Headphones On

My mother (the genealogist) has discovered we are related to Barack Obama. His great-great-great-great-great somebody married my great-great-great-great-great somebody in 1776 in New Jersey. Perhaps this will finally be the way I can get her to vote Democratic.

Posted by Liz at 9:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

A few weeks ago my Creative Director paid me a compliment while we were gabbing over lunch.

CD: "When you speak, you are very authoritative."
Me: "What does that mean?"
CD: "You come across as the authority on whatever topic you're talking about.¹ Don't worry, that's a good thing."

Does anyone actually offer a college course in indie rock? What would the students be expected to get out of it? Appreciation of hand claps and harmonized vocals? A knowledge of the roots of indie rock from Stax/Memphis to Northern Soul? Would I get to grade papers on how Madchester shook up modern Britain and the economic impact of The Postal Service on indie rock? I'm just fascinated by the idea now.

¹ Strangely this developed because of a test product and my knowledge of screen printing on shrink wrap (and prior experience creating new packaging for an Orange Juice).
²anything fitting into the eurosugarindiegirlvoxpop genre

Posted by Liz at 3:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Over the past few days of go-away-flu-i-don't-like-you, I have spent several hours sat laying in front of the television. Being as I could barely move due to the flu eating away all my strength (or perhaps because i was immobile under too many blankets), I barely changed the channel. When I don't want to be a channel flipper, I have very few options for stations-that-do-not-irk-me-after-one-commercial-break:

HBO
+ no commercial breaks
+ occasional decent film
- generally bland movies I don't wanna watch
- loud action sequences give me war nightmares when i drift off

BBC America
+ decent programming
- during the day seems to be too many game shows
- can't stand Benny Hill
- BAD commercials

BravoTV
+ west wing
+ project runway
+ inside the actor's studio (when it's someone good and not jlo)
- too many celebrities playing poker
- the volume on the advertisement reels is like 10 decibels higher than programming

So basically my television has been set on Bravo while I drift in and out of sleep, occasionally ingesting tea or juice (or Nyquil). One of the many advertisements I've seen repeated is for a new "show" called In Stereo. Basically it's Bravo showing concert footage. While Bravo does many things right... music is apparently not one of them. They can be ages ahead of mainstream America by introducing the "Fab Five" to the world, showing how reality television should be, etc... but when it comes to music what do they throw out into the world? Faith Hill. Elton John. The Eagles. I wish I was kidding. WHAT THE HELL?

Posted by Liz at 6:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I am standing on the corner of Irving Park & Clark. I am waiting for the bus to complete my journey home. I have my hood up over my head although it's slightly chilly and not terribly cold. I've been pacing, kicking a pile of snow, counting cabs and various other pass-the-time-where-is-the-stupid-bus activities. I am not freaked out standing on this corner at 1 AM even though I am standing next to the graveyard of Chicago's mobsters, politicians, city founders, what-have-you. Both streets are plenty busy, there's a large, well lit gas station across the street, and police cruisers are a common sight on Clark St.
I'm standing facing East... putting my back to the wind and my view towards the hopefully approaching bus. I hear a voice say...

"Hi. How's it going?"

I look to my right and see a man, slightly graying, speaking to me through the open window of a cab. The cab is 3' from me and stopped at a red light.

"I'm fine.", I reply.
"My name is Mark. What's yours?"

I should be freaked out right now. Strangers on Chicago streets at 1 AM don't normally have the best of intentions. This Mark guy, however, seems somehow familiar and not the least bit frightening. Do I tell the stranger my name?

"I'm Liz."
"Nice to meet you Liz. Did you have a good day today?"
"Yeah, I did actually. And you?"
"My day was very productive."

The light has just turned green and the cab driver has eased his foot from the brake. Mark takes one last look at me and says, "It was a pleasure talking to you. Thanks." The cab drives off.

Posted by Liz at 11:05 AM | Permalink

I keep getting stupid holiday songs stuck in my head. My office PA has been playing the Christmas carol station for nearly two weeks now and it's starting to warp my brain. All I hear now is the chorus... "I've got to go away... Baby it's cold outside."

And yes, it certainly is cold. Chicago has apparently stolen the weather of the Canadian provence of Saskatchewan. I'm hoping those Canadians are feeling forlorn and would like their blustery freeze back. My friends (and I) have all begun hibernating and I'm pretty sure it's nothing to do with any affiliation with our local football team. It is simply TOO COLD to leave the house unless forced. By forced, I do of course, mean work. Even then, I'm cheating. Walking past the talling building on the continent every morning can quite near kill you. I don't know how or why but those winds two gazillion feet up come flying down onto street level with such chilling ferocity it is possible to leave your skin behind if you pause at the corner. As ridiculous as it may sound, I've begun to take a bus for the two most torturous blocks (the Sears and the Chicago river). Call me a wuss if you'd like but if you walked that at 9 am with a windchill of -5 (that's Fahrenheit people) blowing directly in your face, you would suck up that 25¢ transfer fee and catch a ride like I do.

Posted by Liz at 9:54 PM | Permalink

hear alarm in dream
realize alarm is not part of dream but is actually alarm
wake up
rub eyes
hop out of bed and across room to hit snooze
shiver
lay back down in the bed
frantically pull the goose down back over me
shiver
rub eyes
stare at the ceiling
wonder if it could perhaps fall on me
wonder if it's moving or my eyes are fucked up
wake up again after hearing alarm
hop out of bed and across room to hit snooze
curl up under covers
shiver
rub eyes
stare at the alarm clock
try to figure out the real time versus the time set on the clock
wake up
rub eyes
hop out of bed and across room to hit snooze
turn alarm off
turn on npr
lay back down in the bed
listen to morning edition
wake up
stare at clock trying to figure out actual time
realize that i'm now late and MUST stop this vicious cycle

Posted by Liz at 11:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I have a favorite place in my new home... curled up on the couch with a book (or at this instance a laptop). My couch sits perpendicular to my front windows and I love staring out at the gently swaying (nearly leafless) trees. Big, old, solid, Chicago trees. They squat in the ground so peacefully by the row of houses I can just make out through the street light. This will be a gorgeous view when there is snow on the ground.

My block is seemingly serene and yet if you walk one block north, you stumble across one of the largest E-W thoroughfares in the city. You skip one block west and you're surrounded by a busy pedestrian-heavy street of shops, restaurants, bars, etc. One block to the east and the L line is gracefully carving it's way towards downtown. Somehow, right in the middle of all this... I have found a bit of peace.

I will have so much to be thankful for this week... starting with this beautiful view of my majestic city out the window.

Posted by Liz at 7:27 PM | Permalink

I walked down the street tonight, turned a corner and into my neighborhood movie theatre. I have a neighborhood movie theatre, for the next week anyway. Despite a friend pulling out bad reviews at my showing interest in seeing The Weather Man, I enjoyed it. Because this isn't the life I imagined myself living, but it's the life I lead. I've made a decision to do something I always envisioned doing with someone else, but I've done it on my own. I've got to learn to be ok with that.

Outside my window is a perfect fall evening. Where the slight wind blows the dying leaves off the trees, leaving the sidewalks and streets littered with colorful crunchiness. I walked the two blocks home from the neighborhood theatre and just breathed. I breathed in the air I'm leaving behind. I took in the sights that in one week I will not be able to claim ownership over.

There is something about a movie set in my town that distracts me. I try not to let it take away from the film but as the film progresses I can't help but point out the sights to that voice in my head going "oh, do you know where that is?". Sure I do, it's the house with beaten down siding I used to stare at everyday off the north side of the brown line tracks between Southport and Paulina. The films are imaginary but the lives that intersect with the sights aren't. Everyday we go about our lives, sitting idly by as the train glides passed those those run down houses with disintegrating shingles. It may make up the backdrop, but this isn't a movie set, it's home.

Posted by Liz at 9:49 PM | Permalink

Posted by Liz at 2:01 PM | Permalink

i overheard somewhere that this the 20th anniversary of the cabbage patch kid. i immediately thought they were wrong. there's no way that was 20 years ago... and then i thought about it. yeah, i probably was 6.

i had a cabbage patch kid. the first one though i got for christmas sometime in the early 80s. i vaguely remember my brother being mad that my mother had made him stand in line at the toy store for hours to get me a cabbage patch premie. it had a tuft of dirty blond hair on the top of it's plastic head and was wearing a yellow dress like thing. i'm sure i gave it a name but i've no idea anymore what it would have been.

a few years later i had THE cabbage patch kid. it was after we had moved to chicago. her name was beatrice. i remember this so distinctly because my dad worked for 'beatrice foods'. she had dark hair and pigtails. i never undid the pigtails because on previous dolls i had undone the hair and was never able to get it back to that 'fresh from the factory' look. so beatrice's hair never left those pigtails. she was COOL as far as cabbage patch kids go. she didn't wear dumb dresses like other dolls. she had overalls and mary janes. i took her everywhere. then one year as a present she got a bear suit. it was CUTE as all get out. a combo teddy bear/cabbage patch kid! can you imagine? as mentioned earlier i took her everywhere... and our most frequent destination was the park. the park was half a block away. we had a tire swing and a field and big wooden junglejim like thing. i would go to the park with beatrice everyday. this really wasn't a big park. it was rather secluded in our neighborhood. only the kids from the neighborhood would go... not like a big park that attracted people from around town.

one day in my excitement to get home... i left her there. she had been sitting patiently on the bench waiting and watching me play. when i realized my error a few hours later i went back to the park to get her. i was devastated when i couldn't find her. i knew i'd left her on the bench. she wasn't on the bench. i'm sure i ran home crying. no beatrice! no bearsuit!

i figured that nick had taken her to do all sorts of evil things. nick was our neighborhood bully. he was always doing mean things to me and lisa (my best friend in the neighborhood). nick is related to a rather famous hockey player and never had any qualms about telling everyone this. i didn't even know what hockey was and could care less but it does set up the rest of the story.

i never forgot about my favorite doll. i missed her always but the years went on as they do. when i was in high school nick joined our hockey team. as he and his brothers were always playing in the street by the park, he was rather good... the star of our team. that famous hockey player he is related to got him into the ontario junior league... and nick left high school to go play 'professionally'.

i've always sort of vaguely followed his career... particularly after developing a love for the game. nick came to signify the EVIL GOONY hockey players i DO NOT LIKE. nick was drafted by an nhl team and was sent to the minor leagues to develop. when i was living in grand rapids his team played ours. i went to the game... to find out he was scratched from the lineup with an ankle injury. after the game i had to wait for my friend who worked for the team... and as we are leaving who is leaving with us but a now BIG nick (6'4" or so) on crutches and some other HUGE hockey playing friend. i stopped him outside of the arena..

me: "do you remember me?"
nick: "no?"
me: "liz... i grew up around the corner... remember now?"
nick: "oh yeah"
me: "you stole my cabbage patch kid."
nick's friend: "WHAT?"
me: "when we were 8 or so, you STOLE MY CABBAGE PATCH KID"
nick: "i don't know what you're..."
nick's friend: "dude... you stole some girl's cabbage patch kid?!?"
me: "it was in a bearsuit"
nick: ...
nick's friend's: "whoa"

Originally written 12.06.03

Posted by Liz at 3:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Oh hockey season hockey season hockey season. The old saying always goes that you don't know what you're missing until it's gone... but the day that it comes back again, no one makes old sayings about that. It's such a lovely feeling. To watch my Devils completely obliterate the (VERY offensive and awesome) Penguins was fantastic on the first night of games. The first period alone demonstrated why Martin Brodeur is clearly the best goalie in the league. Unfortunately for the Penguins, once the Devils took off on the scoreboard in the first period there was no coming back and their complete lack of defense badly showed.

It's hard to cheer against Thibault¹ in goal but it's was even harder to see him fall back into old habits as he stood slumped in the net, all confidence gone, after the third and then fourth goals in the second period. He's always going to be one of those goalies with fantastic possibilities but he gets so down mentally after a few goals he basically gives in. Tonight he looked so small in the net compared to the force that is Marty Brodeur. Hopefully he finds his place amongst the Penguins. It will be quite the challenge for him as he's got very little defense in front of him to help. Maybe he'll finally learn to stop giving up those rebounds as there will be no one in front to help him clear away the puck.

The new rules seem to make the game highly entertaining. Players are flying around the rink faster than ever. The breakaways that come with the elimination of the two line rule in particular are thrilling. I don't so much notice the extra ice in the offensive zone but that might come with time. I'm not sure how long it will take for the players to become accustomed to the newly enforced interference and obstruction rules but right now the penalties seem to be non-stop in every game. I'm iffy on the shootouts. Having witnessed a few now I realize how it can be exciting for some hockey fans but to me they seem un-necessary. I don't know what was wrong with tie games in the first place. For some reason not having a winner to a sporting event probably seems unAmerican to some people. Well, like football² this isn't an American sport and shouldn't be treated as such. It's unfair to all involved that hockey is a team sport and the winner can come down to individuals. On a good note though, if we were having an all star game this year (which we aren't) it would improve the goalies performance in similar events.

¹ Now with Pittsburgh and the namesake of my puppy.
² The real football, where your foot kicks a ball and your hands aren't allowed to touch it.

Posted by Liz at 1:02 PM | Permalink

With my impending move is more than just a move of house, but internet home. I'm ditching my DSL service for a cable modem. It will cut down the number of monthly bills by two and be roughly the same cost. Because of this my email address will be disappearing. After days of agony I gave in this afternoon and asked a friend for a gmail invite. I *hate* the ads with a passion normally reserved for church goin Evangelicals but I can't deny the large storage space and easy searchability got me. So i've joined the ranks of gmail users. Shoot me.

Posted by Liz at 10:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

• Working with two monitors takes some getting used to but helps keep me on task.
• The Clientele have created the ultimate soundtrack to the past few days/upcoming weekend. I am looking forward to seeing their show more than I realized.
• Working on Christmas cards and christmas themes isn't new to me in October, but it is making me feel the end of the year is fast approaching. I'm beginning to freak out about finding presents for everyone in time.
• Mortgage payments are scary. Not making a mortgage payment in December is fantastic (all because of some silly thing called "arrears," yay for arrears!)
• The ideal "on the PA at work" soundtrack contains a mix of Ivy, Kings of Convenience, The Aluminum Group and Tahiti 80.
• Where will I ever find a puppy as fantastic as my Thibault? He sat so peacefully on my lap in the car on the way home last night. He really is the sweetest thing in the world. One part goofy, two parts cute and one more part playful. I suppose it'll just be a miracle if I can afford a doggie after all this condo stuff is wrapped up.
• The idea of some musicians having a sound that fits only one season is intriguing me. I could see this turning into a full column (after I finish the new fall records column I'm halfway through of course).
• I like the idea that my personal projects spread a wide gamut but I'm beginning to wonder if I wouldn't do a much better job at some of them if I restricted the number of things I do. I would (in the very least) be able to devote a bit more time to a few of my projects if there wern't so many. See above on writing ideas I will never finish because I've instead decided to start messing about with a new canvas last weekend.
• I'm having sleeping problems again. I expect this to last through the month or until I move.
• I took this stupid test the other day to find out if I could pass 8th grade math. Somehow I only got one wrong (the cube thing). I'm still scratching my head. I'm not as mathematically dumb as you or I thought.

Posted by Liz at 11:53 AM | Permalink

+ Plus +

• I've moved my desk at work. I'm now located on the other side of the office (away from the horrible PA system) in a bigger space and closer to my creative team. I'm less secluded so I have actually started to feel more like I belong there. I'm not sure if the good work I did today is a result of this but I'll take it none the less.
  
• While I haven't gotten a grasp on lighting yet (see the negatives), I have finally decided on a style for my new home.... modern baroque. I'm looking forward to mix of old and new materials. Classic shapes created from very modern materials. I have two examples of products that manage to marry both the classic and the fresh with stunning results: 1: Bourgie table lamp by Ferrucio Laviani, 2: Louis Ghost armchair by Philippe Starck. My plan contains lots of texture and a mix and match of styles to create something entirely mine. A lot of this can be pictured in my head but not yet qualified on paper. Because my new space will be small (ish) I am still determined to sell a few pieces of my furniture and replace them with pieces that can serve multiple functions (coffee/side tables that double as storage, a dining table that doesn't have to take up nearly as much space, better clothing and closet storage, etc.)
  
• I have been stepping out of my shell a bit more. My hermit-like summer is quickly coming to an end and I've begun seeing my friends socially again... dinners here or there, parties, Scrabble™, etc. My eye is still on my limited budget but I've found a bit more balance. Granted, I say this when I'm at home drawing a bath and not answering my phone.
  
• Plans are afoot for a puppy. A PUPPY! My very own pain-in-the-ass-during-winter-mornings, cutest-dog-face-in-the-world-when-I'm-feeling-down-and-they-come-a-running-to-cheer-me-up PUPPY! But Liz yer saying... don't you have a puppy? Yes and No. My Thibault... love of my life... will remain living with my parents. He's become an integral part of my their lives and is not accustomed to city life. He can sit for hours and stare at the view off the back deck or simply the clouds in the sky. He has been raised with a yard at his disposal any time of the day or night (oh how I remember teaching him to go in and out of the puppy door!). While he's the perfect size for a city dog (small to medium) it's not the life he leads now. Because I love him so I wouldn't want to deprive him of the life to which he's become accustomed. While it pains me every day that I don't see that shine in his eyes I know he's better off there. So... I will be adopting a small to medium puppy (or adult dog) from one of our local shelters. There are so many dogs in the Chicago area in need I know when the time is right (say mid November) I will find just the doggie for me.
  

• I'm in search of the elusive affordable yet amazing pendant lights for my new kitchen. I have three junction boxes to fill and have found the perfect yet way out of my price range pendants from a British designer named Tom Dixon and an awful lot of the expensive yet so hideous I would rather hang them up in a cardboard box. I really wish that I could afford those mirror ball lights from Tom Dixon. I love how they have a mid-century modern feel without being trapped in the 60s. Their reflectiveness draws me to them but at $550 a piece (the lowest estimate from Tom's dealer in St. Louis) they will hang only in the kitchen of my dreams. This seemingly insignificant lighting purchase is actually rather important to me. These lights (whatever they may turn into) will be the first piece of me into my new home. They are rather front and center when you walk into the space and will lend both the mood and sense of style for the whole living/dining/kitchen space.
  
• My computer... oh my lapdog Serge. It pains me to say it but he's never going to be the same again. After much toil and trouble he is functioning again but not at the same level as before. He has no music on him, no applications beyond standard mac apps. Basically I can't do any design work from home (or away) with him. For the time being he is stable so after the big home purchase and move I will reassess my options and figure out what to do about a new laptop. It could be a matter of keeping Serge and upgrading him with more RAM and a larger hard drive... or (the rather silly dream of) a new Powerbook. While I will always have a mac (someone in my field can't work on a PC...) I am envious of the prices of comparible PC laptops.
  
• It would be completely remiss of me to not say something about Hurricane Katrina. What is there to say that every media pundit in the world hasn't already stated? Mainly I'm disgusted that the man running FEMA is less qualified than my father to handle this situation. I'm doing what I can (which obviously isn't a whole lot) but have pulled together donations of clothes, shoes, pillows, towels, food etc. I'm also trying to talk my brother into fostering a dog who has lost their home in this catastrophe (well he doesn't really have room for a family but a dog he could manage.)
  

Posted by Liz at 9:15 PM | Permalink

I'm hosting a tiny dinner party tonight for a friend's birthday... and I have the joy of doing it at another friend's home (cos theirs is SO perfect for entertaining). I've finished the menu for tonight, now as long as I have time to finish all the shopping, food prep and cooking between the hours of 5 and 8 (whilst simultaneously picking up a rental car)...

Starters:
Chips/Fresh Salsa
Baguette/Black Olive Spread

Main Entrees:
Spinach Salad/Baked Goat Cheese
Grilled Corn on the Cob
Black Bean Cakes/Fresh Mango Salsa

Posted by Liz at 9:53 AM | Permalink

On Sentimentality...
I've been a bit overwhelmed lately at the sentimental ideas we (read: I) push upon inanimate objects. Part of this is my purging of quite a bit of my possessions in preparation for my move but mostly it's due to an unforeseen loss. Last Friday, I went bowling for a friend's birthday. Prior to lacing up my fancypants size 6 patchwork shoes I removed my rings and choose a sparkly pink bowling ball. I put the rings in a pocket of my bag. If you don't see where this is going by now get yer eyes checked. Hours later (and um, a few whiskeys) and I'm missing one. Apparently gone is the ring I bought in Tokyo with my ex-roommate. It's just a tiny silver band with a few diamond chips, probably not worth much (I really have no idea what I paid for it nor would I be able to take that number in yen and translate it to dollars). Pricey or not it meant the world to me (literally). I typically wear jewelry symbolic of my travels or friends. An obvious example is the lil silver ring from Tokyo... but also a silver band from Camden also purchased with a friend... a silver thumb ring purchased with my high school best friend in Texas... a swirly silver ring purchased in Scandinavia when I was 10... you get the idea. The Japanese ring isn't really replaceable. A little piece of me broke when I realized I couldn't find it. A few people there with me were kind enough to help me look around but no ring was found on the even-ugly-in-the-70's-when-it-was-installed carpet of the bowling alley. I walked home and looked at the blank space on my finger. When I got home I sat down at my makeshift desk and checked my email. There sitting next to my laptop... the Japanese ring. I hadn't lost it. I hadn't put it on that day probably for fear of losing it at the bowling alley later. I fired off an email to my ex-roommate (former Tokyo resident now Italian resident). Even if I had lost the ring, I wouldn't have lost her but sometimes I need those reminders to check in and track her down in those remote parts of the world she travels to*.

On Stepping Forward...
I was watching the BBC WorldService News tonight and stared at the continued atrocities in Iraq. It forced a few minutes of pondering in my head about what happens in the world when those few people who can be natural, unifying leaders don't step up (or simply don't exist in the first place). I do not condone any of the recent US actions in the middle east but right now the biggest problem appears to be the absence of leadership. There doesn't appear to be an individual or group who can unify the various factions... here or abroad. Locally, I can see the formations of that in Barack Obama but on a national scale... we are looking a little worse for wear.

In the words of Aaron Sorkin...
Lewis: People want leadership. And in the absence of genuine leadership, they will listen to anyone who steps up to the microphone. They want leadership, Mr. President. They're so thirsty for it, they'll crawl through the desert toward a mirage, and when they discover there's no water, they'll drink the sand.
Sheperd: Lewis, we've had Presidents who were beloved, who couldn't find a coherent sentence with two hands and a flashlight. People don't drink the sand because they're thirsty, Lewis. They drink it because they don't know the difference.

*My ex-roommate just got back from Libya! LIBYA! The photos she took are phenomenal.

Posted by Liz at 11:01 PM | Permalink

Not funny... you stupid lil Turkish hacker punk. Why WHY WHY f#ck with the Generation Debt forum? What do you get out of it? You throw up a flag and stupid chanting and mis-spell words like "fell." Yes, that was supposed to be two L's, not two E's... you didn't "feel" my forum.

You've just made more work that I don't want to do. Gee thanks.

You should be thankful for a sweet boy from San Fran who can help me sort through this mess... otherwise I'd actually be mad.

Posted by Liz at 12:01 PM | Permalink

Monday night after the drippy wall incident with the downstairs neighbor I was assured by the maintenance guy (Leo) that all was well. Tuesday was fairly uneventful. My electricity was working. The water was fine. I managed one night of peace while I took care of a few eBay auctions, read a book, and generally went about my life. I drifted off for a peaceful slumber around midnight thirty.

At 7 am this morning, someone was ringing my doorbell. Over and over they were ringing my doorbell. I crawled out of bed, slightly straightened my mussed up hair and went to the lil box by the door that allows me to communicate with the front gate:

me: Who is it?
them: Leo
me: Can I help you?
them: It's Leo.
me: Right, Can I help you?
them: It's Leo.
me: AARG

me: um, good morning?
Leo: you called me?
me: um... (looking down at pajamas) no?
Leo: yes you called me
me: no, i was asleep (again looking down at pajamas)
Leo: The ceiling is falling in your dining room?
me: it is? I don't think so. I know I'm a heavy sleeper but I'm pretty sure that would have woken me up.
(I turn around and walk towards the dining room, Leo following)
me: see, perfectly normal dining room
Leo: then it's the kitchen sink.
me: I don't think so
(I point him towards kitchen. He goes in, looks around and comes back out.)
Leo: No water.
me: nope
Leo: Ok, I go downstairs.
me: Good for you. (I shut the door behind him.)

Leo: yes
me: Hi, this is Liz I live at ##### N Noname St. Did you just shut off my water?
Leo: yes
me: Um. Why?
Leo: there is water falling from the ceiling. What you mean why?
me: There isn't water falling from MY ceiling.
Leo: Oh, you upstairs. Yes, I shut off the water. Your neighbor has water and ceiling falling.
me: Um, do you think you should have informed me of this or at least given me 5 minutes to brush my teeth?
Leo: WATER IS FALLING FROM THE CEILING! THERE IS A BURST PIPE!
me: Um, right. So do you think that if YOU lived in this apartment you would have liked your water turned off without anyone telling you?
Leo: I HAD TO TURN OFF WATER.
me: (sigh) I understand that but do you think you should have TOLD ME FIRST?
Leo: oh yes sorry
me: ok great, now... how long until the water is back on?
Leo: I AM NOT REPAIR MAN.
me: can you give me an estimate of how long?
Leo: hours, days, weeks i dunno
me: WEEKS?!
Leo: i dunno. i am not repair man.
me: ok, fine. can you please CALL ME when you know how long it will be so that i can figure out if i need to make alternate living arrangements?
Leo: call you?
me: yes, call me when you know something. at this number i am calling you from.
Leo: yes i will call.
me: great. bye

Posted by Liz at 3:22 PM | Permalink

So there could be two sources of the major problems I'm having in my life right now...
1) Mercury is in retrograde or
2) The 28th year of my life is going to be the worst on record.

In the past 48 hours I have suffered through the hottest most hellish day on earth in the bright sunshine for four hours (goodbye Lollapalooza, hello air conditioned bar) only to come home and find I had no electricity in my top floor, full sunshine apartment. After numerous calls to building management and the electricity company nothing was being done so with the assistance of the light from my cell phone and a friend's cell phone I packed a bag and headed to Boystown to stay with another friend. As the news was talking about people dying in the extreme temperatures I could *not* have survived a night in the 100+ temps of my flat. After a nice sleep on my friend's couch (the only good thing). I got to work almost an hour late to find my boss had come to work on time for the first time in months. Oops. I didn't leave my desk for the rest of the day until 5 pm when I packed up my numerous bags (I swear I'm one plastic bag shy of a bag lady at the moment) I get on the train to discover that I don't have my rail pass so that's an extra $2 charge on top of my $2 fare to get home. I walk in the house to find (OH JOY!) all my lights on as my power had been restored and I had obviously been walking around flicking switches last night as if that would do any good. As I was on the phone with my mum to explain that the birthday present I'd been waiting for had still not arrived (yup, the post office has apparently lost my rare Eva Zeisel something she's given me)... there is a frantic knock on my door. My downstairs neighbor rushes in and exclaims... "Oh my god your fish tank is leaking!". She was met with a dumb stare. I haven't had a fish tank in 15 years. I do however have pipes in my kitchen (as most kitchens do I would suppose) and we believe that one of them has burst leaving gushing water in her apartment. There is no sign of any damage or even problem in my place but that's to be expected as gravity would put the problem on her. F#cking hell. So now I have power (thank god) but will probably still not be able to spend a night in my apartment because someone is going to have to come turn the water off in order to knock holes in my dining room/kitchen wall and the floor in order to fix whatever the hell just spontaneously went wrong the second I walked into my apartment.

Shoot me now.

Posted by Liz at 6:51 PM | Permalink

I've written the check for the rest of my earnest money on my new one bedroom (plus den) condo. I've never written a check that large in my life. I've just met up with my real estate agent and handed off the check. My real estate attorney has settled the contract and my mortgage broker assures me that come November i'll have a mortgage for the rest. I am on my way to owning my first home.

I'd like to say that I'm thrilled but I'm a little petrified. I am looking forward to it of course, but the "being an adult" thing still seems a little bit beyond my means. I am anxious for the day when I can wake up in my new bedroom and look out upon the fresh growth of flowers and vegetables on my deck... but all this stuff in the middle scares me. I have three months to save and save some more. Speaking of saving, go bid on my eBay auctions if you please.

Posted by Liz at 12:18 PM | Permalink

Well maybe on most days in Chicago yes, but today the city is far from crowded. On one of the most beautiful days of the year we're facing ghost town conditions on the streets of the loop. I'm guessing the neighborhoods are not nearly as empty as our central business district. With the low numbers of workers comes the realization that it's "Independence Day" weekend. Beyond running that damn movie all weekend on some ridiculous telly station it means "us" Americans generally crowd around BBQs and frolic joyfully about kicking those silly redcoats out of the east coast many years ago. Oh, and fireworks. Personally, I've never given a damn for this holiday. I like that it falls in the middle of summer and believe you me, I'll take the day off work, but it's not something that I have ever felt strongly about.

I'm not anti-American, even tho I have been accused of such in the past. I appreciate the ideals this country was founded on, and those ideals I do celebrate. I just don't see those ideals reflected around us on a daily basis. Democracy sounds good in history texts but in reality it rarely even shows up in the newspaper. I'm not going to be glib. There are places in the world that have it FAR WORSE than we do in the U.S.A. I do appreciate that but I still feel like most of our 'democratic principles' are lip service. I leave you for the weekend with this glorious stand up routine from David Cross...

"and I vowed I would retain that image every time I heard George Bush say 'The Terrorists Hate Our Freedom'.
You know what? I hate our freedom. Me, little old me, I'm an American. I f#cking hate it. That's all we've done with it? We're f#cking assholes man. We are awful. Aww man.
(in whispery George Bush voice) 'The terrorists hate our freedom. The terrorists hate liberty. They hate freedom. They're freedom haters. We're freedom lovers. Shh. Don't tell anybody.'
He's always like whispering that..
(in bush whisper) 'We're freedom lovers. They're freedom haters. Don't tell Canada.'
And seriously if the terrorists hated freedom, then the Netherlands would be f#cking dust. As would Denmark and Sweden and Switzerland and New Zealand and Canada and every other country that's truly freer than we are. It's true.
And uh. I don't think Osama Bin Laden sent those planes into attack us because he hated our freedom. I think he did it because of our support for Israel and our ties the with Saudi family and all our military bases in Saudi Arabia. You know why I think that? Because that's what he f#cking said!
Are we a nation of six-year-olds? Answer? yes. God damn it.
(in childlike voice) 'Why did the bad man put the plane in the building?'
(in bush whisper) 'Cos he hated freedom'
(childlike) 'Oh cos I went to the Nexus-Lexus database and there's over 1400 articles that actually explain why...'
(in bush whisper) 'Shhh... he hated freedom. Have a cookie.'

Posted by Liz at 3:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I have been sneezing all morning. I'm rather congested too so I *really* hope I'm not getting sick. To combat the oncoming sicky-dom I picked up a Naked Juice on my way to work. After I drank 3/4 of the orange goodness I saw a lil laser imprint on the bottle. "Enjoy by Jun 11". Um... am I gonna die now from expired orange juice? It's not just a "sell by" date... it's an "enjoy by" date. Ugggga. Is that feeling in the pit of my stomach psychosomatic or legitimate?

If I get sick in the next 24 hours, let it be known to all the good people that read this (all two of you?) that I drank one "Naked Juice Just O-J" at approximately 9:30 AM today. The bottle was lot number 051F05128A (or rather I assume that's what the # is underneath the "Enjoy By" date). It was purchased for $2.49 from Presidential Market (555 W Monroe) in Presidential Towers. You will find the partially consumed bottle (for testing purposes eh?) sitting on my desk at work near the chalk outline drawn onto the hard wood floors.

Posted by Liz at 10:32 AM | Permalink

• twenty minutes of norwegian book proofreading on the train home
• one post-work nap interrupted by yet another acci-dial from a london cell phone
• one mistaken "oops" that my name isn't on the guest list for a show
• one mile walked after leaving the venue and saying "oh well"
• one tuna melt at a boystown diner
• two pints of Strongbow near Wrigley
• one lovely hello with an old friend from Michigan
• one calming evening stroll home through rabbitswood
• one el ride through memorial day parade traffic
• one and a half hours of very slow service at Artist's Cafe
• many refills of coffee
• one seat at the England vs US football game at Soldier Field
• many many many (many many) Englishmen wandering the city streets in celebration
• one sidetrip to State street for some errands
• one malfunctioning laptop
• one train ticket to the north shore with the bonus discovery of broken headphones
• one bridal shower with many frangos
• one pair of new magical headphones
• one well deserved early evening nap
• one "bachelorette" party which was thankfully not very stereotypical in location or demeanor
• too many Ketel One and cranberry juices (no lime)
• one long goodbye to a friend I won't see til August
• one morning of sleeping in
• two layers of sunscreen
• fourty minutes of searching for my house keys
• two weird camera filters and rolls of film
• one really big iced coffee
• one very long walk from rabbitswood (through uptown) to boystown
• one well needed breakfast at yet another boytown diner
• yet another very long walk up the lakeshore with many stops for photos and sunshine
• thirty minutes spent enjoying the dogs frolicking and stick chasing on the beach
• one short ride home on the montrose bus
• six hours of computer "fixin" while i'm gone
• two hour nap
• one layer of aloe vera on sunburnt skin
• one hour of complete frustration that my laptop is still not opening illustrator or photoshop
• two hundred and ninety two photos i can't do anything with from this weekend's adventures

Posted by Liz at 11:18 PM | Permalink

A few days ago I was at my best friend's house and borrowed a book from one of her many 'can i read this? yeah but i haven't read it yet so give it back when yer done' bookshelves. I am always looking for contemporary fiction to take my mind off things. This isn't such a bad thing except... it took me 200 pages into the novel to finally hit the realization "umm... i've read this". They always say the memory is the first thing to go. What happens when you didn't really have one in the first place? Particularly with only 50 pages left to go?

In honor of my literary forgetfulness, I picked up a new book from a local author today when I was out on lunch gallivanting about. Ok, there wasn't much gallivanting but there definitely was an 'about' as we wandered farther than normal from the 9-5. The book has been getting rave reviews about town and such and this local author originally had a blog from which this was based. I thought it would be a bit like 'The World According to Mimi Smartypants'... ya know bits of her blog interwoven to tell the not-quite story of her life. Not the case, this was much more the memoir to fill in the gaps and give us a march larger perspective. As I re-filled the bath up with warm water a hundred pages in I dropped my bookmark into the bubbles. Oh well, I'll hafta read it all the way through since I'm anti-corner creases. I did. Even if I forget tomorrow that I read this book (and then subsequently loaned it someone else and forgot that too), at least I'm still of clear enough mind to start and finish a book in one sitting. Although I did have to add more hot water to the bath more than once. I found it rather freakish as I turned the pages that not only is this a local author, she lives in my neighborhood... and by "lives in" i mean within a 2 or 3 block radius. She could be the girl across the hall for all I know, as she has described to a tee (tea? is someone describing caffeine or golf) the various streets and hangouts that I could practically spit out the window and hit. Granted, I don't spit and I don't open the screens on the windows... but still.

Posted by Liz at 12:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

There is one minute of my morning commute which puts a smile on my face... rain or shine. I've recently become a train (note: not EL) commuter and have been enjoying the short, cheap ride from my hood to my office. Despite being surrounded by north shore suburbanites, it's a peaceful and pain free way to both avoid the impending CTA rate hike and the EL crazies. But nothing compares to the view and my one minute of 'wow' every morning. There's a small section of track leading into the city that overlooks the Ogilvie Station rail yard, Chicago river, Green line EL (double decker goin over the river), Wacker drive, and the all the beauty of the Chicago Loop's architecture. While the planning of citylife sprawling out before me is quite the site... it's the movement that nearly chokes me up. The trains in motion, the people walking to work, the city is bustling as if the sidewalks, boats, trains, buses are alive.

Posted by Liz at 10:13 AM | Permalink

Posted by Liz at 11:23 AM | Permalink

Posted by Liz at 11:04 PM | Permalink

People who have known me for a few years typically see me about town with the same black bag on my back. A one-shoulder (half backpack, half messenger) Tumi, it has a distinctive egg shape and modern feel. My Tumi was not cheap. I bought it despite the price tag as I found within it's depths the perfect allocation of space, pockets, key chains, hideaway holes, etc. Finding something within my Tumi was second nature to me... that bag was designed specifically to lay on my back. That bag has been with me as I've traversed terrain in the US and abroad. It's been to peaceful buddhist shrines in Kamakura, pebbly beaches in Wales, icy fjords in Norway, beautifully designed gallery spaces in Denmark and on a daily basis was the shell protecting me in my struggle with the urban world. That Tumi bag has seen more oddities and wonder than travel section of the Sunday paper.

Sadly, my Tumi is no more. A few months ago I noticed the zipper was having a few problems. I held off on fixing him for awhile, knowing it would be hard to part with him for the week or so it would take to send him in to Tumi and get him back. A week ago I gave in and handed him over to my local Tumi rep for repair. I removed his contents and waved him goodbye, confident that he would return to me in near-perfect condition (no mean feat for a 4 year old bag that gets worn daily). I waited and waited for word from the repair shop. Ok not really... really I figured it would take about 10 days and forgot about it. I even received a comment or two from people around me wondering over the past week inquiring where my Tumi was.

This morning... my curiosity and I called in for word of my Tumi. Apparently, the zipper was not broken... the design of the bag was defective. Defective? Not my Tumi! I took offense on behalf of my bag. The woman on the phone explained to me that my bag was discontinued some time ago... and unfortunately they had no more in stock. I sucked in a breathe and waited for the bad news...

Tumi Rep: "I'm sorry ma'am, you'll have to get a new bag."
Me: "A new bag? But..."
TR: "We will credit you the full original retail price for this bag. Our records indicate that you purchased it in 2001. Is this correct?"
Me: "Yes (sniffle)... but"
TR: "Yes?"
Me: "My Tumi went around the world with me attached to it!"
TR: "I'm very sorry Ma'am. Very sorry. As I was saying, you will receive a full credit for the original retail price. If you'd like to visit a Tumi store or browse our website and pick out a new bag I will gladly ship it to you as soon as possible. I'm very sorry for the inconvenience but hey, at least you get a new bag."

The moral of my story: The average company would have replaced the zipper with a cheap replacement and then charged me an arm and a leg for the privilege. Tumi is giving me a FULL credit for the cost of the bag from when I purchased it four years ago. Tumi products may be more expensive but their guarantee and service definitely justify the cost.

Posted by Liz at 11:50 AM | Permalink

I am soppy wet. I woke up this morning to what could only be the undeniable sound of a lightning bolt hitting the ground somewhere near my inner ear drum. BOOM! Yes yes, I'm awake. Geez. I thought perhaps I'd been having some strange thunderstorm dream. As I hopped into the shower the crashing and booming continued all around me but as far as I could see by peering out the window was not resulting in any rain. Strange. I know I've been in a bit of a daze but it is still January right? It doesn't rain in January... it snows?

As I ran out the door to the El it started... full scale armageddon style retribution from the angry cloud gods. The rain was so thick it was hard to see further than 20' ahead. I ran and I ran and I ran like a lil gingerbread man. The drops were coming so quickly that our drainage system was utterly knackered and about to pass out from exhaustion. So as I was running I bounded through puddle after pond after lake after ocean. By the time I got held up at a corner for traffic, I was a big soppy cold mess. My spikey icelandic shoes were squishing with every step, my jeans were glued to my legs and my umbrella was trembling in my hand.

At this point I decided to forgo the running, after all what could happen? I could end up all wet. Ha! I laugh at yer wet as I had already become one with the showers. I leisurely strolled through the puddles and oceans (complete with floaty icebergs) the last block to the el stop. As I took my final step into the train station "the wet" stops with the same suddenness as it started. Damn wet.

Posted by Liz at 10:45 AM | Permalink

All day yesterday I knew I would have to leave the house. I had not been able to sleep through the night before without appropriate medicines... and another evening of sleeplessness loomed before me. As I stared out the window at the winter sky, the world looked dark and foreboding. Eventually, around 9:30 pm I gave in and began the long and arduous trek to the pharmacists. Little did I know the dangers the path before me presented...

I put on my cloak, err coat, and pulled the hood tight over my head. One foot in front of the other I trekked west two blocks and north four blocks. About halfway through I heard a voice in my head declare, "wait... you can go no further without company on this trek"... so I called a friend. As I approached the giant illuminating 'WALGREENS' sign... I noticed something was awry. Giant carts of shopping were blocking the entrance. A little man in a blue vest was directing people OUT of the store, but no one was allowed in. Drats. Time had become my enemy. Walgreens was closed. It was not yet 10 pm but that didn't seem to matter to the blue vested man.

I stood next to a giant statue of a former president and formulated a new plan... onto the grocers, they'll have Nyquil for sure. Mr Lincoln seemed to wish my luck on my voyage... oh if only he knew. From my current location I would have to navigate about 8 blocks south on a diagonal street... weaving through the jubilant pub goers and acoustic guitar strapped youngsters. As I walked and babbled to and fro with my friend, I began to feel my lungs. Apparently lungs are something that I take for granted... because feeling them breathe in and out, is not necessarily a good thing. I slowed my pace to save my strength. I walked past the resident homeless woman with bright pink lipstick and a fur coat. I walked past some new tiny lil rock venue that apparently has booked Urge Overkill for the following evening. I walked past a park, a library, a diner full of people ingesting blueberry pancakes. I walked and walked until before me a glow like salvation itself the magical words "JEWEL" appeared in bright orange. I thanked my friend for the verbal company, hung up the mobile phone and pushed in through the door.

But something was wrong. Was this still a grocery store or the scene of the apolcalyse? Workmen bustled about, construction tarps were flung about like dirty socks and one lost boy at a cash registered bit at his nails in boredom. I walked towards the medicine aisle to discover... it wasn't there. It was replaced with gigantic plastic sheeting hung down from the ceiling and covered in bright yellow striped "DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!" tape. Perplexed I walked around to the other end of the aisle to try and approach from other side. Again, I was faced with "DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!" tape but no medicine. I poked a bustling workman and asked him if I could get some Nyquil. Something indecipherable was mumbled back to me in a foreign tounge.

I tried not to cry as I approached the fingernail biting register boy. "Please sir... can I have some porridge"... err no I said something more along the lines of... "Please, can you go get me a bottle of Nyquil?".
Fingernail boy looked up from his grubby mitts, looked towards the aisle of danger and said "sure, just regular Nyquil?"
"yes...but cherry flavor", I stutter.
Fingernail boy wanders towards the danger zone... as he peels back the plastic I get a glimpse of the horrors that have become the medicine aisle. Large chunks of ceiling appear to have come loose, huge gaping holes have opened into the netherworld of the dark sky, sprinkler systems, electrical wires, the whole thing has become a soppy gigantic hole where workmen must go to die. Fingernail boy turns around and looks at me.... I glare back at him.... he looks back into the pit of despair and turns around to face me saying "No. No, I can't get you any Nyquil. But there is an Osco Drug a few blocks down".

I walk out the door, absolutely dejected. I glance down the street and can vaguely make out some blurriness that could possibly be another drug store. I call back my friend so at least someone can make light of my perilous trek. I can definitely feel my lungs now... and feel each little breathe become harder and harder to grasp. One block, two blocks, three blocks, four blocks... I am now very far from home. A light at the end of the tunnel approaches as I stumble upon the thankfully open pharmacy. I push open the door to salvation and wish adieu to my telephone friend. Aisle upon aisle of life saving exliers await my perusal. I take my time... finding not only cherry flavored Nyquil but bottles of ginger ale, boxes of tissues and other sickly accouterments. There is one open check out girl... and only one woman in front of me as I breathe a sigh of relief. I glance at my watch and notice an hour has gone by since I left the warmth of home.

It was then that I look down at the quite full shopping cart in front of me and notice it's contents... Forty gigantic coffee cups. The woman in front of me has decided to buy the world's ugliest and quite possibly largest coffee cups at 10:45 in the evening. Each one, she insists must be double wrapped in a plastic bag and then stacked in more, larger plastic bags. The check out girl is noticeably upset. Five minutes pass, 10 minutes pass and the transaction is nearly finished when the woman wanders away to find "oh just one more thing"... and returns with five more of these huge mugs. More wrapping, more packing into bags and I throw the now heavy contents of my arms into the check out girl's reach. I pay. I grab my bags and I start the long journey home. My lungs cannot possibly handle the walk, I need alternate transportation. I walk out the door throwing my hood up and glancing at the nearby streets... which direction will I be able to find a taxicab?

I decide on Lincoln Ave and wait at a corner. Five minutes, 10 minutes... My arms and my whole body feel near collapse when a bright yellow cab approaches. I force my right arm up with all the strength I have left and he glides to a stop in front of my feet. I throw myself and my bags into the back of the cab and mumble my address... five minutes later I glance out the window and yell "STOP!" as we drive past my house.

I paid the man, thanked him for the ride and stumble up the three flights of stairs. Home... home again.

Posted by Liz at 5:10 PM | Permalink

I did something rare this morning, I spent four hours drawing. I never have the luxury of that kind of creative exploration on projects but as my g5 was getting a proper inspection and cleaning, I didn't have much choice. Oh the joys of tracing paper and a pencil! Here is where if I was 10 years older I would expound on 'the good old days' of designing pre-computer world, but I'm not 10 years older am I? I've worked on a computer since age 7 (or at least jumping up and down next to my brother while he played with it and I went 'ooooooh lemme lemme lemme!'). It was good fun to pull out my erasers, pencils and prop up the drafting table. I think my Mac guy was just amused at me humming along to the music pumping through my headphones. Every once in a while I'd turn around to find him giggling at me. Either my G5 makes some damn funny jokes or I am an entertaining person to watch draw. It might have had something to do with the lil animated conversation I was imagining between the shrimp I was drawing and the Kings of Convenience I was listening to.

I can't sit down to draw without picturing an old Peanuts strip where Charlie Brown is sat at a table... markers and paper spread about him... and in the next frame he's drawing furiously and in the third frame he looks up and you discover more of the marker has ended up on him than the paper. I can't tell you how many times I washed the lead off my hands today.

Posted by Liz at 5:08 PM | Permalink

I sat on the train this morning next to a little hispanic man. When I sat down he was shuffling papers about and I thought nothing of it. After he jabbed me with his elbow a few times during his shuffling, I finally took notice of what he was doing. From every pocket on his person he kept finding more and more lottery tickets. Little Lotto, Powerball, Daily Four or whatever they are all called... there had to be a hundred lottery tickets. He'd read the numbers on one... move onto the next, occasionally circling the odd digit here or there with one of those stubbly free IKEA pencils. He was hunched over, protective of his little tickets... like a squirrel hiding away their winter nuts. Just when I thought he was done scouring the collection he'd amassed on his lap... he'd find another pocket in his coat or pants or shirt... and out would come more tickets. The train was running slowly this morning and I witnessed at least 30 minutes of this... until like a switch the man magically fell asleep (tickets still spread about his lap) and started snoring.

Posted by Liz at 5:01 PM | Permalink

i have faced no less than 3 questions today about my wearing a skirt. in an office where there are only 3 other people here today... that's a rather high percentage. even my less-than-adequate math skills deduce that's a 100% questioning rate.

despite the fears that i'm wearing a skirt as i have a job interview... it's really all about the shoes. i woke up this morning and saw my favorite lil mary janes sitting in the corner and decided that they must be yearning for chilly fall air. i *love* these shoes. i love most of my shoes, but these lil mary janes might just rate at the top of the bunch. purchased from a tiny lil shoe store in harajuku (tokyo eh?) they have the roundest toes... round like the hard plastic ears of my childhood minnie mouse costume.

do other people get dressed like this? do they find one article of clothing (or perhaps an accessory) and base the rest of their daily uniform upon that particular object?

later...

I should wear a skirt everyday. My boss sees me standing downstairs pondering where to go for lunch, see's the skirt and the conversation continues as follows:

MrBossman: Oh! Liz! You look nice today. Are you off to lunch?
Me: Yes, I think so. It looks like rain though so I'm not sure where to go.
MrBossman: Well, how about I buy you lunch and we have it delivered so you don't have to worry about the rain.
Me: Hmm.
MrBossman: What would you like?
Me: I was thinking about mexican.
MrBossman: (to alternate co-worker) Order mexican for Liz, if they don't deliver please go get it.

Uhhh...

Posted by Liz at 5:17 PM | Permalink

i was sitting in a meeting this morning at evil-food-company-X and staring out the window when i realized i was staring at a fading blue water tower. from 18 stories up i began to count. i could see water towers for lombard, glen ellyn, wheaton, carol stream, glendale heights and more... 14 in total. 14! i'm not exactly sure what the point of sharing this is, other than it made me feel slightly more connected to the area around me and a slight sense of nostalgia. i was about 2 miles from the house i grew up in, sitting in a building whose parking lot i learned to drive in and for a second... just a second... i missed it all.

i'm not sure exactly what there was to miss... unless it was the lack of responsibility, the carefree lifestyle of my teenage years and innocence. well i suppose those are things to miss now aren't they? for another half a second, i could imagine myself living there again... giving up my public transit, indie-business-purchasing ways, buying a car and taking up residence a few miles from where i'm from. i know that's not any easier... but a yard and a garden seem like delectable ideals right now. it seems every corner i turn, i continue searching for a more peaceful lifestyle in this otherwise chaotic city. as it is i've chosen to live away from "the action"... in a quiet and calm little corner that's full of trees, single family homes and families with lil kids peddling around on tricycles.

so yeah today i've determined yet again that i have no idea what i want out of my life.

Posted by Liz at 5:25 PM | Permalink

Time leaving my house this afternoon: 12:30 pm
Number of chilaquile plates at the brunch table: 2
Miles walked: Approx. 6 or 7
Friends conversed and smiled with: 2
Families enjoying a slightly chilly afternoon in the park: About 175
Boys enjoying soccer (football): 597
Rare hand built Irish ships gaped at: 1
Circus performers seen practicing trapeze acts: About 7
Seagulls soaring over Montrose beach mid-afternoon: 62
Cute dark curly haired dogs petted: 2
Cute other dogs referred to as "awww lookit": 37
Times nearly run over on the lake shore path of no patience: Only 1
Hours spent gushing about the diversity and overwhelming magic of this city: 2
Hours spent thinking that without saying it: 6
Time spent debating which movie to see at outdoor cafe: 53 minutes
Length of actual movie seen: 80 minutes
Architectural minutiae inspected: 1,000's
Other Chicagoans enjoying the blue skies: 7 million
Smiles on my face or Selwa's: 8,678
Time returning to my house this evening: 10:30 pm

Posted by Liz at 5:30 PM | Permalink

My sincerest apologies to the world at large. Quite rudely, I ignored you yesterday. It was wholly irresponsible of me to blow off ALL plans yesterday, turn off my phone and lock myself within my home.

The thing is on our "Independence Day" (observed) I really did want my independence. I wanted to be free to do as I wanted to. In the process of truly gaining my freedom from the world of societal expectations and rules I ignored the telephone and skipped quite a few holiday events. This does not mean that I dislike you or your planned event but simply that I needed the day to me, wholly mine and mine alone.

Thank you for allowing me the brief pleasure that was a day to myself... and thank you for being such caring and wonderful people to not give me grief for my actions.

Posted by Liz at 9:53 AM | Permalink

In my attempt to re-acquire my german language skills i get those word-of-the-day things in my email. As far as i can tell this has done nothing to boost my Wortschatz (vocabulary) but instead ceases to be a nonstop annoyance since no matter what I do I cannot seem to get off the list. So here I go using my Deutsch-word-of-the-day in a sentence... Die Straßenbahn ist sehr weit. What did I learn? The streetcars are very far. Far from what I'm not sure, I'll assume it's me. Since Chicago has no streetcars I feel adept with my grasp of the German language.

In other news I did nothing of any interest whatsoever this evening, yet I won't cease to talk about it of course. Let's see... I watched a ridiculous French sexual romp which needn't a name since it was just like every other French sexual romp. The plot goes like this... husband cheating on wife, lesbian shows up at the door, wife cheats with lesbian, husband gets mad, wife gets upset and feels guilt, wife finds out about husband cheating on wife, wife gets mad, husband gets upset and feels guilt, etc etc. BOOORING. It was mind numbing and subtitled though and after 10 hours at work, mind numbing was what I needed.

In other news, I tried to read a book in the bath. The telephone rang. A conversation ensued which cannot-be-talked-about. It was actually a very ridiculously entertaining conversation despite my dropping the cordless headset into the bath water more than once. I cannot identify who called as that would be breaking the code of "you can't talk about this" ridiculousness that spilled forth from the caller. Needless to say I entertained the caller with my own sort of trivial randomness. Nothing more can be said about this conversation, so file this under "what in the hell is liz talking about?". Only the caller knows... [insert evil cackle here].

In other news, once I had sufficiently made my toes raisiney in the bubble bath I turned on the light in my bedroom to find out the kitty had lost her breakfast on my duvet. Lovely. After much searching on the web to find out the source of the problem with said kitty it has been determined that occasionally-kitties-lose-their-breakfasts-on-duvets. (sigh) Nothing to be done except to drop the duvet in the kitty owner's laundry in the morning. (double sigh) I wish the problem could be kitties-occasionally-lose-their-breakfasts-on-rugs but no such luck I guess kitties just were not made that way.

Off for my evening nap under my duvet-less goosedown...

Posted by Liz at 11:30 PM | Permalink

As I turn the 1000+ pages of illustration books I can't get 'Jingle Bells' out of my head. jingle bells jingle bells, jingle all the waaaaayyy...

Um, it is June right?

Posted by Liz at 9:53 AM | Permalink

It's hard to enter one of Chicago's hipsterest of hipster bars and not be slightly judgmental. I was coincidentally in the same hipster bar last night and had commented that the entire place had a paint-by-numbers feel to it. Hello, I'm hipster A... color me yellow as i'm a writer and really into califone and whatever hipster band i'm glamourizing at pitchfork today. or... i'm hipster b... an artist color me aqua. I'm struggling for my art (vagina statues made out of scrap metal) and drinking the cheapest beer available ($1.75 for a PBR) and I somehow think this makes me all the more worthy of the spotlight. Luckily the place was a little more chill tonight. As always with monkey boy the conversation was steered towards thought provoking things of interest. I love people with whom the surface level conversation can be immediately broken (especially those that can throw in the occasional joke about feces... j/k).

I ran into a hipster actor friend (more former friend though). at one point in time he was particularly active in my group of friends... but his lies and strangeness surfaced at about the same time he dropped out entirely. He's going to Turkey this week. I made a comment about being a few days late to protest Bush and he looked at me blankly. Leave it to actors to have no idea what i'm on about. I'm not quite used to getting the world's hugest hugs and kisses about my face from near strangers. Uhh... yeah I haven't seen you in over a year despite the fact that you spent that one really fun night out with me exploring the rooftops of Chicago's gay bars. Again, I froze when he asked me "So, what's up with you"? How exactly does one follow this sentence, "Oh life is fabulous i just finished up a play with the piven theatre, i'm in love and i'm going to Turkey on Tuesday". Hhhh... I think I said something along the lines up "um... well i'm out drinking, that's a start". lordy. It's not like i'm a recluse who goes nowhere and experiences nothing so i've determined I will always stammer out something wholly inappropriate in that "how's it going" situation. Maybe that's my niche in this world... inappropriate comments that leave people thinking to themselves, "What's wrong with her?".

Posted by Liz at 1:00 AM | Permalink

There is perhaps nothing more I enjoy more than lallygagging... hanging around idly reading a bit, listening to music, enjoying the sunshine coming in through the windows and just thinking. It does make me wish I had a garden though. I would love to spend time watering, sitting in the garden and de-weeding (i've never understood the word "weeding" as it implies you planting and maintaining the bastards and not pulling them out). There must be part of me that inherited the country genes of my father, not that he does anything to enjoy the outdoors (besides golf). To him being outside is work. My mom was the one who will sit outdoors with a glass of sun tea and a book whilst he always saw the yard, garden, outdoor areas of our home as a place to be maintained by building, lawn mowing, tree planting, etc. Still, he still comes from stock that lived their lives outside on a tractor.

I wish sometimes that I remembered more of my grandparents farm. I was still young when my father's parents both died and the farm became a hassle and not a home. In my mother's eyes that place was always a chore. She instilled a sense in me as a very young child that the house was to be feared. I would lay in bed at night and stare at the cracks in the ceiling terrified the whole thing would fall down upon me. I could never sleep there. Instead of respecting that the house had outlasted tornadoes and that it was a strong symbol of survival against all odds, I was taught it was an icky place with no shower. A people that were satisfied with one bathtub were weird and bumpkin-like to my mother. Yet in all that time we spent there when I was a child i've never heard my father utter a bad word. When I was about eleven and my grandmother died, leaving the family farm in the hands of my father and uncle, I didn't understand his hesitation to sell the place to city folk. I hadn't lived long enough to understand the history behind it the house, and it's surrounding barns. Sure, I realized he grew up having to get up at the crack of dawn to milk the cows and go get the eggs for his mother to sell to the neighbors but I had always seen him as escaping that life, not how it was still so much a part of what makes him.

My family still owns the acreage. the house, barns and a few acres were split off from our property and sold to said city people who still haphazardly farm the five acres of their lot. I haven't been up there in a few years now, despite the fact that my one surviving grandparent lives only about 15 miles away "in the city". In some ways that farm is the typical symbol of the 'American dream'... that one can better themselves with hard work and a goal. In other ways, it's not. Yes, my father did better than those before him but not because he shared in their dream but because he left it. My grandparents lived as if the great depression never ended. Everything was scrimped and saved for future generations. Somewhere in my parent's current home I have a my grandmother's hope chest, which was left to me as the only granddaughter. It's full of towels, the good china and trinkets that she never felt she was good enough to use so she saved them for me. I probably don't think about her as often as i should. I realize now that I was the best gift my parents could have ever given her. Not to knock my brother at all but he was just another boy in her eyes. she wanted someone to pass it all onto and never felt that the boys in the family (my brother and two cousins) were as accepting of her gifts. While I can't remember the farm so well... I can always remember the smile on her face when we'd pull up the gravel drive and i'd run in the house... flinging open the screen door to yell "GRANDMAAA WE'RE HEREEEEE".

The oddest things make me think of those grandparents. I am always reminded of my grandfather when I encounter a bathroom with one of those towel roll dryers. Do you know which I mean? There was one of those in the kitchen bathroom of the farm and every time my grandfather would come in from the barn his first step was that bathroom to wash his hands and use the hand dryer. He comes to mind so vividly when I see find hand dryers that I can probably tell you every bathroom in the city of Chicago I encounter them. Let's see there's one at the Daily (the corner bar and grill by my flat), there's one at the Gingerman (the bar next to the metro)... etc. The thing that reminds me of my grandmother (and no laughing cos if the first one wasn't absurd enough this is)... cottage cheese. My grandparent's farm was a dairy farm. They grew corn and soybeans but the income was mostly from the cows. Chances are if you ever had Swiss Miss™ cocoa or pudding from about 1960 - 1990 you had some of the milk from my grandfather's cows. He was quite proud of the fact that he was the longest producing dairy farmer for Santee Dairies. For 47 years they used his cream heavy milk for puddings and such. What does this have to do with cottage cheese? Absolutely nothing, but the one thing my grandmother always fed me. It took me years to realize the goodness scooped into a bowl was not coming from those cows in the barn and actually from the grocery store. Even now... almost 20 years later I still eat cottage cheese several times a week.

Posted by Liz at 1:00 PM | Permalink

What do I have to say tonight? I spent most of today laying as still as possible with the blinds closed and sipping a bottle of water between naps. Damn migraines. I know the cat is trying to be sweet when she curls up next to me in my oh-god-why-am-i-alive-and-in-this-much-pain state but really... it's not helpful. I like the cat, I really do. She's sweet, low maintenance and getting more and more comfortable as the days go on. But I can't help thinking this 2 months is a good exercise in owning a cat for me to learn that I am still a dog person. Cats look cute in pictures. Cats look cool when they are staring out at you from tall window ledges. They still aren't dogs. My Thibault is feeling under the weather and I'd be more than pleased to curl up with him all day while we nurse our internal injuries. The vet couldn't find anything wrong with him this morning, but did give my mum some medicines to make his stomach feel better and hopefully stop his puking attacks. Poor thing.

What else have I learned today other than with all the blinds drawn in my apartment it is still too sunny to be suitable for daytime migraine-sleeping-off? I supposed I've learned that VIP tents at music festivals are just as bland as standing out in the audience. Don't get me wrong I appreciate the offer of free alcohol but this was not the night to take a friend up on the VIP access. There were a few familiar faces in the we-are-cooler-than-you-so-we-have-to-be-gated-off-to-stop-you-lowlifes-from-stealing-our-free-crap-beer-fence, but I wasn't in the mood for "oh how are you... oh that sounds interesting...yes i saw them live a few weeks ago and thought they did must have done a lot of production work to the album because the live show is weak in comparison" music industry smalltalk. I think my friend understood this and didn't take offense when I split after Fountains of Wayne were finished. I'm not quite in the mood to talk to anyone as it hurts to think. Thinking is bad today, hurts the brain. I suppose I've been suffering from the migraines frequently enough that it's time to get a referral from my doctor to a headache clinic.

Every year I have to attend a party at one of the crappiest bars in Chicago. I won't name the bar as I don't like to tell people that I frequent the place, even if it only every June. The occasion and people are always the same... a former co-worker's birthday. This was the first year she was a former co-worker but the sense of obligation is still strong enough to force my attendance. She's a sweet girl really, just someone I have nothing in common with. Life to her is a series of fruity drinks and the revolving door of "boys" she has "hooked up with". Am I wrong to be judgmental of people who live their lives on such a surface level? I was saved by the attendance of 'monkey boy'. Monkey boy is really more of a man than the name let's on but he's always one for witty banter... only again I was not quite in the mood for such banter as thinking is STILL bad for the brain. As always though it is enjoyable to listen to his amusing stories of girls who refuse to have orgasms.

Posted by Liz at 12:49 AM | Permalink

After walking to a pub at lunch and finding out we couldn't get in because a) there was a $20 cover to watch the England match and b) it was packed to the gills and people were practically falling out of the windows, my co-worker and I walked 2 blocks further to a local brewery.

BIG MISTAKE. I have NEVER received such shoddy treatment in a restaurant ever. I ordered a salad... and simply asked for no gorgonzola (blue cheese makes me puke) and no bacon (also the puking thing). Our waiter said "well would you like another cheese on the salad, we have blue cheese crumbles"... Um. The difference between gorgonzola and blue cheese is what exactly? Oh right... the name. without trying to sound snotty I did inform him that they really were the same thing (one should know this in a restaurant where EVERY salad comes with gorgonzola on it). The co-worker also orders a salad. After what seems like an eternity but was probably only 5 minutes our drinks arrive. Another 15 minutes goes by, another 5 minutes goes by and i'm really annoyed with the conversation so I keep checking my watch. Our salads arrive and are put down on the table by a random bus boy and he turns to walk away. I look down on the salad and ... bacon. In this entire time we have not once seen our waiter to say "sorry about the slow service today" or "your salads will be right out" or "can I get you anything else"... but I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt cos after all there are four other tables around us that he's serving too.

I figure in a few minutes he'll come round and ask if our meals are ok... and at that point i can ask for a salad without bacon. 5 minutes.... 10 minutes. i am slightly amused at this point. being that i'm not terribly hungry i'm curious to see if my co-worker can finish his entire salmon salad before the waiter (or ANYONE) ever comes round. my co-worker is not as amused as i am... and walks to the bar and tells the bartender the situation. a girl shows up at our table a minute later, takes my bacony salad away and says she'll be right back with a new one.

at this point our waiter shows up and says "there was something wrong with your salad?" i explain that i asked for no bacon and he immediately blurts out "well i wrote it down so the kitchen must have messed it up". uhh... feeling a bit defensive are we? it doesn't matter to me who fucked it up... the point is i want a salad without bacon. is this too hard of a request? he walks away (no refill on my now empty iced tea of course). 5 minutes.... 10 minutes. noticing a trend? at this point i figure the bartender is the only one who can get anything done around here... so i walk up to the bar and ask if the manager's around. he asks where we're sitting and says she'll be by in a minute.

she comes over to our table and i explain that at this point i've been waiting 45 minutes for a COLD salad. she apologizes and says she'll go right to the kitchen and sort it out. 5 more minutes go by (note we're at 50 minutes here... and i have an HOUR for lunch) and tada... salad! no bacon, no blue cheese! brilliance. my co-worker has of course been done with his salad for at least 10 minutes so he rambles on and on and on about lord knows what. the salad actually is pretty good (after all that it better be), the manager comes back over and apologizes again... and yes, she's taken the $10 salad off of our check.

this is where our waiter goes ballistic. i'm trying to eat my salad in the 5 minutes now allotted to me before we have to go back to the office. he comes over to our table and literally drops the check onto my salad. WTF? i remove the paper and turn at him and ask oh-so-nicely-yet-obviously-annoyed if i could please have a refill on my tea. he comes back to the table with the pitcher of iced tea... and proceeds to spill it on the table. there's now a decent sized puddle in the middle of the table surrounding the overflowing glass. he says nothing, turns and walks away. he does not return... EVER. we didn't want to leave the cash on the table and i was hoping for a box so i could eat the rest of my salad back at the office... and we wait and we wait... after 10 minutes we gave up... dropped exactly the amount for his salad and my tea and walked out. of course... as we go outside and walk past where our table is, we look in. magically the waiter has materialized and is quite obviously talking smack about us with a bus boy who is trying to clean up the iced tea mess that became our table.

Posted by Liz at 2:02 PM | Permalink

I hear a "thuuuuump, thuuuuuuuuump, thummmmppp" as I wake up for what feels like the millionth time during the night at nearly 4 am. I look around and try to adjust my eyes to the dark to find the source of the mysterious thumping. What exactly is the cat doing now? After about an hour of the jumping game (from the floor to the bed, down to the floor, back to the bed, down to the floor, back to the bed, down to the floor, back to the bed) I thought she'd finally settled down. Silly me thought she'd gotten quite a bit of energy out with the roll-around-on-her-back-and-meow-loudly game and the oh-yer-nearly-asleep-time-to-sit-on-yer-face trick. Apparently not as we've discovered the new of amusement of repeatedly-pushing-on-the-closet-door-with-your-nose-til-we-hear-a-loud-thump thrill.

Do cats not sleep at night? Perhaps that's what she and her dust bunny friends do under the bed all day.

I'm exhausted.

Posted by Liz at 8:30 AM | Permalink

I woke up this morning with a horrendous sinus headache. I took some medication, drank some water and tried to forget about it. Strangely enough trying to forget about pain, will not make it go away (I have noted this for future reference).

Shortly after a viewing of the Zinn documentary, Michael, Lindsay and I wandered about... from bookstore to record shop to el to resale shop. I started to feel nauseous. Nausea added to a sinus headache is my universal sign for an oncoming migraine. I just walked out. I couldn't wait. I ran across the street to the large chain of bedding/cheap clothing/shoes store and lost my quiche in their rest room. Subconsciously I must have decided that if one must puke in a public place, it should be in the bathroom of a large corporate entity. I stumbled across the street to a drugstore and purchased a LARGE bottle of water and medication suitable to my distress.

I called lindsay to apologize for my sudden disappearance, met them on a close corner and headed back to the el. As soon as I got onto the platform to waitI felt I had made the wrong decision. I had cash in my wallet, a cab was not out of the question but it hadn't even crossed my mind. I could feel the water and medication swishing around in my now empty stomach and wasn't sure I was going to make it home. The pain shooting from my third eye towards the back of my head made me immediately want to jump from the train station onto the traffic below on Belmont... but I could see the el approaching.

The ten minutes to my train station felt like an eternity. I stumbled into my local ciggy shop and purchased a Coke™. Caffeine helps and who has time to make a cup of tea in circumstances like these? More stumbling the two blocks home and I collapsed on the sofa. A few sips of the Coke™ and it was lights out. I woke up several hours later in my now dark apartment to hear my phone ringing. There were multiple missed calls and rain pounding on the half opened windows.

So while I have guests in town, I sit here at home alone, telly on mute, half awake, overly medicated but in much less pain. I hope their afternoon and evening has gone better than mine.

Posted by Liz at 7:53 PM | Permalink