Good Day Sunshine 2
Okay, not exactly right now...since it's one in the morning. But today, yesterday--Wednesday--was something like June. Highs in the upper 70s, breezy. It's amazing how this weather brings people out. A drive that usually takes me 10 minutes, even during rush hour took over 30 minutes. Luckily it was Beatles Wednesday on the classic rock radio station.
Even with three straight days of glorious glorious weather, I don't exactly trust Chicago to keep the sunshine coming. It definitely feels too good to be true every time I open the paper to the forecast. Will it really be possible for me to get some sort of color back before Easter? If I keep spending lazy mornings on my porch, eating cereal and people watching, maybe.
I've heard there are those who don't like this weather--at least not in March. These people, winter lovers, fools, hardy folk, they say we didn't endure a harsh enough winter to be rewarded with sunny days so soon. I say, obviously you people haven't had to wait 10, 15, 30 minutes or walk two miles in pounding snow just to find a bus in service. Even once, and that's a harsh enough winter for me.
This is how I know we were spoiled last year. This year's winter seemed longer and more dreary, even though we had less snow and it's warmed up a lot quicker. But this year I had to fend for myself in Nature, whereas last year I didn't have to leave the building for weeks if I was so inclined.
Even with three straight days of glorious glorious weather, I don't exactly trust Chicago to keep the sunshine coming. It definitely feels too good to be true every time I open the paper to the forecast. Will it really be possible for me to get some sort of color back before Easter? If I keep spending lazy mornings on my porch, eating cereal and people watching, maybe.
I've heard there are those who don't like this weather--at least not in March. These people, winter lovers, fools, hardy folk, they say we didn't endure a harsh enough winter to be rewarded with sunny days so soon. I say, obviously you people haven't had to wait 10, 15, 30 minutes or walk two miles in pounding snow just to find a bus in service. Even once, and that's a harsh enough winter for me.
This is how I know we were spoiled last year. This year's winter seemed longer and more dreary, even though we had less snow and it's warmed up a lot quicker. But this year I had to fend for myself in Nature, whereas last year I didn't have to leave the building for weeks if I was so inclined.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Love Invents Us
Sometimes it's okay to judge a book by its cover. For example, when the cover boasts a review like this, from the Los Angeles Times: "Bloom is a truly excellent writer...lyrical and funny....There is a line worth quoting on almost every page of this book." Under these circumstances, one would be wise to judge the book by the cover, because it's true: Amy Bloom is an excellent writer and Love Invents Us is lyrical, funny, and quotable.
The story follows the lives of its three main characters, Elizabeth, Max, and Horace/Huddie, as they grow, mature, fall in and out of love, and deal with life's intricacies. As I read all I could think was that I want someone to make this a movie because it would be so interesting to see how a screenwriter/director/actors interpret it. Here's an excerpt:
The story follows the lives of its three main characters, Elizabeth, Max, and Horace/Huddie, as they grow, mature, fall in and out of love, and deal with life's intricacies. As I read all I could think was that I want someone to make this a movie because it would be so interesting to see how a screenwriter/director/actors interpret it. Here's an excerpt:
Huddie's wires cross every which way now. Sight, smell, taste, and touch enfold one another. Wet is like sweet is like heat is the aching pulse, is salt caking. Her smell is the smell of the unwrapped ready-to-rot figs, and for a lost half hour he scrunches thin lilac tissue paper around their small purple asses, tilting their stems so each seamed bottom is turned to its most seductive side. Carrot fronds are her hair; the slick celadon crack of a broken honeydew is hers and tastes cool, then warm. He puts his lips flat against tomatoes, plums, peaches, and nectarines before stacking them, and they ripen too fast, with hard-to-sell dark spots where his saliva has gathered and seeped in. Marshmallows, not even of interest since early Boy Scouts, roll out of their bags, pull his fingers into their sweet dusty white middles, pull themselves up around his fingertips. Half a bag. Twenty-three marshmallows. His fingers are stiff, powdered white, and his throat is glued shut, but the sugar thickly coating his lips and the drying tug from the roof of his mouth to the root of his tongue is so like a past moment between them he has to sit down behind the unshelved goods, head resting on the giant cans of juice, sticky hands hard over sticky mouth, and cry without making a sound.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Away We Go
Becca and I zigzagged through the aisles of the Jewel-Osco. My cart held items we can't get at Aldi--organic produce, brown rice, almond milk. As we walked, we planned out the rest of our night: ice cream, vegging in front of the TV, cuddling. Just then the $5 movie rack caught my eye. I barely had to browse; I was sold on the first movie I saw.
John Krasinski (The Office) and Maya Rudolph (Bridesmaids, SNL) hold hands and walk in front of a pencil-sketched background of landscape scenery and various items: stroller, airplane, baby bottle, margarita glass. What more could I ask for? I love both these actors. Then I saw that one of the screenwriters was Dave Eggers (How We Are Hungry, What is the What, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, You Shall Know Our Velocity, Zeitoun...yeah I've read a lot of his stuff). He's quite possibly my favorite contemporary writer. Becca and I had made our decision as to what we would watch once we got home. Away we went with Away We Go.
Burt (Krasinski) and Verona (Rudolph) are a 30-something couple pregnant with their first child. When plans to raise her close to his parents fall through, they pack up for a cross-country trek to find a new home near other family members and friends. I loved the witty dialogue, the music, and the overall sentiment of the movie. Just watch the trailer, then come borrow the movie from me.
John Krasinski (The Office) and Maya Rudolph (Bridesmaids, SNL) hold hands and walk in front of a pencil-sketched background of landscape scenery and various items: stroller, airplane, baby bottle, margarita glass. What more could I ask for? I love both these actors. Then I saw that one of the screenwriters was Dave Eggers (How We Are Hungry, What is the What, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, You Shall Know Our Velocity, Zeitoun...yeah I've read a lot of his stuff). He's quite possibly my favorite contemporary writer. Becca and I had made our decision as to what we would watch once we got home. Away we went with Away We Go.
Burt (Krasinski) and Verona (Rudolph) are a 30-something couple pregnant with their first child. When plans to raise her close to his parents fall through, they pack up for a cross-country trek to find a new home near other family members and friends. I loved the witty dialogue, the music, and the overall sentiment of the movie. Just watch the trailer, then come borrow the movie from me.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
I Find Sometimes It's Easy to Be Myself
The sign said YOGA with an arrow pointing into the space between two buildings, just wide enough for two people to walk through. Another sign pointed to a door, painted black to match the walls next to it. And that's where I had class this morning.
Beyond the door was a foyer, where a bearded man sat on a stool and welcomed students. He wasn't the receptionist. He was Kevin, the teacher. The classroom was up a flight of stairs, in a room with sloped ceilings. Natural light came in through skylights and several hot fans kept the room at a balmy 90 degrees. Only 14 students and their mats fit in the room, plus Kevin, walking around encouraging us to breath in and out through our noses.
This method of breathing made it all the more apparent that this studio sits right above a Subway. Several minutes into class, the faint smell of freshly baked bread floated through the room and mingled with the constant undertones of sweat that most yoga studios have. The mixture was not as bad as one might think.
Refreshed, albeit sore, from an hour of chaturanga and downward dog, I rode the bus only part of the way home so I could stop for a much needed haircut. The lady at Studio I-90 knew what I needed as soon as I walked in. My hair was down and a little messy from yoga, and I swear she had her scissors in hand before I could ask if she had time to give me a trim.
Half an hour later, my "sandpaper" (her word) ends decorated the floor and the hairdresser could actually pull a comb through my hair without it knotting up. I felt like a new woman, in the Herbal Essences/Tresemme tossing my hair around as I walked down the street way.
Once home, I realized I had gone to two new places by myself all before noon on my day off. As an introvert who enjoys nothing more than curling up with the Trib and a cup of coffee on the weekend, I felt quite productive and guilt-free napped the afternoon away.
Beyond the door was a foyer, where a bearded man sat on a stool and welcomed students. He wasn't the receptionist. He was Kevin, the teacher. The classroom was up a flight of stairs, in a room with sloped ceilings. Natural light came in through skylights and several hot fans kept the room at a balmy 90 degrees. Only 14 students and their mats fit in the room, plus Kevin, walking around encouraging us to breath in and out through our noses.
This method of breathing made it all the more apparent that this studio sits right above a Subway. Several minutes into class, the faint smell of freshly baked bread floated through the room and mingled with the constant undertones of sweat that most yoga studios have. The mixture was not as bad as one might think.
Refreshed, albeit sore, from an hour of chaturanga and downward dog, I rode the bus only part of the way home so I could stop for a much needed haircut. The lady at Studio I-90 knew what I needed as soon as I walked in. My hair was down and a little messy from yoga, and I swear she had her scissors in hand before I could ask if she had time to give me a trim.
Half an hour later, my "sandpaper" (her word) ends decorated the floor and the hairdresser could actually pull a comb through my hair without it knotting up. I felt like a new woman, in the Herbal Essences/Tresemme tossing my hair around as I walked down the street way.
Once home, I realized I had gone to two new places by myself all before noon on my day off. As an introvert who enjoys nothing more than curling up with the Trib and a cup of coffee on the weekend, I felt quite productive and guilt-free napped the afternoon away.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Holiday Schmoliday
It's Casimir Pulaski Day once again...and I still don't understand why schools, libraries, and city offices are closed today. I generally feel this way about Columbus Day too. Why do these guys get holidays when there are far more deserving historical figures to celebrate?
Okay, and I'm a bit jealous that none of these "holidays" are holidays for me--no days off, no holiday pay, no fun or festive activities. Maybe I'll bake another cake at work.
Okay, and I'm a bit jealous that none of these "holidays" are holidays for me--no days off, no holiday pay, no fun or festive activities. Maybe I'll bake another cake at work.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Sweet Home, Chicago
Chicago celebrates its 175th birthday today. Incorporated in the 1800s as a city with a population of 4,170, Chicago is now home to about 2.7 million people, including yours truly. I know I'm a transplant, but as a licensed Illinois driver and registered voter in Ward 1, public record has me as a Chicagoan.
According to the recent ad campaign by Chicago Public Library, several other things I have to do to be a "true" Chicagoan are:
The clearest "true Chicagoan" sign of all: I've been reminding myself a lot lately that a Chicago summer makes this winter/pseudo-spring worth it.
According to the recent ad campaign by Chicago Public Library, several other things I have to do to be a "true" Chicagoan are:
- Sox or Cubs, choose one.
- Partake in deep dish pizza.
- Top my hot dogs with mustard, onions, relish, a dill pickle, and a tomato. No ketchup allowed.
- Have a CPL card.
The clearest "true Chicagoan" sign of all: I've been reminding myself a lot lately that a Chicago summer makes this winter/pseudo-spring worth it.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Minty Miracle Thursday
Last year miracles happened on Thursdays more often than on any other day of the week. Either that or Brit and I only noticed Thursday miracles. These miracles usually involved books being at the library when we went, TV shows airing when we watched, getting free things, or anything food related, like Shamrock Shakes at McDonald's. Tonight Brit & I got our first Shamrock Shakes of the season. I'm not Irish, but I'm glad there's an Irish holiday in March because I'm not sure how else I'd mark the end of the dark days of February.
We know Shamrock Shakes have been back for a few weeks now, but there's something about eating them in March that really lets you know spring is coming. February is finally over, as are the biting cold winds, slushy snow, and bus delays due to inclement weather. If only. March weather is generally awful as well, but at least Shamrock Shakes are a ray of sunshine streaming through it all. A minty cold ray of sunshine with whipped cream and a cherry on top.
We know Shamrock Shakes have been back for a few weeks now, but there's something about eating them in March that really lets you know spring is coming. February is finally over, as are the biting cold winds, slushy snow, and bus delays due to inclement weather. If only. March weather is generally awful as well, but at least Shamrock Shakes are a ray of sunshine streaming through it all. A minty cold ray of sunshine with whipped cream and a cherry on top.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Leaping
You know how the saying goes, "It's Leap Day. Real Life is for March." No? Oh, I guess that's just a 30 Rock thing. Whatever, I still thought it as I went about my day doing crazy Leap Day things like chasing down three separate buses before giving up and getting an iced coffee from Dunkin' Donuts, then slamming it down before the next bus came.
If you're thinking my morning didn't go exactly how I planned it out in my head, you're right.
It got better after the coffee, though, as things usually do. I commandeered M & G's iHome so I could listen to my "getting shit done" playlist while I made beds, washed dishes, changed thermostat batteries, and took apart the multitude of LEGO creations M has decided to part with.
Then I took my weekly Whole Foods trip. At the checkout my cashier asked what I planned on making for dinner. I was buying mostly fruit, so I'm not sure what provoked the question. I answered honestly: "Not sure yet, but I have plenty of options!" Turns out Subway is what I made for dinner, at least for me. Since today's the last day of FebruANY, and because I didn't want to cook after running post-work errands/walking home in the rain, I got myself a falafel sandwich.
So I didn't really let Leap Day wonder inspire me to do something crazy, something I'd only do once every four years, but at least the weather definitely channeled the "Real Life is for March" mantra today. Sunny, windy, and in the high 50s this morning, it suddenly switched gears this afternoon and started raining. That means back to real life and 30 degree weather tomorrow...and Shamrock Shakes! (Seriously, how often do I post about those? I deserve a share of profits I think. Or free Shamrock Shakes. O gosh so excited right now. Do they serve them with the breakfast menu?)
If you're thinking my morning didn't go exactly how I planned it out in my head, you're right.
It got better after the coffee, though, as things usually do. I commandeered M & G's iHome so I could listen to my "getting shit done" playlist while I made beds, washed dishes, changed thermostat batteries, and took apart the multitude of LEGO creations M has decided to part with.
Then I took my weekly Whole Foods trip. At the checkout my cashier asked what I planned on making for dinner. I was buying mostly fruit, so I'm not sure what provoked the question. I answered honestly: "Not sure yet, but I have plenty of options!" Turns out Subway is what I made for dinner, at least for me. Since today's the last day of FebruANY, and because I didn't want to cook after running post-work errands/walking home in the rain, I got myself a falafel sandwich.
So I didn't really let Leap Day wonder inspire me to do something crazy, something I'd only do once every four years, but at least the weather definitely channeled the "Real Life is for March" mantra today. Sunny, windy, and in the high 50s this morning, it suddenly switched gears this afternoon and started raining. That means back to real life and 30 degree weather tomorrow...and Shamrock Shakes! (Seriously, how often do I post about those? I deserve a share of profits I think. Or free Shamrock Shakes. O gosh so excited right now. Do they serve them with the breakfast menu?)
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Characters From My Commute
People you encounter every day while commuting, working, or running errands are like Neighbors-Without-Walls. Despite seeing them regularly, they're still strangers. Unless you're the type to strike up small talk (shocker: I'm not), you never actually speak to them. You both go about your days and rarely take the time to think about how your lives intersect. There are several people I see daily or weekly due to my work routine; I know nothing about them except what I've observed during my brief interactions with them. [Nicknames given to protect privacy and because nicknames are fun.]
North Bound California Bus Driver
This is the first "regular" I see during the work week. He has a need for speed and more often than not catches up to the bus ahead of us (mind you, buses are ideally spaced 6-12 minutes apart). He then pulls up alongside said bus and shouts over to the other driver to give him some of her (it's always a woman he catches up to) passengers. I'm never sure what this accomplishes. Based on the sprinkling of gray in his short beard, I'd put him at 60-ish--a younger Morgan Freeman. Because he's usually more concerned about making the light by my stop, doesn't really say much when I board. He wears his CTA-regulated baseball cap, a pair of driving glasses, and a silver earring in his right ear. Possibly there's one in his left ear as well, but I've honestly never seen that side of his face.
East Bound Belmont Bus Driver
Depending on how quickly my first driver gets to 3000 N California, I make the second half of my commute with a guy who looks like the Soup Nazi's very calm uncle. He sits almost regally in the driver's seat and merely nods when people board. He has thick gray-white hair and a mustache and looks like he's just returned from a tropical vacation, what with his tan skin and relaxed composure. Still, there was one day I was clearly crossing the street in the middle of traffic to get to the bus stop before the bus. He had to have seen me stopped on the yellow line, waiting for him to pass so I could finish crossing (I could practically reach out and touch the bus as he drove by). Instead of pausing at the stop so I could make my way around and onto the bus, he tapped his brakes, making his "stop," then gunned it down Belmont...all I could think to myself was "No Bus Ride for You!"
Jewel Cashiers
Jewel is the closest cheapish grocery store to my job, so I'm there at least once each week. I've learned to go before 2:45 pm unless I feel like fighting my way around the store as hundreds of Lane Tech-ers get bus passes at the kiosk inside, walk up and down the aisles holding hands with their significant others, or eat the food they are about to purchase before getting to the self checkout lines, supervised by a middle-aged Mrs. Potts-looking woman. It is during these after-school hours that the two Customer Service Managers are most frazzled. The younger cashiers and baggers--the skinny kid with the slicked back hair, blue hair extension girl--remain unfazed. I usually end up in line with the other grown up shoppers. (Senior citizens and housewives, who else goes shopping in the middle of the day?) The cashier I see most reminds me of Carlos Solis, if he had a little more paunch. He's always pleasant and during Jewel's winter giveaway contest tended to go liberal with handing out game pieces.
Whole Foods Crew Members
These guys, I tell you. They're a little like Disney employees (sorry, "cast members") in that the whole thing sorta feels like an act, except at Whole Foods a beard is not only allowed, it's revered. Along with flannel, old man stocking caps, Birkenstocks, thick-framed glasses...I think you get the picture. The Whole Foods near my job is where foodie-hipsters go to have minimum wage jobs. Everyone seems super nice, almost too nice. I think they all get high on the natural cheeses. Another word about the cheese section: it's the perfect place to pass a little gas without suspicion, thanks to the competing smells of Munster and Limburger. Not that I've ever done this...just an observation.
WalGreens CTA Girl
Every month I need another 30-day CTA pass and every month this woman sells it to me. Once she mistakenly sold me a One Day Fun Day for the price of a 30-day, but graciously made the exchange for me when I came back fifteen minutes later. I think she'd get along well with Carlos from Jewel. Do you think there's a way I can get them to meet?
Belmont Bus Buddy
This is the guy who inspired this post. So far all of these people are at work when I see them, but this is just another commuter who I see at least once, sometimes twice, each day. We both get off the 77 at Damen in the morning and walk north, then we see each other again at night when we get back on the 77. He's tall and stocky with long scraggly hair and he walks as if he's perpetually about to fall forward, but catches himself by taking another step. I have no idea where he spends the seven hours between commutes, but I can only guess he's at work like I am. He's the only "regular" I see that I've thought to start talking to, only because it's so painfully obvious we see each other all the time, but (again) that's not my style. One day I took a different route to work and still saw him, walking on the sidewalk ahead of me. And today he wasn't on the bus with me, but as I was walking past the Speedway on the way to work, he came walking out. It's absurd how often I've seen this man.
South Bound California Bus Buddy
I recently noticed this dude on my rides home, mostly because I get on at the third stop of this route so the bus tends to be on the empty side. And this guy is hard to miss. Again, he has longer, scraggly hair and is on the huskier side. Now that I think about it, he could very well be the Belmont guy's son or much younger brother. Because the bus is so empty, he always sits in the same seat and spends the ride playing games on his Kindle. Then he gets off at Milwaukee, presumably to get on the Blue Line.
----------------
As with my geographical neighbors, I wonder if these people I see so often have their own character sketches of me and how true to form they are. I should also note that while these people do see me fairly often, I've tried to not get too routine-y. There's a lot to be said for spontaneity: you're less likely to be robbed, it shows you can go with the flow (see, I AM flexible!), and sometimes a small change is what you need when things get dull. (Or when things get frustrating--see here.)
Need practice being spontaneous? Tomorrow's a great day to start--take a leap and switch things up for the extra day we get. I know I'll be taking full advantage...I might even have granola instead of oatmeal for breakfast, whoa, dream big!
North Bound California Bus Driver
This is the first "regular" I see during the work week. He has a need for speed and more often than not catches up to the bus ahead of us (mind you, buses are ideally spaced 6-12 minutes apart). He then pulls up alongside said bus and shouts over to the other driver to give him some of her (it's always a woman he catches up to) passengers. I'm never sure what this accomplishes. Based on the sprinkling of gray in his short beard, I'd put him at 60-ish--a younger Morgan Freeman. Because he's usually more concerned about making the light by my stop, doesn't really say much when I board. He wears his CTA-regulated baseball cap, a pair of driving glasses, and a silver earring in his right ear. Possibly there's one in his left ear as well, but I've honestly never seen that side of his face.
East Bound Belmont Bus Driver
Depending on how quickly my first driver gets to 3000 N California, I make the second half of my commute with a guy who looks like the Soup Nazi's very calm uncle. He sits almost regally in the driver's seat and merely nods when people board. He has thick gray-white hair and a mustache and looks like he's just returned from a tropical vacation, what with his tan skin and relaxed composure. Still, there was one day I was clearly crossing the street in the middle of traffic to get to the bus stop before the bus. He had to have seen me stopped on the yellow line, waiting for him to pass so I could finish crossing (I could practically reach out and touch the bus as he drove by). Instead of pausing at the stop so I could make my way around and onto the bus, he tapped his brakes, making his "stop," then gunned it down Belmont...all I could think to myself was "No Bus Ride for You!"
Jewel Cashiers
Jewel is the closest cheapish grocery store to my job, so I'm there at least once each week. I've learned to go before 2:45 pm unless I feel like fighting my way around the store as hundreds of Lane Tech-ers get bus passes at the kiosk inside, walk up and down the aisles holding hands with their significant others, or eat the food they are about to purchase before getting to the self checkout lines, supervised by a middle-aged Mrs. Potts-looking woman. It is during these after-school hours that the two Customer Service Managers are most frazzled. The younger cashiers and baggers--the skinny kid with the slicked back hair, blue hair extension girl--remain unfazed. I usually end up in line with the other grown up shoppers. (Senior citizens and housewives, who else goes shopping in the middle of the day?) The cashier I see most reminds me of Carlos Solis, if he had a little more paunch. He's always pleasant and during Jewel's winter giveaway contest tended to go liberal with handing out game pieces.
Whole Foods Crew Members
These guys, I tell you. They're a little like Disney employees (sorry, "cast members") in that the whole thing sorta feels like an act, except at Whole Foods a beard is not only allowed, it's revered. Along with flannel, old man stocking caps, Birkenstocks, thick-framed glasses...I think you get the picture. The Whole Foods near my job is where foodie-hipsters go to have minimum wage jobs. Everyone seems super nice, almost too nice. I think they all get high on the natural cheeses. Another word about the cheese section: it's the perfect place to pass a little gas without suspicion, thanks to the competing smells of Munster and Limburger. Not that I've ever done this...just an observation.
WalGreens CTA Girl
Every month I need another 30-day CTA pass and every month this woman sells it to me. Once she mistakenly sold me a One Day Fun Day for the price of a 30-day, but graciously made the exchange for me when I came back fifteen minutes later. I think she'd get along well with Carlos from Jewel. Do you think there's a way I can get them to meet?
Belmont Bus Buddy
This is the guy who inspired this post. So far all of these people are at work when I see them, but this is just another commuter who I see at least once, sometimes twice, each day. We both get off the 77 at Damen in the morning and walk north, then we see each other again at night when we get back on the 77. He's tall and stocky with long scraggly hair and he walks as if he's perpetually about to fall forward, but catches himself by taking another step. I have no idea where he spends the seven hours between commutes, but I can only guess he's at work like I am. He's the only "regular" I see that I've thought to start talking to, only because it's so painfully obvious we see each other all the time, but (again) that's not my style. One day I took a different route to work and still saw him, walking on the sidewalk ahead of me. And today he wasn't on the bus with me, but as I was walking past the Speedway on the way to work, he came walking out. It's absurd how often I've seen this man.
South Bound California Bus Buddy
I recently noticed this dude on my rides home, mostly because I get on at the third stop of this route so the bus tends to be on the empty side. And this guy is hard to miss. Again, he has longer, scraggly hair and is on the huskier side. Now that I think about it, he could very well be the Belmont guy's son or much younger brother. Because the bus is so empty, he always sits in the same seat and spends the ride playing games on his Kindle. Then he gets off at Milwaukee, presumably to get on the Blue Line.
----------------
As with my geographical neighbors, I wonder if these people I see so often have their own character sketches of me and how true to form they are. I should also note that while these people do see me fairly often, I've tried to not get too routine-y. There's a lot to be said for spontaneity: you're less likely to be robbed, it shows you can go with the flow (see, I AM flexible!), and sometimes a small change is what you need when things get dull. (Or when things get frustrating--see here.)
Need practice being spontaneous? Tomorrow's a great day to start--take a leap and switch things up for the extra day we get. I know I'll be taking full advantage...I might even have granola instead of oatmeal for breakfast, whoa, dream big!
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Just a Little Dust
"Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return" always reminds me of my mortality. Technically, that's a morbid thought, but it can also be inspiring, or at the very least comforting. To know that we only have a certain amount of time on this planet forces us to think about our priorities and accomplish what we absolutely want/need to before dying. And it's nice to know that at the end of the day--at the end of our lives--we're just going to turn back to dust; even if we don't cross off everything on our bucket lists, we'll just be dust and so will everyone else.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Fat Tuesday, Please
Let's try Fat FriSatSunMonTuesday, because that's what I'm actually celebrating. In the past two days alone I've used nine sticks of butter in three different dishes. Paula Deen can't touch this. I don't think anyone who's seen me glued to Grandma & Grandpa's candy drawer or attacking a carton of ice cream would doubt my ability to consume enough sugar to give diabetes to anyone within a five foot radius of me, but (full-disclosure style) here's a breakdown of my recent fat consumption:
Polish Pączki
Our housekeeper brought these custard-filled pastries to work on Friday and I demolished mine before she could explain what they were. Paczki (pronounced ponch-key) are popular wherever Poles can be found, aka Chicago, especially in the days before Lent. The front page of the Trib's Business section featured an article about local bakeries meeting the demand for this comforting and fattening treat.
Freezer Cookies
I found this quick and easy kitchen staple while I cleaned out the freezer at work on Saturday and baked them alongside other random items that needed to be eaten up. By the time I returned next afternoon, they were gone.
Chocolate Chip Muffins
Cookies devoured, I searched for something else at work to make for the guys to eat when they came back from pass and before we left to go ice skating. Muffin mix did the trick, and I even got a few of them to help me scoop the batter into the muffin cups (the hardest/most annoying part). Like their cousin dessert, the muffins didn't last long sitting out on the table in program.
Quick Cookies
1 stick softened butter
1/4 c brown sugar
1 c flour
1 tsp vanilla
chocolate chips optional
Mix ingredients, form into one inch balls, place on cookie sheet, bake at 350 for about 10 minutes. (Easiest way to eat a stick of butter that I know of.)
When I'm stressed and/or tired, I often just want to watch trashy TV while I eat trashy food. Last night I made quick cookies with The Bachelor on in the background, then ate them while watching The Office and SNL. My mental state quickly improved, though my physical state deteriorated. I made up for it with blueberry yogurt and hummus today...foods cancel each other out, right?
Chocolate Sheet Cake, Yellow Layer Cake, Vanilla Buttercream Frosting
This wondrous medley of flavors and textures takes the junk food cake, if you will, for this past week. M and I were bored yesterday and decided to celebrate President's Day by baking a cake. That quickly turned into baking three cakes, two vanilla and one chocolate, in order to construct a triple layer cake. Making cake from scratch is quite fun, and you definitely feel more accomplished after doing so.
Today we finished the cake by making frosting and separating it into three bowls for red, white, and blue. With G's help, we frosted and layered each cake: vanilla/blue frosting/chocolate/red frosting/vanilla/white frosting. Then we finished by mixing the extra red and blue frosting into purple and using that to decorate the top--thereby giving the cake a dual-purpose, President's Day AND Mardi Gras.
Even though Lent begins tomorrow, I know the sweets don't stop here. Brooke's birthday is today and we're celebrating with brownie ice cream cake on Friday. Plus it's just about March, and everyone knows that means only one thing: Shamrock Shakes.
Polish Pączki
Our housekeeper brought these custard-filled pastries to work on Friday and I demolished mine before she could explain what they were. Paczki (pronounced ponch-key) are popular wherever Poles can be found, aka Chicago, especially in the days before Lent. The front page of the Trib's Business section featured an article about local bakeries meeting the demand for this comforting and fattening treat.
Freezer Cookies
I found this quick and easy kitchen staple while I cleaned out the freezer at work on Saturday and baked them alongside other random items that needed to be eaten up. By the time I returned next afternoon, they were gone.
Chocolate Chip Muffins
Cookies devoured, I searched for something else at work to make for the guys to eat when they came back from pass and before we left to go ice skating. Muffin mix did the trick, and I even got a few of them to help me scoop the batter into the muffin cups (the hardest/most annoying part). Like their cousin dessert, the muffins didn't last long sitting out on the table in program.
Quick Cookies
1 stick softened butter
1/4 c brown sugar
1 c flour
1 tsp vanilla
chocolate chips optional
Mix ingredients, form into one inch balls, place on cookie sheet, bake at 350 for about 10 minutes. (Easiest way to eat a stick of butter that I know of.)
When I'm stressed and/or tired, I often just want to watch trashy TV while I eat trashy food. Last night I made quick cookies with The Bachelor on in the background, then ate them while watching The Office and SNL. My mental state quickly improved, though my physical state deteriorated. I made up for it with blueberry yogurt and hummus today...foods cancel each other out, right?
Chocolate Sheet Cake, Yellow Layer Cake, Vanilla Buttercream Frosting
This wondrous medley of flavors and textures takes the junk food cake, if you will, for this past week. M and I were bored yesterday and decided to celebrate President's Day by baking a cake. That quickly turned into baking three cakes, two vanilla and one chocolate, in order to construct a triple layer cake. Making cake from scratch is quite fun, and you definitely feel more accomplished after doing so.
Today we finished the cake by making frosting and separating it into three bowls for red, white, and blue. With G's help, we frosted and layered each cake: vanilla/blue frosting/chocolate/red frosting/vanilla/white frosting. Then we finished by mixing the extra red and blue frosting into purple and using that to decorate the top--thereby giving the cake a dual-purpose, President's Day AND Mardi Gras.
Even though Lent begins tomorrow, I know the sweets don't stop here. Brooke's birthday is today and we're celebrating with brownie ice cream cake on Friday. Plus it's just about March, and everyone knows that means only one thing: Shamrock Shakes.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Activities & Successes
I'm currently in the middle of another 12-day week, two regular work weeks linked by picking up shifts at Mercy over the weekend. I have a feeling this one won't burn me out, though, seeing as today we went to the Bulls game and were treated to custom-made cupcakes later in program and tomorrow we're ice skating downtown. Can't really call that "extra shifts,"...more like "extra activities I get to do for free."
My day job continues to spoil me with its dream hours and a work load that's neither too easy (boring) nor too challenging (stressful). I hit a lull a few weeks ago when I had no pressing projects, but with the purchase of Mr. Clean Magic Erasers and the discovery of the household WD-40 and food processor, I have lots of new things on my to-do list at work.
To top this week off, I finished not only the Friday crossword puzzle (in about 15 minutes, thank you very much), but also this week's Friday Sudoku (in two days, but it's the very first Friday Sudoku I've finished ever). I hung it up on my fridge.
My day job continues to spoil me with its dream hours and a work load that's neither too easy (boring) nor too challenging (stressful). I hit a lull a few weeks ago when I had no pressing projects, but with the purchase of Mr. Clean Magic Erasers and the discovery of the household WD-40 and food processor, I have lots of new things on my to-do list at work.
To top this week off, I finished not only the Friday crossword puzzle (in about 15 minutes, thank you very much), but also this week's Friday Sudoku (in two days, but it's the very first Friday Sudoku I've finished ever). I hung it up on my fridge.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Clowning Around
I just finished I Love You More Than You Know and while I am very different from the author, Jonathan Ames, we share a few similarities. He writes about bizarre situations he finds himself in, or normal situations that somehow turn bizarre thanks to the monologue in his head. I like to think my life is similar to that--things may seem normal on the outside, but I'm creating a complex world with my rampant imagination. There's also this excerpt:
Yes, Mr. Ames, I do know what you mean. I've said almost the exact same thing--one of my biggest goals in life is to make people happy. I like it because there are infinite ways to make people happy (unlike if my goal was to become an astronaut, because I'm pretty sure there's only one way you can accomplish that), but this freedom of how to reach my goal doesn't make it an easy task. Ideally the things I write would make people happy, while at the same time making me a living. Until I get to that place, though, I'll have to settle for making myself happy by blogging and making others happy by not shrinking their cashmere sweaters.
"I answered the interviewers questions as playfully as I could, making sure to let them know that I am simply a literary clown and my goal is to bring some laughs to people, that perhaps this has some value and meaning in our world, whatever it is that value and meaning mean, you know what I mean."
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Flexibility
I went to a different yoga class than usual tonight since I got out of work early. I regretted it as soon as my co-yogis (Yoginis? It was an all-female class.) unrolled their mats, set up their towels, placed their water bottles next to them, and sat down like they were about to have tea. Did I unknowingly sign up for the Type-A class? I was hoping for an increase in physical flexibility from learning new/different poses and mental flexibility by trying out a new teacher. Instead I spent the class cursing my hips/thighs and missing my regular teacher's very German way of saying, "Hold here for three breaths now, yah."
I know you're supposed to focus on your own practice during yoga, but everyone else was doing exactly as the teacher prompted, exactly when she prompted it, or at least as best as their skinny little bodies could manage. (Seriously. I also missed the awkward-bodied people from my regular class...I really fit in much better there.) I seemed to be the only one a little bit off, sacrificing following directions for following what felt right in my body and with my breathing. Which I guess means I did focus on myself, even though I felt annoyed at the teacher for being so upbeat. When I'm holding poses in a 95-degree room, I don't want to hear the voice of a kindergarten teacher cheering me on, I want to hear something...more mature. Again, what I'm actually saying is I miss yoga with Will, possibly short for Wilhelm if he's as German as I hope he is.
Despite all that, I'm still plenty sore as I type this. I keep shifting my body into different positions so it doesn't cramp up. At the end of class, I always think I'm getting more flexible/relaxed/zen, and then I go back two days later and once again I can barely touch my toes and I'm stressed out over the same petty things. Staying flexible requires daily upkeep, but I wish there was some way to get it to stick for longer than one night. I think all I can do is breathe into it and hold here, yah.
I know you're supposed to focus on your own practice during yoga, but everyone else was doing exactly as the teacher prompted, exactly when she prompted it, or at least as best as their skinny little bodies could manage. (Seriously. I also missed the awkward-bodied people from my regular class...I really fit in much better there.) I seemed to be the only one a little bit off, sacrificing following directions for following what felt right in my body and with my breathing. Which I guess means I did focus on myself, even though I felt annoyed at the teacher for being so upbeat. When I'm holding poses in a 95-degree room, I don't want to hear the voice of a kindergarten teacher cheering me on, I want to hear something...more mature. Again, what I'm actually saying is I miss yoga with Will, possibly short for Wilhelm if he's as German as I hope he is.
Despite all that, I'm still plenty sore as I type this. I keep shifting my body into different positions so it doesn't cramp up. At the end of class, I always think I'm getting more flexible/relaxed/zen, and then I go back two days later and once again I can barely touch my toes and I'm stressed out over the same petty things. Staying flexible requires daily upkeep, but I wish there was some way to get it to stick for longer than one night. I think all I can do is breathe into it and hold here, yah.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Speak My Language
A notable quirk of my Valentine's Day this year was the lack of bitter status updates on facebook, you know, the "Rah rah rah, my name's Debbie Downer & I'm alone today/I hate corporate holidays" type. My only conclusions as to why the updates were either positive or just not there are that I'm at/near the age where, a) people I know are in steady relationships, so they have nothing to be bitter about, and/or b) people have matured and don't really care that Valentine's Day is a consumer holiday.
I pretty consistently fall into the indifferent to Valentine's Day camp, which leads people to sometimes view me as a Love Scrooge. In actuality, I have plenty to say on the subject. As of late, my big thing with capital "L" Love is Love Languages.
You may have heard of these five languages--words of affirmation, quality time, gifts, acts of service, physical touch--but I challenge you to really consider them. These are the ways we know people care about us and how we reciprocate that care . Knowing your love language is knowing what makes you feel loved, appreciated, and overall a worthy human being. There are several quick and painless assessments here to learn the language in which you are most fluent.
An easy way to figure yours out is deciding which language put into action you prefer the majority of the time. Note, most people have several that apply and even though these are "love" languages, they apply to any significant relationship, not just romantic ones. I think it's also interesting that typically we express and receive love through the same language, but this doesn't have to be true. So maybe you feel loved when people write you nice letters, but you express love/care/concern by mowing their lawn or giving them a hug. Here's a quick overview (taken from the official website):
Words of Affirmation (I receive love this way, but struggle to show love in words unless I write them.)
Even though I'm a firm believer in actions speaking louder than words, it's hard to deny how nice it feels when someonetells me I'm awesome at everything I do compliments me. If you like to hear the three little words, "I love you," and like even more to hear the reasons, you're probably a word person. In contrast, insults leave a particularly nasty sting.
Quality Time (My top scorer for love reception, and I do pretty well reciprocating with it as well.)
Those of us labeled "attention whores" by friends and family (sometimes strangers) probably speak the language of Quality Time really well. We like people to be there for us--with no distractions. When those we care aboutdon't reply to our texts or pretend not to see us when we stand on furniture ignore us, whether intentionally or not, we take great offense and often to go to greater attention-seeking lengths.
Gifts (I can receive love from gifts, but they definitely rank low. I'm not a great giver of gifts either, unless they come in limerick form.)
Gifts can mean a multitude of things, but for the receiver, "it's the thought that counts" really does count. Something simple that regardless took intentional effort is huge, andgiraffe-themed items every day gestures go a long way to show Gift receivers that they mean something to the giver. Re-gifting not recommended.
Acts of Service (Another low scorer for me. I'm fairly independent & don't want to feel indebted. I like to think I'm decent at serving others, though, especially since I just spent a year focusing on doing just that.)
Think of this love language as doing favors for another: cooking, cleaning, fixing things, giving rides, running errands--all witha smile on your face expecting nothing in return. Leaving messes or general laziness says to Acts of Service receivers that you don't really care about their feelings.
Physical Touch (What's great about this one is it's hard to give love this way without receiving it right back. Unsurprisingly, it's the one I generally go to.)
This is more than just hugs and kisses. Touch is holding hands, playing with hair, sitting next to someone on the couch while you watch TV, and being in close proximity to another. It's easy todisregard people's personal bubbles go too far with touch (we have a word for it: touchy-feely), but the absence of it in a Touch receiver's life is destructive.
Again, these languages are useful in a variety of relationships in our lives. It's a great way to understand family and friends so you can best show them you care. If Grandma is clearly a Quality Time person, a gift basket does little for her. She'd more likely "feel the love," so to speak, if you went for a walk with her or called her on the phone.
And before any of you think/say it, yes, I absolutely made sure to let you know what my top love languages are to help you know how toGIVE ME ATTENTION show me I'm appreciated.
I pretty consistently fall into the indifferent to Valentine's Day camp, which leads people to sometimes view me as a Love Scrooge. In actuality, I have plenty to say on the subject. As of late, my big thing with capital "L" Love is Love Languages.
You may have heard of these five languages--words of affirmation, quality time, gifts, acts of service, physical touch--but I challenge you to really consider them. These are the ways we know people care about us and how we reciprocate that care . Knowing your love language is knowing what makes you feel loved, appreciated, and overall a worthy human being. There are several quick and painless assessments here to learn the language in which you are most fluent.
An easy way to figure yours out is deciding which language put into action you prefer the majority of the time. Note, most people have several that apply and even though these are "love" languages, they apply to any significant relationship, not just romantic ones. I think it's also interesting that typically we express and receive love through the same language, but this doesn't have to be true. So maybe you feel loved when people write you nice letters, but you express love/care/concern by mowing their lawn or giving them a hug. Here's a quick overview (taken from the official website):
Words of Affirmation (I receive love this way, but struggle to show love in words unless I write them.)
Even though I'm a firm believer in actions speaking louder than words, it's hard to deny how nice it feels when someone
Quality Time (My top scorer for love reception, and I do pretty well reciprocating with it as well.)
Those of us labeled "attention whores" by friends and family (sometimes strangers) probably speak the language of Quality Time really well. We like people to be there for us--with no distractions. When those we care about
Gifts (I can receive love from gifts, but they definitely rank low. I'm not a great giver of gifts either, unless they come in limerick form.)
Gifts can mean a multitude of things, but for the receiver, "it's the thought that counts" really does count. Something simple that regardless took intentional effort is huge, and
Acts of Service (Another low scorer for me. I'm fairly independent & don't want to feel indebted. I like to think I'm decent at serving others, though, especially since I just spent a year focusing on doing just that.)
Think of this love language as doing favors for another: cooking, cleaning, fixing things, giving rides, running errands--all with
Physical Touch (What's great about this one is it's hard to give love this way without receiving it right back. Unsurprisingly, it's the one I generally go to.)
This is more than just hugs and kisses. Touch is holding hands, playing with hair, sitting next to someone on the couch while you watch TV, and being in close proximity to another. It's easy to
Again, these languages are useful in a variety of relationships in our lives. It's a great way to understand family and friends so you can best show them you care. If Grandma is clearly a Quality Time person, a gift basket does little for her. She'd more likely "feel the love," so to speak, if you went for a walk with her or called her on the phone.
And before any of you think/say it, yes, I absolutely made sure to let you know what my top love languages are to help you know how to
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Truth in Fact and Fiction
My current read, I Love You More Than You Know, is a collection of essays by Jonathan Ames. He's very funny, albeit ragingly inappropriate (read: not for the prudish among us). The front cover calls him "genuine, daring, and unabashed" and compares him to David Sedaris.
I love when writers write about writing because it's super easy to relate to. In his essay titled "Self-Sentenced: My Life as a Writer the Last Few Years," I was tickled to see his writerly role models resemble mine, even down to the order--Kerouac followed by Hemingway and Fitzgerald. He equates this to alcoholism and self-destruction...I'd like to think I cling to the less destructive parts of these writers, but I do enjoy my sweet red wine when I'm writing.
Later in the essay he discusses his parents' reactions to his work. First they hate it, but after a family therapy session they come to accept it. He says, "I guess my parents know that life is short and they might as well get a kick out of things. I also think they're not really listening to me." This I haven't had to deal with, since Mom and Dad have been fans of what I've written (so far). No, but seriously, compared to Mr. Ames they don't really have much to worry about with me.
That being said, I have to admire his honesty/disregard for embarrassment. I have such a thick filter--speaking or writing, unless it's my journal--I don't know if I could ever write stories of his caliber, even if I had such wild tales to tell. Enter fictional writing: a way to tell wild tales that may or may not have actually happened in some way, shape, or form to me or someone else I may or may not personally know. It's nice to have that ability to put lots of layers between myself as writer and the events surrounding my characters. I can write about semi-true events without letting little "T" truth get in the way of big "T" Truth.
I love when writers write about writing because it's super easy to relate to. In his essay titled "Self-Sentenced: My Life as a Writer the Last Few Years," I was tickled to see his writerly role models resemble mine, even down to the order--Kerouac followed by Hemingway and Fitzgerald. He equates this to alcoholism and self-destruction...I'd like to think I cling to the less destructive parts of these writers, but I do enjoy my sweet red wine when I'm writing.
Later in the essay he discusses his parents' reactions to his work. First they hate it, but after a family therapy session they come to accept it. He says, "I guess my parents know that life is short and they might as well get a kick out of things. I also think they're not really listening to me." This I haven't had to deal with, since Mom and Dad have been fans of what I've written (so far). No, but seriously, compared to Mr. Ames they don't really have much to worry about with me.
That being said, I have to admire his honesty/disregard for embarrassment. I have such a thick filter--speaking or writing, unless it's my journal--I don't know if I could ever write stories of his caliber, even if I had such wild tales to tell. Enter fictional writing: a way to tell wild tales that may or may not have actually happened in some way, shape, or form to me or someone else I may or may not personally know. It's nice to have that ability to put lots of layers between myself as writer and the events surrounding my characters. I can write about semi-true events without letting little "T" truth get in the way of big "T" Truth.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Nanny Dearest Not So Much
My current read, Mere Anarchy by Woody Allen, is a collection of short stories. Most/all of the stories have sent me to the dictionary several times, which is a humbling, albeit annoying, occurrence.
One story, "Nanny Dearest," resonated with me, as strange as the actual tale was. It features a family with a live-in nanny who also writes. One day the wife finds the nanny's writing, specifically a manuscript for a book about the family. It details awful habits and embarrassing stories; in one section the nanny quotes the husband and wife as they insult friends and neighbors. The wife wants to fire her on the spot, but the husband persuades her not to, as that wouldn't stop the nanny from writing/publishing. Instead, he plans to get rid of her by poisoning her tea. Unfortunately for him, he gets a little drunk before doing this and ends up drinking the poison himself. The story ends with the nanny calling an ambulance for the husband and handing over a letter of resignation, saying nannying bored her and that she also gave up writing her book as the family is "too creepy to hold the interest of any reader with an IQ in the normal range." She then runs off with a millionaire.
Okay, so not exactly my experience as a nanny/house manager, but maybe a super exaggerated caricature of things. I don't live with my family, even though it sometimes feels that way, and even though I write a lot about work, I would never throw my family under the bus the way the fictional nanny does, not that there's reason to do so in the first place. And who knows if I would ever drop everything and run off with a millionaire; the opportunity to do so hasn't presented itself so far...
One story, "Nanny Dearest," resonated with me, as strange as the actual tale was. It features a family with a live-in nanny who also writes. One day the wife finds the nanny's writing, specifically a manuscript for a book about the family. It details awful habits and embarrassing stories; in one section the nanny quotes the husband and wife as they insult friends and neighbors. The wife wants to fire her on the spot, but the husband persuades her not to, as that wouldn't stop the nanny from writing/publishing. Instead, he plans to get rid of her by poisoning her tea. Unfortunately for him, he gets a little drunk before doing this and ends up drinking the poison himself. The story ends with the nanny calling an ambulance for the husband and handing over a letter of resignation, saying nannying bored her and that she also gave up writing her book as the family is "too creepy to hold the interest of any reader with an IQ in the normal range." She then runs off with a millionaire.
Okay, so not exactly my experience as a nanny/house manager, but maybe a super exaggerated caricature of things. I don't live with my family, even though it sometimes feels that way, and even though I write a lot about work, I would never throw my family under the bus the way the fictional nanny does, not that there's reason to do so in the first place. And who knows if I would ever drop everything and run off with a millionaire; the opportunity to do so hasn't presented itself so far...
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