I’m not one to go to bed super-late, sleep in past 7:30, or drink much, if anything, these days, but I went to bed at 5:57AM this morning after a night of consuming a few too many Pabst Blue Ribbons and slept till 11:30. Well, I actually woke up at 9:30 and lay in bed listening to Car Talk and Wait Wait – Mo Rocca, why won’t you answer any of my marriage proposal emails?!? – flipping through all the things I should’ve done yesterday and need to get done today but unable to make my legs swing out from under the covers.
That’s all besides the point. What’s important is that never have I craved an Egg McMuffin like I did while laying in bed and never have I been more disappointed that I can’t make time stand still. McDonald’s needs to serve breakfast all day, at least on the weekends. Enough with this 10:30 cutoff.
Strangers have been so nice recently!
1. I left my Shuffle in an unlocked gym locker; returned twelve hours later, and it was still there. It being “lose weight” season, I can’t even begin to estimate the number of ladies who opened the locker, looked inside, and bypassed the opportunity at a free music-player. Sad commentary on society perhaps that someone not stealing something is thought to be such a nice gesture.
2. A guy who came to one of my film screenings a couple of weeks ago emailed - I have a drop down screen that I can give to you for free. I just got it in the mail from purchasing a projector about 4 months ago and I really don’t have a use for it but I thought it would fit perfectly in the space you currently are showing movies. I can drop it off sometime tomorrow or over the weekend, let me know when you are going to be around.
He’s dropping it off in an hour.
3. Someone was forwarded a copy of my newsletter, Smatterings, and noticed a blurb I wrote about wanting to fundraise money to send Jasmine to summer camp. She wrote to me – I would love to donate, I think I could donate $100. I wish I could donate more but you know how it goes. I went to Camp Echo for two summers and have a lot of good memories from my time there. I hope this helps get Jasmine to camp, let me know how I can get the money to you.
She doesn’t know me, she doesn’t know Jasmine. Such generosity!
4. A girl on the Belmont bus noticed I was having trouble clasping a necklace around my neck. She offered to help, and put it on as I held up my hair. I wonder if she noticed that I had just had it in my mouth seconds earlier. Sorry!
My usual reaction to a Facebook (FB) friend request from someone I don’t know is to roll my eyes and click “ignore.” I’m curious as to the number of stranger-friend requests Facebook users receive on average. I get a handful a week, which considering the scope of FB, doesn’t seem like much, but it’s still annoying. I don’t use FB to network, I use it to keep up with friends and share what’s going on in my life with friends. My annoyance probably has to do with the fact that most of them are guys and it feels like I’m being hit on. This of course may not be true, perhaps it’s a friend of a friend who suggested we should connect, but if you don’t include a message, how will I know that? I’m not on a quest to amass the most “friends.”
Breaking with tradition of “ignoring,” I actually followed up with the most recent stranger-request:
Connection?
Mr. David Mark
Let me hear from you.
David.
Saturday brought with it a trip to a Hackerspace, Pumping Station: One (PS1). Have no idea what I just said? Neither do I.
According to the ‘net, Hackerspaces are community-operated physical places, where people can meet and work on their projects. PS1 is near Elston/Belmont, a raw space room in a warehouse that also has a lone hairstylist chair and a bunch of mismatched though comfy armchairs and couches.
Our over-arching goal is to facilitate creativity in and through the merging of art, technology, and culture. Weekly meetings are held at 8:00pm every Tuesday at the space, and are open to the public. Visiting at other times requires accompaniment by an existing member, but we’re pretty friendly.
PS1 has occasional presentations on various topics. The one I went to was on neurofeedback. Have no idea what I just said? Neither do I. Basically, this is what I saw/took away:
- A mom and son team, the mom a psychotherapist who uses neurofeedback with her patients, became big fans when it cured her narcolepsy and migraines, as well as lessened her ADD symptoms
- A volunteer got hooked up to various wires that went to a screen we were watching, and began to listen to music
- We watched as he manipulated the music with his brain, consciously and subconsciously – i.e. clenching his teeth would cause the colored bars, which represent different parts of the brain, to jump
- A typical neurofeedback session lasts 10-30 minutes
- The aim is to end each session with the client feeling relaxed and alert
- You can use it to train your brain for increased focus, improved meditation, and to alleviate various medical conditions
- It’s a personal trainer for the brain
You can become a member of PS1 which allows you open access to the space, for $30-$50 a month, depending on whether you want voting rights and a locker if I remember correctly. They also offer random free/low-cost classes that anyone can take, from woodworking to electronics to Arabic. It seems like a lot of people just go to hang out there, like I would a coffeehouse. Everyone I met was very friendly. Members toured us around with the type of glee I imagine I might have when touring someone around my first house. I’m not sure why one would need a huge phone booth type structure, with “Police Booth” pained on the side, but they were certainly excited to share it with us! Supposedly, it does time travel. One of the members told me he saw in the future that I become the first black/white female President. So there’s that. And an unexpected highlight – we were sitting next to 1/2 of the Dollar Store team and member of the band Baby Teeth, Abraham Levitan. He always wows the Dollar Store crowd with his ability to whip up catchy, intelligent and funny diddies based on performances he saw play out just minutes before, that he then sings and pianos. And added highlight to that highlight, he was wearing sexy footwear! Which of course I told him, which I’m sure was the peak of his night.
The evening was interesting. Probably any place you go where the first thing you have to do is fill out a liability release and where you find yourself in a welding helmet will be interesting.
I just replied to an email with the phrase “invigorating to have complete strangers come to your home to be entertained.” Someone either is a stranger or isn’t a stranger. That’s like saying, “I can’t go out for drinks, I’m kinda pregnant.” You are or you’re not. Redo sentence.
Why are people so scared to drink wine out of regular glasses? I stopped putting out wine glasses when I host large groups of people because they kept getting broken, they’re annoying to load in the dishwasher, and they’re on the other side of the room from said dishwasher which is too far for me to travel back and forth a gazillion times to get them out and put them away. I direct people to the regular juice glasses, half of which are full size and half of which are…half size.
It never fails that the following occurs:
1. Someone asks where to find a glass for wine
2. I point at the juice glasses
3. He/she surveys the selection, hesitates, and raises his/her eyebrows
4. The hand inches up to the glasses, cautiously and pauses in mid-air
5. The eyes dart from the full-size ones to the half-size ones
6. He/she takes a half-size one
a. If no half-size glasses are left, he/she stands in front of the full-size glasses for no less than twenty-minutes, running through all the possible scenarios that may play out if a full-size glass is grabbed:
- Will be unable to control/monitor the amount of wine consumed and will be naked, singing “True Colors” within an hour
- Others will assume you’re an alcoholic and either stay far away because they don’t want to deal with that mess, or offer to be your sponsor
- The world will end because you’re doing something non-traditional
I’ve been having weird encounters with “Thank you’s” recently. Weird meaning I don’t know how to react and that I feel odd accepting the Thank You.
When I went to Rwanda a couple of years ago, I met a little boy, Patience, seen above with his sister and mom, with whom, even though we couldn’t talk with another because my Kinyarwandan is a bit rusty, I fell in love. His aunt was my host while I was there, shooting video for a non-profit. Their family, like so many others, fell victim to the genocide. The parents of Patience’s mother were killed and she was abused, and suffers post-traumatic stress depression today. Patience and his family, like many Rwandans, are very poor; when we went to visit his house, his aunt stopped at the store on the way over to buy a couple bottles of orange soda and some cookies, and quietly slipped them to Patience’s mom when we arrived, so that she’d have something to offer us. They were extremely gracious hosts. I loved teaching Patience to use my camera and listening to his sister Beigne sing “Jesus Loves You” in her broken English. When I found out that Patience may not be able to continue his education because the family didn’t have the $400 necessary to send him to school for a year, I reached out to my network to see if anyone would be interested in co-sponsoring him, since I couldn’t afford it alone.
I was overwhelmed by the response, and in five days, had amassed the $400. Thirty people gave average donations of $10 to $20, three of them complete strangers who were forwarded my inquiry. That’s my favorite type of fundraiser, lots of people giving a little! That was last year.
This year, due to the economy, I wasn’t going to send out another ask. But then Patience’s aunt emailed to see if we could co-sponsor him again. I timidly reached out. Five days later, $400.
- Hi Saya, Here is the $20 for Patience. Thank you so much for organizing this and allowing us to help.
- Hi Saya! Thanks for setting this up.
- Hey Saya, here’s my payment. It’s so nice of you to do this again this year!
- Thanks Saya!
I found it so odd people were thanking me for taking their money, especially since it’s for someone they’ve never met and have no connection to. One of the benefactors even let me know she has the above pic on her fridge.
On a very different yet similar note, on his way out the door, a Mingler guest recently grabbed my hand and said while staring into my eyes, “Thank you. You’re doing the Lord’s work.” Not being super close to God and since I had just met this guy hours previous, I wasn’t sure how to react, I think just smiled. It was his genuineness that got me. And his serious tone. In my head I thought, “Dude, I’m not curing AIDS; I just create nametags, wipe down counters, and point to the bathroom.”
- Your events were one of the highlights of 2009. It is so nice to see people making an effort to have a good time with people they know nothing about. It is very cool that we all come into your place under the same conditions (no one knows anyone). Very unique and freeing. Thank you for making these events available to us, Saya.
- Wanted to say THANK YOU so much for a wonderful time last night, had a great time. Thank you for opening your house to allow people to come in and make friends with total strangers. Can’t say enough about what a great time I had last night, I look forward to attending an other Mingler in the future.
- I definitely want to say thanks again for a great evening. I had a wonderful time. And what’s more, I get a second type of pleasure just knowing that there are folks like you out there–valuing people and human connection as you do–and working to make events like this happen. The world is a better place because you’re in it.
- Wow, what a great party! I just wanted to tell you that I’m so glad I finally made it to one of your Minglers. I had so much fun, and met a bunch of great people. I love your place, and loved the format of the party. I’m so impressed at how well organized everything was. It was really clear that everyone had a great time. So thank you!
The way Mingler guests have been thanking me, I feel like they think I’m hosting them out of the goodness of my heart. I do enjoy helping people make connections and definitely get a thrill when I see contact info being exchanged or hear stories about dates, friends, or jobs procured because of me, but there’s no way I’d be doing these events if I wasn’t making money on them. The Minglers were created out of complete selfishness – I wanted to make a living in jeans and flip-flops, without leaving my home, playing games, and meeting new people. And now I have people bringing me presents, sending thank-you cards, and writing really personal “I just got divorced, thank you for helping to ease my transition,” “I’m really shy, thank you for bringing me out of my shell,” etc. type emails to me, all because I don’t want to commute to a downtown cubicle to deal with an idiotic boss.
Just did that space face page but have no idea how to log on again or reply when someone jumps on the wall. And for some reason [NAME] keeps trying to be my friend and i think i say ok, but there he is again!!
Ten points if you can decipher what an ex-coworker of mine, who is a *bit* older and perhaps not as adept at this new-fangled technology, is talking about.
Space face page = Facebook.
One of these is Julia Roberts. One of these is me. Personally, I don’t think it’s difficult to decipher whom is whom. But on Saturday, yet another person told me I look like JR, to which the people standing around all “Oh yeah’ed” in agreement. This is the seventy-third time I’ve heard this comparison. She’s porcelain, blond and svelte. I’m not-porcelain, not-blond, and not-svelte.
I’m not sure why so many people think I look like people I look nothing alike – this guy is nuts! I mentioned I wanted a nose stud once, and a friend looked at me, a friend who I’d known for two years and who had to see my face at least once in that timespan, and said, “Oh, I thought you already had one!”
Maybe people don’t really look at me when they talk to me…
A girl who came by herself last night to the screening of my documentary on dating, dating rubik’s cube, mentioned that when the two of her friends who were supposed to come with her apologized for flaking out and thus making her attend solo, her response was, “Oh it’s fine, it’s one of Saya’s events!” She went on to explain to me that she feels very at ease coming alone to events I throw because she knows other guests will be uber-friendly and inviting into their circles, and that the environment is always welcoming and comfortable. I love that!
The screening was really fun. Per usual, a very diverse guest list, and they all seemed to enjoy interacting with one another. Nothing like the feeling of watching others thoroughly enjoy themselves at the hands of something you created. Not to sound all sappy and cliche, but their laughter warmed my heart. Plus, sold a few copies of the DVD to people who said they wanted to have their own screenings with friends — fun to think of people all over Chicago laughing in their homes due to my film!
I try to do a few things a year that scare me/challenge me. Sample past ventures:
- Marathons
- Play guitar in public for first and last time, in front of seventy-five friends for two hours at the Globe Pub
- Improv class
To cross an item off my To Do List, and because I lack rhythm, especially in front of a crowd, but love music, dancing, and socializing in unconventional ways, I created the Dance Experiment.
The Dance Experiment: Eighteen people, who don’t know each other – I know all of them but none of them know one another – and who lack dance skills will work with a choreographer four hours a week, for twelve weeks, learning dance routines in preparation for a performance in front of everyone they know.
Have two rehearsals under our belt. If dance ability relies on continual laughter and clapping for one another, we’re golden; if it relies on moving to the music, not watching your feet or mouthing “1, 2, 3, 4,” doing steps in unison, and knowing left from right, well… The choreographer said to me, “Just pretend you’re walking.” I paused to remember how to walk.
Why I love this – the participants!
- Diversity: ages 17 to 38, pharmacist to culinary student to tech consultant to school counselor, Highland Park to Humboldt Park, connection to me > volleyball, volunteering, Boston College, improv, family, Minglers, karaoke, teaching, video, guitar, underground supper club
- Energy and enthusiasm
- Willingness to make fools of ourselves
- Ease at which we interact with one another
- How we clap for everything
April 9th. Mark that down. It will be the best day of your life.
Someone asked me to clarify “sexy footwear.” This is sexy footwear on a guy. Slightly more sexy if they were forest green.
In the summer, exchange New Balance 420s for Reef flip-flops.
What going out tonight mad me thankful for -
- Going to see someone in an improv show at a bar that involved walking two blocks to the Belmont bus, which I had to wait thirty seconds for, and then walking four blocks to the bar – city life!
- Getting unsolicited help from a fellow bus-rider putting on a necklace that I was unable to clasp shut
- Planning to stay somewhere for an hour or so, but staying for four hours due to laughter and interesting conversation
- Knowing only one person at the bar at the beginning of the night and eight-ish people fairly well by the end of the evening
- Being able to keep up with improv slang – callbacks, yes and, group mind, the Harold…
- Meeting and really liking friends of a friend, and a new friend at that
- Living in a neighborhood that allows me transportation options – getting from Boystown to Bucktown is not CTA-friendly, so I took the bus back home, got my car and drove to Cortland’s Garage for a friend’s party; returned to a parking space right in front of my place
The activity I did by myself this week, as part of the Solo Life, was a cooking class/dining experience at Bespoke Cuisine.
I signed up for one of their Mix it Up Cooking Parties -
Bespoke’s Mix it Up Cooking Parties combine a hands-on cooking experience with a pampered seated dinner in our loft-like private dining room. It’s an interactive gourmet experience popular with both beginners and experienced cooks – and it’s the perfect opportunity for singles, couples and small groups to meet fellow foodies, learn to create a fabulous meal, and enjoy a lively communal-style dinner.
I chose last night because the menu was comfort foods. Mac ‘n cheese, pork tenderloin, mashed potatoes, salad (but a good kind of salad, the kind with blue cheese and bacon), goat cheese and mushroom crostini, and cherry cobbler.
It’s located in the West Loop, which as a neighborhoodist, I must admit, was one of the aspects of initial attraction for me. Upon walking in, I signed up for the dish I wanted to help cook (the pork was the most popular, no one wanted the salad, I chose the cobbler because it had a few sign-ups but didn’t seem to be filled with a group of twelve giggling girlfriends in too much makeup and on the prowl for a husband). There were two large groups of friends and then a smattering of smaller groups, I was the only soloist. I grabbed a diet coke (BYOB if you want, I didn’t) and cheese and crackers, chose a table where two girls were sitting, and thus the evening began.
I liked that the group you cook with isn’t necessarily the group you sit with, as it gave me an opportunity to meet more people, and that the cooking groups are smaller (5-7). The Cobbler group was led by a very nice chef who was a good balance of friend and teacher. We stirred, whisked, dallopped, and baked, with various interesting and random discussions interspersed throughout. After about an hour of each group working on their dish, we went back to our tables for dinner.
Food was excellent!! Every dish I had, I loved, and servings were generous. I was sitting with a group of two girl-friends, a group of three girl-friends, and a boy and girl friend pairing. Everyone was friendly and engaging. Conversation mostly centered around jobs and dating – a girl who met a French guy on New Year’s Eve and has been in a whirlwind romance since, a girl who was given black pleather pants on her second (and final) date, a guy who took a date to Schuba’s only to have her text her ex all night and then ditch him to go out with the ex. Filled with good food and a good overall experience, I went home very satisfied.
It costs $80. I bought a Groupon for the class, so paid $40 (plus a tip). I don’t think I’d pay $80 for it being the frugal person I am, but would definitely go again for the $40 price. Good way to start 2010!
Thanks to Brad of Windy Citizen for the pics!
Why do people wait for you to exit a revolving door before getting in? Aren’t the other compartments supposed to hold people as you revolve?
Why do I turn down the volume in the car when looking for the address of a building?
I have spent $1820 in the past year to:
- Be yelled at.
- Not be able to think of a word. Any word. The exercise is to say a word, to the group standing in a circle. Any word. And I can’t do it. Moron.
- Feel old.
- Have my toes pretend-sucked by a sixty year old within an hour of meeting him.
- Wonder if people like me. People offer up compliments at the end of class – “I loved your old man character, he was hilarious yet so grounded!” “The way you supported the hell out of your teammates during the second beat was amazing.” Will anyone say something they liked about what I did??? Oh god, oh god. Fuck me, I’m an idiot. I hate myself. This sucks. Screw you all.
- Have pretend sex on stage with a douchebag twenty-two year old in front of fifteen others, after knowing him for, oh, a minute.
- Feel inadequate and socially-inept around people I could normally run conversational circles around. Who am I going to sit with at lunch?!?
- Slow-dance awkwardly with a foreigner who doesn’t understand tact or filter, and who I’m positive is always on the verge of commenting on my acne or stretch marks or belly-fat.
- Sweat profusely in front of a large group of people. I mean, dripping puddles.
- Have “wearing a bathing suit in high school gym class, a rental 1953 polyester bathing suit from the mean locker woman guard no less” body-terror flashbacks, as in not one, not two, but three classes, I get lifted up in the air and carried around stage. Females over 23 pounds don’t like to be lifted.
- Cry.
And I’ve loved (almost) every minute of it.
All of this can be yours – take an improv class.
I recently spent a good amount of time with a guy wearing boots – not snow boots, not cowboy boots, ugly man dress boots – in a wood-floor apartment. Oy. For hours, clop clop clop, clop clop clop. Add “Quiet Footwear” to the Boyfriend Criteria List. And they were pointy, which no man should ever ever do.
Why is it so hard for me to only put one piece of bread in the toaster? Trying to be healthy is making me waste heat and a perfectly good empty space!
Pre-Party Ritual circa 1999 -
- Sit around the table drinking Franzia and gossiping with seven of your bestest friends
- Crank up a little Venga Boys, Britney Spears and Bon Jovi
- Down nasty shots of whatever nasty alcohol is left over from a past party
- Yell flirty remarks at the boys across the hall
- Download some songs on Napster
- Throw on outfit #6 and confirm with roommates that the jeans don’t make your ass look fat, before changing back into outfit #2 because you think it gives you a vibe of availability yet mysteriousness that #6 failed to emit
- Take the shuttle bus to one of the various parties being thrown this night, this one selected because it promises a) Bud Light kegs, b) possibly running into that guy you hooked up with last weekend who you’d just DIE if you saw but just HAVE to see him, and c) that you’ll know everyone
Pre-Party Ritual circa 2009 -
- Fold laundry alone in bedroom
- Crank up a little Capitol Steps on NPR
- Down water and diet iced tea
- Run to Target and Jewel to buy various business-related items so that the expenses can be included in this year’s taxes
- Yell pissy remarks at people who drive too slow or who don’t believe in blinkers or waving to say thanks for letting them in
- Assemble newly-purchased floor lamp
- Enter business receipts into Quicken
- Throw on jeans, a GAP shirt and UGGs because they’re all comfortable
- Walk to one of the various parties being thrown this night, this one selected because a) I won’t know most of the people there, b) guests will probably not be the types to do Frat-Boy chest bumps or hooker halter-tops and skinny jeans, and c) it’s five blocks away
It’s kind of hard to find passion while you sit alone on your couch
I would like to steal someone else’s thought I received via email today, a guy who works long enough to save up money, then travels to exotic locales for months on end – “Make this the year you design a LIFE rather than make a living!”
Amen. Cliche, but have 2010 be the year you LIVE life. Nothing irks me more than people who have the resources and time to do amazing things but choose to sit on the sidelines and do nothing.
Choose a drumming circle over a Seinfeld rerun. Choose the boot camp classs you’ve been eyeing but have been too nervous to join over the same ol’ stationary bike routine. Choose a book-club or guitar class or a volleyball team over Match.com. Choose closing your eyes and doing whatever your finger falls on in the Reader instead of Netflix and Chinese take-out.
Have you ever said:
- I don’t have enough money
- I don’t have enough time
- I’m too fat
- I’m too old
- I don’t have anyone to come with me
- I won’t fit in
- I’m not knowledgeable enough
- I won’t know anyone
- I haven’t had a date in ______
- I’m not qualified to _______
- I’m scared
To that I say, just suck it up and join the class, take the trip, quit the job, participate in the group, ask her out, start the business, write the book…
And while you’re at it, go volunteer somewhere. Volunteering always gives me perspective and slaps me back to reality when I start complaining about a chipped pedicure or my exorbitant heating bills – my problems really aren’t problems at all when compared to what others face.
2010 – the year of being proactive and being a person who I’d want to talk to at a party, not the person I want to run from because you have nothing to share!
A flood of emails recently, some beautiful and poetic and delicious, some dastardly and vomit-inducing and horrid, leads me to say – I cannot state strongly enough how attractive the following things are in guys:
- Proper grammar
- Correct spelling
- An expansive vocabulary
- Remembering details, especially little, seemingly insignificant ones you mumble under your breath
And conversely, how quickly I become disinterested in you, even strongly want to punch you, if you use “their” when you should use “they’re.” We all have slip-ups, I’ve made numerous spelling/grammar boo-boos, but feel there’s an overall properness (he he) to my communication.
Now whoever can send email that not only has everything listed above, but that also speaks in a British accent, please propose, I will say yes.
Fun to track what others say about the Minglers, with the various types of media outlets out there.
Facebook Status Updates -
Spending the evening with a room full of strangers, on purpose. Yikes.
Mac ‘n Cheese mingling tonight!
Watch my cousin on TV tonight! ABC 10:30PM.
Good times at Mac ‘n Cheese.
Texts – I will definitely refer people! I sent a friend mine a text this morning about it and he said he was going to go in January.
Now if someone would just do a radio spot or tweet about the Minglers, I could curl up and die happy. I imagine tracking comments wouldn’t be as fun if I was getting raked over the coals, so mental note to try not to piss off any wordsmiths –
A guest commented to me the other day, after listening to my selection of tunes for about an hour or so, “You’re better than Pandora!”. Awwww shucks. I’ll take that compliment!
The cutest, most fun being in all of Toronto, Egg Drop Dumpling, recently wrote to me – I need new years resolution ideas for 2010. I completed the snail mail idea that you gave me this year. It was a hit. You’re 1 for 1. So talk to me. Thought I’d list a few here, in case you want to steal one or two.
**Disclaimer – I have been unsuccessful at fulfilling my own for the past couple of years, for whatever that’s worth.**
- 2008: Be more British
- 2009: Be in a GAP commercial
If anyone can help me accomplish either of these, I’m all about retroactive success!
2010 New Years Resolutions (NYRs) for You to Pilfer
1. Start your NYRs early – I started mine December 1st. Of course the obligatory one of becoming fit, and it’s helped to quash the usual holiday season inhaling of badness, and even helped me drop a few. I also planned everything out for the Dance Experiment (non-dancers learning routines to perform on stage in front of the world) so that come 2010, it’ll be ready to kick into high gear right away. No time for excuses!
2. Send a present to someone once a month, when it’s NOT their birthday or anniversary or other special occasion – a compliment written on a nice sheet of stationary, a mix CD, a book you enjoyed, Garrett’s carmel corn/cheese corn combo…
3. Do one thing a week by yourself – mix it up. Some social, some business, some silly and frivolous, some brow-beaters, some involving food/drink, some during the day, some at night. Could be as simple as going to a coffeehouse to read a book. Wine tasting, resume building workshop, play, concert, poetry reading, social media workshop, party, restaurant…
4. Throw a dinner party for a group of friends who don’t know each other – have everyone send you a fave song ahead of time and give out a mix CD with everyone’s song at the end of the dinner.
5. Practice “Yes and’ing” – stealing the improv rule that you should always “yes and” your teammates. Whatever they say, you say yes to. Don’t disagree, don’t argue, don’t rationalize. Just say yes. “Do you want to try yoga with me?” “Yes, and how about grabbing a chai afterwards?”
6. Lower those bills – If you take the time to do a little internet research and make a few phone calls, I bet you’ll be able to pay less for a lot of the “necessities.” By taking advantage of a partnership between my college alma mater and an insurance company, I went from $111 a month in car insurance to $52 a month. By comparing health insurance plans at ehealthinsurance.com, I went from $128 a month with one carrier to $70 a month with another. By choosing AT&T DSL instead of Comcast cable, I pay $19 a month instead of $63 a month for the internet.
6a. If you do end up saving money, put that money in the “Fun Jar!”. Use the money for guilt-free spending on whatever silly thing you want!
FYI, the snail mail idea I gave Egg Drop Dumpling last year is that she send a real card – not an e-card! – or letter to someone different every month for the year. Nice to get mail in this age of texts and emails!
If you have any interesting NYRs, I’d love to hear them!
I don’t know if I’m going through menopause (can you do that at age 31?), if I’m pregnant (let’s hope not, I recently cursed out the Christmas tree for having to be fed so much water), or if I unknowingly got injected with hormones recently (a man did bump me on the El the other day), but this song by the Decemberists, which I’ve never heard before and thus have no emotional connection to is currently making me weep. Which is a little awkward since I’m in a coffeehouse. Seriously, tear-spillage right now. “We’ll fill our mouths with cinnamon”?!? Really?!? That makes you cry? What is going on, inner-self?!?!?
And I can’t turn stop replaying it.
What a weekend!
Friday night I had the biggest Mingler to date, with forty guests. Some newbies, some repeaters, all interesting and with such different backgrounds! They heard about the Minglers through ABC’s 190 North, TimeOut Magazine, Boston College friends of mine, guitar class, an arts organization I work with, and my current favorite “How’d your hear about these?” story, through doing research on me for an NPR assignment. Had a blast. Caught myself a couple of times thinking, “Seriously? I make a living having people over for food, drink and games? And look! They look like they’re having fun!” So appreciative that there are so many people willing to try something a bit different and perhaps a bit scary.
Perhaps not the wisest decision to schedule a Mingler the night before coordinating a coat drive at a west side elementary school at 8AM the next morning, especially when the last guests don’t leave till 2AM, meaning I don’t get to bed till 3AM. Oh well, run on fumes.
Perhaps not the wisest decision to host an amazing food-networking experience the night after a Mingler and the same day as a coat drive. Especially when the last people out the door leave at 12:30AM, meaning I’m not in bed until 1:30AM. But it was amazing! Partnered up with Clandestino, an underground supper club, one of the trends spreading across the nation. Chef Efrain concocted a menu using ingredients all found within 200 miles of Chicago and with a motley crew of helpers, served up a delish dinner for thirty-seven guests at my place, while I babbled inane stories to the guests and subjected them to activities to help them get to know one another. People came solo, in couples, in groups. Wide range of ages, jobs, interests, personalities. All so friendly! Again, the feeling of “Really?!? Is this what I do?”
Perhaps not the wisest decision to go to a 9:30AM yoga class after two days of little sleep and much hostessing. But I made it. Even rode my bike down since it was so balmy out! (30 degrees.)
Dead tired Sunday night. But worth it. Satisfaction level, satiated.
Every time I go past a dog park, I get jealous. I don’t want a dog – smelly, pricey, needy, shed-dy. But look at all those dog-owners, they look so fun! Standing in their circle, in hats with dangling ear flaps and matching scarves, rosey cheeks kissed by the biting fresh air, laughing teeth and friendly arm punches. I want to stand in your circle too and make new connections, share funny stories, and concoct plans to get grab a drink. I want to take a break in conversation to lovingly gaze at my dog it plays with your dog, and then turn back to discussing parking meters or the audacity of Tiger Woods. It’s so unfair. Love me too!
I consider buying a fish and bringing him to the park. I nix that idea when I think about the work involved in tapping fish food into the tank and remember how much I abhor fish.
I wonder if they’d let me into the circle if I brought one of my plants to the park.
I was in a rush the other day to get to one of the schools where I teach video. Came to a red light, car in front of me. The light changed green, he didn’t move. I gave him the complimentary “get your head out of your ass” second to return to reality, still no movement. I tapped the horn and gently cursed his stupidity. No movement. I lay on the horn and insulted his beat-up car, called him a jackass, and wondered why no one was as good a driver as I was and why I had to put up with such imbeciles. No movement. Argh! MOVE, YOU MOTHER FU… He looked at me in his rearview mirror. What’s that? I turned down the radio. I looked to the left. An ambulance was approaching. Oh. I looked down at my lap and created a look on my face that I hoped said, “There’s something wrong with my horn, sorry, didn’t mean to honk at you. Have a nice day!”
I was in a rush the other day to get to one of the schools where I teach video. (Maybe I should leave a little earlier…) I always fill up the tank when I head to Kinzie, since it’s by Midway and gas is cheaper out there. I quickly pulled up to the pump and swiped my credit card. “Invalid zip code.” What? I did it right. Stupid machine. I punched in the zip code again. “Invalid zip code.” You stupid Midway gas station. I rolled my eyes at the cashier window. You stupid stupid cashier, why the f can’t you get your stupid machine to work properly? Damn south side. This would never happen on the north side. I punched in the number again, exaggerating each press and muttering a different insult with fingerprint. “Invalid zip code.” FUCK! I slammed my car door, peeled out of the Speedway and sped to the school. All class, all drive home, all stairclimber huffing and puffing, I shook my head at the conspiracy of world against me, and couldn’t understand how me doing exactly what I was supposed to do could result in life not going how it was supposed to go. Argh! Oh. Wait. What number did I… 6-0-6-2-5. Right, that’s right. Wait. No. What’s my zip code? 2-5. Wait. No. That’s when I lived on Wilson. Two years ago. I don’t have the same zip code now. 6-0-6-… oh shit. 5-7.
At first glance, you might think the quote below is from some Norwegian psychoanalyst in a white coat, thick glasses and with a hard to pronounce last name. But it’s from a Mingler friend who was responding to my scary possibly stupid idea to realize my dream of living in London by moving there this summer to attempt a Mingler UK franchise.
Dreaming in a necessary part of happiness. It’s been proven that our brain “rewards” us not by reaching our goal but in the anticipation of doing so. Therefore, even if you don’t fully succeed, you’ll be happier from the pursuit. So aim high lady!
I love it, totally agree with it, try to live it, and am glad someone said it so poetically and concisely.
Now, who can help a girl get across the pond?
I heard a quote I liked recently: “You’re not a millionaire until you’ve given a million away.”
I would add: “You’re not a millionaire until you can shop at Whole Foods without a guilt cloud hanging over your head.” I had a sweet potato emergency so had to stop at Whole Foods on my back from the gym. The day before, at Jewel, I spent $.28/pound. At Whole Foods, I spent $1.56/pound. That is crazy!
Those poor saps coming for Thanksgiving today. Frozen pizza isn’t too much of a disappointing replacement for turkey, is it? All I have to say is that touching meat that actually looks like the animal it came from is disgusting and I’ll never do it again. I stupidly volunteered to do the turkey this year, not realizing it doesn’t come carved on a platter and that you have to deal with things like juices, salmonella poisoning, floppy wings, slippery skin and most horrid of all, the detached neck left in the cavity. I hyperventilated taking that out and heaved all the way to the trash can. I have no idea what gibbards or gizzards or whatever they’re called are, but we’ll find out at dinner tonight because after the neck incident, I refused to go searching and remove them as the instructions stated. I also refused to cut any excess fat. Again, stupidly, decided to brine the turkey, so I’ve had to interact with the dumb bird for the past 48 hours, turning it in the brine as its pimply, pasty skin stares up at me.
I still have to “detach skin and rub” blah blah blah and jam a thermometer in the thigh, so this may be my last post as I definitely might die during those requirements.
My goal has changed from “make a delicious and moist turkey” to “be able to take out the garbage that has the detached neck in it without my heart quickening out of irrational fear that it’s going to come to life and eat me.”
Jasmine asked me a couple of weeks ago if I could help her write an essay for a high school application. I told her to start working on it and that we’d get together to go over it.
We went to Jupiter Outpost, one of my new fave coffeehouses, yesterday.
I learned a new phrase, “Stop jockin’ me” which you’d say to someone who is all up in your business, someone who follows you around like a puppy dog. I learned that Jasmine doesn’t like to drink hot beverages, even hot chocolate, because she likes to drink fast. I learned that her grandmother, who adopted her as a baby because her mom was struggling with drugs, is sick and that she asked Jasmine, “What would you do if I die?” to which Jasmine responded with tears. I learned that the house phone and Jasmine’s cell had been switched off because her sister decided to buy shoes instead of pay the phone bill. I learned that “It’s not fair” that I can type fast and that it’s necessary to take a two-minute break after typing each paragraph. I learned that grammar rules like putting two spaces after periods but only one after commas are “silly.”
Glancing down at the essay Jasmine wrote in response to “Who in your life has most influenced you to go to college?” I saw my name. Oh no – my eyes start to fill.
There have been two people in my life that encouraged me to attend college.
My mother, who is really my grandmother, started taking care of me when my mother got sick. She adopted me when I was a baby. My friend Saya, we’ve known each other for a long time. We met at Saturday school, where we did fun activities, went on lots of field trips, and had lots of good times there. She was the coordinator of Saturday school. Saya is a really nice lady and she has been for a very long time.
They both encouraged me to go to college. They tell me that if I don’t go to college, that I won’t be able to get a good job and earn enough money to buy my own home. I’ll go to college and I’ve always known that one day I will become a lawyer. This is important to me because I want to help innocent people including my family and friends.
My real mother tells me that she wants me to get a degree because she doesn’t want me to be like her or my grandmother, neither of who even have a high school degree. It’s important to my mom that I graduate from college, get a good job, and become someone in life.
My friend Saya told me that it’s essential to continue onto college because college can help you do things that you never thought you would ever be able to do. Also, she said that a college degree is necessary to be hired for most jobs.
No piece of fruit is worth the amount of work it takes to eat this thing.
I love mixes, talking about dating, literary events at bars, laughing and cheap entertainment. Cassette From My Ex at the Hideout was all of those, so I continued the solo tour at the little house in the middle of an industrial park.
Cassette is a book that compiles stories from people about love, heartache, relationships and music. At the Hideout event, a panel talked about their mix experiences and reflections, and Arthur Jones, who tells fun stories illustrated by post-it note drawings, recounted losing his virginity (that’s him kissing the deflower-er’s ankle).
My favorite part was reliving the old days of making mixes, when you had to crouch by the radio all day, waiting for that one perfect song that’d complete your mix to come on, and then hurriedly press record, hoping you got the start and then cursing the DJs who’d start talking over the end of the song. You’d handwrite the songs on the jacket and perhaps decorate it with drawings or pictures. You’d write the name of the mix on the jacket spine.
It’s getting harder and harder to do the Solo Tour, as I keep running into people I know. As I was de-jacketing, I noticed someone from improv class. We talked until I explained I had to go away and be alone. Then one of the panelists turned out to be someone I know from NPR (who showered me with cardboard boxes last time I moved, thank you!). And one of the selections read from the book was from someone I met doing a film competition, and she was there, shouting out answers to the MC from the back of the room.
If I hear the word “mammogram” one more time…
The news really does beat a subject to death. Whatever the hot topic of the moment – Balloon Boy, Sarah Palin, Ms. California, Elliot Spitzer, H1N1 – news outlets bring in experts, interrupt with special reports, host discussion panels, conduct polls, interrupt their special reports with special reports and find one ridiculous angle after another to keep the story alive. I find myself searching for a station or channel that isn’t in the tank for whatever subject finds itself in the spotlight, eventually having to settle for televangelists or Nickelodeon.
I would like a radio or TV station that refuses to utter one word about the current Hot Topic.
I remember a day when the words “maverick” and “change” didn’t make me cringe.
I witnessed two things on my walk home from a friend’s film screening at the Musicbox tonight that I don’t understand -
1) Someone living in a garden-level condo. Renting a garden-level apartment is hive-inducing enough, but actually buying one?!? You should never live in a place where your windows are all on the top half of the walls and offer views of people’s feet.
2) The woman in front of me at CVS bought Whoppers. As in the worst candy in the world. Of all the options…
My seventeen year old cousin introduced me to Pandora, an online music player where you type in a favorite band and then it plays songs that it thinks you’d like based on that band. Typing in “Wilco” has introduced me to tons of great new artists, one of whom is Mason Jennings. And as fate would have it, a few weeks after I had been digging Mason, I randomly decided to check his tour page and lo and behold, he was coming to Chicago around the corner! So my solo tour continued with a Mason Jennings concert at the House of Blues (where I hadn’t been since my Missed Connections incident there, a few years ago).
AMAZING concert! I forgot what a nice venue HOB is – acoustics, size, proximity to the El, ease of entering/exiting. I was perturbed by the $9 service fee charge when I first tried to buy online, so decided to just cross my fingers and buy at the door. Fate stepped in again, and for some reason I found myself looking at the ticket website for a second time, it just so happens on a Wednesday, which just so happens is the day Live Nation waives its service fees, so score! Got my ticket ahead of time, for a reasonable price.
7PM show was packed. He seems to have a young following, I definitely was on the older side. Enjoyed his set, both the songs I knew and those that were new to me. Not much banter with the audience but came across as being very appreciative of his fans and of just enjoying playing music. The band was skilled and fun to watch. They did a killer cover of The Weight, where each member sang a verse, even the non-singer drum player. The audience was mostly there to listen to the music as opposed to talking throughout the show, a nice change from other recent shows I’ve attended.
When I got out at 10, I debated going to my friend’s improv show, but had such a nice time with Mason, I decided to call it a night, ending on a guaranteed high. I couldn’t stop smiling out the window of the Brown Line on my way home, and even as I got soaked running the two blocks from my stop home.
The post about being uncertain how to react to guys who are speak-singing you lyrics from a song that has some deep-seeded meaning to them got me thinking about other awkward scenarios I’ve been in related to someone sharing something emotional and the other party, me, usually due to being caught off guard, being flummoxed in reaction.
A guy I met a few years ago at a House of Blues concert put me in such a situation. We began dating after the concert (great story of how this happened below). After a couple of weeks, he was over at my place one night and sat me down on the couch in a very serious manner.
“I have something I want to read you.”
He proceeded, in his best Bill Kurtis/Morgan Freeman voice, to read me passages from All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten , a book that “reminds us that the most basic aspects of life bear its most important opportunities.” He kept taking deep breaths, long pauses, glances up at me with penetrating and probing eyes. Now would be a good time to say I loath self-help stuff like this.
I think people spend too much money, time, and brainpower on books, therapy, journals, medication and other similar things that supposedly help you reflect on/deal with your life – it’s too much thinking about what’s wrong, what you wish you could change, the obstacles you’ve faced. Instead of spending money on a therapist to discuss loneliness, spend that time and money on classes, activities, travel, actually meeting others!
Anyway, back to Kindergarten Boy. He recited a passage about how great the world would be if instead of real bombs, we dropped peace bombs. After about twenty-minutes of him dramatically punctuating and sighing, and me hoping the “Are you serious you douchebag?” feeling vibrating in my bones wasn’t apparent on my face, he slowly closed the book and looked at me.
“Um, wow. Thanks.”
“I want you to have this.” He handed the book to me.
“What?”
“I brought this for you. I give copies of it to people I care about.”
“Oh. Wow.”
He went on to tell me that when his mother died of cancer? when he was in high school, this book got him through the pain. Of course then I felt like a horrible person. But a horrible person who still hated that stuff.
I broke up with him after three months. About 2.5 months too long. But I love great How You Met stories and really liked ours so was hoping we’d be able to recount it at the wedding.
The night we met, it somehow came up that I love reading the Missed Connections section in the Reader, where you post about seeing someone out and about but didn’t get their contact info so hope that they see your ad and respond and you fall happily in love. A couple of weeks after the concert where I met Kindergarten Boy, I stumbled upon this:
Oh wow, I was at that concert. Cool, I have a leopard print coat too! I can be funny and some say I’m exotic. This is so funny, she sounds exactly like… Oh wait! That’s me. I almost fell off my chair. Then I called the phone number and well, the rest is peace bomb history.
After writing a short novel on not understanding the tendency guys have to share music with me, I just realized that the post just previous was me sharing a song.
But it was less about sharing and more about petty griping.
And my other post about a song was less about sharing than it was about me considering lesbianism.
I’m still getting used to the fact that people actually read this and guess I should stop acting surprised when I begin to tell a story and am interrupted with “Oh yeah, I read that on your blog…” as happened four times last weekend. Another symptom of blogging, not sure if it’s a perk or a pitfall, is that people actually take your words seriously. I blogged about my aversion to a guest leaving condensation rings all over my furniture and to people I’ve just met engulfing me in hugs, and now nobody will put a drink down in my home or make physical contact with me. So I write this post with a bit of trepidation –
People, well actually, guys, keep sharing music with me and I don’t know how to handle it.
I love music. The first thing I do when I get home is turn it on. The first thing I do when I get in the car is turn it on. One of my favorite gifts to give are mix CDs. Life can’t get much better than an acoustic guitarist sit-down concert in a small venue close to an El stop. Belting 80s tunes at karaoke, fantastic. Discovering a new artist, awesome. Singing at the top of our lungs on a road trip, yes please. Associating a song with a memory, good or bad, funny or painful, such a part of life. But I never have the urge to share a song with someone else, let alone discuss its intricacies.
Guy #1 mentioned a reggae band that does Radiohead songs. Once. Twice. Three times. Did you check them out? Did you get a chance to listen? I’ll burn you a CD. Over a couple of months, he’d keep asking about them. I like Radiohead and reggae, listening to the band just kept slipping my mind, it wsan’t something that registered on my priority list. I went to pick him up one day and he again inquired if I had heard them. Upon my sheepish no, he got out of the car and came back a couple of minutes later with the CD. We listened to it on the ride up to Evanston. It was fine. I didn’t hate it, I didn’t love it. But with Guy #1 looking expectantly at me, I felt pressure to discuss the lyrics, comment on the beat, delve into the artists’ motivation… I didn’t and still don’t understand why it was so important that I hear the Radiohead reggae band.
Guy #2 came over for a little birthday celebration and stayed to chat for a few hours after the others left. At one point, he was reclining on the couch reciting lyrics from a song that seemed to mean a lot to him. He’d say a verse, forget a word, roll around in his brain for the word, find it, and then continue reciting. A few times. I loved how serious he got during the recitation and loved that he was sharing a part of himself – isn’t that what girls are always complaining guys don’t do enough of? – but I wasn’t sure how to react. Should I have come back with my own oration?
Children behave
Thats what they say when were together
And watch how you play
They dont understand
And so we’re
Running just as fast as we can
Holdin on to one anothers hand
Tryin to get away into the night
And then you put your arms around me
And we tumble to the ground
And then you say…
The next day “Beats for the Birthday Girl” was in my inbox, an email with a link to two songs he had mentioned/sung.
Guy #3 has burned a couple of CDs for me and recommended a few bands he digs, not because of any conversation we’d been having, just because he’s really into music. They’ve all been hip-hop and while I like hip-hop, I’m more old school, cheesy hip-hop like Young MC Bust a Move or Biz Markie Just a Friend; these were more… contemporary? Like the reggae Radiohead, they were fine. Not something I’d play at home. Some good beats I’d use in my media projects maybe. When Guy #3 asked what I thought, that’s what I told him. Should I have lied and raved about how much I loooooved them?
Guy #4, a music-lover if there ever was one, who goes to about fifty-three concerts a week, sends out a weekly (though I got daily emails?) like the one below, with some background on a song and then the song itself –
so, yah, phoenix covering air. you have probably heard the original version of this song in the movie, “the virgin suicides,” or in this levi’s commericial. wow, it’s rare that i give a shit what levi’s has to say, but i do dig the commercial. phoenix has actually just landed a commercial, too, for cadillac. kinda odd, but it seems that the indie bands are seriously *dominating* the commercials these days, especially cadillac, which has used hum, teddybears, m. ward, and now phoenix! crap, i can’t find the ad on youtube.
His passion is commendable. His writing is detailed and descriptive (journalism background). But after seven days of emails, I asked him to remove me from the list. Felt like a bitch but I just didn’t have the time (or was it the interest?) to read/listen to them. I did it as nicely as I could. But when I saw him a few days later, very intoxicated – him not me – he kept bringing up that I was the ONLY person to ever ask to be removed from his list.
I truly don’t mean to piss on what others love, but being truthful seems a better route in the long-run. What if I say how much I love reggae Radiohead just to not hurt his feelings and then Guy #1 buys me a CD and then surprises me with concert tickets and then hires the band to play at our wedding??!?! I don’t really want to do tropical-Yeah Mon-hip gyration groove to Karma Police for my first dance.
All that said, there’s this song you just HAVE to hear -
The Scarlett Johannson/Pete Yorn song “Realtor” has been on repeat for the last twenty-four hours. Love it. Hate her. If you can act, you shouldn’t be able to sing. If you can sing, you shouldn’t be pretty. If you’re pretty, you shouldn’t be able to do anything else but be pretty. Scarlett can do all those things. Sending petty-hate her way. If she had been playing the guitar and/or doing improv in the video, man, then I’d really really hate her.
I should probably replace “hate” with “envy” in the preceding paragraph.
I won’t count the improv show I went to on Sunday as part of the solo tour since I rode bikes with a friend to io (he went to the upstairs show, I went to the downstairs show) and because I’ve taken classes there, I always seem to run into someone I know.
Last night the solo tour took me to see a friend from college play with his band.
Good Things
1. Someone you know in a band
2. Musicians who can play multiple instruments – Paul had the keyboard/guitar/singing thing going
3. Taking the El – since I started working from home five years ago, I’m not on the El much. I love it for its people watching, its gritty urban feel, its no need to deal with parking, its allowance of me daydreaming out the window
4. A place I’ve never been – Weeds is a divey-type bar which I love
5. Cover songs – I’m fine with you singing other people’s songs, especially if they’re songs I like!
6. Bad dancers – fascinating to watch and I love that they’re just grooving to the music regardless of whether or not they have rhythm.
7. A Brit! – there was a Brit at the bar and a couple of them on the Fullerton platform. Listening to their heavenly drawl temporarily calmed my CTA-hate.
Bad Things
1. The neighborhood – Weeds is near North/Clybourn which isn’t the most horrific area, at least it was a short walk from train to bar, but am not the biggest fan. congestion, commercialization, the Weed Street scene of Schaumburg-ites and douchebag twenty-three year olds in Miami hats
2. Taking the El – what should’ve been a twenty-minute trip was a sixty-minute trip! Construction on the tracks so both the red and brown lines were on a single-track. After waiting forever at Fullerton for a red line, finally one in the distance! Oh crap, what’s it doing? The sign is changing… from 95th to Express, nooo! Of course when it got to Fullerton, the train decided to go Express and would skip my stop. Begin the wait again. A Tolstoy book later, a red-line arrived. But for some reason, the CTA decided to only be running 1/2 a car instead of the usual six, seven, eight. So everyone was corralled like cattle.
3. The bar – Not conducive to live music, horrible sound system, tiny “stage” area, no place to stand or sit without getting in someone’s way or being hit upside the head. I was hoping for a low-key, everyone sit down to watch the band, not too loud type atmosphere. I stood awkwardly, crunched between chairs, the bar, people going to the bathroom and people ordering shots. I have no patience for the jostling, screaming, annoying Drunky McDrunkersons.
4. People who sing along to songs but don’t know the lyrics
5. Rain – rain and curly hair = frizz. Frizz = my nemesis.
6. A gaggle of very very very short men – the bar was packed with short men. Has less to do with how I view a guy and more about how I feel about myself. I felt like an amazon.
So all in all, it was an ok night. The negatives had nothing to do with going alone, more with me liking things a certain way and getting in a stink if they don’t happen according to Saya-law. Oh well, at least I continued the solo tour.
A film crew – a producer, a reporter, two lighting guys, a cameraman, an intern, the cameraman’s prom date, the reporter’s arch-nemesis, the intern’s stunt double, and a partridge in a pear tree – all showed up at my place on Friday to shoot a segment on the Minglers for the show 190 North. I think I would’ve been fine and not sounded like a sleep-deprived, intoxicated lunatic who didn’t graduate middleschoool and suffers from ADD, but they did my interview at 8:25, with guests arriving at 8:30. So there was me on one side of the firing line, facing the tiny producer who stood on a step stool so that she was my level, the camera which was the size of a medium-sized dog an inch from my face, two lights each the size of a tanning bed, the rest of the crew, and a growing-group of poor Mingler guests who not only had to walk into an already awkward “I don’t know anyone here and there are spotlights following my every move” situation but had to listen to my innane babble while they shifted in damp clothes and juggled their bottles of wine from one hand to the other. All staring at me as I attempted to answer what might have appeared to be simple questions, like “Spell your name,” but in reality were daggers of complexity and attempts to keep me from being successful in life.
No, I have NO idea when it’ll air.
46. Become a good public speaker
47. Be interviewed by a Brit (October 2009)
48. House swap with a Brit
49. Do anything with a Brit
50. Have a car with power-windows and locks – allowed myself one luxury when I bought Rosita in 2001 and decided on air conditioning; frugality sucks sometimes
51. Do a pull-up
52. Do crow pose – a year of yoga and it still eludes me
53. Get a teeny tiny nose stud
54. Learn how to play poker and host a regular poker night
55. Go for a week without putting my hair in a ponytail
56. See Patience, a 10 year old I met in Rwanda and whose education friends and I are sponsoring, graduate from college
57. Always be reading a book
58. See one of the kids I’ve taught succeed and escape the cycle of poverty (October 2009, work in progress)
59. Own a fire pit
60. Learn how to fix a flat tire, bike and car
61. Become better at hammering stuff
62. Learn my conversions – quarts, meters, Celsius, etc.
63. Posses better outside-of-the-US geographical knowledge – jump on this boat with me America!
64. Have a friend who owns a bar and stocks the jukebox with 80s music
65. Have a friend who owns a coffeehouse and stocks the shelves with board games
Three of the Englewood kids slept over on Friday. Ten, eleven, and fourteen, two brothers, Emmanuel and Devonte, and their cousin Jasmine. They’re funny and inquisitive. They rip on, or as they say “treat,” each other incessantly. Whenever I hang out with them, I’m treated to a new perspective of and new appreciation for my life.
We drove by the 26th/California jail and they listed all the people they know who’ve been there and recounted what it was like to visit them. ”It was scary.” I lost count after six names, including Jasmine’s brother. And someone named Mookie.
“Why’s it so cold (in Roscoe Village, where I live)?” asked Emmanuel. ”Never mind, I know why. Cause we’re on the north side!”
The boys loved playing my guitar. Devonte kept calling it a “chip” instead of a “pick.”
I took them to Kitschn’ for breakfast. They commented at being at a “fancy restaurant.” Kitschn’, while nice, is by no means fancy. All relative. The two boys had no idea how to use a knife to cut their pancakes. I can’t express how sad it was to see them stuffing their mouths with their hands and then after I gave them a quick silverware lesson – “Stack all the pancakes on top of each other, hold them with the fork as you cut back and forth with the knife, I’ll hold the plate so it doesn’t move.” – to see them trying so hard to use the utensils. Ten and eleven years old.
The ten-year old can barely read and the other two aren’t where they should be academically either.
Jasmine asked me to take her to the high school fair this weekend, where all the schools have tables set up and you ask questions, fill out forms, make the huge decision of what school you want to attend. I said yes but feel a bit of pressure/stress. There are hundreds of schools in the Chicago Public School (CPS) system, some of them fantastic, some of them horrid. Shouldn’t someone who has done some research and knows what school will best fit Jasmine take her? Her grandmother, who adopted her, works seven days a week at a downtown hotel so can’t go. Jasmine going with me is better than Jasmine not going at all I guess. But aie! This is a big decision. I keep thinking about the Fenger student who was beaten to death last week outside his school.
I’m all for being lovey-dovey but if I ever love someone so much that I revert to kindergarten teacher in his presence, please slap me. A couple was standing on Lincoln Avenue tonight, the guy with one knee on the ground, hovering at her feet, the girl erect and starring emotionlessly ahead, as he tied her shoe. Let’s add that to the pet peeve list.
How starved for praise must you be if you get a little high every time the dental hygienist says “Gooood” as you open and close your mouth for her to insert X-Ray film? I had to open and close my mouth twelve times today. Each time I totally nailed it.
Speaking of the dentist, does it bother anyone else that the X-Ray vest is just that, a vest? I assume it’s there to protect me from growing a third-something from radiation, but what about my arms, neck, face? I don’t get it. Invisible force-field?
2:34AM: I’m woken up by a high-pitched female voice screeching, “Battery is low. Battery is low.” from the smoke detector and a smarmy televangelist, er, radiovangelist preaching about Jesus (who put my radio on a religious station?). Going to the bathroom takes precedence over turning off this horrid combination, so I sit on the freezing toilet, hands over ears.
The solo outing that almost wasn’t. A friend emailed yesterday, “I’m curious to check (the Moth) out, and I wondered if you wanted to go. It sounded like something you might be interested in, too!” She was right. Weirdly, I had to decline her invitation to go because I was already going. Alone. So I said I could wave at her if she went but would then have to return to being alone. Fast way to lose friends, but it’s my only opportunity this week to explore the city alone.
Literary/creative events in bars have become my favorite activities (2nd Story, Dollar Store , Pecha Kucha), and stemming from the line down the block outside of Martyr’s, the rest of the universe is also mac’ing on them. There were about a hundred people behind me in line when I got to the door and the doorman said, “After you (someone right behind me), we’re sold out. Sorry.” Whew. I can’t help but feel that the reason so many people came out is because the Moth is HUGE in New York, and a lot of Chicagoans have a complex about hating New York but wanting to be New York while loathing every thing about it yet feeling miniscule in its supposed shadow. Personally, Milwaukee/North/Damen is enough New York for me.
The gist of the Moth is you throw your name in a hat, ten people get picked to tell a five-minute story on a pre-selected theme – tonight’s was “school” – and then judges give you scores. Some were good, some were ok, one was horrible (he talked about the girls in his class with hair that smelled like lavender and ribbons, and then recounted a game he and his guy friends would play called “Love Box” which involved shoving the “chosen girls” into a hidden area by a brick wall and grabbing them around the waist; the audience wasn’t sure how to react to a story that teetered on being about sexual harassment).
Totally felt comfortable by myself. The only time I found myself wishing for company was when lavender-ribbon guy started hitting on me, but I quickly ended that encounter with tight-lipped grimaces in response to his lines. There were actually a bunch of people by themselves, which was interesting to watch in the forty-five minute wait. Who did what, who looked at ease, who looked uncomfortable. One girl read a book. Most just stood and stared in the general vicinity of the stage, which is what I also did. At one point though, I found myself doing slow, exaggerated head circles, and noticed that the girl next to me was also doing slow, exaggerated head circles, so I quickly stopped because I thought that’d look odd, two girls alone in a crowd doing synchronized head circles.
