Motivation Station

New baby

Jenny and Rob welcomed Baby Austin nearly a week ago...here are some photos.

And the proud Mom and Pop

Lakewood tavern serenade

Sunday. It always happens on a Sunday, I feel.

There was the wacky day of football watching in 2006. Ditto 2007. And wasn’t there some crazy Sunday morning in Boston when you almost missed your flight when the Irishman watching the World Cup with you bought yet another Guiness and when your dad picked you up at the airport in Va. you were too drunk to drive home? Perfectly shiny, innocent days that all started off with juice and eggs. No, I don’t think I’ll have a mimosa. I’m having coffee or tea, yes tea. Then someone buys a round and suddenly there it is, this crucial moment that is mocking you: It’s two in the afternoon. What can I get you? And you can only wind up in one of two places and the one where the undisciplined end up is never good.

You mull whether nursing a water for the next few hours and going home and picking out clothes for tomorrow is going to be the plan or will you fall back down into that hole.

Not that you’re chaotic or anything, you just often fail at calling it a day after two and somehow your brain fails to remind you about the most ill-fated Sunday of them all, the shuttered secret of infidelity that still makes you shudder and which you keep closer to you than most.

You go outside to make a phone call and as you stand there, listening to the sounds of a quiet neighborhood—rare for these parts—your gaze settles on the shed where you once sat and made a different kind of phone call, on a Sunday, natch—when you knew something had died never to be revived again.

And you know all of this but you think this time will be different. You think, if I have one more, I can see this inning and then share a cab home with C.

But then another free drink finds its way to you and suddenly you’re on your way to CVS to “get cash” which is really code for “get cigarettes” and oh there’s yet another face you haven’t seen for at least 6 months and wait, is that my beer? Is that more beer in my cup and didn’t you move to NYC and ohmygod is it 7pm already and you think you’re being clever when you pour your shot into an empty glass at the precise moment your benefactor is tipping his head and ohmygod is it 8pm and ok, just “one more” and then you find your most favorite male friends in Chicago hanging out in a bar together and they aren’t going anywhere and so now neither are you and someone hands you a bright green-colored concoction and this time you’re not clever or quick enough to get rid of it and ohmygod are those potato skins and you’re what? Quitting your job and wait, she dumped you and guess what, I used to have a huge crush on you and ohmygod is it 9pm and wait, how was your date? Oh no we’ll be here for a while come on over and where did she go, OH, and you wonder if he’s a good kisser and if she’s going to call him and ohmygod it’s 10pm and how much is the cab going to cost and where did those cigarettes go and then…well, to the best of your knowledge more babbling and hugging and singing occurred and ohmygod, it’s 11pm and THANK GOD I AM IN BED.

Chasing pavements, turning bitter

Did you know there’s a Center For The Study of Long Distance Relationships?

Well, thanks to my favorite newspaper, I do! Here’s the article that inspired me.

I also read about this. And you know what? I don’t give a flying f**k. Shut up about yer stupid iPhones. I’d settle for a phone that could charge properly! Doesn't anyone know WE'RE IN A RECESSION?

Getting back to LDRs, I’ve always been jealous of people who’ve been able to maintain such things. Back in my naïve days, I seemed to purposefully seek out men who lived elsewhere. I’d visit friends and hook up with their friends and think, “Perfect. Now I get to do my thing and he gets to do his and we’ll meet up once a month and talk on the phone and I will have the best of both worlds." Of course, I couldn’t have been more wrong about love and the fools I attempted this with were So Not Worth It but even today, when I hear about people prioritizing things the way the couples in this story do, I get the teensiest twinge of nostalgic jealousy. I mean, no guy ever sacrificed like that for me! And trust me, I learned the hard way that when you really fall in love, 200 feet can seem too far away at times....

Le Sigh.

Yes, my crankiness marches on. I am so sick of being sick of stuff…especially selfish people. Wait, I take that back. I would kill to be a selfish emotional sociopath somedays. I mean, no conscience=no guilt, right?

A friend and I were talking this morning about how jealous we are of people who get to go running in the middle of the day. Never mind that I don’t run. Never mind that it’s hot out and you shouldn’t go running in the middle of the day anyway. Never mind any of the logical reasons that people may have for running in the middle of the day either. He or she could be a teacher with the summer off or a corporate workaholic forgoing food for some much-needed exercise …No, to me all of these people running in the middle of the day are all the same. They're all living in some Shangri-La existence so different from mine that I want to shake them by their pampered necks and make them clean a toilet—my toilet!—or something. And the same goes for people in coffee shops, the people playing with dogs in the park, the people shopping on Michigan Avenue and the people sunning themselves at the beach. Are you listening to me, people? I am jealous of you. Y-O-U.

On that note, would anyone believe me if I told them 75 percent of my weekend was F-I-N-E fine? Well, it was! The marvelous Mothership Blogger E. delivered (well, motoboy carried it) an air conditioning window unit to my door free of charge and Mr. C installed it, I got to catch up with Arizona Sarah and another friend I hadn’t seen it a while, got to eat my face off in three different cuisines and Mimi finally appears to have turned a corner in the Cat Urinary Tract Infection Saga of 2008.

Still, you people running along the lake at 2pm? I hope your baseball team loses 70 percent of its games after the All-Star Break. I hope your toilet overflows. I hope your dishwasher--because of course in this rant they ALL have dishwashers and two bathrooms and central air and plenty of closet space--breaks. I hope your car won't start. I hope...

Oh, and speaking of the All-Star Game, I get to see D. tomorrow!

See, not everything is bad. Just the slackers. 

High maintenance bitching

A big portion of my day consisted of waiting today, meaning, I had a little time to surf. I quite enjoyed this site. Not going to tell you what brought me there personally but there’s definitely a variety of topics to peruse.

Um, how many people read this? And how many people had it forwarded to them? By my count, FOUR people have sent it to me, thus solidifying my national reputation as longtime single! Wonder why Mo didn’t wax about her own experiences…

So, the root canal did the trick as did the antibiotics and pain meds. I am happy to report that I haven’t taken a Vicodin in well over a week and I am once again able to chew on the left side of my mouth. Yay!! Strangely enough I am still a bit sore on the outside of my mouth, though. Thanks for all of the sympathy shout-outs from everyone.

And while I should be overjoyed that I’ve returned to The Land of the Living, I am not happy with my personal climates these days. I LOVE that it is summer but I am hating the fact that I spend much of my time in an apartment that hovers around 83 degrees and an office that is well below 60. You want to know what I did at lunch today? I hugged a marble wall outside of my office. I was SO COLD that I actually needed to warm myself in the sun just to get the feeling back to my extremities. Want to know how I survived being at home last night? I draped a sheet over my corduroy couch, took a cold shower, drank a few cold beers and begged Mr. C to sit far away from me as not to trigger the Indoor Sweat Parade. And yes, I know, a window unit is a potential solution...I guess this will keep visitors away for a while, eh? Kidding! 

Maybe I am biased...

But this is one of the best surprises in regards to a Bruce show. The frontman who joins him here is a frequent guest artist but he really outdoes himself here. This is no easy song and you can tell he pre-pared! Sadly, Dave Stewart is totally forgotten in this clip.

Enjoy!

Quote of the Day

“If you can vote and you have a vagina, you should do these,” she said. “It’s the dental floss of feminine fitness.”

-- Dr. Lauri Romanzi in July 3 N.Y. Times.

Does this woman know how to get quoted or what?

What am I talking about? Read this.

And even though I think that this is preposterous--recession anyone?--I must admit I did about 5 Kegels just reading this!

Happy anniversary (sort of)

So, Mo' Station quietly celebrated its third birthday last weekend...Its author, on the other hand, was not very quiet during her visit to Detroit--where Royal Oak Mike was celebrating the third summer in his condo. 

It was a fun party, full of interesting characters and fun music and a much needed lovefest with M & B. I also discovered that lemonade, cranberry and vodka is a de-LISH-ous summer drink and I heartily enjoyed some olive oil potato chips for maybe the last time in my life.

Why the last time, you ask? Well, in a totally unrelated turn of events, I awoke Sunday morning to a throbbing pain in my mouth. A pain very close to the area that I just recently had worked on, I might add. I grind my teeth sometimes at night and chalked it up to a night of clenching my jaw too tight. I wish.

Well, the pain quickly graduated to excrutiating and after handfuls of Advil failed to work, I switched to Vicodin. That gave me a little relief and I figured I'd be fine for work on Monday only to find myself in even worse pain around 1am. This, I finally decided, was not normal. Cut to an emergency dental visit later that morning. Diagnosis: Abscess in No. 19. This time I was given a script for penicillin and a stronger dose of Vicodin. The pain subsided but unfortunately the infection did not. Thursday I returned to the dentist and was given a different antibiotic. Let's cross our fingers this one works so that I can have the root canal on Monday. Yes, folks, that's where I am now: I'm looking forward to a root canal.

I've pretty much been high on drugs for 6 days now and have been subsisting on yogurt, soup, mac and cheese and scrambled eggs. Oh, the memory of those tasty chips. Oh, to crunch again. Oh to write a nonself-pitying blog entry!

If you're scoring at home, the new injury/illness total for 2008 is as follows:

Painful dental procedures: 3

Hand surgeries: 1

But look at the bright side: No sinus infections!

Gross

I just don't get it. Why?

What do people see in him?

I just...

Well, there are no words. Ick.

Ain't for keeping

A good friend of mine recently confessed that she is quote-unquote B-O-R-E-D with her life. She told me she couldn’t understand why she wasn’t enjoying herself more. She’s over the moon about a new relationship, financially set, has a job that’s challenging yet rewarding and she’s held in good regard at her company.

“So why am I bored then?” she asked, seconds after I’d reminded her of all that is good in her life. (She’s also skinny—if that sort of thing matters to you.)

“Well, I have a theory, but you might not like it,” I said.

“No, I’ll take any reason. Bring it on.”

I’ll back up and provide some background that this is a friend who has happily stated that she doesn’t want children nor does she give two figs about ever getting married. I believe her when she says this, which I think makes her the perfect test case for my “theory.”

A few years ago I attempted to write in this space my belief that women are hardwired for certain things. (i.e. motherhood.) I think about that often, even though I’d sooner play footsie with a python before I’d pick up a book about Women’s Syndrome or whatever drabble it’s filed under at Borders.

Life, I reason, is a series of expectations: We expect to grow up, we expect to fall in love, we may or may not expect to go to college and graduate but most of us expect—nay, dream of having some sort of job, be it as a teacher or salesperson or mother and everything in between. This is true even if you don’t have to work, I believe. It’s called P-U-R-P-O-S-E.

I know a girl who is an absolute sweetheart and who wins the golden apple every time for caring about her friends. She always does the right thing in a Hallmark kind of way and would probably choose elective surgery before showing up to a potluck with a store-bought dish. She’s also been known to give herself an ulcer worrying about her friends and their pets and their family's pets and sometimes drags other friends into these worryfests. Another friend grows increasingly disgusted by the year as she realizes her life is no different from when she was 25. She has strong ideas about how people should raise their kids and on any given day ponders moving to a new country, adopting a dog, fostering a child, taking up knitting, learning to kayak, biking to Wisconsin….you get the idea: She could be any woman in her mid-30s who is single and childless. (Ahem!)

I’ll digree here to say that I envy my friends who know they don’t ever want kids. They’re futures may not be any clearer, but at least they don’t have to wonder how their reproductive organs are functioning and whether they’ll be on board when “the time is right.” My new coping mechanism, for what it’s worth, is to reassure myself that if I miss out on the kid thing, I won’t ever have to know the worry parents experience about their kids. And what if your kid turned out to be a sociopath? At least I won’t have to go there. And I will never have to feel guilty about sleeping in.

But my Bored Friend is kind of a proof that exists to show me that being bored is part of a life cycle in itself. It isn’t just hormones or a desire to procreate that causes the unrest.

Perhaps we are meant to undergo changes every 5 or so years in order to remind ourselves that we are alive. If not kids, should we all get dogs? If not dogs, should we all plan to visit China? If not China, should we all take up snowboarding?

And so anyway, I talked to my friend earlier today, to see how she was coping with The Boredom That Is Her Life.

“I’m great,” she said. “I think the warm weather was just what I needed.”

And then there’s that.

I'll take Manhattan (eventually)

It may surprise my friends that I have yet to see the “Sex in the City” movie. Oh, I fully intend to—despite the fact that I know all the spoilers—but well, I’ve been suffering from extreme laziness on my free days as of late.

And I guess it’s a bit strange that I am talking about it when I haven’t seen the movie, but reading and listening to all the hype has made me wonder what it is about the show that makes so many of us enjoy it? (Notice I didn’t say relate.)

For me, it began when I left Chicago in 1999. A the time, I was starving for big city things such as brunches and museums and ethnic food and indie films and watching the show made me remember my own adventures. I never lusted to for SJP’s shoes or Samantha’s sex life or anything like that, I just liked watching a show where people walked places! I eventually moved back here, the show eventually ended and aside from wanting a King Charles spaniel like Charlotte, I didn’t much care if it became a movie or just became a comfortable rerun for me on TBS. I will say that that I believe the episode where Miranda decides to keep the baby and the one when the girls discuss “scary ages” are my favorite of the series.

Anyway, the movie is a huge hit and if this doesn’t prove once and for all that people are DYING for alternatives to the big, loud action movies during the summer, well, I don’t know what will.

Here is a great summary of some of the passion and controversy that comes up when talking about the film. Check out how many comments he got!

40 days...give or take

So our good friend Jensational is having a baby and yesterday we (me and E.) decided to "shower" her and Rob by inviting over lots of their mutual friends and forcing them to drink punch and open gifts and eat cake. 

And it was fun! And look how cute she looks!

 

Also, here's a nice shot of the dad-to-be opening gifts...it was nice having men at the event!

World traveler

So….Isadora Pauline is not even 9 months old yet already she has been to more countries than her Aunt Jen.

Yep, that’s proud ma Sistah doing her best supermodel impression in Europe.

Le Sigh.

Here's Izzy in London:

And smiling in Geneva...

And finally, in Zurich...

**PS- We here at Motivation Station are equal opportunity showoffs. Just say the word and we’ll pimp your children any time you want. You know where to send the photos...

HD and BM get married

Who owned the best Saturday of the year?

That would be my dear friends Heatha D. and Brett!

This isn't the best photo of the weekend but it is one of the few in focus and, I think, one that won't make HD want to kill me. Shows the dress off nicely, eh?

Just say "NO!"

It’s not only the toughest word in the English language, it’s arguably the most important.

Right now I am having trouble saying “No” in several arenas. 

We’ll start with what should be the easiest: Personal Training.

Dudes, what I wouldn’t give to have a personal trainer 2X a week. In fact, if I could have a trainer 8X a month for say, $200 total, I’d pony up on the spot. This is not to kick my ass or motivate me—I can do that on my own just fine, thankyouverymuch, rather the financial obligation and commitment part would get me back in a regular strength training program and allow me to drop the gym altogether and not feel guilty for doing all my cardio walking around with my iPod. 

However, $25 personal training sessions do not exist in Chicago, and maybe not anywhere. I recently rejoined Equinox, and for the last two months have been hounded by one of their staff members to “take advantage of my FREE session.” Um, why? I have no intention of signing up for a trainer, which not including my $100-plus monthly membership fee each session cost $80-100, not to mention the fact that I am not allowed to do any weights with my left hand/wrist for a minimum of 2 months and even longer before I can do any weight-bearing yoga, pilates or stretching exercises with that hand.

 But do I say “No, thank you”? Of course not. I do the much easier thing: I avoid. I duck phone calls, write vague e-mails, etc. Instead of ending the suspense right then and there, I drag it out. And I have no idea why I do this.

 Women, more so than me—although I say this with no scientific evidence—are experts at avoiding. I’m no different, even though I will myself almost daily to “be honest.”

I’ll give you a scenario. Not long ago, my roommate asked me if I wanted to go to the Green Festival at Navy Pier. She asked me twice, I think. Once a few days before and again, the morning of the event.

Me, both times: “Not really.”

And on the morning of, I added: “I’d much rather lay on the couch, catch up on Battlestar and maybe take a walk.”

Her response was “fine, OK, whatever,” and I don’t think she gave it a second thought. Another friend DID want to go and met her there. Yay—happiness all around. 

I use Spencer as an example because she has known me for 30+ years and pretty much knows how I work and think, but had this been someone I didn’t know as intimately, I might not have been able to muster the honest reply, saying instead:

“Sorry I’d love to but I have to rewind videotapes for the poor” or something to that effect. 

In our second scenario, I have someone trying to talk me into a trip I can’t afford. And if I am being honest, don’t really care to go on outside of the fabulous company I’d be keeping. And there’s something wrong in this world if people think they can question your decisions regarding money. Look, we can’t judge people on how they spend, OK? Just because someone hurting financially decides to splurge on cable and not shoes or buys lattes but balks at taking a taxi, isn’t your business. We all waste money on crap we either don’t need or could get cheaper in a different way. Hello- I am paying too much for a gym based solely on convenience!

I should tell anyone who thinks otherwise that they’re being selfish because it is a form of selfishness even if the other person doesn’t realize it. But if you think people can’t handle honesty, they REALLY can’t handle being told they are selfish, which is sad because a true, durable friendship should be able to withstand such disclosures.

In this case, I used a truthful—yet unrevealing—e-mail to say, “Sorry, can’t make it.” It feels OK. Whew.

I think I’ll save the third scenario for another time. I may be prolific this week but I ain’t close to being 100 percent healed!

Two scoops my ass

Whenever I go visit my mom, she always has a ton of People magazines saved up for me. She gets them from our dear “aunt” P. who hands them over immediately after finishing the crosswords. Sometimes there’s a Redbook or Ladie’s Home Journal (am I the only one who finds “Can This Marriage Be Saved?” fascinating?) and even though I flip through each issue in about 20 minutes, I love the candid star photos and silly letters to the editor (“Brad and Angelina are such awesome parents!” (Really, how do you know that?) and sometimes it is really fun to relax this way.

This time around my sister was also there—and also reading the magazines—prompting Bonus Dad to question the existence of magazines in B’more and Chicago since we can’t seem to get enough of them in The Homeland!

It was during one of these mag-poundings that I read something about spinach, about how it is best paired with citrus or berries or peppers in order to help the iron and fiber stick to you longer.

And because I seem to have packed on more weight than Jabba these last few months and ever since my hand surgery have been more irregular than a designer T-shirt at Marshall’s, I figured “why not?”
And all I can say about the results is this: Yum. Yummy-yum-yum-yum and then some.

Monday’s dinner salad: Spinach, Strawberries, Slivered almonds, One chicken tender (from Dominic’s hot bar, natch), Green peppers, Goat cheese and Lite poppyseed dressing

Tuesday’s dinner salad: Spinach, Strawberries, Goat cheese, Chicken tender, Lite poppyseed dressing and no almonds this time, but in a fit of madness, I threw in a CUP of peas and some broccoli, green peppers, cucumbers and anything else I could find that was green and not poisonous.)

Wednesday’s lunch salad: same as above only I swapped grilled chix for the tender and added some napa cabbage and a few walnuts from the salad bar at work.

You know, it’s a sure sign of insanity in the personal blog-o-sphere when you not only share your diet recommendations with the internets but the fact that you are stopped up as well.

But why stop now? I’ve also had raisin bran and fiber crackers for breakfast the last three days, eaten 5 apples with skin, walked three days in a row...

What.

The.

Frak.

And you wonder why people get cranky!

Now where was I? Oh yes, The Homeland. In the 68 hours I was there, I managed to enjoy pizza with my dear former colleagues (and present friends), make my nephew cry, see a friend's new baby, get a pedicure, purchase and return a dress, eat my mom's spaghetti, see my dad and stuff my face with garlic bread, prime rib, mashers, green bean and cake and God knows what else at the Norfolk Beach House where Amber and L&D made sure I got to the airport on time.

"It sucks to be me"

Actually, it doesn't, but I am still giddy from the fumes of "Avenue Q" which I saw last night, for free, courtesy of my big mouth during this incident.

I'd heard the soundtrack--and knew the score, of course--but I hadn't really had a huge desire to see the show. I considered it during a Vegas trip in '05 but the $100 price tag made me reconsider. $100? For puppets and weird, squeaky singing voices?

Yeah, I know, I'm not too bright sometimes. :)

Anyway, I LOVED it. And not just because I have a "BA in English", either. It was witty and clever and at times, crude, and engaging and I laughed my head off. Also, the people in this show may not strike you as traditional musical theatre actors but I am inclined to think it takes even more talent to do something like this well. I mean, those puppets take work. And require concentration while singing.

The show plays here through June 8. Check it out if you can.

In other news, the NY Times already has some of the Sunday magazine stuff up. Here's a must-read for many of us, particularly fellow bloggers and people who have followed Gawker as of late. I was particularly struck by this paragraph from Emily Gould:

The will to blog is a complicated thing, somewhere between inspiration and compulsion. It can feel almost like a biological impulse. You see something, or an idea occurs to you, and you have to share it with the Internet as soon as possible. What I didn’t realize was that those ideas and that urgency — and the sense of self-importance that made me think anyone would be interested in hearing what went on in my head — could just disappear.

Enough already

And now for an episode of what we here at Motivation Station will be calling “The Tough Love Show.” 

Stop crying. 

Stop whining. 

Pick yourself up and enjoy being you. And while we’re at it, just because we love you, doesn’t mean that it’s all about you. Other people have problems and might need to talk about them, and horror of all horrors: some of those other people might be really happy and may want to talk about that too. Embrace that happiness, even if you’d rather sit in a bar for the zillionth time and complain that “no one understands how hard it is.” 

No one understands? Really? I mean, really? 

There have been years in my life where it seems everyone is getting married. Then another year comes around when everyone has babies. I am the oldest of three but the only one who doesn’t own property. Some days it feels like my biological clock is ticking so loud, the CTA could conceivably confuse me with a terrorist. I owe Northwestern $24K TEN YEARS after graduating and I’m 36 years old and live with a roommate. You think I don't understand what it feels like to be disappointed in yourself? But I can’t look at it that way and neither should you. Sure I’m a little old to be living with a roommate, but guess what, it’s kind of cool to be living with my oldest friend, nay family, and knowing that me and Mimi are being cared for. And if I hadn’t been dumped more than a year ago, I would never have met Mr. Complicated. Still can’t believe I met Mr. C, in fact. Where did he come from, I wonder. 

Stop feeling like you’re going to die alone. We’re all going to die alone, even if the love of our life is holding our hand at the end. You’re not the only one who feels this way. If you feel like no one understands, might I recommend looking at what the other people in your life have in common. If they have something you want, why not ask them how they got it? Chances are it wasn’t by giving people guilt trips or being hyper-sensitive and depressing. 

Stop being so scared. What’s the worst that can happen? And it may be cliche, but it's true: Some stupid guy/girl doesn't ever call? Tear up that picture in your mind of what you think life is really supposed to be like. Tear the motherfucking thing UP. Take the time to listen to somebody who wants to hear what you have to say as well. Forget that you hate Republicans or people from Idaho or guys who refuse to put the seat down. It only takes one. No dummy, don't think about it only takes one to be The One. No, it only takes one could mean baby steps. It only takes one to last a month. What's a month?

Listen to how someone makes you feel for a change instead of writing them off in your head. And remember what my hero Philip Roth said: Getting people wrong is what life is all about.

I'm back, well, sort of...

So, I had one of these removed last week and am not 100 percent back as far as typing.

However, I can't stand looking at Cameron Diaz anymore so I decided I HAD to post something.

So, if you want to read about an amazing person, read this.Spielberg, what do you think?

If you want to read a foolish wedding story, go here.

And if you ever wondered how traffic could be fun, I think this is a good answer.

What happens in my head

Is today’s review of “What Happens in Vegas” good writing? Hmm, the verdict is out on that one. But love or hate Stephen Hunter, he has done what countless extended previews—and honestly, haven’t previews of this movie been showing forever?—failed to do: convinced me to give this movie a chance. I’m no big fan of Cameron Diaz. I find her to be kind of a one-trick pony in terms of acting. And lately, she always looks orange to me. But she is one of those beauties where less is more (hello, Pamela Anderson, are you listening?) and she seems pretty low maintenance off camera and appealing. I have no feelings about Ashton Kutcher other than to say that he seems surprisingly mature for someone universally perceived to be a dimwit. He just doesn't sound smart which is why I personally don't find him attractive.

But the plot of this movie and the stars of this movie aren’t what prompted me to post today.

No, it was the part of Hunter’s review that referenced “The 39 Steps” and how the couple handcuffed to each other go from hating each other to loving each other.
You needn’t be familiar with “The 39 Steps” nor a fan of it to follow where I am going.

I’m a huge fan of old movies, particularly old, romantic screwball comedies based on silly misunderstandings. Think: “It Happened One Night.” By today’s standards, it’s a ridiculous movie. Back then it won 4 Oscars. (And for the record, I recently rewatched it and laughed my ass off... .)

My point is, that times change and technology advances, but people don’t.
Sure, we have the random “Third-grader Gives Blowjobs” story, but we also have the awkward 15-year-old boy I watched trying suits on for his mother at Filene’s last night.
“But Mom,” he said, as slipped on a navy jacket, “This is just so…lame.”
Indeed.

There are only so many plots and scenarios to go around, ya know? And I’m not saying anything that hasn’t been said in the last 50 years by someone far more gifted, but I feel the need to make the point that I get it now. I get why people go to these movies. And maybe I would hate “The Philadelphia Story” if it were released today starring Drew Barrymore, Hugh Grant and Tom Hanks. And maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe I’m predisposed to thinking older is better (and where blenders are concerned, this is fact.) but there were an awful of turkeys back in the 30s, 40s and 50s, too.

And this entire post, for what it’s worth, is the result of reading a surprising review by Stephen Hunter. Quick, let’s go see what SF Chronicle and metacritic had to say...(not surprisingly, they hated it!)

PS- There are a LOT of links here, I know. What definitely click on the Pamela one. It's a tragedy how some people ruin their natural beauty.

Out of touch or out of patience?

The real trouble with getting old is not the wrinkles, fat or incontinence issues.
No, it’s the things that come out of your mouth.

Old(ahem, older) person: How are you? How’s the job?
Young person: I’m good. I can’t believe I’ve been insert-job-here 3 years. I think it’s time to move on!
OP: I think it’s great. That will show real commitment on your resume.
YP: You think so?
OP: Absolutely. Of course, the economy is crap now so maybe it’s not a good time to look for a new job…

And this:

YP: What do you think of these shoes?
OP: Very cute. But the arch support looks awful. And who wears 3-inch sandals anyway?

Finally, the kicker:

YP: Want to come with me to J. Crew over lunch?
OP: God, there’s not a single part of my body that would fit into anything at that store. And the quality is not good. And the colors!

**Actually, forget this entire post. Maybe I’m just grumpy!**

More baby news:
I am reminded that Jensational will be having a boy in 72 (or so) days. And Owl-Bling Sis K. had a boy two months ago. (would run a photo but the only one I have in post-birth and I am pretty sure I would be killed.)

Babies!

OK, so Sistah sent this admittedly cute photo.

But am I SELFISH that I look at this and think, "Rosie O'Donnell has held my friend's baby and I haven't?" That is just WRONG. And as this blog will support, This Is All About Me.

Folks, I need to get to NYC stat. And while Sistah had a perfectly good explanation for going to Rockefeller Center with the rest of the lemmings--apparently her mother-in-law who lives in Texas is a fan--I am not sure I approve of her pimping Izzy out like that. Kidding, Sis! As always, the kid looks adorable.

More baby news: Mama Tiff became a Mama once again on March 19. Click here to read her news. That's Abby at the right. And Grad School Joan had a little girl (as well (smaller pic, below--look how good the mom looks post-birth, excuse me?!?) Violet is her name. I like it, though, what's up with all the girls? For years, all you people had were boys! Oh, and a cousin who doesn't much like me had a difficult birth across the pond but is now OK and mother to Henry David.

In other news, I had a celebrity sighting of my own last Saturday when I saw Joan Allen registering to work out at my gym. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I realized had I been 5 minutes slower, she would have seen me naked in the locker room. In person, Ms. Allen looked stunning. I saw no signs of work and she looked younger than 50.

**I didn't ask to post these photos. If you are worried about your baby being out there in the "Motivation" world, just tell me and I'll remove...

Stepping out of the comfort zone

So, spring is maybe sticking around this time. And yes, I mostly mean the weather by this somewhat boring statement.

But some of you—well, some of you are just out and about and taking chances—you know who you are—and all I have to say is, I’m proud of you!

For evidence, I give you this:
*The usually indifferent lassie who recently threw caution to the wind in exchange for a picnic and wine and by my clock, three weeks and counting!
*The Intimidating One who recently spent two hours making out on a couch, losing precious hours of sleep and did not mind a bit!
*The workaholic goddess who can’t seem to find a man within a 100 miles of her city but meets quality ones everywhere else. Hey—you’re having fun, right?
Finally, we have the cynical friend who invited a near-stranger to visit from abroad and fell in love in the process (sorry, have to vague on that one—just know it was the granddaddy of the April/May adventures you people have been embarking on.)

As for me, I am doing well. Well, well on the romantic front. There’s a calmness that has settled over me that is nothing like I have felt in some time. I tell myself losing that restlessness—yet not losing ME—is an important experience in the ever-continuing maturation process of the 30-something woman. OK, I am full of complete shit. Just trust me.

However, work is just overwhelming. No time for lunch, yet if I don’t get out of the building, I am ready to cry everyday by 3pm. When did it get so busy? Why do other people have time to slack off? Me? With the exception of the occasional two-line e-mails to Mr. C, I can’t even make time to call my family!
And I’d love to clue you in on the additional ailments I’ve experienced since my last post, but well, I’ve been typing for work all day and now I hurt.

Briefly:
The teeth are the best they’ve been in weeks. (Months?) and my crowns—or as I like to call them, a trip to Austrailia/Argentina—are adjusting nicely.
I saw two movies over the weekend: “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” (3 stars overall, 2 ½ when not factoring in the genre) and “Then She Found Me” (also 3 stars but that’s mainly because of the script and not the performances.)

Don't give up on me! Better blogging is further up the road, I promise!

Walking on broken glass

I can’t stand Take Our Daughters and Sons To Work Day. Remember when it used to be Take Our Daughters To Work? The concept behind that was to expose young girls to careers they might never have thought of. So I understand why it used to be important.

But now? Now, it’s practically an in-office holiday and most of the kids—the average age in our office was about 13—are unconvinced, and rightfully so, that all we do is sit around and eat cake and play games all day! They aren't interested, they barely get to see what their parent does other than lunch and the fun activities For Children consume the entire day. Am I alone in this?

I say, take your kids to work on a normal office day. Wait until they’re about 10 and let them sit with you at your desk and watch you type,type away and talk on the phone and listen to the white noise being pumped in. That should really educate them.
Incidentally, this program encourages employees to take underprivileged youths who might not be exposed to the job opportunities available…Hmmm, how come I never knew that?

Sad news: I have to quit my second job. The truth is my feet cannot handle the long shifts any more. They just can’t. And even though the few extra hundred it nets me ain’t much, I am going to have to cut back, I guess. Don’t worry, no need to move to Gary. At least not yet!

Sand and water

I’ve been thinking a lot about people lately and the kind of person I’d like to be.

That means owning up when I do something that not only is wrong but feels wrong in the funny-feeling-in-your-kind-of-way.
If I feel OK in my gut, I feel content everywhere else, even when I am lamenting my lack of proper furniture or failing to own a good knife.

Does this make sense? I guess I am trying to say that the only thing that’s really important to me is being a good person and being honest in all areas of my relationships.

From a celebrity viewpoint, Tony Kornheiser has stressed more than once lately how “you never really know people”, especially people in the public eye. It reminds me of page 35 of “American Pastoral” which I have forced more than one of you to read. But I digress.

Tony K. said O.J. taught a lot of sportswriters a good lesson. Everyone thought O.J. was the greatest but no one thinks that now. You think you know Cal Ripken is a great person, but is he? Well, we don’t know and I apologize Cal for even putting you in the same paragraph as O.J., but what I am trying to say is that we can only surmise that Ripken SEEMS to be a great, impressive dude. And Frank Thomas? Well, I’m not sure that the reverse applies here because he acts like a jerk in public so I’m thinking he must really be one at home.

Anyway. Where am I going with all this?

From time to time, I have to write obituaries at work. Often these turn out to be simple summaries of people’s professional lives with the occasional “he was a good guy” quote thrown in for good measure. Necessary experiences for all parties involved and if you give me two hours, I can just about always pull it off in a way that pleases the assignment.

But occasionally, I write about someone who really does seem deserving of all the things people say or feel they are supposed to say when someone dies. The kind of person we non-sociopaths aspire to be, but rarely achieve.

I ran across one such person today and man, capturing his impressive life in a few paragraphs was so hard! And depressing. More than once I found myself welling up at my desk. And when I spoke to his former mentor—the guy who died was not-yet 50—I had to swallow very hard a few times in order to disguise the fact that I was choked up as well. And I didn’t even know him!

And it wasn’t just because this man left a mark on the world with his research. Or because he appeared to have the storybook family—college sweetheart, three beautiful children. Or because he was an accomplished athlete. No, it was because every single person I talked to said the same thing: “He was a wonderful human being.” They said it just like that: A wonderful human being. The people I talked to came from all over, none of them friends. One of them is the most singularly impressive people I have ever personally met, never prone to exaggeration. He said it, too! And while you never know, sometimes you just do. I kind of feel honored that I got to do this thing for him, you know, write about his wonderful life—albeit one that was cut too short.

The funniest thing is I bet this man never wondered for one second if he was a good person the way I do. He was just being the person he was.

For once I was ahead of the trend

Years ago, I was rummaging in a bathroom drawer at my aunt and uncle’s when I stumbled upon it: a small can of pressurized water deliberately designed to “gently refresh” you. I remember flipping off the perfect pink top and pressing down on the nozzle and being instantly smitten.
This was back when people played pianos on airplanes and everyone smoked and danced and partied and those little bottles of whiskey really were complimentary.
OK, so it was 1996. But first class still meant something (Unlike now when it means early boarding privileges and guaranteed meal service) and it really was love at first sight. Water in a can? Ohmigod, you flew to China and back and they gave you water in a can!
I must have it.
Soon these well-traveled relatives were giving me all of their little mineral water sprays and I was briefly known as The Girl Who Sprays Water On Her Face For No Reason.
Once, Sistah (and maybe the Diva?) were trapped on a sweaty El train headed to Sox Park when the train broke down one stop from 35th. No one made fun of me then. Not when I whipped out the giant can of water and immediately began offering sprays.
Why am I promoting this today?
Well, I had a fun experience the other night at the restaurant when I walked by a table covered in Evian products. At first I thought it was only the drinking water. Then I saw the spray.
“Oh my god, I love this stuff,” I said, suddenly very interested in these strangers and what they were doing with all the Evian loot.
One of the men was speaking French into his cell. The other one looked at me intently:
“Do you really?” he asked in a Midwestern accent. “Until today, I’d never seen these before.”
“Oh they are the best!” I exclaimed. “They help set your make-up or cool you off on a hot day. I have one on my dresser at home!”
“I run a golf course in (insert forgettable suburb here) and he’s trying to get me to carry these for the golfers,” the Chicago said, nodding at the French guy who was still on the phone. “He’s one of their U.S. reps.”
I tell him to say yes immediately and predict that soon we’ll see Tiger Woods on TV spraying his face. You heard it here first.
Oh, and the guy finally got off the phone. When he heard I was a fan he handed me a complimentary purse-sized can. Ahhhh….

Where have I been?
Well, it would take days to explain the utter lack of enthusiasm I’ve developed for blogging now that my wrists ache and my arms aren’t far behind. But today was different because the nerves in my mouth are so irritated they are taking my mind off the carpal tunnel crap.

Other nuggets:
I had no interest in the debates. Wake me in September. Bruce, however, has endorsed Obama. Shock.

When your mouth hurts, the phone sucks. Got something going on in your life? PLEASE leave me an actual message when you call. Or write me a long e-mail. Do not expect a reply but I can promise you the nonstop whining on this blog has only just begun.

What a beautiful day it is today, people. Enjoy it!

See this?

This is one of my favorite things in the world to eat. So yummy, so cheesy, so sintastically awesome!

I want a bowl of these right now. Unfortunately the left side of my mouth is still sore beyond belief from all of the shots and pokes and drilling. And I'm still not done! Curses...I'd go into more detail but I don't want to gross anyone out.

Have a good weekend, everyone and eat some nachos for me!

Any kind of blue sky over

It happens every spring, at least for me. You step out into your world and open your eyes for what feels like the first time in months. Your hideous down coat, now banished for the next six months, is replaced by a jean jacket and the peeks of sunshine you get between buildings and off the lake is enough to make you smile for hours.

I never really know during these moments if I’m simply recovering from winter or turned on by summer or just excited to be outside for no reason other than because I can.

*We had our first real taste of spring this weekend. Forecasters hinted, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Even so, despite working late Friday, I set my alarm early for Saturday. It felt so good to be out that I didn’t give a second thought to my tired and I even made my morning walk purposeful, walking to my restaurant to pick up my iPod and finishing a few other errands. Later, I had brunch at Sola, where we toasted—among other things—that our friend Jill is cane-free and continuing to ace physical and occupational therapy.
And I walked and walked and walked until I remembered that I still have PF and don’t really relish the idea of returning to PT myself.

Sunday was just as beautiful and I got up even earlier and passed time in my old LP ‘hood, window shopping and listening to “This American Life” and thinking about all the things I want to be doing and need to be doing for myself (exercising, reading, eating more healthily, etc.) So yeah, it was a pretty selfish weekend but a good one.

Now, as I sit at my desk on a dreary Tuesday morning, still feeling numbness and pain in all of my fingers, cold from the dampness in the air, tired from a restless night’s sleep, I want nothing more than to be outside on a warm bench baking myself in the sun with a book.

*As evidenced by the Pontiac Café morphing into a celebration of V-E Day proportions. There’s no going back once that patio starts jamming! (note: I just passed by on foot, was not actually drinking there this weekend.)

*************************************************
HATED WORD OF THE DAY: Indefinite.

1.not definite; without fixed or specified limit; unlimited: an indefinite number.
2.not clearly defined or determined; not precise or exact: an indefinite boundary; an indefinite date in the future.

Got a few bucks to spare?

I haven't asked in a while and I'm not walking or doing anything noble for the MDA Cause this year, but if you have the inclination to donate, here's how.

Little guy turns 3 (!!) on Wednesday and he recently saw his first movie, "Horton Hears a Who" and is generally an all-around delight with a talent for mimicry (inside joke: "Oh no she didn't..." ) Happy Early B-day, Owen!

*Anyway, remember, I know we all get a ton of these requests all the time, but even $10 is a great donation. Thanks!

You go, Dutchie!

Raise your hand if you have heard me RANT about those stupid commercials featuring a Harry Caray impersonator.

I hated those stupid commercials ON SIGHT and am really glad Harry's widow is speaking out. You go girl!

I mean, the commercials are stupid for so many reasons. As Dutchie says, they're unprofessional, but they're also unoriginal. Hey, let's make fun of Harry Caray! Wow, what a brainstorm of an idea. Why not mention a sombrero and Sammy Sosa while you're at it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

As for Dutchie, I personally think she's aging well.

Quote of the Week

I know! And it's only Tuesday.

Marco Roth, an editor at the magazine n+1, said: “I think sometimes it’s better if books are just books. It’s part of the romantic tragedy of our age that our partners must be seen as compatible on every level.”

From this article in the NYT.