Monday, December 29, 2008
Back to Neverland
I saw a shooting star last night. I don't know if I've ever seen a real shooting star before. But last night, as I was riding home in the car from seeing a movie with the family, I was staring out the window. It was dark out, and sky was wide and clear. Living in Chicago, you don't really see a lot of stars, with all of the city lights, air pollution, and such. But in Kansas, everything is spread out. You see people's porch lights. You see headlights from a few cars traveling to unknown destinations. And you see stars. Lots of stars. I was looking out at the constellation Orion when I saw this small little explosion in the sky. It looked kind of like a miniature firework, all by itself. Then the sparkle slowly started falling, and by the time my line of vision had fallen even with the horizon, it was gone. So I made a wish. It was probably silly and childish of me to do so, but there's just something magical about seeing a shooting star, especially in your home town. So I did it. I can't tell you what I wished for, but I sincerely hope it comes true.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Less than a month left!
You gotta love good ol' President Bush. Especially how he continues to find ways of making us scratch our heads and say "Wha?" Check out this article posted on Gawker.com today. Guaranteed to make you glad he wasn't on the ticket in this latest election, regardless of who you voted for. I think now he's just messin' with us.
http://gawker.com/5117086/bush-issues-bizarre-pardons-to-no-one-currently-serving-time
http://gawker.com/5117086/bush-issues-bizarre-pardons-to-no-one-currently-serving-time
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Don't sue us if an icicle from our building kills you.
Every winter, these signs start popping up in front of buildings all around downtown Chicago. Because you're really going to be able to get out of the way if a 15-inch dagger falls from the 42nd floor of a building right as you're walking under it.
Macy's Windows
Every year at Christmas, one of the biggest traditions in Chicago is checking out the new displays in the Macy's (which used to be Marshall Fields) windows. This tradition was started back in 1862, in the Herald Square Macy's in New York. Each year there is a theme, and people no doubt work countless hours constructing moving figurines and scenes in each window around the outside of the store. Last year's theme was "The Nutcracker." This year, it is "Santa's Workshop." The windows are intended to reveal the secrets of how Christmas is made. Here are a few pictures that I stole from someone else's website because, clearly, their camera is better than mine.
Bubblemakers add wisdom and courage to the bubbles before they make the trip to Santa for his final inspection.
"Chirpadees" use snowflakes to parachute their way into the city.
In a factory below the city, tiny creatures make holiday lights for Christmas trees.
Fairies turn bubbles from the lake into beautiful ornaments.
In this window, fairies turn the Northern Lights into ribbon for packages and decorations.
In the final window, Santa inspects all of the items that have been created in the previous windows.
Bubblemakers add wisdom and courage to the bubbles before they make the trip to Santa for his final inspection.
"Chirpadees" use snowflakes to parachute their way into the city.
In a factory below the city, tiny creatures make holiday lights for Christmas trees.
Fairies turn bubbles from the lake into beautiful ornaments.
In this window, fairies turn the Northern Lights into ribbon for packages and decorations.
In the final window, Santa inspects all of the items that have been created in the previous windows.
1, 068 New Species Found!
Check out this article from cnn.com: http://www.cnn.com/2008/TECH/science/12/16/rat.mekong/index.html?iref=mpstoryview#cnnSTCPhoto
Makes you wonder what else is out there... and what may not be extinct after all. :)
Makes you wonder what else is out there... and what may not be extinct after all. :)
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Christmas-ing It Up
I decorated my apartment for Christmas! Actually, I did it last week, but I didn't feel it would be right to post the pictures before Thanksiving because of the aforementioned Thanksgiving getting the shaft every year. But here it is: my gloriously festive apartment! :) 
Monday, December 1, 2008
Best Poem Ever
I've had a rough past few days, culminating in a horrible day at work today. To make me feel better, I'm posting my favorite poem, since high school. I hope you like it even a fraction as much as I do.
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
[Translated:
If I thought that I were speaking to a soul
Who someday might return to see the world,
Most certainly this flame would cease to flicker;
But since no one, if I have heard the truth,
Ever returns alive from this deep pit,
With no fear of dishonor I answer you . ]
LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
[Translated:
If I thought that I were speaking to a soul
Who someday might return to see the world,
Most certainly this flame would cease to flicker;
But since no one, if I have heard the truth,
Ever returns alive from this deep pit,
With no fear of dishonor I answer you . ]
LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Momentos
When I was a little kid, I was enamored with my grandparent's house. It's a small ranch-style house, not particularly exciting in any way, but I thought it was the most beautiful house in the whole world. There were four things about the house that always made me happy when I saw them.
One was the three very small statues that sit on columns on the front porch of the house. I think they're cherubs or something, and they are nothing I would ever choose for my own house, but to me they were always the biggest signifier that we had arrived at our destination.
Two was the grand piano in the formal living room. It's white, and my grandpa can play beautiful melodies on it (although half the time I think he might be making them up as he goes). I took piano lessons for approximately one year, but the violin was already my instrument of choice, and the lessons didn't stick. Still, I remembered about five songs from my lessons and from having picked up what my friends had learned and taught me from their own lessons. I used to love to come in, drop my pillow and books from the long car ride, and immediately play my meager repetoir on that piano.
The third thing is a little rotating picture cube that plays "Close To You." The pictures in the cube have stayed the same for as long as I can remember, and include two of my dad and his sisters when they were little kids, one of my great-grandparents, one of my grandpa and his brothers golfing in the 70s, and one of my older cousin when he was a kid. This has always been on the nightstand of my bedroom and to this day, I always have to wind it up and listen to it at least once while I'm there.
The last cherished part of my grandparent's house is no longer there. When we were kids, there were two giant willow trees in the backyard of the house. My cousins and my brother and I would climb up into them and have our own "clubhouse". We played for hours in those trees. Alas, they got sick and had to be cut down several years ago. It still makes me a little sad to look out the back window and see empty space where they used to be.
I know the day will come when my grandparents will no longer live in their house. So, I try to cherish it as much as I can now. It's the only house that I've known my entire life, and there is a certain comfort to that. Walking into it and seeing each room, the mirror at the end of the hallway, the pattern of the linoleum in the basement, the wicker headboard of the bed in my room, is like clutching a favorite stuffed animal as you drift off to sleep when you're little. It makes my feel safe, nostalgic, and happy. No matter the craziness of my day-to-day life in Chicago, this is a constant that brings me back to the center. Though I've never lived there, it'll always been "home" to me.
One was the three very small statues that sit on columns on the front porch of the house. I think they're cherubs or something, and they are nothing I would ever choose for my own house, but to me they were always the biggest signifier that we had arrived at our destination.
Two was the grand piano in the formal living room. It's white, and my grandpa can play beautiful melodies on it (although half the time I think he might be making them up as he goes). I took piano lessons for approximately one year, but the violin was already my instrument of choice, and the lessons didn't stick. Still, I remembered about five songs from my lessons and from having picked up what my friends had learned and taught me from their own lessons. I used to love to come in, drop my pillow and books from the long car ride, and immediately play my meager repetoir on that piano.
The third thing is a little rotating picture cube that plays "Close To You." The pictures in the cube have stayed the same for as long as I can remember, and include two of my dad and his sisters when they were little kids, one of my great-grandparents, one of my grandpa and his brothers golfing in the 70s, and one of my older cousin when he was a kid. This has always been on the nightstand of my bedroom and to this day, I always have to wind it up and listen to it at least once while I'm there.The last cherished part of my grandparent's house is no longer there. When we were kids, there were two giant willow trees in the backyard of the house. My cousins and my brother and I would climb up into them and have our own "clubhouse". We played for hours in those trees. Alas, they got sick and had to be cut down several years ago. It still makes me a little sad to look out the back window and see empty space where they used to be.
I know the day will come when my grandparents will no longer live in their house. So, I try to cherish it as much as I can now. It's the only house that I've known my entire life, and there is a certain comfort to that. Walking into it and seeing each room, the mirror at the end of the hallway, the pattern of the linoleum in the basement, the wicker headboard of the bed in my room, is like clutching a favorite stuffed animal as you drift off to sleep when you're little. It makes my feel safe, nostalgic, and happy. No matter the craziness of my day-to-day life in Chicago, this is a constant that brings me back to the center. Though I've never lived there, it'll always been "home" to me.
Unexpected Moments
I was planning on blogging a lot while I was in St. Louis for Thanksgiving the last few days, but the fates had decided otherwise. First, because I ended up coming down with a HORRENDOUS cold the day I left, which literally developed overnight. Second, because while I knew my grandparents are not of that "let's be hip and learn how to use (or even own) a computer" species of grandparent, I figured I'd have time to scope out some place with free wi-fi. I was with the Schramms--what was I thinking?
I wasn't expecting it to be a very fun Thanksgiving. My grandpa has been in the hospital for nearly three weeks now, having multiple surgeries for multiple ailments. Only one of my three out-of-town cousins was coming in, and my uncle's father died, so I knew that part of the family would be busy with sitting shiva and the funeral. For the most part, my predictions were correct. Everyone spent a lot of time at the hospital with my grandpa (I couldn't go due to the aformentioned cold-from-hell), and the rest of the time was spent shopping for clothes for my brother (who needed new jeans, decreed my mom) and my cousins (who needed something to wear to their grandfather's funeral), making a brief pit stop at World Market, and sitting around watching TV at home or just chit chatting. Usually we see a movie, go visit Hog Hollow (a fun old house that has been turned into a home interiors/crafts store), do something kind of Christmas-y (trekking out to St. Charles, a small little town that had all kinds of boutiques decorated for the season, or visiting a Christmas tree farm, which we did last year), play games, and other things of that nature. I don't think anyone was really in the mood this year.
Amid the blah-ness of the holiday, however, there were two bright spots. Last night I was digging around in my grandparents video cabinet to see if they had any good movies to watch, and I ended up unearthing a cassette tape with the name "Michael" (my brother) written on it. No one had any idea what it was. So, we ended up finding a tape player in the basement, and checking it out. It took us a few minutes to definitively decide that the voice on the tape was indeed Michael, circa about 1986-1987 (he was maybe five or six years old). We were able to make this determination after hearing several topics of extreme interest to the Michael of that era: cheetahs, Abraham Lincoln, German shepherds, and Batman. Apparently, Michael had decided (or Mom had decided for him) that he was going to make a tape of his stories to send to Grandma and Grandpa, since we lived far away from them. He had a title for each story, and after each one, he would say "And that's the end of my story: The Little Boy and the German Shepherd...[long pause]...by Michael." It was hilarious. I literally had tears rolling down my cheeks at one point.
The second fun archaeological find from my dig was a VHS tape that said "Family Movie Tape." Now, I had seen old film footage of the family from when my dad and his sisters were little kids, and I was hoping that what I had seen was on the tape I was holding. It turned out it was! And while there was plenty of fantastic video of my dad as a little boy, huge dimpled smile permanently affixed to his face, it seems that the Schramm family of old had a major preoccupation with water skiing. Intersperced between the videos of birthday parties, Hanukkah celebrations, and doing The Twist (no, really), there was an overabundance of water skiing videos. This would be ok if you could actually tell who was water skiing, but for the most part it's an educated guess as to who you're actually watching. "I'm pretty sure that's Grandpa." "Oh! Is that me?" "Wait, I think that's [insert Jewish name of neighbor or "aunt"/"uncle"-that's-not-really-your-aunt/uncle]!" It became a bit of a running joke: birthday party, water skiing; kids playing in the backyard; water skiing; trip to the zoo, water skiing. At one point, the video turned to a vacation in Mexico that the family took when my dad was about 12. The scenery was nice, and there was some video of the kids playing in the hotel pool. And then my aunt, who was watching this with us, said, "Wait a minute...I think there was water skiing on this trip..." and as if it had been choreographed, the video immediately turned to water skiing. We all had a good laugh at that one.
I guess the moral of the story is that even if the situation isn't ideal, there is always something good to focus on. Thanksgiving is, after all, about being appreciative of what you have, and for most of us, family is one of our most valuable assets. A long-lost childhood recording of a now-grown sibling, and video from upwards of 50 years ago are pretty great treasures. Despite a bad cold, a visit to St. Louis without seeing Grandpa, and your run-of-the-mill family irritations, that's what I'll choose to remember from Thanksgiving, 2008.
I wasn't expecting it to be a very fun Thanksgiving. My grandpa has been in the hospital for nearly three weeks now, having multiple surgeries for multiple ailments. Only one of my three out-of-town cousins was coming in, and my uncle's father died, so I knew that part of the family would be busy with sitting shiva and the funeral. For the most part, my predictions were correct. Everyone spent a lot of time at the hospital with my grandpa (I couldn't go due to the aformentioned cold-from-hell), and the rest of the time was spent shopping for clothes for my brother (who needed new jeans, decreed my mom) and my cousins (who needed something to wear to their grandfather's funeral), making a brief pit stop at World Market, and sitting around watching TV at home or just chit chatting. Usually we see a movie, go visit Hog Hollow (a fun old house that has been turned into a home interiors/crafts store), do something kind of Christmas-y (trekking out to St. Charles, a small little town that had all kinds of boutiques decorated for the season, or visiting a Christmas tree farm, which we did last year), play games, and other things of that nature. I don't think anyone was really in the mood this year.
Amid the blah-ness of the holiday, however, there were two bright spots. Last night I was digging around in my grandparents video cabinet to see if they had any good movies to watch, and I ended up unearthing a cassette tape with the name "Michael" (my brother) written on it. No one had any idea what it was. So, we ended up finding a tape player in the basement, and checking it out. It took us a few minutes to definitively decide that the voice on the tape was indeed Michael, circa about 1986-1987 (he was maybe five or six years old). We were able to make this determination after hearing several topics of extreme interest to the Michael of that era: cheetahs, Abraham Lincoln, German shepherds, and Batman. Apparently, Michael had decided (or Mom had decided for him) that he was going to make a tape of his stories to send to Grandma and Grandpa, since we lived far away from them. He had a title for each story, and after each one, he would say "And that's the end of my story: The Little Boy and the German Shepherd...[long pause]...by Michael." It was hilarious. I literally had tears rolling down my cheeks at one point.
The second fun archaeological find from my dig was a VHS tape that said "Family Movie Tape." Now, I had seen old film footage of the family from when my dad and his sisters were little kids, and I was hoping that what I had seen was on the tape I was holding. It turned out it was! And while there was plenty of fantastic video of my dad as a little boy, huge dimpled smile permanently affixed to his face, it seems that the Schramm family of old had a major preoccupation with water skiing. Intersperced between the videos of birthday parties, Hanukkah celebrations, and doing The Twist (no, really), there was an overabundance of water skiing videos. This would be ok if you could actually tell who was water skiing, but for the most part it's an educated guess as to who you're actually watching. "I'm pretty sure that's Grandpa." "Oh! Is that me?" "Wait, I think that's [insert Jewish name of neighbor or "aunt"/"uncle"-that's-not-really-your-aunt/uncle]!" It became a bit of a running joke: birthday party, water skiing; kids playing in the backyard; water skiing; trip to the zoo, water skiing. At one point, the video turned to a vacation in Mexico that the family took when my dad was about 12. The scenery was nice, and there was some video of the kids playing in the hotel pool. And then my aunt, who was watching this with us, said, "Wait a minute...I think there was water skiing on this trip..." and as if it had been choreographed, the video immediately turned to water skiing. We all had a good laugh at that one.
I guess the moral of the story is that even if the situation isn't ideal, there is always something good to focus on. Thanksgiving is, after all, about being appreciative of what you have, and for most of us, family is one of our most valuable assets. A long-lost childhood recording of a now-grown sibling, and video from upwards of 50 years ago are pretty great treasures. Despite a bad cold, a visit to St. Louis without seeing Grandpa, and your run-of-the-mill family irritations, that's what I'll choose to remember from Thanksgiving, 2008.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Shrimptastic!
I read an article on msnbc.com today about how this video of a science experiment was posted on a website (I assume a science website) and someone got a hold of it and now it's become an Internet phenomenon. Apparently, the experiment was to take healthy shrimp and shrimp with bacterial infections, and to have them run on an underwater treadmill to see how long they could last. The scientists didn't even know if the shrimp WOULD run on a treadmill, thinking that they might do it for a few seconds, and then swim off. But as it turns out, apparently shrimp dig treadmills. Some of them were still running up to four hours later! Eventually they had to physically remove them from the treadmill. So here is the video, with music added to it, for your viewing pleasure.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Christmas Trees and Matzo Ball Soup
I've always been a stickler for not doing anything Christmas related, until after Thanksgiving. You see, poor Thanksgiving always gets the shaft. People ask what you're doing for it, and then you get together with family and become completely gluttonous for a few hours, and then it's over. There is no Thanksgiving tree. Nobody makes Thanksgiving cookies. And who ever heard of Thanksgiving carolers? In the meantime, Christmas is totally overstepping its bounds and crashing Thanksgiving's party. Christmas songs are playing. Houses are lit up with Christmas lights. Christmas sales are already starting at stores, and people are gathering their cheesy outfits for the annual family Christmas photo (to be accompanied by the annual obnoxiously detailed family Christmas novel that will be sent out to 158 of your closest friends). All of this before it's even December yet. Normally, I'm like, "Back off, Christmas! This isn't your turf yet, dammit!"But not this year.
A paradigm shift has occured in my head. I have no explanation for it, other than the fact that I actually managed to make my plane reservations for Christmas earlier than two weeks before the day I leave. So maybe that's why I have Christmas on the brain. Whatever my main malfunction is, I'm actually putting up my Christmas tree tonight AND listening to Christmas music while I do it. Oh, the horror!! It's a good thing I have an apartment and not an actual house which would require outside decorations, because I would probably be receiving a visit from the Angry Pilgrim. I just found out about said pilgrim last night from my friend Katie. Apparently, one of the local radio stations sends people out to scour the local Chicago neighborhoods in search of pre-Thanksgiving Christmas decorations. When they find a house that meets the criteria, they take a picture of the decorations, and then they take them all down and steal them. After Thanksgiving is over, they go back to the house and, using the picture, put everything back just the way it was originally. Moral of the story? Don't piss off the Angry Pilgrim by doing Christmas before Thanksgiving. I'm glad my tree will be inside on the second story of my building because the pilgrim wouldn't be the only one who was angry if any of my ornaments got broken by his anarchist shenanigans.
In addition to Christmas-ing it up, and since I think Thanksgiving deserves to get equal shafting under the law, I'm also making matzo ball soup. My dad's family is Jewish, and while my immediate family has always been way more swayed by the enticements of Christmas (decorations, way too many gifts, music, the actual acknowledgment of the holiday, etc), we've also tried to pay tribute to my dad in some small ways. We have a dradle ornament on the Christmas tree, a menorah on the mantle, and we always have lox and bagels (what my cousin referred to as "pink fish and donuts" when she was little) for breakfast on Christmas morning. I think I'm subconsciously continuing the muticultural tradition up here by dining on Jewish fare while I decorate the Christmas tree.
But don't worry, Thanksgiving. I still love you and your overabundance of stuffing.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Nice Knowin' Ya.
Welp (as I used to say as a child), I'm moving to Mauritania. My bags are packed, and I'll be on the first flight out tomorrow morning. Never heard of the place? Don't fret, I hadn't either until about an hour ago. That's when I watched a DVRed "Oprah" from last week about beauty standards around the world. Apparently, in Mauritania, the most prized and desireable women are those who are overweight, with stretch marks and fat ankles. The men, however, are expected to remain thin. As Oprah started singing "There's a place for us...." from West Side Story, I couldn't help but agree. You see, some of us (and by "us" I mean "you") are naturally thin. The United States is a wonderful place for these people because they fit our standards of beauty without having to do anything at all. They don't struggle to lose weight, dieting and exercising their lives away. They just do their thing, knowing that they embody this country's most desired physical feature. That's great, more power to them. But others of us (and by "us" I mean "me"), go the other way. We are naturally inclined to weigh more. If we do nothing, like those who are naturally thin, we gain weight. What I never knew was, we would be considered super models in other countries! Super models, dammit! And here we are doing everything within our power just to get into pants that are one size smaller. I was simply born in the wrong country. That's all there is to it. So, while I've had fun hanging out with you all at one time or another, it may be a while before I see you again. In the meantime, feel free to start saving your money for a plane ticket to Africa.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Not diggin' it.
Realizing, once I've walked up all of the strangely sticky stairs in the back of my building and read the sign posted at the TOP of said stairs, that the stairs were newly painted today and please will you use the front door for the next two days and not walk on the newly painted stairs?
Monday, November 17, 2008
Cloud surfing
Ever since I was a small child, I've had extremely vivid, realistic dreams. I can still remember some of the ones I had as a kid, bizarre as they were. And that's the thing about my dreams: they are WEIRD. We're not just talking your normal I-was-taking-a-science-test-in-high-school-naked weird. More like did-I-take-a-hit-of-acid-before-I-went-to-bed-? weird. THAT weird. The details that I can remember are insane. My dreams are very colorful, I can hear things, and I can physically FEEL things. You know the flying dream that everyone has? Well, I've had that dream, and let me tell you, that dream rocks. Because I can feel the air on my arms as I'm flying. It's pretty sick.
When I've asked friends and family members what their dreams are like, I invariably get "Oh, uh, I'm not really sure. I don't really remember my dreams." You what?! How can you not remember them? They're so freaking WEIRD!! This leads me to believe that I'm abnormal and have dream issues. Add it to the list.
Anyway, one of the weirder dreams I've had in awhile (and that's saying something) occured two nights ago. In my dream, I was traveling somewhere via airplane with tons of other people. Nearly every seat was filled. And this was no normal airplane--it was gigantic. We're talking at least 40 rows here, front to back. And the rows were approximately 6-7 seats long on the right side, and then there was an aisle, and then there were 2-3 more seats on the left side (see, what'd I tell you about those details?). So, we're flying along contentedly AT A 45 DEGREE DOWNWARD ANGLE, which isn't weird at all, nope, not weird at all, when what was known in my dream as the "cloud surfing" began. So called because passengers on the plane would literally surf the seats of the plane while we were flying. In my dream, I looked behind me and up (because we were at a 45-degree downward angle), and people were standing up in their seats, taking a step between the shoulders of the two seats in front of them and then somehow sliding on their feet, standing up, from the back of the plane to the front of the plane in a straight line on the backs of the seats in all the rows in front of them (are you understanding this? It's kind of hard to describe). And the thing was, this was totally normal in my dream. I remember thinking, "God, I wish they wouldn't do that, it's so annoying." And the annoying thing was that if you happened to be in the path of one of the cloud surfers, they would totally TAKE YOU OUT. I mean, you'd be done. Done! If you didn't die, you'd be severely injured. This is because to go from the back of the plane to the front of the plane at that kind of angle meant that the cloud surfers picked up an incredible amount of speed as they went. By the time they got towards the front, they were going 50-60 miles an hour. And having any moving object going that fast hit you is not going to feel good.
Other problems with this "sport" were that sometimes the cloud surfers would get their foot caught between two seats on their way down, and they would get totally mangled and break the foot. Plus, once they got to the front of the plane, they would just slam into the door to the cock pit, and one guy actually died in my dream from this. I remember that I had brough three blankets with me, one being gray and polar fleeced (there we go with the details again), and once I saw the cloud surfers start with their crazy cloud surfing antics, I grabbed my blankets, got down on the floor, and threw them over myself as if to sheild myself from getting hit.
That's when I woke up.
And you though acid trips were weird.
When I've asked friends and family members what their dreams are like, I invariably get "Oh, uh, I'm not really sure. I don't really remember my dreams." You what?! How can you not remember them? They're so freaking WEIRD!! This leads me to believe that I'm abnormal and have dream issues. Add it to the list.
Anyway, one of the weirder dreams I've had in awhile (and that's saying something) occured two nights ago. In my dream, I was traveling somewhere via airplane with tons of other people. Nearly every seat was filled. And this was no normal airplane--it was gigantic. We're talking at least 40 rows here, front to back. And the rows were approximately 6-7 seats long on the right side, and then there was an aisle, and then there were 2-3 more seats on the left side (see, what'd I tell you about those details?). So, we're flying along contentedly AT A 45 DEGREE DOWNWARD ANGLE, which isn't weird at all, nope, not weird at all, when what was known in my dream as the "cloud surfing" began. So called because passengers on the plane would literally surf the seats of the plane while we were flying. In my dream, I looked behind me and up (because we were at a 45-degree downward angle), and people were standing up in their seats, taking a step between the shoulders of the two seats in front of them and then somehow sliding on their feet, standing up, from the back of the plane to the front of the plane in a straight line on the backs of the seats in all the rows in front of them (are you understanding this? It's kind of hard to describe). And the thing was, this was totally normal in my dream. I remember thinking, "God, I wish they wouldn't do that, it's so annoying." And the annoying thing was that if you happened to be in the path of one of the cloud surfers, they would totally TAKE YOU OUT. I mean, you'd be done. Done! If you didn't die, you'd be severely injured. This is because to go from the back of the plane to the front of the plane at that kind of angle meant that the cloud surfers picked up an incredible amount of speed as they went. By the time they got towards the front, they were going 50-60 miles an hour. And having any moving object going that fast hit you is not going to feel good.
Other problems with this "sport" were that sometimes the cloud surfers would get their foot caught between two seats on their way down, and they would get totally mangled and break the foot. Plus, once they got to the front of the plane, they would just slam into the door to the cock pit, and one guy actually died in my dream from this. I remember that I had brough three blankets with me, one being gray and polar fleeced (there we go with the details again), and once I saw the cloud surfers start with their crazy cloud surfing antics, I grabbed my blankets, got down on the floor, and threw them over myself as if to sheild myself from getting hit.
That's when I woke up.
And you though acid trips were weird.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Ah, those childhood memories
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I discovered a new cereal at Trader Joe's today: Whole Grain Strawberry-filled Cereal Bites. Does anyone remember that cereal that was around about 20 years ago and it was kind of like little shredded wheats with fruit stuff in the middle? I can't remember what they were called, but I kind of loved them. They've been gone for years now, but I still look for them whenever I'm at a new store. While these aren't quite as good, they're the closest I've come by far. :)
It's a good day to be Chicagoan!
My friend Brooke took this photo of the new banners outside City Hall downtown. They put them up the day after the election, but I'm just now getting around to posting this. We're so proud of our new president-elect!
Evil Chore Day
Today is what I not-so-affectionately term "Evil Chore Day." Evil Chore Day comes about once a week. It is the day that I complete the following evil chores:
Evil Chore Number 3: Decluttering the kitchen table and counters, where I set everything down as soon as I walk in the door
Evil Chore Number 2: Dealing with the massive piles of dirty clothes, clean clothes, and other laundry by actually doing laundry and/or putting laundry away
The Most Evil and Vile of All Chores, Evil Chore Number 1: Doing the dishes
I don't know what it is with me and dishes. I loathe doing them. I'd rather stab myself in the eye with a pencil. I don't have a dishwasher (oh, heavenly dishwasher!), so I'm forced to do them all by hand. I know, I know, if I just did them as I used them it wouldn't be a big deal. But I just don't work that way, ok? I'll use a few dishes and then put them in the sink, and then a few more will find their way in there and then I get scared of them (what if there's mold or a spider in there or something?), so I keep adding dishes to the pile until there's a. no room left in the sink, or b. one of the dishes I need is dirty. Of course, this means I have to do the whole damn bunch of them at one time, which makes this insufferable chore even worse. Not to mention the fear factor goes up considerably when I then have to pick up each dish to wash it (after it's been in the sink for up to a week) and see what might possibly be hiding beneath it. It's very rare that anything actually IS hiding beneath it, but you never know. Yes, I'm so bad at doing my dishes that I'm actually scared of them. And after all this, I just can't break the cycle. Somebody help me...
Note: You don't have to cringe in disgust if you've ever eaten at my place. Yes, the dishes in the sink may be dirty (although I always try to have all dishes done when I have company over, scared or not), but I'm extremely thorough in washing them. Once I get around to it.
One chore that is not part of Evil Chore Day, because I actually like doing it and generally do it most week days, is ironing. I know a lot of people hate ironing. Frankly, I just don't understand that. Ironing is so zen. The back and forth, and the soothing steam sound coming out. Not to mention the awesome satisfaction of seeing a wrinkly piece of fabric turn into a smooth one. It's not messy. It's not smelly. It's warm. I love to iron.
Anyway, as I'm currently in the middle of Evil Chore Day (I've done the worst part, the dishes, but the clothes have yet to come), I should probably go finish it. My reward will be a nice hot bath with the rest of my People magazine. I'm outta here!
Evil Chore Number 3: Decluttering the kitchen table and counters, where I set everything down as soon as I walk in the door
Evil Chore Number 2: Dealing with the massive piles of dirty clothes, clean clothes, and other laundry by actually doing laundry and/or putting laundry away
The Most Evil and Vile of All Chores, Evil Chore Number 1: Doing the dishes
I don't know what it is with me and dishes. I loathe doing them. I'd rather stab myself in the eye with a pencil. I don't have a dishwasher (oh, heavenly dishwasher!), so I'm forced to do them all by hand. I know, I know, if I just did them as I used them it wouldn't be a big deal. But I just don't work that way, ok? I'll use a few dishes and then put them in the sink, and then a few more will find their way in there and then I get scared of them (what if there's mold or a spider in there or something?), so I keep adding dishes to the pile until there's a. no room left in the sink, or b. one of the dishes I need is dirty. Of course, this means I have to do the whole damn bunch of them at one time, which makes this insufferable chore even worse. Not to mention the fear factor goes up considerably when I then have to pick up each dish to wash it (after it's been in the sink for up to a week) and see what might possibly be hiding beneath it. It's very rare that anything actually IS hiding beneath it, but you never know. Yes, I'm so bad at doing my dishes that I'm actually scared of them. And after all this, I just can't break the cycle. Somebody help me...
Note: You don't have to cringe in disgust if you've ever eaten at my place. Yes, the dishes in the sink may be dirty (although I always try to have all dishes done when I have company over, scared or not), but I'm extremely thorough in washing them. Once I get around to it.
One chore that is not part of Evil Chore Day, because I actually like doing it and generally do it most week days, is ironing. I know a lot of people hate ironing. Frankly, I just don't understand that. Ironing is so zen. The back and forth, and the soothing steam sound coming out. Not to mention the awesome satisfaction of seeing a wrinkly piece of fabric turn into a smooth one. It's not messy. It's not smelly. It's warm. I love to iron.
Anyway, as I'm currently in the middle of Evil Chore Day (I've done the worst part, the dishes, but the clothes have yet to come), I should probably go finish it. My reward will be a nice hot bath with the rest of my People magazine. I'm outta here!
Not diggin' it.
It's snowing! And, ohmygod, it's not even Thanksgiving yet. Does this mean that it's officially the start of dig-your-car-out-each-morning-wear-27-pounds-of-extra-clothing-bottom-of-your-pants-constantly-covered-in-salt-wipe-off-your-dogs-legs-and-feet-after-ever-time-she-goes-outside season? Sigh. I fear that it is.
Love it.
It's snowing! It's that really pretty light, whispery, feather-like snow that gently falls to the ground, and (and this is important) DOESN'T STICK. It's the kind of snow that makes you feel like you're in your very own snow globe, and that the holidays are officially here. Christmas lights, decorated trees, good food, family and friends, and sitting by the fireplace (if you have a fireplace, which I don't, but anyone who does and is willing to indulge me in this part of my fantasy is encouraged to do so). Interestingly, I was at Trader Joe's today and I saw chestnuts for sale. The roasting kind. The kind for which a fireplace would come in really handy. I've never had them, but I've always been curious. Now that it's snowing, it's that roasted chestnut time of year.
Friday, November 14, 2008
You say potato, I say give it to me.
I have a long and sordid history with food. Ok, maybe not so sordid, but definitely long. Obviously, because everyone has to eat as soon as they're born...this is becoming my worst post to date.
Starting over. Ahem.
I am a foodie. I always have and I continue to be in love with food. I'm definitely more of a salty person than a sweet person (I'll take potato chips over cookies any day), but I pretty much like it all. Certain foods, for example, creme brulee or salt n' vinegar potato chips (Exibit A), bring on what I affectionately refer to as a food orgasm--that rush of adrenaline and pleasure as soon as it touches your tongue. In the last few months I've been on a kind of self-improvement journey. I've decided that in the next year I will get my health on track (not just weight wise, but being consistent with exercising and eating well), and I will get completely out of credit card debt. I don't have as much as many people do, but it's enough that I can't pay it off every month and that's not a good place to be. Anyway, one step of the health branch of my plan, is that I've started seeing a dietician who works for a health program I enrolled in at Northwestern Hospital. The dietician told me that junk food (see Exibit A, above) literally lights up the same pathways in the brain as crack cocain. This is what makes it so insanely difficult to maintain healthy eating habits when there is junk food lying around. It's highly addictive, and it affects nearly everybody. Unlike drugs or alcohol, which you can choose to leave alone, you need food to survive. You have to eat. It's what you choose to eat that makes the difference between a healthy lifestyle and a Dorito-laden one. Mmmmm...Doritos.
I've made several changes in my lifestyle in order to cut down on the amount of junk food I'm eating. I refuse to go on a "diet" because, as I've both been told in this program and experienced on my own, diets are unsustainable. If you truly want to get healthy and remain that way, you have to make lifestyle changes. Notice I'm also using the words "get healthy" instead of "lose weight." If you get healthy, you will naturally fall into the weight you should be. It also takes a lot of pressure off to say you're going to start a healthier lifestyle instead of saying you're going to lose weight. You have no control over whether or not you lose weight. You do have control over becoming healthier. One change I've made is eliminating all junk food and snack food in my apartment. If it's not there, I won't eat it. I can salivate all I want at the thought of Oreos and Doritos, but at the end of the day I'm too lazy to actually leave the house to go to the store and buy them when I have a craving. And you know how many calories are in saliva? Not so many.
I'm also attempting to drink more water, which is apparently much more difficult for me than the average human being. If my body were an ecosystem, I'd be a desert (take THAT, 3rd grade science!). I just don't drink things. Half-filled cans of soda (not "pop"--"pop" is a sound) are constantly lying around my apartment. It's rare that I can finish a whole can (I'm pretty sure they made those little cans they came out with in the last few years specifically for me). I often finish entire meals without having a drop of anything liquid touch my lips. I blame this on elementary school, when we were forced to drink milk every day at snack time. I hated milk. I still hate milk. But I had to drink it. I've decided that, tragically, my aversion to liquids is a direct result of the milk trauma I suffered as a child. Unfortunately for me, I've been told by numerous people, some of whom are actually medically qualified, that I should drink more water. Normally, it can take me all day to get through a regular size bottle of water (one pint). I'm trying to finish two of those while I'm at work now, and I tell you, it is my Everest.
Yet another change I've made is to eat more protein at breakfast. This is more difficult than it sounds. That's because not a lot of breakfast foods have a lot of protein in them. You can eat those foul protein bars, which is the equivalent of eating spackling putty. Or you can eat eggs, some kind of meat, or high-protein cereal. I usually go for the cereal. It's easy and fast (because we all know that it's crucial that I hit the sleep alarm at least six times every morning, thus leaving myself with approximately 13 minutes to get dressed, do my make up and hair, brush my teeth, and take Clara out before I miss my train). And let's face it, I'm just not upper class enough to have steak and eggs for breakfast each morning. Add a piece of fruit to that cereal and you've got yourself a full-blown meal!
Food-wise, these are the big changes. One thing that has helped immensely with this "getting healthy" goal is Lunch Club. What is Lunch Club, you ask? Well, you're just going to have to figure that out on your own.
Ok, fine, it's this idea that some genius that I found on the Internet came up with. The idea is, you get several people, five being the ideal number, to each take a day of the week. On your day, you make lunch for everyone in the group. If you have five people, you only have to bring lunch once a week and on all the other days, lunch is provided for you. The Lunch Club I started at work has a rule that the meals must be generally healthy, and must include a fruit, vegetable, protein, and grain. We've been doing it for well over a month now (two months?) and it's actually turned out to be really fun. We bought special Lunch Club Tupperware, and after eating, each person washes out their containers and gives them to the person in charge of the next day's meal. Not only do you not have to worry about lunch four days a week, but you know that you are getting something healthy, and you get to try out some kick-ass new recipes. One of my recent favorites was the recipe below that Sarah made for us:
Pumpkin Polenta with Chorizo and Black Beans
1 T extra-virgin olive oil (for coating the pan)
3/4 pound chorizo, casing removed, chopped
1 medium onion, chopped
1 15 oz. can black beans, drained and rinsed
2 pimento peppers or roasted red peppers, chopped
3 c chicken stock or broth
2 T unsalted butter
1 14-oz can pumpkin puree (Sarah accidentally grabbed the wrong one--pumpkin pie filling--and it made the polenta slightly sweet, which was actually delicious)
1 c quick-cooking or instant polenta
1 T chopped fresh thyme
salt and pepper to taste
1 c shredded Manchego or cheddar cheese (3/4 cup + 1/4 cup)
1/4 c fresh flat-leave parsley (a generous handful), chopped
Heat a medium nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add the olive oil and the chorizo. Cook for a minute or two, and then add the onions and cook for 3-4 minutes. Add the black beans and pimentos and heat through for another minute or two.
In a large saucepan, bring the chicken stock and butter to a boil and stir in the pumpkin. Add the polenta and stir until it masses, about two minutes. Remove from heat and add the thyme, salt, pepper, and 3/4 of the cheese. Adjust the seasonings. Pour or spoon the polenta onto plates. Top with chorizo and beans, and sprinkle the other 1/4 c cheese on top. Garnish with parsley.
This recipe is delicious. Too bad I don't have a picture of it, because it was also really pretty--bright orange polenta, red peppers, green parsley, black beans. It was such a fall dish.
I also tried making a new dish for Lunch Club, and to my pleasant surprise, it turned out so well that it's become my new favorite recipe of the past five years. Not only is it insanely tasty, but it's also really easy to make. Here it is:
White Chicken Chili
2 medium onions (finely chopped)
2 Tbsp. oil
Bottled green salsa (1-2 cups, as mild or hot as you would like)
2 (15oz.) cans corn, drained
2 (15oz.) cans white beans, drained and rinsed
2 (14oz) cans chicken broth
4 c. chicken, cooked, shredded
2 Tbs. lime juice
1 tsp ground cumin
dash chili poweder (optional)
1/2 tsp. ground black pepper
2 c. shredded Monterey Jack cheese
In a large saucepan, cook onion in hot oil over medium heat. After it is carmalized a little bit, add the green salsa. Heat for about 3 minutes. Stir in corn, beans, broth, chicken, lime juice, cumin, chili powder and pepper. Cover and simmer on low for about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. (You can also combine all the ingredients, except for the cheese, in a crock pot on high for 4 hours.) About 10 minutes before serving, add the cheese and stir until melted. Serve with crunched up tortilla chips, corn bread, or in a bread bowl.
I think the keys to this recipe are the salsa, the cheese, and the lime juice. I'm telling you, try it out--you won't regret it. The picture above is from the website where I got the recipe. I can't say enough good things about this chili.
Aside from the food thing, I've been working out a lot more consistently. My office building opened a gym, which I immediately joined. So far I've gone three days a week for the past two weeks (since it opened). I also started up Bikram yoga again with my friend Tara. If you haven'
t heard of it, Bikram yoga is basically like regular yoga on crack. It's a 90-minute class, and you do it in a room that has been heated to 105 degrees. Things sweat that you didn't even know contained sweat glands (your elbows, feet, EYEBALLS...). The beauty of it is that every Bikram yoga class in the world is exactly the same. The same poses for the same length of time in the same order. That means that once you've done it for awhile, you know what to expect. Of course, that still doesn't prevent you from coming out looking like THIS.
I started this journey about two months ago, and to be honest, I'm really starting to notice results. I feel better about myself already. I feel healthier and more confident. I haven't really lost any weight yet, but I think that'll come with time. I think the fact that it's already changing my attitude towards myself is a good indicator that I'm doing something right.
Now, pass the french onion dip.
Starting over. Ahem.
I am a foodie. I always have and I continue to be in love with food. I'm definitely more of a salty person than a sweet person (I'll take potato chips over cookies any day), but I pretty much like it all. Certain foods, for example, creme brulee or salt n' vinegar potato chips (Exibit A), bring on what I affectionately refer to as a food orgasm--that rush of adrenaline and pleasure as soon as it touches your tongue. In the last few months I've been on a kind of self-improvement journey. I've decided that in the next year I will get my health on track (not just weight wise, but being consistent with exercising and eating well), and I will get completely out of credit card debt. I don't have as much as many people do, but it's enough that I can't pay it off every month and that's not a good place to be. Anyway, one step of the health branch of my plan, is that I've started seeing a dietician who works for a health program I enrolled in at Northwestern Hospital. The dietician told me that junk food (see Exibit A, above) literally lights up the same pathways in the brain as crack cocain. This is what makes it so insanely difficult to maintain healthy eating habits when there is junk food lying around. It's highly addictive, and it affects nearly everybody. Unlike drugs or alcohol, which you can choose to leave alone, you need food to survive. You have to eat. It's what you choose to eat that makes the difference between a healthy lifestyle and a Dorito-laden one. Mmmmm...Doritos.
I've made several changes in my lifestyle in order to cut down on the amount of junk food I'm eating. I refuse to go on a "diet" because, as I've both been told in this program and experienced on my own, diets are unsustainable. If you truly want to get healthy and remain that way, you have to make lifestyle changes. Notice I'm also using the words "get healthy" instead of "lose weight." If you get healthy, you will naturally fall into the weight you should be. It also takes a lot of pressure off to say you're going to start a healthier lifestyle instead of saying you're going to lose weight. You have no control over whether or not you lose weight. You do have control over becoming healthier. One change I've made is eliminating all junk food and snack food in my apartment. If it's not there, I won't eat it. I can salivate all I want at the thought of Oreos and Doritos, but at the end of the day I'm too lazy to actually leave the house to go to the store and buy them when I have a craving. And you know how many calories are in saliva? Not so many.
I'm also attempting to drink more water, which is apparently much more difficult for me than the average human being. If my body were an ecosystem, I'd be a desert (take THAT, 3rd grade science!). I just don't drink things. Half-filled cans of soda (not "pop"--"pop" is a sound) are constantly lying around my apartment. It's rare that I can finish a whole can (I'm pretty sure they made those little cans they came out with in the last few years specifically for me). I often finish entire meals without having a drop of anything liquid touch my lips. I blame this on elementary school, when we were forced to drink milk every day at snack time. I hated milk. I still hate milk. But I had to drink it. I've decided that, tragically, my aversion to liquids is a direct result of the milk trauma I suffered as a child. Unfortunately for me, I've been told by numerous people, some of whom are actually medically qualified, that I should drink more water. Normally, it can take me all day to get through a regular size bottle of water (one pint). I'm trying to finish two of those while I'm at work now, and I tell you, it is my Everest.
Yet another change I've made is to eat more protein at breakfast. This is more difficult than it sounds. That's because not a lot of breakfast foods have a lot of protein in them. You can eat those foul protein bars, which is the equivalent of eating spackling putty. Or you can eat eggs, some kind of meat, or high-protein cereal. I usually go for the cereal. It's easy and fast (because we all know that it's crucial that I hit the sleep alarm at least six times every morning, thus leaving myself with approximately 13 minutes to get dressed, do my make up and hair, brush my teeth, and take Clara out before I miss my train). And let's face it, I'm just not upper class enough to have steak and eggs for breakfast each morning. Add a piece of fruit to that cereal and you've got yourself a full-blown meal!
Food-wise, these are the big changes. One thing that has helped immensely with this "getting healthy" goal is Lunch Club. What is Lunch Club, you ask? Well, you're just going to have to figure that out on your own.
Ok, fine, it's this idea that some genius that I found on the Internet came up with. The idea is, you get several people, five being the ideal number, to each take a day of the week. On your day, you make lunch for everyone in the group. If you have five people, you only have to bring lunch once a week and on all the other days, lunch is provided for you. The Lunch Club I started at work has a rule that the meals must be generally healthy, and must include a fruit, vegetable, protein, and grain. We've been doing it for well over a month now (two months?) and it's actually turned out to be really fun. We bought special Lunch Club Tupperware, and after eating, each person washes out their containers and gives them to the person in charge of the next day's meal. Not only do you not have to worry about lunch four days a week, but you know that you are getting something healthy, and you get to try out some kick-ass new recipes. One of my recent favorites was the recipe below that Sarah made for us:
Pumpkin Polenta with Chorizo and Black Beans
1 T extra-virgin olive oil (for coating the pan)
3/4 pound chorizo, casing removed, chopped
1 medium onion, chopped
1 15 oz. can black beans, drained and rinsed
2 pimento peppers or roasted red peppers, chopped
3 c chicken stock or broth
2 T unsalted butter
1 14-oz can pumpkin puree (Sarah accidentally grabbed the wrong one--pumpkin pie filling--and it made the polenta slightly sweet, which was actually delicious)
1 c quick-cooking or instant polenta
1 T chopped fresh thyme
salt and pepper to taste
1 c shredded Manchego or cheddar cheese (3/4 cup + 1/4 cup)
1/4 c fresh flat-leave parsley (a generous handful), chopped
Heat a medium nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add the olive oil and the chorizo. Cook for a minute or two, and then add the onions and cook for 3-4 minutes. Add the black beans and pimentos and heat through for another minute or two.
In a large saucepan, bring the chicken stock and butter to a boil and stir in the pumpkin. Add the polenta and stir until it masses, about two minutes. Remove from heat and add the thyme, salt, pepper, and 3/4 of the cheese. Adjust the seasonings. Pour or spoon the polenta onto plates. Top with chorizo and beans, and sprinkle the other 1/4 c cheese on top. Garnish with parsley.
This recipe is delicious. Too bad I don't have a picture of it, because it was also really pretty--bright orange polenta, red peppers, green parsley, black beans. It was such a fall dish.
I also tried making a new dish for Lunch Club, and to my pleasant surprise, it turned out so well that it's become my new favorite recipe of the past five years. Not only is it insanely tasty, but it's also really easy to make. Here it is:
White Chicken Chili2 medium onions (finely chopped)
2 Tbsp. oil
Bottled green salsa (1-2 cups, as mild or hot as you would like)
2 (15oz.) cans corn, drained
2 (15oz.) cans white beans, drained and rinsed
2 (14oz) cans chicken broth
4 c. chicken, cooked, shredded
2 Tbs. lime juice
1 tsp ground cumin
dash chili poweder (optional)
1/2 tsp. ground black pepper
2 c. shredded Monterey Jack cheese
In a large saucepan, cook onion in hot oil over medium heat. After it is carmalized a little bit, add the green salsa. Heat for about 3 minutes. Stir in corn, beans, broth, chicken, lime juice, cumin, chili powder and pepper. Cover and simmer on low for about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. (You can also combine all the ingredients, except for the cheese, in a crock pot on high for 4 hours.) About 10 minutes before serving, add the cheese and stir until melted. Serve with crunched up tortilla chips, corn bread, or in a bread bowl.
I think the keys to this recipe are the salsa, the cheese, and the lime juice. I'm telling you, try it out--you won't regret it. The picture above is from the website where I got the recipe. I can't say enough good things about this chili.
Aside from the food thing, I've been working out a lot more consistently. My office building opened a gym, which I immediately joined. So far I've gone three days a week for the past two weeks (since it opened). I also started up Bikram yoga again with my friend Tara. If you haven'
t heard of it, Bikram yoga is basically like regular yoga on crack. It's a 90-minute class, and you do it in a room that has been heated to 105 degrees. Things sweat that you didn't even know contained sweat glands (your elbows, feet, EYEBALLS...). The beauty of it is that every Bikram yoga class in the world is exactly the same. The same poses for the same length of time in the same order. That means that once you've done it for awhile, you know what to expect. Of course, that still doesn't prevent you from coming out looking like THIS.I started this journey about two months ago, and to be honest, I'm really starting to notice results. I feel better about myself already. I feel healthier and more confident. I haven't really lost any weight yet, but I think that'll come with time. I think the fact that it's already changing my attitude towards myself is a good indicator that I'm doing something right.
Now, pass the french onion dip.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Not Diggin' It.
The new Ben Folds album. It's just...not very good. And I had SUCH high hopes for it. The last one (and all of them before that) were phenomenal! This is why I always say to preview music before buying it. I think I jinxed myself by telling Mom that Ben Folds was one of the only artists that put out music that I felt confident in buying before listening to it first. I ALWAYS like his music. I should start following my own advice.
Love it.
My telecommuting got approved. I now get to work from home (read: in my pajamas) every Wednesday. Hooray and hoorah!!
Monday, November 10, 2008
Musical Evolution
I was driving home from yoga tonight, when I was once again confronted with something that has been bothering me for the past year. "It must be the economic meltdown we're currently embroiled in," you're probably thinking. Nope. "Oh! I know! It's the fact that she's edging ever closer to 30 and is still single!" Try again. No, the concern that is in the forefront of my mind right now, the one beating out all other concerns like global warming, our dependence on foreign oil, and how to get my DVR to actually tape "Grey's Anatomy" without my having to manually program it every week, is my rapidly changing taste in music.
I like pop music. There, I said it (albeit with a shudder). I actually like pop music now. You have no idea how distressing it is for someone like me to make that statement, given the history of my taste in music. You see, like many kids who can't yet drive and are clueless when it comes to music, I grew up on a musical diet of...adult contemporary. Yes, KMAJ, Topeka's local "mom station" was our family's station of choice. And as a self-described "good kid" I was totally brainwashed by this garbage. Kenny Loggins? Loved him! Amy Grant? Turn up the volume! I actually remember thinking that anyone who would name their band The Smashing Pumpkins was seriously messed up and should be looked down upon with shame. Oh, young me, how I wish you weren't so impressionable and, well, annoying to current me.
Everything changed when I met my high school boyfriend, Will, when I was 15. What started out as a first boyfriend "this'll be over in a month" kind of thing ended up lasting 3.5 years. In that time, Will, who was far more evolved in his musical taste than I, introduced me to the world of alternative rock. And I fell. Hard. Out went Barry Manilow, and in came the Goo Goo Dolls. Whitney Houston was no more. Now I worshipped Ben Folds, Pearl Jam, Nirvana, and Alanis. And yes, even those trouble-maker Smashing Pumpkins became part of my CD collection. My love of alternative rock grew through college, and morphed into a love of indie and folk rock. Aimee Mann, Nick Drake, Elliott Smith, and Iron and Wine became regulars in my CD player. This kind of music I was proud to love. It rang of being different and cool, not like everything else. In high school it was the "popular kids" who listened to pop music. That kind of music was shallow and lame. If you had any kind of "street cred" at all, you would be embarrassed to even turn the radio to that station, let alone LIKE what you heard. Not that that's why I liked the music I did--I did and still do truly love the sounds of these artists. But it was definitely a positive side effect in the crowd I ran with.
Fast forward to two years ago. I started to notice that, like far too many radio stations, my alternative rock station here in Chicago was starting to bore me because they were playing the exact same songs over and overandoverandover again. I had been listening to the major pop station here in the mornings because of the morning talk show DJ that I liked, and in the evenings my car radio would still be tuned to that station. So I started listening. And every once in awhile I would like what I heard. And then I started liking more of what I heard.
Somehow in the past two years or so, I got on a list of people who give their opinions on radio music. These opinions are then used to inform the radio stations of what they should continue to play, and what songs they need to retire. Every month or so, I get a phone call from the radio survey people. I have to listen to about 35 clips of songs and say whether or not I like them on a specific scale they have set up. One of the options on the scale is "Unfamiliar" which means I've never heard the song before. Almost all of the clips they play in this survey are pop songs. When I first started taking the survey two years ago, about 20 to 25 out of the 35 songs were "unfamiliar" to me. Now, only about five of these songs are "unfamiliar." Um.
A sampling of songs from the past year or two that've made me squeal with delight when they've come on the radio are:
"Smack That" by Akon (dirty sex)
"Sexyback" by Justin Timberlake (lord...)
"Bleeding Love" by Leona Lewis (a completely manufactured "artist")
"Whatever You Like" by T.I. (about a sugar daddy)
Anything by Britney Spears (Britney f'ing Spears?! The hell??)
As lame as these songs may be on the surface, they're fun. They're catchy. They make you want to dance, or at the very least, move around awkwardly while singing at full volume in your car while people in the lane next to you point and laugh.
My friend Ashley made a completely true observation that I had failed to notice until I confided in her about my worrisome change in taste. She said that it was interesting that I was starting to like pop music now, in my late 20s, because most people start out liking pop music as teenagers and then their tastes evolve into something more, ahem, grown up. She didn't say that, but I think she was just being polite. My tastes, however, have decided to stage a revolt and become completely embarrassing just for the hell of it. I don't know what to do other than to go with the flow. Until 101.1 starts playing some fresh tunes, I'm going to be forced to listen to and (gasp!) actually enjoy pop music.
Do you hear me, 101.1?!? This is all your fault!
I like pop music. There, I said it (albeit with a shudder). I actually like pop music now. You have no idea how distressing it is for someone like me to make that statement, given the history of my taste in music. You see, like many kids who can't yet drive and are clueless when it comes to music, I grew up on a musical diet of...adult contemporary. Yes, KMAJ, Topeka's local "mom station" was our family's station of choice. And as a self-described "good kid" I was totally brainwashed by this garbage. Kenny Loggins? Loved him! Amy Grant? Turn up the volume! I actually remember thinking that anyone who would name their band The Smashing Pumpkins was seriously messed up and should be looked down upon with shame. Oh, young me, how I wish you weren't so impressionable and, well, annoying to current me.
Everything changed when I met my high school boyfriend, Will, when I was 15. What started out as a first boyfriend "this'll be over in a month" kind of thing ended up lasting 3.5 years. In that time, Will, who was far more evolved in his musical taste than I, introduced me to the world of alternative rock. And I fell. Hard. Out went Barry Manilow, and in came the Goo Goo Dolls. Whitney Houston was no more. Now I worshipped Ben Folds, Pearl Jam, Nirvana, and Alanis. And yes, even those trouble-maker Smashing Pumpkins became part of my CD collection. My love of alternative rock grew through college, and morphed into a love of indie and folk rock. Aimee Mann, Nick Drake, Elliott Smith, and Iron and Wine became regulars in my CD player. This kind of music I was proud to love. It rang of being different and cool, not like everything else. In high school it was the "popular kids" who listened to pop music. That kind of music was shallow and lame. If you had any kind of "street cred" at all, you would be embarrassed to even turn the radio to that station, let alone LIKE what you heard. Not that that's why I liked the music I did--I did and still do truly love the sounds of these artists. But it was definitely a positive side effect in the crowd I ran with.
Fast forward to two years ago. I started to notice that, like far too many radio stations, my alternative rock station here in Chicago was starting to bore me because they were playing the exact same songs over and overandoverandover again. I had been listening to the major pop station here in the mornings because of the morning talk show DJ that I liked, and in the evenings my car radio would still be tuned to that station. So I started listening. And every once in awhile I would like what I heard. And then I started liking more of what I heard.
Somehow in the past two years or so, I got on a list of people who give their opinions on radio music. These opinions are then used to inform the radio stations of what they should continue to play, and what songs they need to retire. Every month or so, I get a phone call from the radio survey people. I have to listen to about 35 clips of songs and say whether or not I like them on a specific scale they have set up. One of the options on the scale is "Unfamiliar" which means I've never heard the song before. Almost all of the clips they play in this survey are pop songs. When I first started taking the survey two years ago, about 20 to 25 out of the 35 songs were "unfamiliar" to me. Now, only about five of these songs are "unfamiliar." Um.
A sampling of songs from the past year or two that've made me squeal with delight when they've come on the radio are:
"Smack That" by Akon (dirty sex)
"Sexyback" by Justin Timberlake (lord...)
"Bleeding Love" by Leona Lewis (a completely manufactured "artist")
"Whatever You Like" by T.I. (about a sugar daddy)
Anything by Britney Spears (Britney f'ing Spears?! The hell??)
As lame as these songs may be on the surface, they're fun. They're catchy. They make you want to dance, or at the very least, move around awkwardly while singing at full volume in your car while people in the lane next to you point and laugh.
My friend Ashley made a completely true observation that I had failed to notice until I confided in her about my worrisome change in taste. She said that it was interesting that I was starting to like pop music now, in my late 20s, because most people start out liking pop music as teenagers and then their tastes evolve into something more, ahem, grown up. She didn't say that, but I think she was just being polite. My tastes, however, have decided to stage a revolt and become completely embarrassing just for the hell of it. I don't know what to do other than to go with the flow. Until 101.1 starts playing some fresh tunes, I'm going to be forced to listen to and (gasp!) actually enjoy pop music.
Do you hear me, 101.1?!? This is all your fault!
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Terrence
As many of you know, I've spent quite a bit of my free time babysitting in the five years since I moved to Chicago. Not only is the extra spending cash nice, but it allows me to hang out with kids, which I always love. Two of my regulars are an 8-year-old (today's her birthday!) named Brynn, and her 4-year-old brother, Aidan. Of all of the children I've babysat for (and there have been many) none have been as imaginative as Brynn. We can be walking to the park, and she will pick up an acorn and spin an entire backstory around it and how it's actually the home of a tiny fairy (she's REALLY into fairies and Peter Pan). It never ceases to amaze me how she can just make something up on the spot. The girl would be one hell of a politician. ;) The picture above is her bedroom door. No one in the family smokes, but you can never be too sure. And liars, well, that just speaks for itself.Yesterday, I babysat for the kids all day and late into the evening. In an effort to get them away from the TV, and since it was cold and rainy outside, I suggested we build a good old fashioned pillow and blanket fort. This sent Brynn's imagination into full throttle. Once the fort was built, and we were all snug inside it, the following conversation ensued:
Brynn: I am Tinkerbell, and this is my brother, Terrence. He likes to go by Aidan, but his real name is Terrence. You can call him Aidan, though. We're Tinkerfairies. He is my little brother. He was born after me. Wanna know why he came here? Because a baby laughed...I mean, TWO babies laughed when they were born, and they were from the same family, so they made them brother and sister and sent them here. And that's Terrence and me.
Aidan (aka Terrence): Yeah. And I don't like hawks.
Brynn: He's really into being a Tinkerfairy.
Obama Supporter
This is Stewart. He is one of Clara's best neighbor buddies. Stewart's parents, Ruta and Mark, are two of my good friends and their family of three is one of my favorite parts of Eastlake Terrace. While Stewart was unable to attend the Obama rally, he showed his support in a different way. Clara and I totally approve.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Greatest Dog in the World.
No blog of mine would be complete without a post on my most favorite furry creature in all the world, my dog Clara. I first met Clara four years ago, when I was volunteering at the local animal shelter. I had moved to Chicago less than a year before, and had had to leave the family dog behind since she was technically my parents' dog. As many of you know, I am a HUGE animal lover, particularly dogs, and was depressed that I couldn't be around one every day like I was used to. I figured that volunteering at the shelter would allow me to get my dog fix for awhile until I found the right dog for me.
Well, if you're ever looking for a dog and you're having a hard time deciding, my advice is to volunteer at a shelter for awhile. As a volunteer you get first dibs on any dogs that come in, and you see a ton of them. Working in a shelter can be heartbreaking, especially when dogs stay there for a long time because no one wants them. It can also be really inspiring though, to see people come in looking and leave so full of happiness and love for the newest member of their family.
After I had been volunteering at the shelter for about six months, I came in one day for my shift and walked around the cages to see who had been adopted out in the last week and who was new. At the very end of my walk, I came to a crate that contained this shaggy, confused-looking cream-colored terrier just sitting there, looking around. I grew up with terriers and have a particular soft spot for them, so when she looked up at me and came over to the door of the cage to sniff me, I knew I was falling. I took her out for her evening walk, and we went and sat under a tree. She curled up next to me and nudged her nose under my hand to indicate that she would like to be petted (she continues to do that to this day). That was pretty much all it took. I told the shelter owner that night that this dog was going to be mine.
She had to stay at the shelter for two weeks to make sure no one came to claim her (I was really nervous about that!), and so she could get spayed and get all her shots. I worked not far from the shelter, and every day on my lunch break, I would drive over to the shelter and take her for a little walk. Normally, people couldn't just go over and take out a dog they were waiting for, but since I volunteered there, they didn' t say anything. On the day she came home with me, I remember thinking "What have I done? I'm responsible for another life now!" but it was by far one of the best decisions I've ever made.
I named her Clara after a character in my favorite book, Dandelion Wine, and she's been my best girl ever since. She's seen me through three jobs, a move, several break-ups, and many stressful days. She keeps me company and prevents me from getting lonely since I live by myself. She makes me laugh fairly regularly with her terrier ways. One of the best parts of my day is when I go to bed at night and she jumps up on the bed for her nightly cuddle. I know a lot of non-dog people don't understand it, but she is my family here in Chicago and I'm forever grateful that I found her.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Tattoo Hullabaloo
I'm a pretty active person. I work full-time, play my violin with the Evanston Symphony, babysit, work out, hang out with friends, and do a hundred other random things during the week. I don't generally have a lot of time to hang out at home, but when I do, I relish the time vegging out on my couch watching TV. I know, I know, TV rots the mind, blahblahblah. Whatever. It's my guilty pleasure (along with People magazine--man, I'm full of confessions tonight) and I'm not giving it up. Besides, I read a lot so it's all karmically balanced, in my mind.One of my recent favorite shows to watch is L.A. Ink. If you aren't familiar with it, it's a documentary-style show about a tattoo parlor in L.A. run by a late-20-something punk rock chick named Kat Von D (seen in the pic above). Kat used to work in a shop called Miami Ink, which also had it's own show, but she didn't get along so well with the shop owner and ended up leaving. TLC then offered her her own show, which she accepted. The girl has some crazy-interesting friends, major commitment issues, an eclectic wardrobe, and a hairless cat. While most of her body is covered in tattoos, she's actually a wuss about getting them (it's been documented on the show). She is, however, an INSANELY talented tattoo artist. She tattoos photographs of family members that people bring in, and the tattoo looks almost identical to the photograph. The level of detail is incredible. Kat has several other tattoo artists that she recruited (including two from Chi-town) working in the shop, and they're all amazing.
It's a fun show to watch, and every time I do I end up thinking about my own (imaginary) tattoo. I've decided it would be a stack of three books, spines out, with one of those old-fashioned finger candles next to the stack, lit. It would symbolize my love of literature and the written word, along with my fascination with history (the old candle). All of my electives in college were history classes, and I still continue to get sucked in by memoirs and the History channel. I doubt I'll ever get my tattoo, because I can't think of a place on my body that I wouldn't regret getting it later on down the road. It's fun to think about though. If you had to get a tattoo, what would YOU get? Why?
The World Reacts
Sydney, Australia
Shanghai
Paris, France
Obama, Japan
London, England
Jerusalem, Israel
Jakarta, Indonesia
India
Senegal
Athens, Greece
Obama's step-great-grandmother in Kenya
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
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