Jer-ry! Jer-ry!

My last day of work was originally going to be Wed. 8th. Then Mon. 6th at 6pm, as usual. Then it got pushed back to Mon. 6th at 1pm. The reason? My Quebecois pal Raphael got two tickets to a taping of "Jerry Springer." What better reason to leave work early than to go see one of Chicago's institutions? Exactly.

Seated in the middle of the audience, we're in the red shirt and white shirt. Enlarge the image to see my very bad arrows pointing to us, courtesy of Microsoft Paint and my right (read: wrong) hand:


For those of you Fracophones, Raphael's blow-by-blow (hah) account is on his blog. The rest of you will have to watch the show between 12pm-2pm, Central Time, on Wed. 15th on NBC. That's TOMORROW!

Party Hardy

The stars are aligned; all is well after a trio of unhappy occurrences. This weekend more than made up for any recent spate of bad luck.

Saturday I was privileged to attend three parties: a friend's bridal/knitting party, a cabaret show on a rooftop, and a Mustache Bash theme party. (Guess what the theme was...)

My friend, Brian, who organizes the Cabaret Vagabond/Das Ist Kunst evenings, had spoken of his boss's rooftop. "It has a really great garden," he said, "with trees." Forgive me if I had no idea how exactly awesome that was. Once there, I took as many photos as humanely possible between sending myriad texts to try to get as many of my friends to come over -- immediately -- and share in the amazingness. I ended up recruiting four pals (plus 8 random Italians, because that's how I roll), some of whom you can see in the below photos.

And then it was off to the Mustache Bash, where I quickly drew on a Charlie Chaplin-esque 'stache.

View my Shutterfly album

[for an alternative version, Francophones can read my

Quebecois pal Raphaël's take on the parties here]

Sunday night was a party with the Myopenbar crew, where we had pizza and then wandered into the Wicker Park environs in search of parties. While on the phone giving directions to my boss (in from NYC, on a bicycle, and completely turned around), my friend discovered a party. Surprisingly, they not only let the seven of us crash it, they gave us shots when we entered the backyard -- and then challenged us to a game of Flippy Cup. One of the attendees almost blew a gasket when he found out we were from Myopenbar, since he loves out site and is going to our party on Tuesday. It was the over-the-top validation I'd hoped for for the past two years...

Then it was off to a different party, where we were treated to an amazing Skyline view and cornhole. "How Midwest," my NYC-dwelling boss and his hipster girlfriend mused. "How awesome," he should've said.

Dress Edwardian, pass out cucumbers, get $3,000

I love hearing about things like the following, from a Myopenbar acquaintance in NYC:

I am doing some work with Hendrick's Gin (woo!) and need some help in chicago. Do you know of any struggling male artists/actors/night owls/students/unemployed folks who would like, for 10 weeks, to work as a cucumber courier for 5 hours a day, twice a week. they would need to dress Edwardian and ride a bicycle around areas of chicago between 11 and 4, handing out cucumbers and newspapers. They would need to be over 21 and we would pay them around 300/week. possibly more. what do you think? Any names spring to mind? totally random request, i know but it would be fun, lucrative and a good way to shape up.

Be on the lookout in September. Oh, and let me know if this tickles your fancy!

Caring For Your Extrovert

Engrossed in Neal Stephenson's Diamond Age, I putzed around his website today and uncovered the following article:

"Caring For Your Introvert"

One of the best lines is the following:

Extroverts are energized by people, and wilt or fade when alone. They often seem
bored by themselves, in both senses of the expression. Leave an extrovert alone
for two minutes and he will reach for his cell phone.

That is me to the extreme. In fact, one of the remarks made when I was summarily kicked out of my apartment back in December was that I was on the phone all the time. Could I help being so? I wasn't talking to my roommate(s), so I needed to have alternate avenues of communicating with other people. Almost my entire day is spent in some form of communication or another: I'm typing emails, writing letters, texting, even journaling. (And yes, I haven't yet been fired. From this job, at least.)

In fact, the whole extrovert thing can be taken a bit too far, something I am (semi) aware of. Other than the occassional lunch date with just one other friend, I'm hard-pressed to name a time where it was just a tete-a-tete. This was illustrated during the past week when my "temporary Croatian boyfriend" was visiting. We wanted to go out for Korean barbeque, so I invited some friends along. 20 of them. Now, granted, we only ended up with six people for dinner (since there were a couple of no-shows), but I was still incapable of inviting any less. "These are just the people I thought would be interested," I explained when I showed him the list of names. He had no idea how many people I could've invited...

The same "quantity over quality" modus operandi came when he suggested that he take me out for dinner at my favorite Chicago restaurant. I immediately asked if we could double-date with my Italian friends, only to have him gently suggest that perhaps we could do both. What?! Do something one-on-one when there are hundreds of people to see? How could I? This reminded me of a time my freshman year of college, where a guy asked if I wanted to go to the movie theatre, which you had to drive to as it was off-campus. I brought along two friends (since, after all, the more the merrier, right?) That was our last date. Oops.

Almost 10 years later, I'm slowly learning that sometimes, two is better than many. In moderation, of course.

Birthday Birthday

When my friend Jen gave me a card reminding me of all the birthdays we've spent together, I was struck with wondering how exactly I had been spending the past few years. Here, then, are some memory-joggers for all of you who've helped me ring in another year of existence. And happy birthday to me -- officially 27 tomorrow on the 14th!

CHICAGO BIRTHDAYS

Year: 2004
Age: 23
Location: dinner at Ann Sather's, barcrawl in Lakeview
Notable for: seven people sleeping in my miniscule studio...and doing a shot out of a blow-up sheep's bottom:

Fuck ewe.

Year: 2005
Age: 24
Location: dinner at Flo, drinks at Moonshine in West Town/Ukrainian Village
Notable for: Meeting a friend of a friend who later gave me a bicycle on our third date

with Nora, Sam, Rory, and my rather tasty leg

Year: 2006
Age: 25
Location: pizza at Piece and drinks at Nick's in Wicker Park
Notable for: Not having any photos

Year: 2007
Age: 26
Location: barbeque at my place in Wicker Park
Notable for: getting to feel a 40-something Polish woman's boob

with Alistair and his gift: and a church lady ensemble

Year: 2008
Age: 27
Location: Whirlyball, then house party at Colin's in Lakeview
Notable for: Colin lighting off a bomb made out of sparklers

Totally sober at 4:30 a.m. Totally.

Stuff White People Like

I would be more bothered by this if it didn't end with the line:

When you are introduced to a group of white people, it’s a good idea to
befriend the girl with the bangs. She’s probably the most popular.

Oh, to have hair like Jenny Lewis...

Single Discrimination

I am discriminated against on a daily basis (for having to use righty-centric keypads at checkout registers), but now I'm being discriminated against for being single, too!

A friend just sent an invite out for her birthday. "Feel free to bring significant others," the last line read. Oh? And what if you don't have a significant other? Are you doomed to sit at the end of the table, since there are no seats for partnerless people? Is there a special, smaller table reserved for singletons, oh-so-slightly removed from the big one for "normal" people?

Even worse was the impromptu barbeque a bunch of wedding attendees (all staying at the same hotel) threw the night after our friends' Yosemite wedding. When I asked how much I could contribute, I was told "it's $25 per couple." Per couple? COUPLE? What if we're not part of a couple? What if we haven't been part of a couple for, hmm, let's say almost half a decade?! I ended up jokingly becoming a "couple" with another bridesmaid, who isn't even single (her boyfriend couldn't make it)!

Then there was the friend I was staying with, who told me of the unease he felt when first moving to the Bay Area. Before he got a girlfriend (and very quickly got engaged), he felt a huge gap. He was the only single person at activities -- or wasn't invited to them at all. Then *boom* he got a fiancee and a social life. Now it's a whirlwind of "couple's weekends" down to the beach, and he even has married female coworkers ask him to get lunch. Apparently being single doesn't allow smug marrieds to be comfortable around you.

My solution to the aforementioned "bring your s/o" dinner? I'm bringing a soon-to-be-divorced girlfriend. Now that's my kind of "couple."

Back On The Grid

My, my, what is this? Is is a camera phone picture of yours truly from last night on the El platform? Can it be that I once more have a cell phone?

Text me your numbers and let's get back the the calling and incessant texting, m'kay?

Detectiving

Yesterday I was contacted by two detectives: one investigating from my parents' end, and one investigating in Chicago. More details to follow after the Chicago detective returns tonight, but I am very, very pleased that the cogs of the justice system are finally creaking forward.

Haikus

Part of the reason I love off-kilter people -- like the ones I organized this year's Chiditarod with -- is that I get emails like the following:

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ok hippies, I have a bunch of shit I want to give away.

Best haiku about how you'll use the item gets it - must pick up friday after 8pm or saturday before 10am - might be possible to work out other times if you're sure you want something but it all needs to go this weekend.

pair of 2' aluminum stilts with 3' extensions
Juiceman Jr. juicer
Food dehydrator
Yogurt maker
Plastic coffee table
7 bottles assorted schnapps (strawberry, chocolate, blue curacao, mint, etc.) - must be 21
Two gangly palms
assorted wine glasses
large cooler and small cooler that are inseparable (not literally)
small, fully charged fire extinguisher
2 circular mosaic mirrors from ikea
large four-drawer metal filing cabinet
2' by 4' fluorescent light fixture - perfect for a grow-light
sweet four-person ikea kitchen table in blonde wood

I'm also looking for a good home for whiskey-to-go-go, a sculpture I made for burning man last year. You may have seen it at the decompression (where it was dispensing whiskey), or at the christmas tree burn (where it was dispensing slushy applejack). Let me know if you're interested.

J.R.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------


since childhood I've thought
of a food dehydrator
and fresh fruit roll-ups.

it could rest up high
on the fridge, the lava lamp
glowing softy beside.


flight to seattle
I leave chi-town, friday, six.
your time frame breaks balls.

J.C.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------


food dehydrator
flax seeds get stuck in my teeth
toothbrush saves the day

i like to burn things
a fire extinguisher
could save my hot ass

luckily i am
home this weekend for pickup
friday night is great

D.B.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------

o! mirrors mirrors
you make me look so pretty
even more with two

dipsomaniac...
wine glasses break so often
schnapps are great in them

home on the range (farm)
i'm back saturday evening
can i stop by sun.?

~Theresa
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

I love creative people, and I love that I get to know them.

fin

How To Get Divorced

A good friend sent along an article, "How To Get Divorced By 30." In 15 easy steps, you, too, can be well on your way past your starter marriage!

I know I won't be one of them, since of course it is impossible to get married if you are perpetually single. (we're coming up on five years, folks -- yes, half a decade of singlehood. but who's counting?)

The one nice benefit to never having a boyfriend/husband/partner, of course, is that you can never be broken up with.

Ahh... feel the security.

Taking Flight

I wrote something for a music blog -- me, Miss Musically Uninclined! Ms. Musically Illiterate!
Okay, so I co-wrote it with my friend, who's a professional music freelance writer. But still.

Read on, my friends, read on.



(And imagine me running into Bret and Jemaine in Wellington. I can tell them I was in the fourth row at their sold-out concert in Chicago in May.)

NZ, ahoy!

Most of you have gotten this over email, but I'm posting it on the web in case some hapless stranger stumbles across my humble blog and, on the strength of my narcissistic writing, offers me a job out of the blue. (Which, after reading my blog in its entirety, seems as unlikely as a unicorn giving an alien a backrub. Which the Vatican would probably be okay with.)

Dear friends & family,

Yes, it's true!

In October I'm moving to New Zealand for a year, after a visit to Japan and Korea to see friends who will be living there. I'm participating in the same work visa program, BUNAC, that I did when I moved to London after college.

I'm telling you now so you can start re-watching The Lord of The Rings and saving for a trip of a lifetime. Or heck, if you're American + under 35 you can get your very own work visa and come live with me. ;)

Now I just need two small things:
#1) a job (preferably in Auckland or Wellington)
#2) a place to live
Oh, and some friends might be nice as well.

If you can help me with any of these vital necessities, I would be grateful. And if you can visit, I would be thrilled!

Love,
Theresa

A friend passed along a blog she avidly reads, written by a former Seattle-ite who has been living in Wellington, I believe on the same program I'll be doing. This post, wherein the author describes her feelings upon being accepted to the program, so authentically mirrors myself that I hope you will all read it.

Back when I had all of my roommate problems in January -- when I was literally homeless and didn't know where I'd be living the next month, let alone for the next year -- I went to an open bar at a holistic spa in Wicker Park. Taking advantage of the free services (in addition to the free martinis), I had my chakras read. The woman doing it asked why I didn't feel like I had a home (whoa), and then told me that I wasn't listening to anyone or anything. I needed to understand that "the Universe will take care of you." And, as corny as it sounds, I think it has been and will.

Vignettes

Is my life more interesting than anyone else's? Aside from the obvious -- planning urban iditarods, dipping my head in the fountain at Polish Triangle at 2 a.m. -- my existence is as hum-drum as any other urban dweller. Yet there are glimmers of interest within the daily grind:

• Thursday was an open bar with Vice magazine and Colt 45 beer, at a bar that was formerly a house, now situated in a no-man's-land of eerily empty garbage trucks waiting hungrily to dispose of your corpse . My roommate and I met friends, drank a beer or two, got a ride, and just missed the El. Lo and behold, the shoe store next to the El stop fortuitously had a sale until midnight, complete with free wine. We grabbed a cup to go, which made the ride home that much more fun.

• Friday my roommate and I again met up, for lunch this time. A stroll to Daley Plaza revealed people taking down booths for Croatian-American Day. Aside from my short train ride through Croatia in '04, I have no special bond with the country. Except that ever since I made the acquaintance of a certain Zagreb-residinging gentleman a few months ago, I've had an affinity for all things Croat. The man dismantling his booth found this out and forced upon me a poster of a Croatian church, along with a bag saying "Hrvastka." I can't wait to show it to my Croatian.

• Saturday was a typical house party in Wicker Park, or so I thought. Walking behind a couple just south of Wicker Park, I grew puzzled when they started walking slower, hesitating and then turning back. At first I thought they had seen some baby bunnies in the grass of a schoolyard; that is, until they informed me people were throwing rocks. Sure enough, two adolescent boys had gotten onto the flat room of the school and were lobbing rather large stones at passersby and cars. I quickly dialled 311, who transferred me to 911. By the time I hung up, two passersby were hiding behind a car, throwing rocks back at the school. I quickly walked to the party, where I was treated to "the white version of Run DMC," according to my friend, who also informed me, "you're so white." Two, yes, white guys from Minneapolis did a half-hour set of rap to a packed crowd of amazed and/or confused party-goers. Jumping on chairs, holding the microphone up for the crowd's reponse, the set devolved when an acquaintance of mine drunkenly stumbled in and decided to raise the MCs' shirtless state by not only ripping off his own shirt, but dropping trou. The tighty-whities quickly put paid to an notion of continuing, although there was a second, random-drunk-free, set later in the evening.

Calling 911, getting posters from Croatians, and parties with half-naked men: this is what makes life bearable, nay, even interesting.

I'm A Survivor

I wrote this to my mother's side of the family a week or so ago, but no one responded. Maybe one of you will!
-------------------
Since one of my hobbies is getting experimental vaccines, I recently got one for bird flu.

When I told the doctor my arm hurt for a week after the first shot, he said he couldn't say with 100% certainty that I received the vaccine (since it was a double blind). But that since the vaccine in the U.S. is agains the same strain as the one in Indonesia that was just proved to be effective, and I have a reaction to it, he thought I would most likely be "a survivor."

This made me feel great -- until a friend pointed out that as a female surivor of the inevitable pandemic, I would probably get attacked by all the males who made it through.
"You've been watching 28 Days Later, haven't you?" I asked. [female survivors of an epidemic are rescued at the last minute by a group of soldiers bent on gangbanging]
Turns out he owns it. Go figure.

So maybe I shouldn't have gotten the vaccine... Whoops!

Just like The Birds!

The Big 3-0

One of my roommates is turning 30 this week.

His presents?
A Wii and Guitar Hero.

As he pointed out, when we were children we never would've imagined that getting a video game for a 30-year-old would be socially acceptable, nay, desirable.

All I know is, I'm never using my laptop to check the weather again -- the Wii is where it's at.

Non-Sweet Nothings

To ponder:

• Is English the Latin of the modern age? In the Middle Ages (about which I recently read), the educated classes could all read, write, and speak Latin. Now people are learning English to communicate across the continent.
• Is it better to grow up in a small, close-knit town where no one moves far away, or to have friends scattered across the globe? No matter where you live, you'll miss people because they're not in the same country.
• While I may have pissed away my 20s in a future-less and soul-destroying office job, at least by the time I hit 30 I'll have lived abroad three times in three different countries. And who knows -- after may move back to Europe (again).

And this, my dears, is how I pass my days at work, trying to keep my brain alive.

How I Get Through The Workday

With reading emails like these.

From a friend who just moved to New York:

Hi holler baby. How are you? loving the life and writing the world.

NYC is good, I love it here, but it is tough. This city breathes and the pulse is the universe. It's amazing.

From a good Chicago pal who works in the Loop like I do:

Wow. Today has been special. It's gotten surreal. I’m pretty sure if it keeps up it will create a rift in the space/time continuum. If your reality vibrates this afternoon, look out your window to the southeast. If you happen to see space and time being separated by a vast something beyond human comprehension, I’m sorry and I’ll see you on the other side.

I feel privileged to get emails from friends who can write like this.

Chiditarod

I'm on Alaska Public Radio!

http://aprn.org/ starts at 22:11

Warmth in Winter

Everyone keeps asking me: "How are things with your new apartment?" "Good, of course," I'll reply, a little taken aback that they're asking. But then I remember, ah yes, of course they would be concerned…

Because I had such a lengthy transition period -- almost the all of December at various places, two weeks at my buddy's, three solo weeks in my new apartment -- it's difficult for me to recall the depths to which living in my former apartment had sunk by the end of last year. It's so night and day, in fact, that I am almost whitewashing my memory (as I so often do). Why dwell on the bad when I can relish the good?

When I walk towards my apartment I look to see if the lights are on. Instead of a stab of horror if they are, I get a warm glow. I know that when I open the door the two cats (whom I swear are more like dogs) will come running up to greet me. My roommates will pleasantly say hello, will be genuinely interested in sharing details about one another's' days. When I get a juicy email, I can run to Nora and tell her what it said; I can share hilarious YouTube videos with Jason; and any time I am on the couch I know if I invitingly pat the blanket I can have a purring Pig or Princess snuggling up.

It's a warm apartment, physically and emotionally. On Wednesday, when a girlfriend spent the night, Nora and I decided it would be the perfect opportunity to have a taste test of the vodkas we received at our housewarming. All seven of them. That's not something that would have happened at my old place. Another friend, from Wisconsin, confided that the reason she visited only twice the entire time I lived in my old place was because she never felt comfortable with my ex-roommates. A friend in Europe who'd stayed at my apartment confessed recently that she didn't like way they treated me… and that was at the start of '07, long before any eruptions of temper.

Much like a divorce, it was a long, slow process to the bitter, irrevocable breakup. Each time Nora and Jason do the tiniest things, from actually saying goodnight to putting my new bookshelf together while I'm at work, it reminds me of the vast gulf that existed between me and my ex-roommates by the end. Even from the beginning, though, it was different: when I moved in, they didn't make a spot for me in the kitchen; when I organized the drawers I was told I needed to ask for permission first; when I would walk out of the room my music would be turned off and replaced by theirs.

It's not just that Nora likes Celtic punk rock, too (even more than I), or that Jason doesn't even need to be asked to photograph the cat being cute. It's that although I don't own the dishes, I don't own the furniture, I don't own the cats, I still feel as if it's my apartment. My plants are appreciated (and, who knows, might someday get names like all of Nora's). I have my fairy magnets displayed on the fridge for the first time. And my grandmother's watercolors she did in art school in the 1930s are up, in pride of place in the dining room.

I'm sure that there are many things I do that are annoying, and that I will all too soon find out the irksome foibles Nora and Jason have. But for now, it's going fantastically, and I am dead certain it won't devolve to my getting asked to leave. I hope.