shperta!

my blog friend johnboy writes about sparta (the place, not the movie) here. fascinating.

(and i link to it because i think johnboy knows what he's talking about, being a classical scholar and all.)

It’s Not You, It’s Your Apartment - New York Times

It’s Not You, It’s Your Apartment - New York Times

some people may call us shallow but there are some of us who can only take so much when it comes to gettin' down in a craptacular apartment. and i've gotten down in some craptacular apartments. (i'll go on record and admit i've even had a craptacular apartment or two - but i rarely had sex in them. and i was depressed. very very depressed.)

a list of greatest hits:

C-, the financial analyst who lived in a studio in boystown with plastic lawn chairs instead of living room furniture mere inches away from a sagging twin bed and hot plate. he once chased me around his room with his pants around his knees but when i told him it wasn't working out i used his apartment, instead, as an excuse to get rid of him.

T-, a 30-something consultant who lived in a basement with stolen sugar packets, an old lava lamp and a couch that was clearly stolen from a dorm room.

B-, who lives/ed like he lives/ed in prison: one fork, one spoon, one cup, one towel and a mattress on the floor. his record collection, however, is/was stellar.

The Librarian, whose dilapidated connecticut shack was entirely the fault of his bossy, manipulative roommate who owned giant, shedding cats and her bertha-like brother who lived in the attic. not comfortable.

would love to hear of any domiciles that gave folks the heebie-jeebies when it came down to gettin' down.

wow. even the times knows about our train issues

A Rail System (and Patience) Are Stretched Thin in Chicago - New York Times

i made plans to meet a friend up in lincoln square on sunday for lunch.
i left the house shortly before noon; i walked to the chicago bus about 2-3 blocks away; it came after a teeny 3-5 minute wait. then i transferred to the brown line/franlkin stop which took *forever* to arrive. when i finally got to lincoln square it was 1.30.

90 minutes for a usual 45 minute train ride (if that.) unbelievable.

and this morning?
a normal 15 minute bus ride took twice the time.

ding perhaps shares too much

my raincoat smells funny. it smells like old guy.

what a day - when i left the house it was pitch black and i got to the office at 7 for a board meeting and then realized, halfway through the meeting, that after my shower this morning, i'd forgotten my instead cup.

niiice. so now my lower regions are stuffed with toilet paper.

and the day for the agency's spoken word event (at which B-'s sister will perform) is one month out. i'm looking at the nifty postcard advertising the event right now and trying to find a family resemblance but can't find one.

in the stirrups

so a couple weeks ago i went to the doctor for my bi-annual pelvic. (although i know better, i usually don't go to the doctor unless something is hanging out of me, bleeding.)

anyway, there i am, in the stirrups, being palpated by my doctor and missing the old cloth robes we used to wear during these kind of examinations.

then she goes, 'Hm.'
i think, Hm is never good.
i say, 'what's wrong?'
she says, 'did you know you have fibroids?'
'uh, no.'
'well, you do. do you know what they are?' palpate. palpate.
i say, 'big tumor-y things?'
she laughs while continuing to palpate. 'yes, big tumor-y things.' she snaps off the gloves and gets ready to do the pap.
'you got 'em. i'm going to recommend you get an ultrasound just so we see how big they are.'

i just nod and i can't help but think, wow, i really won't ever have children. i have fibroids! huzzah!*

god works in mysterious ways, doesn't He?

*for folks out there who may be befuddled at my logic re: infertility: fibroids keep growing back so i'd either have to get them lasered out all the time, take constant medication all the time, or get a hysterectomy. it's an inevitability. goodbye uterus.*

**and, indeed, god works mysteriously because my STD screening was totally clear! whoo hoo!!**

caught.

i've been a fugitive. for years, i've 'deferred' (avoided/postponed/whatever) my student loan from undergrad and it finally caught up to me today.

the guy on the phone today sort of chuckled and said, 'you're a hard one to locate, actually. i'm glad i caught up with you.'

'yeah, so am i.'

and so he did - from 1992 to the present - whoo hoo! and the principal didn't much rise over all that time. (yes, i already know i'm bad with money. no need to chastise me.)

but, there is a little sigh of relief; in two months my dept of education/student loan debt will be completely gone. why i waited this long, i don't know. it's not like the original $1300 was all that huge...

JT

i'm just too frakking old, you know?

thanks to a very generous friend and acquaintance, i went to the JT concert last night. (a school night!) i think my hearing is broken. oh, not that JT wasn't great. he was...awesome. he puts on a great r&b show. see him play the piano, strum the guitar, dance (and dance and dance and dance) and see him drink tequila and see him get all sensitive with 3 slow jams in a row. it was a little bit of prince, morris day, janet & michael jackson, and it was great. (i think he might even have the coolest back up singers on the planet.)

but it's exhausticating, being at the Allstate arena, listening to thousands of girls scream and watching timbaland blow everyone's mind with some weird 20 minute intermission show. and then riding home in a limo while 14 grown women sing along to JT all over again? my hearing is definitely broken.

however, i must admit: JT is the funkiest little white boy ever.

over at Alas, a Blog, a fascinating review of some back and forth. from Alas (and i heartily encourage y'all to follow the links and read the discussion):

*** ONGOING INTER-BLOG DEBATE ABOUT RACE, BEING A WHITE “RACE TRAITOR,” AND FEMINISM ***
Or, as Nine Pearls aptly calls it, “The White Lady Pity Party.” There are good link round-ups at Fetch Me My Axe and Renegade Evolution, so I won’t attempt to replicate their work. But I will point out three posts that were (for me) stand-outs: Brownfemipower’s typically super-sharp and well-written analysis; the “Clue Phone” post at Cassandra Says; and this milk-shot-out-my-nose visual post at My Private Casbah.

i'm not going to weigh in (because Brownfemipower's post really said it all) but the whole thing is just fascinating.

taboo: taboo for a reason

i was on the bbc news site because i wanted to read some news that had nothing to do with the united states when i came across this.

gick isn't even the word for it.

about my lost link list: i loved my link list. it wasn't super extensive like others' were, but it was made of my favorite things. it will return! soon. as soon as i've figured out where i put my favorite links...

the longest day. ever.

At long last, I have finished preparing my boss for her second lobby trip to Springfield. Not to whine, but here I go: Waah! I'm working really hard! Waah! I need a nap!

And underneath the whining, a quiet 'heh. i rock.'
...
so now that Forth & Towne is closing, i need to plan a massive shopping trip to hoard accessories and cute jackets for spring and summer. who's with me?
...
the political season is underway and i have only meh thoughts about hillary and obama in black churches to prove their street cred. (what cred do they seek, i wonder? is hillary really trying to show what a friend she is to black folks? and is obama really going to cave on the whole 'if you're mixed you're not black enough' meme? i guess so.) how ridiculous is our political process that we pay more attention to the stupid photo op than actual policy?

what i'd love to ask hillary:
without referencing the 60's, martin luther king or anyone from the civil rights era, why should black people pay any attention to you today?
...
in what is becoming an uncomfortable phone call habit, my father keeps asking me what the outcome was of my lunch with MichiGarry.

this lunch was back in january.

so my father is either *really* worried that i'm going to die unshriven and alone or he's entering senility.

is it bad that i'm hoping it's the latter?

kenneth eng: just stupid or just a stupid racist?

here is where you can find all the recent articles about a (crazy) article that ended up in the pages of asian week, a san francisco weekly paper.

(you can read the original article written by kenneth eng here. you can also read his other articles here and here, which demonstrate that perhaps his asshattery isn't just for blacks. it seems to be endemic with mr. eng.)

it reminds me of a chinese freshman student i once had at ucla who wrote a paper defending the japanese internment camps. when my head stopped throbbing with disbelief at his thesis i sat with him in office hours to talk about it. i gave the paper a passing grade (technically, there was nothing much wrong with it) but he and i had a long discussion about critical thinking, research, and the need to avoid talking out of one's ass if one wants to be taken seriously.

i am also reminded of the asian guy whose bright idea it was to create a game called Ghettopoly. remember that?

dear lord, how much fucking ignorance must we endure from young college grads who graduate dumber than when they went in?

i fear for this world, i really do.

[and how much do you want to bet that a statement from mr. eng will soon appear, defending his columns as 'satire' or 'ironic,' whose real, subterranean and much too subtle purpose was to hold racism and bigotry to ridicule?

if such a statement appears i want to be the very first to call bullshit on that.]

damn you, new Blogger!
i lost my link list and buttons!

noooo!: Gap to close Forth & Towne chain

Gap to close Forth & Towne chain

dammit!

now where the hell am i supposed to find anymore cute work clothes??!!
marina renaldi is too expensive.
banana, GAP and JCrew don't have the sizes.
H&M is too young.
Old Navy too cheap.
Bloomies still can't quite get the fit and cut right - and they don't have the variety.
Lane Bryant is too...unprofessional.

so, thanks, GAP.
thanks for totally screwing over 30-something women who can't/won't dress like tarts who also happen to be shaped like women.

fuckers!

[wanna share your thoughts? forth & towne feedback can be emailed here.]

living well

the dinner party was lovely. i love my friends - not only are they funny as hell, they have style, they can cook (when we've had a week to prepare ourselves) and they appreciate effort. and what a lot of effort we went to!

(in fact, at one point of the night, we bemoaned - unfairly, perhaps? - the fact that not very many of the single men we knew went to this kind of effort at all.)

Roomie tapped into her midwestern hostess geneology and laid a spectacular table - gorgeous silver, great big fat goblets for wine, ruby water glasses and silver candleabra (how the hell do you spell that?) over a creamy white silky tablecloth sprinkled with little sparkly glass beads that caught the light. vintage linen napkins rolled in heavy silver napkin rings were perfect and pretty. T- brought over a delicate orchid as a hostess gift that played nice with the simple red tulip arrangement and the teeny, pretty as can be calla lilies that Roomie bought the day before.

the menu:

1st course - two amuses: an onion tartelet of puff pastry and cooked with thyme and butter (so yummy) and the salmon mousse on toast, drizzled with a bright green chive oil (ti wasn't my favorite, but it did look very feminine and pretty)
2nd course - roasted tomato soup with fresh basil and crusty artisanal bread, accompanied by a really round fruity white wine that i can't recall
3rd course - endive salad with pear, topped with a gorgonzola and honey dressing (which went well with the champagne we had been drinking before the meal got started)
4th course - meat tortellini with a prosciutto/cream sauce, baked in a puff pastry sarcophagus, as well as a filet of baked red snapper in a champagne sauce with fresh green beans and red peppers on the side, paired with a very nice white burgundy (i think it was called Mayhem & Mischief)
5th course - K-'s gastronomic chocolate topper: a little chocolate cake with a kapow of chipotle, three handmade truffles (one was topped with sea salt and it was so good we all just ruminated on that for a while), a lime cream in the shape of a heart, meringue 'cigarettes' and the whole thing was paired with a very manly shot of vodka. dude. we all agreed that she won the Top Chef moment of the night.
6th course - the very nice cheese plate from T- that was a nice finisher to the chocolate and vodka we'd consumed.

then we sat around the table while the candles burned down, smoked our cigs, drank the rest of the wine and champagne until the table was a wonderful decadent mess of ashtrays, half empty wine glasses, cheese and silver. i took a few pictures and everything had a really great golden glow.

the night reminded me of those nights back in grad school when we wanted to distract ourselves from our deprivation and depression and we'd throw over the top, elaborate dinners and hang out with YF because she was the best cook and we'd sit at her long table in her quirky victorian studio, eating and drinking until we staggered home. i have a few photos from one of those dinners: you can see the packs of french cigarettes, the bottles of wine, the wine and sauce stains on the white tablecloth, profiles of heated faces caught in mid conversation, the over flowing ash trays.

every night you're with friends should be like this, don't you think?

(and then i think about the brief phone call i had with S- yesterday, when she called me from the traffic in los angeles. and, again, she mourned the death of her past life - now it was teaching at a local university and constant daycare for her two children instead of nights with friends and going out.

i said, 'S-. you have to stop that. there's no point to wishing or missing what's gone. your life is different now. all of that - it's over.'
she said, 'i know. but what about you? is it all work and nothing else? don't you miss what it was before?'
'no. because i'm at a different point now. i hate bars and clubs - i don't miss it at all; so while there's tons of work, there's also hanging out with my friends at my place, there're movies, dinners, visits, cocktails. it's just different - better, more livable. and...i don't have kids. i have the freedom to schedule around what i want. there's no one else depending on me for sustenance.'
she sighed. 'i know. it's just that we never go out, we never see anyone, my house is full of toys, it's a mess, my mom is living with us because we can't cope with everything and it just sucks, you know?'

and while i made sympathetic noises, i also felt a little superior. i did! i couldn't help it. i just did. so there.)

the weekend begins

fox & obel makes me want to cook. when i'm there i imagine i'm in paris, on my way to my charming flat overlooking the rue de whatever, picking up just a few things for dinner with sophisticated friends. ah, the dream. it's the dream where i'm wearing a simple chic outfit, carrying a chic canvas bag (no proletariat plastic for me!), and i'll use public transportation in a very chic way, effortlessly balancing bread, cheese, flowers, boeuf and wine.

unfortunately, the reality is far different. i'm slogging through crusty gray snow, slushing through dirty water in the parking lot and the plastic bags are cutting off my circulation in my fingers while my glasses fog over in the cold. (all the while i'm bloated with my period and waddling so slowly across the street i almost get hit by a jeep.)

the plan was so easy: take the time before the dinner party to get a couple recipes under my belt so i could get the timing down and such. so prepared! so full of foresight! so deluded. i bought my smoked salmon, my heavy cream, the chives, the grapeseed oil - all to make a fluffy little amuse. how hard could it be?

almost 2 hours later, with a cuisinart, blender and beater going, grapeseed oil burning on the stove while chives burnt to a crisp, pureed smoked salmon looking about as appetizing as vomit, i decided that stores like fox & obel could kiss my ass. even now, i know i should taste the test batch i made last night but i'm afraid.

pureed salmon with cream sprinkled with chive oil? gag.
...
while near blizzard conditions battered chicago tuesday night, roomie and i (with a couple of girl friends) went to the Chicago Auto Show. (it was ladies night! $5!)

i have to admit that when you're on your period, there's nothing better than wandering desultorily around a convention center with your belly all poked out just being lulled by all the shiny paint jobs and the new car smells.

observations:

why do men want to take pictures with cars? i don't get it.

how cool that you can drive the cars in fake rivers and over faux hills?

the mini is really made for a tiny little hipster with no friends. i mean, really. we tried to fit four people in the new mini convertible and i almost dislocated a hip sliding into the driver's seat.

a car that costs over 150k is totally obscene and no one, except a tacky saudi prince, should ever own one.

the new volvo c30 is love love love love. it's not here, yet, and i don't drive but now i'm rethinking that lifestyle choice, thanks to the volvo.

so whaddya know. cooking and car shows.
i contain multitudes.

ever wonder why you were so dissatisfied with Pretty in Pink and why you can't turn away from Some Kind of Wonderful?

beyond the whole Gen X thing, Atalanta (hee!) discovers the answer here.

(yes, i gave you a shout out!)

the winter blues

Bloog.

It's like I'm a manitee. I'm so incredibly bloated right now I actually look pregnant. (I do. And the empire-waisted blouse I'm wearing ain't helping.)

It feels good, though, to let the belly out. Just stand there and let it all go. ahhh...

Hm.

I'm so signing up for Weight Watchers Online...

another one for the oscar party, ladies.

Anna Nicole Smith Dies - The Lede - Breaking News - New York Times Blog

is it hugely cruel of me to say 'As the fembot lives, so shall the fembot die?"
yes?

ok, then. i won't say it.

Orange Tangerine: Phobias

while i dither at work, frantically trying to prep for tomorrow (now there's a chance i'll have to speak at the press conference!!), here's a post about our sometimes irrational fears from Orange: Orange Tangerine: Phobias.

(in the comments you'll find a short list of mine, which includes having acid thrown in my face. i've been horribly afraid of this since i was a kid. any idea if that's an actual condition or just an extreme expression of my vanity?)