Discombobulation Station

Loud Quiet (and Not too) Loud

Have you heard that I love me some Pixies? This blog loves Pixies. And indeed, I love the Pixies. A lot. I might have memorized every song and every line of chatter from their every album in the years between middle school and college. I might have seen them 3 times on their reunion tour. Yeah, I might be a CRAZY HUGE FAN.

Last week, I was able to physically embody my huge fan-ness at a show right here in my fair town. My enormous belly and I (and the FYD) took in the Lost Cities tour, to hear the seminal album Doolittle performed front-to-back (along with some B-sides and two encores).

So because I love this band so,  I've no critical capacity to go blah-de-blah, the mix was good and they were off during La-La Love You or whatever - and can only say that it was a treat. A treat to be in the same space as these four musicians, who seem to truly enjoy each other and performing to people who enjoy them, and a sold-out auditorium of loyal fans, all with ear-to-ear grins on our faces (and no small number of pregnant ladies!).  There was no veneer of cool, no posturing, just fun. Which is odd for a performance that begins with a showing of Un Chien Andalou.

I will say that the visuals behind the band were beautiful. And while I thought I might be banished to the balcony by the LOUD, the mix was so balanced that I was able to keep my ass down on the floor (the venue handily provides seats on the same plane as the sound guy, so I was able to sit and stand and sit and stand and sit and very very gently dance during some of my most favoritest parts).  So I got some OK photos,  but here are some from a pro. Gorgeous happy-making celebrate good times, come on!

xoxo, A

p.s. I am having a baby in two weeks. HOLY FUCKING SHIT.

Fixin'

Today: 

Farmer's Market. Honey, goat cheese, brussels sprouts on their stalk, red russian kale, spinach, delicata squash, onions, shallots, and potatoes for roasting (one lucky kiddo got to ride in a wagon and carry the honey bear for the WHOLE TIME).

Harbor Fish Market. 4 lobsters, 3 pounds of steamers (one delighted toddler got to touch a real live lobster OMG SO COOL!!).

Standard Bakery.  Loaf of seeded white whole wheat slicing bread, fresh baguette (one hungry baby never wanted to leave the bakery AAAAHHH MAMA I WANT TO LIVE IN THE BAKERY AND HAVE COOOKEEEEEEEEES! SHALL FLOP DRAMATICALLY IN FRONT OF THE BAKERY IF DENIED. WATCH ME!!!)

Feast's on at 6 pm.

What are you up to this weekend?

xoxo, A

Halloween - Costumes Good & Bad

Ah, the popular subconscious. Why is it that you inevitably see multiples of costumes each year? It was actually a treat for me not to have to host a party - getting out and about in the city (three nights in a row) I got to see a good sampling - just taxing through the city, glancing into the 7-11 or on the street corner is such a delight. Here are the duds:

* Snookie. We knew this was going to happen. But at least its mildly funny, and probably fun to wear. Snookie count: approx 4.

*Sookie: Not to be confused with the above reality star, Sookie Stackhouse is the blonde, slightly dippy southern fried star of HBO's True Blood, of which I'm a fan. However, the costume is too easy - Merlotte's t-shirt and some short shorts, a bite to the neck. The Queen of Louisiana would have been more unique choice, and anyone can do it better than the dreadful Evan Rachel Wood. Sookie Count: 5+

*Brett Michaels. Wasn't his show the hottest last year, or the year before, with Rock of Love Bus? Was it all his medical problems that brought him to the fore? I did even see one Brett Michaels in hospital scrubs. Strange. Brett count: 7.

*Katy Perry & Russell Brand. I think most men secretly loved doing Russell - the open shirt, the crazy black hair, the freedom to get totally messed up. I also saw one Katy Perry on her own, sporting the whipped cream bustier. She informed us gals in the bathroom they were empty of cream, but since it was an ad industry party I told her to watch out for nitrus seekers. Best catch - an actual Katy/Russell couple had a blown out fight in a hallway. The spirits haunt. Total count: 4 couples, one Katy.

*Waldo. My friend Claire does Waldo best (see pic) but for some reason I saw quite a few at a party on  Thursday night. It can be done badly, as its too easy. Waldo count (yes there's more than one): 4.

So on that note, on to the winners!

On the kids trick or treat count, there were two Marie Antoinettes but they were so different and so amazing that I give them both kudos - one was headless. And one of my friends needed to be reminded as to who Madame Antoinette was, which goes to prove that schools are doing a heckof a job in Chicago. Also, why were there two Marios and a Luigi? Mario Brothers making a comeback! The Madeline across the street just about melted all of us - she had the little yellow hat and everything.

I saw this couple on Friday night, and although they were wasted they were still slightly put together and friendly as they should be. They're WASPS.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our friend hosted a party, and since she's a DJ she was ahem, musically inspired. F*cking magnets, how do they work?

 

 

 

Altho this couple stole the show, don't you think? More magic.

 

 

 

 

On to the recovery now.

E.

Morning, Noon, Night: Nature FTW

1.  One morning, dozily gazing out at the yard with my first cup of coffee, I spy a teeny tiny mouse shivering on the first step of the pool. There's a quarter inch of water on that step; it must have thought it was going to get a drink and then was unable to climb out the slippery straight side. We've had a few mice meet their maker in the pool this summer, so I race out to save it, first telling Little A. where I am going and turning her high chair so she can see me. I grab the pool skimmer and lower it gently, gently, onto the step, and gently encourage the mouse to climb on.  After a moment of panic, it clambers on board, and I lift it out of the pool and gently carry it over to the grass, and lay the skimmer down so the poor bugger can just walk off at will. I leave the mouse, cleaning its paws and still shivering just a bit, and go inside to tend to the baby.

Later, I see the cat staring. Very intently. At the spot just beyond where the skimmer is resting by the grass.

And a little bit later than that, the cat starts meowing to get my attention: Meowf! Meowf! I don't look--it sounds exactly like he is meowing with his mouth full.

2. The chickens are taking some air, as they are allowed now, in the fenced-in yard of Floyd the greyhound. I am sitting on the deck, eating lunch & doing some work. Annoyingly, the chickens keep scuttling UNDER the deck, scritching and rooting and clucking.  I keep stamping on the boards, up and down the deck, to chase them out into the open yard. They ignore me, unusually.  And cluck even louder.

Suddenly there is blue-jay commotion in the trees above. Thief! Thief! THIEF!! they shout.  The squirrel joins in, shouting and chattering. What the hells? wonders your girl on the ground.  The commotion reaches a fever pitch and THEN a giant hawk bursts out of the treetops, with a poor little baby jay in its clutches. A few grown jays follow, tie-fighter style, dive-bombing and swooping with all their might.  The scene recedes into the woods.

One by one, the chickens emerge from underneath the deck.  The biggest blonde, with maximum attitude, looks at me and puffs her feathers: And you call US dumb, stupid human. 

3. The FYD and I are taking an evening dip in the pool one sweltering summer night. It's that perfect part of summer where the bugs are almost gone and the water temperature is refreshing and it cools off just enough at night so you can sleep. The sun gets a little lower and the sky turns pink. Suddenly we can hear the night-time critters: bats chittering to each other, random rustling noises in the woods, whatever the bird is that goes HOO (it's not an owl, but damned if I know).

Oh look a bat! we say to each other, almost at the same moment. We are, generally, psyched to see any bats--they eat moths that would otherwise bumble their way into the house and die in the windowsills.  THIS bat, apparently, wanted a drink from the pool. SWOOP! It came down from it's already low flight path and dipped into the pool, and flew away just as fast. We laughed at its agility. 

Until the next time it SWOOPED about two feet away from the FYD. And then SWOOPED and brushed his hair with his wing.

That was it for swimming time. We bolted from the water and let the wildlife have the yard for the evening. 

xoxo, A

Le Tigre? Ferrari? MAGNUM?? **Update with Photos!**

Friends! Chez A. is all a-twitter (not like, on Twitter, we don't get Twitter)! Twit-twit-zing-eee!!

I have a bad habit of entering email-type contests and then forgetting what I done (see: Nerve.com near-miss-nude-photoshoot debacle of '07). Not even drunk! Just out of boredom, and too much internet. A couple of weeks ago, I apparently entered a contest for a makeover, courtesy of a local salon. Fun! I thought. Maybe they'll make me look less like a suburban housefrau for a minute. And then I forgot.

UNTIL. I got an email this Tuesday from the salon: CONGRATULATIONS! YOU WIN A MAJOR AWARD!! And I did a little girlish jumpy dance thing and jitterbugged into the other room to tell the FYD.  He keeps saying, with maximum loyalty and cuteness, but you don't need a makeover.  He's super biased.

So -- tomorrow night, I am going to get my hairs and makeup did all fancy, and strut my formerly-hot-mama stuff on the runway backed by the sounds of The Grant Street Orchestra.

The stylist even mentioned something about teasing my hair, so perhaps I WILL end up with a Snookie-bump. Just for my co-bloggess!

So Nervous/Excited. What if I pull a Bradshaw runway-roadkill dive? What if they do me up like a MAC-Clown? What if I get my PICTURE in the PAPER? Eep!

Just keep reminding me, this is for a good, good cause:

My vanity, and latent exhibitionist streak.

OK, not ONLY that, but also kids with cancer.

Oh, indeed: pix to come!

xoxo, A

**UPDATE**

Yes, the moment you two have all been waiting for!  Zee recaplet, avec fotos: After a looong Saturday-day (with concurrent creeping dreads/head cold) the baby went down for her afternoon nap. I did some quick yoga, took a shower, got in my all-black outfit, as mandated by the makeover host salon, and jetted. 

Before: Maximum frump-age! And a peek-a-loo at the TODDLER BOMB that used to be my living room. Sigh.

During: It turned out to be a blustery, chilly evening.  And, in a stroke of...errr...genius, the salon had set up a small platform at the festival for the cuttin', stylin', and make-uppin'.

The stylists were not psyched, but made the best of it for all 10 of us.  Only a little hairspray to the eyes/falling off the platform/wind-related mascara-poking misfortunateness.

And yep, in spite of my stylist's assurance during our Friday consultation that I would keep most of my length, go straight straight straight and simple, I got a collarbone-dusting bob all curled up...with a POOF. Have never had the POOF before and my hair is still recovering from the crazy teasing and spraying and teasing and spraying. I don't know how the daily-poofers do it. Every day. POOF. 

See?

After: The makeup was awesome. If I ever got dressed up ever anymore I would totes go buy all the stuff she used. But--I am still getting used to the haircut. It is much, much shorter than I have had in ages and when it's not all curled up and POOFED, it makes me look about 15.

Here's a Fembot Pose in honor of 60s styling! (p.s. the stylist behind me is as crazy as her face would indicate.) I wish I had gotten a decent photo of my whole outfit. Was super cat-burglar style.

Lastly we are glad to report that I didn't fall off the stage during my "catwalk,"  I had a fine time chatting with the salon ladies over a Cosmo after the (sparsely attended) show, and all in all, it was a fine good time.

And here's me, fabulously going to pick up sushi to bring home after the show. We couldn't get a sitter, so the only place I took my new look was to our living room.  Fabulous!

Anyway, it was a super-girly good time, and lord knows I needs me more of that in my life. Yay to getting dolled up!

xoxo, A

Ten

Hey, you guys are nice -- nice to indulge my previous whine-fest, and nice to leave such nice comments (and off-blog support).  So appreciated. And so, I am in a better mind to uphold a promise to the hilarious & awesome Jensational. Her list was super sweet (even literally so!) and inspirational... so here are my

TEN THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY by your so-not-miserable bloggess, Miss A.

(OK here's a bonus one off the record: I first mistyped it as "TEN THONGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY." Ha ha har snarf ha ha ha I am twelve ha ha underwears hee.)

AKA HAPPY 101

These things come with rules, and ways to pay it all forward, and this one is no exception.

Rules: List ten things that makes you happy and do one of them today. Then link to the person who tagged you and pass this little bit of love on to 10 others.

10! Ten wonderful months with my new most favorite person ever, Little A.  There is no avoiding cliche when you talk about becoming a mother. You give birth, you fall head-over-heels, you are scared shitless, you are amazed, you are humbled. You are, for the most part, delighted and can safely say there is nothing better in the world than the smell of your baby, or her crazy-soft skin, or her laugh, or OH what about when she waves bye-bye! Or OMG who can forget the first time she gave Mama a kiss! She makes me want to, well, let's just borrow the words of the great philosopher, Duff Goldman, Ace of Cakes: do it bigger, do it better, do it AWESOME. All that jazz.

 9! Nine rooms of my house. My sturdy, warm, big, pain-in-the-ass house. The house that is just the perfect size for my whole family. The house where there have been and will be so many firsts we can't even count 'em. I still can't believe I own a house (except when I write my mortgage check, ay yi yi!)

8! Eight paws pitter-pat through this house. Floyd the Dog and the Grey Kitty gleefully pester and make me laugh every day. Also, they are superb cuddlers and continually remind m e that the best things in life are free: a comfy spot, a walk in the snow, a ray of sunshine.

7! Seven days a week, I am (for now) free, free, free to do what I want, any old time. For example: today, naptime interfered with my tentative plan to go to the children's library for story hour. So instead we went to the museum and out for coffee! My life, it really does not suck.

6! Six chicken-ladies who are busting their tails providing delicious, nutricious, amazing fresh eggs for us. Little A gets the yolks, and I get to make myself egg-white scrambles or macaroons or an god-damn angel-food cake! Urban farming is kind of awesome.

5! Five fabulous blogs (call 'em mommy-bloggers at your own risk) that help preserve my sanity. Of course, there are many many others that I check in with now and again, but my day doesn't feel complete without new posts from: Amalah, Jensational, The Girl Who, Girl's Gone Child, and the venerable Dooce.

4! Four generations of my family, all within close reach. It is so great that Little A. will know two of her great-grandmothers, three sets of grandparents, some amazing aunts and uncles, and a growing circle of cousins. It's cool to love your family, and it's even cooler to have them all within a stone's throw. Well.  If I could throw a stone REALLY hard. Like, with one of them fancy catapults from this show the FYD made me watch one time.

3! Three-wheelin' it with the BOB. You may think it materialistic, putting something, well, material here. But, you guys. If not for this fine hunk o'steel, with its effing super-duper WeatherShield, I would CERTAINLY be a crazy, sloppy-fat mess. Round about 2 pm every day, unless it is a right monsoon, we load up the BOB with Little A and Duckie,  tuck 'em in, and Floyd and I enjoy a nice long peaceful stroll. I would guess that outside of suppertime, it might be Floyd's favorite part of the day. It is certainly one of mine.

2! Two amazing friends who are too far away, but who warm my cockles every day through the magic of instant-messaging. My cobloggess of course, who always finds time for me, and sends rays of sunshine through the damn monitor screen. And the awesome Swaying-Mama-formerly-known-as-Swaying-Jenny, who regularly makes me shoot wine out of my nose from hilariousness, and who is nothing less than awe-inspiring for the way she handles the real shit.

And 1! My main squeeze, number-one guy, the FYD. He's cute, dependable, handy, a good cook, and every day becoming a better daddy. This Saturday is his birthday, and I hope somehow the beef wellington and chocolate cake I am planning to make will express how awesome I think he is. How lucky I feel to have found him, and how grateful I am for our life together.  OK, I know what you're thinking: bloggess please! Just give him a BJ and shut UP already. 

xoxo, A

Appreciation Station

The last few months of 2009 were taxing indeed. I was working 50-60 hour weeks, the weather was changing, I didn't want to see motoboy after getting off of work. I felt like Chicago was getting meaner, crankier, less human. Like it wasn't even the midwest anymore. I heard that the city was determined by some magazine study to have the lowest standard of living, the highest unemployment. Of course it was a hard place to live and everyone was cranky about it. I talked about moving to Wisconsin, which I know is colder, but I wanted to be around strangers who would relinquish a smile every once in a while.

Under all this duress, I made sure my prescription was renewed and went home to land-o-cleve for the holidays. Three and a half days proved one half day too long. My dad is getting more overbearing as he gets older, which I thought was impossible. My brother didn't want to go out. I was at home every night except for one night I went to a gradeschool reunion in which I only saw three people from my old class. My dad called my cellphone before midnight, yelling at me to come home. Yes I am 35. This is why I can't live in Ohio.

I came home to my apartment for less than 24 hours and went back to O'Hare for a flight to Jamaica. My saving grace, the only thing getting me through the last three months. I am going to sit by a pool and drink Red Stripes all day if I want. It was a surprise party for my BF's husband, and it hardly cost me anything to go and help celebrate his birthday and the new year. I was a little nervous because we were all getting there
the night before the host couple arrived, and I only knew about three of the people from occasional visits to Columbus. But everyone was really nice and the house was amazing. We had three different buildings, a bar on the ocean, a pool and a veranda also on the cliffs of the Caribbean. I had my own room, bathroom and patio in which I had many a late night, buzzed cigarette in quiet contemplation.  Although I made a field trip to Dunns River Falls, mostly I stayed around the compound, drinking rum and Ting, reading Patricia D. Cornwell, and having quiet time. Because I didn't know the rest of the group that well, it ended up being a sort of solitary venture. We would socialize at night but I had a hard time connecting for some reason. I beat myself up about it because it wasn't helping me to relax, but I think part of it was coming out of being an outsider at work for the last few months. I carried that feeling with me, to my own detriment.

At any rate, I thoroughly enjoyed the lushness of Jamaica, but found myself strangely eager to get back to the snow and cold of Chicago. Motoboy picked me up at the airport and he looked so cute with his new short haircut. It was so nice to talk to him face to face, without me being stressed out about work or family. The next day I slept in, in my own bed, and in my walk to the grocery store I encountered a few people smiling back at me as we gingerly stepped our way down the icy snowy sidewalks. These are my people, I thought. I loved the mix of shoppers in my local store, I engaged the boy bagging my groceries in my canvas bag about the closest mailbox (even though I kinda knew which one was closest) and he asked the cashier, who in turn asked the guy in line behind me. For some reason this simple exchange made me feel whole again, at home again, and centered. Puttering around the house, cleaning and doing laundry and opening my computer, I had the best day I had had in months. No work worries, no needing to "recover" from anything. Just being. Being happy.

So on that note, I take a page from A.'s book and list my 2010 resolutions!

#1) Learn to be happier, be disciplined about not letting it slide. Stop the negative thoughts and do things that are good for the soul.

#2) Stop "recovering" from things and do something creative - more writing projects, arts, crafts or music. (Anyone want to start a band? Serious.)

#3) Give more to motoboy - he's been terribly understanding about my mood through the end of 2009 and he deserves more. More affection, more promise, more commitment. I gotta keep this love train moving.

#4) Smoking will have to cease in 2010. I need to be more active and its weighing me down, plus there's been a new health development that will benefit if I quit. As it stands I can go a few days without, or average only one a day. It will be hard but not as hard as others might find (I hope).

#5) Hand in hand with #4, I will find myself with more energy which can be used on yoga, long walks, bicycling, dance or swimming. I could stand to lose some weight in the middle and tone up throughout.

#6) Keep furthering my career, make and save money, and only take projects that challenge me. 

#7) Stop being so afraid to be introspective. Discover a sense of spirituality or philosophy that can guide me.

#8) Learn more - take a class or pick up a challenging book and see where it leads.

#9) Be kind to my family, visit more than once in the summer or email more. They drive me nuts but at least they love me.

#10) Remember to write more, even if its not for public consumption. When I get really stressed out I don't have the capacity to write (or know what to write about that isn't griping), but it really is a creative outlet that makes me feel better immediately.

And I will have that feeling momentarily when I hit "publish." Whew!

xo

E.

Thanksgiving

Wow, are our readers (and my co-bloggess!) ever HELPFUL. Will need your advice again soon but for now,  I'd like to give a lil something back.

Rumor has it that one of our readers is soon spending a ROMANCE WEEKEND in New York City.  Fabulous! I am 100% envious but have thoroughly enjoyed creating my own fantasy perfect romance weekend, which I shall now share with all...

HOTEL. Obviously very important for romance weekend, which is why I always recommend forgoing location for star rating. It's just so damn easy to get around in NYC, so I would pick the highest rated hotel closest to Central Park you can afford. Something like this.

FUN. After checking in to & checking out the amenities (ie: nap) of my moderately priced, comfortable hotel, I would go ice skating at Bryant Park. NOT Rockefeller Center.  I would go see the tree at Rockefeller, or go to Top of the Rock, but not skate there. Too crowded. Plus, Bryant Park has a little crafty-fair thing where you might get some fancy soap or glass pendants to bring back as gifts.

EATS-DRINKS-EVERYTHINGS. To warm up from ice skating, go to BXL Belgian Cafe for a Belgian beer or gluhwein or two. You can stay there to eat or, even better, go uptown to Kashkaval for fondue. Mmm..fondue. It's super romantic and cozy, too.  If you're still awake after that, you can walk around on 9th or 10th to find a bar, or walk back to Columbus Circle and hit slick Stone Rose for one last (pricey but stylish) cocktail.

THE NEXT DAY. Head to Chinatown to see all the craziness and to get dim sum. I don't even have to give a recommendation: just go where you see a lot of happy people inside. Then I would walk through Little Italy and bum around the Lower East Side.  Maybe drop into Barramundi for a gingery cocktail.  As the evening wears on maybe drop into Freemans for a drink and a bite. Oh and then there's Schiller's Liquor Bar and Whiskey Ward and....too many places to list. Or hyperlink.  Oooh and then, as sunset approaches, jet downtown and get on the FREE Staten Island Ferry, so romantic. And FREE.

Oh also -- pick up a TimeOut to make sure to not miss any good live music.  I know not of clubs for dancing so will have to leave you on your own for that.  Stay up very very late, and make sure you are tipsy for the cab ride home. That's the best.

THE DAY AFTER THAT. In the morning hit the nearest Pic-A-Bagel to stave off the hangover.  Head to the Chelsea Flea Market for deals and eccentric characters.  You can walk down 5th Avenue from there to hit all the classic American superstores - Banana Republic, Anthropologie, etc. And then by the time you get to Union Square, it will be time to stop in at the Old Town Bar for a bit of nostalgia. 

MOST IMPORTANTLY. Go to Lil Frankie's.

Oof. All this walking and eating has made me tired. And there's still Brooklyn to go.

xoxo, A

Bawk Bawk

It's the It's-Tuesday-I'm-Tired copout video post! Please to enjoy the short video following:

Halloween is 1000 times awesome when you have can dress up a BABY. And when the BABY is obliging enough to allow you to plop her in the middle of a flock for a photo shoot. 

(Am taking ridiculous advantage of obliging, as, karmically, Addie will surely be *ahem* less so between the ages of, oh, 10 and 24...)

xoxo, A

Two Years

Two years ago late yesterday I was headed to the fridge at a friend of my crazy-roommate's party to get yet another glass of the cheap chardonnay I had brought and there was a boy standing there.

He gallantly let me through to my wine so I rewarded him with some conversation. It became quickly apparent that he was wrong, wrong, wrong for me. Young. Married. In a baseball cap, for christ's sake. 

Yeah...so....

    
October 2007.

April 2009.

Wow.  We''ve had some interesting years, but these two probably beat 'em all to a pulp. You know, in a good way.

xoxo, A