Archive for February, 2007

The Goat

February 28, 2007 · Filed under Work

I was out with the apostles tonight (well, almost all apostles — sorry Tres), at the Billy Goat Tavern after work. And of course we came up with great ideas just by setting foot in that legendary spot.

The Goat is situated in a dark corner under Michigan Avenue, and it’s where Tribune reporters used to congregate late-night. Since then it’s been the source of humor for many an American, with the famous “Cheezborger, cheezborger, cheezborger” skit on Saturday Night Live.

And, no kidding, it’s exactly like that when you walk in. They yell at you, tell you that you have to have a double, then tell you “cheeps, no fries; Coke no Pepsi”. And then you get a great burger to chow on while you drink Old Style.

Too bad it’s not called “The Pig.” Then it would really be my kind of place. (And the Cubs would probably be winning, after ridding themselves of that damn goat curse.)

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Landing a job in Chicago

February 27, 2007 · Filed under Work

Let’s face it, Kansas doesn’t get much respect, unless you’re talking hunting or basketball. The same was true when I was job hunting four years ago, looking to move to either New York or Chicago.

After literally a hundred query letters and phone calls to agencies in NY and Chicago, I finally managed to get a few interviews. I made sure I covered all the big-name agencies in both cities, and I both e-mailed the HR person and submitted my resume online, where I could.

One day I got a pessimistic e-mail back from the recruiter at a big Chicago agency, stating that they only had one job open, and it was for direct marketing on the John Deere account.

You can imagine my excitement. Not only was it an agency I was really interested in…it was a brand I actually knew something about!

So on the Friday afternoon of my interview, I got all gussied up in my black suit, and my friend dropped me off in front of their ominous building (with scary security people in the lobby). I met with the HR person, then an Account Supervisor (who I later learned I would be replacing). Then I met with Ted, who oversaw the whole account.

Ted was a big boisterous dude, who talked more B.S. than anything. And clearly I was scared out of my wits that I was going to screw the whole thing up. So it really threw me for a loop when he asked me what I liked to do. “Read, sew, play piano,” I said. He seemed completely baffled at my seemingly boring life.

After I left the office, I was kicking myself for not showing a lot of personality. (I’m sure it’s difficult for anyone to imagine that I could hide this about myself.)

The next morning I headed for Iowa to my brother’s house, then on to Kansas on Sunday. En route (about 4 p.m.) I decided that by Monday morning at 8:30, I had to prove to Ted that I was funny. I wanted that job.

I hit Kansas City at 5:57 p.m., three minutes before Best Buy was closing, and ran inside to get a digital camera so I could complete my scheme. Fortunately there was another helpful customer in the camera section who told me what to get (it was very good advice, by the way), and I ran to the counter to make my purchase.

Then instead of heading for Wichita (where I lived at the time), I drove to the farm so I could get up at the crack of dawn, take the necessary photos, and pull together a PPT document to e-mail to Ted by 8:30.

Long story short, I had on offer on Tuesday morning.

Here’s what I sent with my thank-you e-mail:

Love for Deere

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Airing My Dirty Laundry

February 25, 2007 · Filed under The Homefront

When I bought my condo a year ago, I was so excited that it had “washer/dryer hook-ups”! Gone would be the days of carting my skivvies down the elevator or stairs to the creepy basement or moist laundry room full of half-assed washing machines and mediocre dryers.

After I moved in, I discovered that my laundry room (aka closet) was merely plumbed. It didn’t have any electricity. Or a vent.

Hmmm.

Clearly I wasn’t paying attention during the inspection.

So for the past 11 months, I’ve been carrying my laundry out my back door and down three flights of stairs to the basement, where generally I don’t have an issue with the machines being in use. But in the winter, it’s really annoying to have to bundle up and tromp down icy stairs with snow blowing in my face, just because I don’t have one more pair of underwear to last me even one more day.

But I guess you can look at it as a workout — I go up and down the stairs at least six times in the course of doing laundry.

The plan all along has been to finish the needed work and get a washer/dryer in my place. So a couple weeks ago I had someone from “Mr. Handyman” give me an estimate. The guy was a little over the top in terms of being chatty and flirty, but he was helpful in the end, and we decided that it would be best to tap into the gas line behind the stove in the kitchen, run the pipe behind the cabinet, through the wall into the bathroom, along the tub (inside the hollow space), and finally through the wall into the closet. Then he’d put in a vent and tap into a 110 wire so I could have an outlet for the washer.

Two days later his supervisor called to give me the price. $3,000!

Woe is me. I have no boyfriend who can take this on. I am all alone. I have to tromp up and down the stairs and might kill myself in the process by slipping on the ice. Then rats will eat my dead body in the alley.

(And yes, this is a shameless plea for Dad or Brother DIY to come visit before farming season starts to help out their poor little girl.)

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Procrastination

February 24, 2007 · Filed under Travel

Anyone who knows me will tell you I operate on “Nelly Time”. I always arrive 10 minutes after I’m supposed to. I wait until the 11th hour to work on a project. And I am always late on giving people gifts.

But today I have a procrastination victory! I have finally completed the log of the trip I took to Italy in December. Granted, it’s not perfectly edited, but at least I got it all down on paper. So please excuse the typos and weird words — I’ll clean those up later.

Click here to read it.

P.S. It’s snowing like mad here. Perfect for a night on the town.

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The Redskins

February 22, 2007 · Filed under The Homefront

I had a 3-minute whirlwind tonight — getting home from Naperville at 7:05, furiously changing clothes, inhaling a snack bar and running down the stairs to catch a cab to my volleyball came at 7:08.

But I did stop to pick up my mail, and it was Hometown Paper Day. Yea!

As usual, many of the articles were about the school — sports teams, in particular. And I was reminded of the controversy of the dear old mascot of my high school: the Redskin.

Granted, if you think about the term’s literal meaning, it’s probably not that nice. But we always loved the symbol and stood behind it. And after a good 10 years of flack, the school has stood behind it, too.

(As an aside, I’ll admit it does seem a little weird to talk about the “Young Lady Skins” when referring to the junior high basketball team. I guess it’s not as weird as the “Lady Popes” where Jenn went to school.)

This same controversy came to an end last night at the University of Illinois, when Chief Illini danced his final dance. The Tribune offered up a few alternative mascots to take the Chief’s place, and surprisingly, one of them reminded me of a mascot once under consideration at LRHS:

The Caterpillar: Makes the earth move (and passes out brochures for Peoria tourism).

Sometime back in the ’80s, when they consolidated a bunch of little schools, LRHS became LRWGHS, and to alleviate bad feelings, the school considered changing the mascot.

At that time, there was a legendary music teacher who had been around forever. (I think my dad had him, too.) He was large, unhealthy, and arguably miscast in his profession. But it was a right of passage to be in his unruly music class and have a music stand hurled in your direction as a pacifier. (Fortuately he really liked me. But I suppose he had no choice, as without me, there wouldn’t have been an accompanist.)

At any rate, he was always front and center directing the pep band at ballgames, so it was natural that he would be cast as the mascot. If I remember correctly, the proposal was to pseudo-anagram LRWG into WIGL and have him dress as a worm.

This would have frightened the opposition into being paralyzed, so it’s probably unfortnate that it didn’t happen.

Someday LRHS might have to choose a new mascot. Maybe they could borrow from the Tribune’s list for the Illini replacement:

Horseshoe: The cholesterol-filled sandwich.

The Fighting Soybean: Extra advantage: No one knows what a soybean looks like so the costume could be just about anything.

How about a feisty, ready-to-fight Irishman who . . . never mind. Whitetail: The timid deer who runs away from sounds of disapproval.

The Obama: Fires up crowds, surely victorious (according to the hype).

Ethan the Ethanol vat: Gobbles up opponents — and federal subsidies.

Honest Abe: Delivers a halftime address: “The world will little note nor long remember what we do here, but we’re gonna kick your butts anyway.”

The Bag Man: Collects “attendance fees” (and nobody gets hurt).

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Sunburn and Southfork

February 20, 2007 · Filed under Work

Ah, Dallas! I love that it’s nearly 80 degrees in February. And I love that I’ve had BBQ twice today.

In true old-school manufacturer fashion, busses picked us up at the crack of dawn to go to the assembly plant, where we’d be learning the ins and outs of dump trucks. (In advertising, nothing happens before 9.)

My mind was running in circles all night, and the Sleep-Number bed I was in didn’t do the trick. I woke up to my alarm in panic about all the stuff I needed to accomplish today, knowing I’d have to also give some semblance of paying attention during the training.

There were about 200 people in the viewing hall, and for whatever reason, my cell phone coverage was crappy.  So every time I needed to make a call, I had to go outside into the sunshine.

Oh damn.

At any rate, I ended up on the phone at least 2 hours today, pacing head down in zigzag fashion around the six dump trucks parked outside. And the back of my neck is now bright red. Hallelujah! Sun!

Overall, it was an interesting session, though the padding on my chair wasn’t thick enough to ward off a case of tired butt.

This evening they shipped us out to Southfork Ranch for round two of BBQ in the convention center there. Sidekick John and I walked over to the ranch house, where the themesong from “Dallas” was blaring on the patio. A classic Texas woman dressed in a bright pink pant suit greeted us in with a thickly accented, ”Come on in, y’all.”

Though the interior was different from the show (given it was filmed in a studio), many of the exterior places were recognizable. But the best part was the master bedroom, which had a ridiculously huge floor-to-ceiling canopy bed right in the middle of the room.

J.R. certainly lived it up right. (Especially the pink jacuzzi bathtub in a completely mirrored room.)

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My second home

February 19, 2007 · Filed under Travel, Work

Right now I’m hanging out on the “couch” in my second living room — gate K13 in O’Hare.

I’m in O’Hare at least 4 times a month, some visits more pleasant than others. My typical m.o. is to frantically rush around my place (with my hair in a towel and a toothbrush in my mouth), tearing up my bed trying to find my phone at the very last second, with the cab outside calling me to tell me it’s leaving without me. Then get stuck in the back of the cab in traffic (we all know what happens in that situation). Then get to the airport with 35 minutes to spare, but find myself in a 30-minute security line. Then sprint from the x-ray machine to the gate with my noisy rolling bag in tow, to find out they’ve just given up my seat.

For whatever reason, today was crazy. You’d think I would’ve had a nice relaxing day, given that our office was closed for Presidents Day. But no, I was up until 2 a.m. writing one of the six presentations on my to-do list, then started in again at 9 this morning.

I had a strategic planning meeting for an arts organization that I’m working with on a volunteer basis from 4:30-6:30, which was going to put me down to the wire on getting to the airport in time for my 8:05 flight to Dallas. The mound of work and errands I needed to accomplish before heading to the meeting just kept piling up, so at 4:05, when I should’ve been on my way downtown, I was standing naked in front of my dresser, alternately throwing something on myself and in my suitcase.

I flagged down a cab at 4:15, turned on my computer in the backseat (it’s astounding I didn’t barf), and spent the next ten minutes preparing for the sections I was responsible for on the agenda.

And at 6:30, after a successful meeting, I headed out the door and jumped in a cab to the airport.

Despite all the craziness today, the fact that it’s a holiday has been a treat this evening. First, there was no traffic, so I actually got to the airport and hour and fifteen minutes before my flight. There was no security line. And I’ve had time to enjoy my three favorite things in Terminal 3:

  1. McDonald’s (YUM!)
  2. Getting US Weekly at the magazine shop
  3. Perusing the bookstore, which is really quite a good one, even though it’s in the airport

And write, of course.

I’ve encountered the same cashier at the bookstore on three different occasions. He always chats me up with book recommendations.

Lately I’ve been on a historical non-fiction kick, and today was no exception. I immediately gravitated to Manhunt, The 12-Day Chase for Lincoln’s Killer by James Swanson.

Apparently I had Presidents Day in the back of my mind.

But the store had an inordinate amount of great finds! Here are the other ones I intend to cajole the library to purchase:

The Ghost Map, by Steven Johnson. It’s about London’s cholera epidemic and how it changed science, cities and the modern world.

Rats, by Robert Sullivan. He spent a year in an alley behind Wall Street observing those nasty creatures and the people who deal with them.

Where God Was Born, by Bruce Feiler. He’s the guy who does “Walking Through The Bible” on PBS.

And finally, a juicy fiction selection: Ten Days in the Hills by Jane Smiley. It chronicles a romantic romp starting at the Oscars and lasting ten days.

Jane Smiley is always fun — especially her book Moo, which is about Moo U, a land grant university with crazy county agents and very large prize pigs.

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Of hot tea and car sickness

February 19, 2007 · Filed under Friends and Strangers

Two things are certain to make me barf:

1. Drinking black tea on an empty stomach in the morning (once made this mistake on an airplane)
2. Riding in the back seat of a car (which is why I hate taking a cab to the airport)

Today I avoided #1 by a long shot, but came darn near on #2.  I stayed out too late last night for my own good, which meant I was a little woosy today in the first place.

At 9:30 I headed over to Caribou Coffee to grab an Irish Breakfast Tea with a shot of sugar-free caramel.  Caribou is the local gay pick-up joint. It’s always packed with buff men on the prowl, trying to pretend they’re reading. Or they’re there on dates. At any rate, there are generally very few women in there, and of the ones that are, well they simply get their drinks to go.

Which is what I was doing.

There were a couple guys working the counter — one at the cash register, and the other casually taking orders. I told him which tea I wanted and inquired about whether they had sugar-free vanilla syrup, to which he responded that they now have 8 different sugar-free flavors. I made my final decision on caramel, and the girl in line in front of me asked whether putting a syrup shot in tea was good. I said yes, that I was excited about caramel.

She walked away, and I tried to hand a $20 to the cashier. He made a motion as if to wave me away. I was confused. He said the girl paid for my tea. I was still confused. Then it sunk in that she had paid for my tea.

Interesting.

Given my locale, my first thought was that I’d just been hit on. But as my mind was furiously trying to come to terms with what was going on, I went over to the sugar/milk table, where the girl was just walking away.  I said, “Thanks for the tea.” She smiled, said, “You’re welcome,” and walked out the door.

The whole thing was just a little odd. Maybe it was just a “pay it forward” Sunday morning gesture.

Then I headed straight home to eat some Special K so that I could drink my tea without barfing.

Fast-forward three hours.

I’m making flowergirl dresses for Kim’s wedding, and we kicked-off the process over Dr. King weekend in January by measuring her two nieces-to-be, then spent the next day sewing. The two girls are polar opposites in size. One’s a teeny stick, and the other is bigger around than I am, except about 4′5″ in height. So we got the stick’s dress almost done, but we decided to do a muslin of the other girl’s dress first, just to make sure our crazy measurements were working.

So at 12:15 today, Kim and Garcia picked me up to head to Lake in the Hills (about an hour away) to try the dresses on the girls.

They kindly brought me a sandwich and chips for the ride.

I did pretty well for the first 58 minutes. Then nausea struck, and I thought I was going to throw up in my cup.

Backseats absolutely kill me. And I was foolishly sitting on the side with the sun. So just when we were 6 blocks away from our final destination, I put out the SOS to pull over.

Good thing it’s cold out. The blast of arctic air made it go away. Crisis averted!

Which leads me to the family story about me that won’t die. When I was five, I went to spend a few days with my aunt/uncle/cousins. They’d been over at my grandparents’ house (next door to ours), so I just rode home with them. There were six of us in a Ford Fiesta. Granted, I wasn’t all that big, but I was perched on the lap of one of my three cousins in the back seat.

All of a sudden, a wave of nausea came over me. And I barfed down my uncle’s back.

Once. Twice.

Poor uncle Jim.

But I don’t think it was as traumatic for him as it was for cousin Nan, who had to clean it up.

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Semantics

February 17, 2007 · Filed under Friends and Strangers

In the delightful description of my blog for “blog of the day,” there is room for interpretation.

It says “a funny farm-meets-city gal.”

I prefer to think that I’m a funny gal from the farm who lives in the city. But I suppose it also fits to be a girl who lives in the city who should be institutionalized.

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The Year of the Golden Pig

February 17, 2007 · Filed under Friends and Strangers

Apparently Koreans are trying to have a litter in 2007. No kidding, they are expecting the birthrate to go up 10%!

Yes, tomorrow kicks off the Year of the Golden Pig — which unlike the average Year of the Pig that occurs every 12 years — happens only once in every 600 years. And children born in the Year of the Golden Pig are supposed to have enormous wealth and good luck. 

Grand Champion Piggy

Since we all know my personal mascot is a pig, I can already tell this year will be a good one. And a psychic predicted it, too.

Last October, my friend Chris (the one who thinks randomness follows me) schlepped me along to go to her psychic. Chris’s birthday is in October, and she’d used her birthday as an excuse to go see Ms. Linda for the past couple years. Both of us find astrology highly entertaining and know at a rational level that it can’t possibly be true, but we both agree that the predictions and descriptions are often uncannily accurate.

So I drove out to Downers Grove one chilly October Saturday in a rented white PT Cruiser (ick), picked up Chris, and we headed a couple villages over to Glen Ellyn to Linda’s place. En route Chris reminded me to jot down some questions to ask Linda at the end of the session — you get to ask two.

Linda lives in the middle of an 80s stucco-inspired subdivision where I’m sure all the living rooms are mauve and teal.  Chris walked up to the door while I observed from the car (where I was going to hang out for an hour), and a black-wigged 50-something bird-legged woman in a tunic and stirrup pants opened the door.

An hour later, Chris emerged, and I headed for the door. Linda welcomed me into her candle-lit kitchen, and tapped her long fingernails on her glass-topped table to signal me to sit down (while her black cat named Lily explored my purse). Then she took my blank cassette tape, pushed “record” and began my Tarot reading.

Here’s basically what she told me (without her knowing anything at all about me):

  • A close friend who has light hair and light eyes will get engaged.
  • My boss is a shrewd businessman.
  • I have three guys in my energy, two I met through work, with one of those a former sweetheart.
  • The other guy is who she calls a “king” coming from a westerly direction, at least 3-5 years older than me. Successful, creative, likely moving to Chicago for a job.
  • I’ll know who I’m getting married to within a year.
  • My money situation is good.

We had a hayday discussing our readings over lunch. (And strangely, when I was in the restroom at our suburban lunch spot, I ran into someone I went to high school with! 13 hours away from where we grew up, where we had 100 people in my high school! See why Chris says randomness follows me?)

When I got home, I immediately called Jenn to give her the full report. She insisted that we go see Linda so that she could get a reading, too.

So in January, Jenn and I set out for Glen Ellyn.

Jenn got freaked out by her reading.

Mine wasn’t as exciting as the first one, but Linda did repeat some things completely unprompted, without any record of what she said in October. And after listening to Jenn’s reading on tape, she definitely doesn’t say the same thing to everyone.

  • I have three guys in my energy, one a former sweetheart met through work.
  • I’ll know who I’m getting married to within a year.
  • The same story on the “king from the west”.
  • My money sitaution is good.

So, go pigs! Bring me some luck! And regardless whether she has prophetic powers, let’s hope Linda is right.

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