I love lunchtime, b/c it gives me a chance to not think about office supplies and check up on my friends' blogs. For instance, what did Jess do yesterday? I can tell you: she bought shoes. How does she feel about immigration? Keep scrolling; try not to get distracted by the Care Bears' Easter egg hunt and the delicious Taiwanese oyster pancake. I also read reviews for Michael Caine's new book and Paranormal Activity 2.
Basically I care more about everything else right now than writing about office supplies. To give you an idea about what kind of day I'm having, let me tell you what I did on the bus this morning.
I had brought a book to read during my lengthy commute, but the blurb on the front flap required far too much concentration than I was able to muster in my pre-coffee state. I gave up figuring what the book was about, and contented myself with picking off the "Bargain Priced" sticker on the front cover. And then I pretended to sleep for about an hour so people wouldn't talk to me. (Although, now I'm not so sure that I was just pretending. I felt like I was thinking about stuf the whole time and didn't feel any more rested afterwards, but I also don't remember much of it, so...who knows. I vaguely remember having very compelling emotions about making meatballs.)
I had a pleasant weekend though. Since Tyler is up to his neck in covering high school sports, I spent Friday night in my sweatpants with pad thai from Joy Yee's, an inch of red wine, and Pirates of the Caribbean on TV. It felt very grown-up, kind of a single-lady-in-the-city sort of feeling. Except, of course, am not single nor technically live in a city. But still.
Saturday and Sunday were pretty chill, much art-ing (painting class on Saturday; Art Institute with a recently transplanted W&Mer on Sunday) and watching NCIS re-runs. I'm starting on a portrait of my friend Kim in my art class, and discovered that apparently EAC is dominated by two types of people: homeschooled high school girls and curious octogenarians. A very nice elderly man complimented me on my painting technique ("You have a very pretty style"), then asked deceptively probing questions about my new subject. "What does her husband do?" he queried, somewhat wistfully. "Oh, she's not married? What does she do, then? How do you know her? She's absolutely lovely. Just lovely." It was very funny and sweet, one of those things where only men of a certain age can pull off without being creepy. I couldn't very well be like "Stop hitting on the picture, sir!" The man paints abstract flower pots, for goodness sake! Plus he complimented me, and I am a total sucker for compliments.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
headphones and weekend update
This probably sounds weird, but I have a complete inability to wear headphones and eat at the same time. I don't know what it is, but something about having headphones in/covering my ears while I'm chewing is incredibly uncomfortable. Which means me trying to transcribe the interview I did this past weekend will just have to wait (and ugh, how I hate transcribing). This whole weird headphone-thing also makes lunchtimes at my desk a very quiet affair, not only b/c I sit in the nuclear wasteland section of the office building, but b/c I can't play meal-time tunes. But anyway.
Here's a bit of an update on my weekend:
- Moderated at an Asian College Fair event for an appearance by actor James Kyson Lee. I was nervously word-vomiting when we were in the prep room, and he asked, sounding confused, "So, uh...you're a journalist?" No, James. I'm just an idiot.
- Covered a Tibetan celebration of the 3rd anniversary of the Dalai Lama's conferment of the Congressional Gold Medal of Honor, which was fun. A little sleepy girl mistook me for her mother and wouldn't let go of my arm/rubbing her face on me. She was so incredibly cute, I very nearly spontaneously became pregnant.
- Decided to make beef bourguignon as a surprise for Tyler, which apparently takes like 32375 ingredients. Spent about an hour picking everything out at the Jewel, then experienced a bit of a setback when I tried to buy a bottle of red wine (a key ingredient) b/c the cashier thought I was using a fake. I went back and got that bad puppy with my passport, but it was a pretty frustrating event. Never did get to make beef bourguignon, which apparently also takes like 3 hours to make. (Well, the recipe said 3 hours, an 'easy' level recipe; knowing me, it would be more like 4.5 hours plus an emotional breakdown.)
And now, back to the grind...
Here's a bit of an update on my weekend:
- Moderated at an Asian College Fair event for an appearance by actor James Kyson Lee. I was nervously word-vomiting when we were in the prep room, and he asked, sounding confused, "So, uh...you're a journalist?" No, James. I'm just an idiot.
- Covered a Tibetan celebration of the 3rd anniversary of the Dalai Lama's conferment of the Congressional Gold Medal of Honor, which was fun. A little sleepy girl mistook me for her mother and wouldn't let go of my arm/rubbing her face on me. She was so incredibly cute, I very nearly spontaneously became pregnant.
- Decided to make beef bourguignon as a surprise for Tyler, which apparently takes like 32375 ingredients. Spent about an hour picking everything out at the Jewel, then experienced a bit of a setback when I tried to buy a bottle of red wine (a key ingredient) b/c the cashier thought I was using a fake. I went back and got that bad puppy with my passport, but it was a pretty frustrating event. Never did get to make beef bourguignon, which apparently also takes like 3 hours to make. (Well, the recipe said 3 hours, an 'easy' level recipe; knowing me, it would be more like 4.5 hours plus an emotional breakdown.)
And now, back to the grind...
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
coffee and potato chips
Well, it's finally happened: I've officially upgraded from a small-size coffee to a medium at Dunkin' Donuts. This is only a problem because I have a life-goal of not being addicted to anything, but this caffeine thing is really tripping me up. Usually I'm pretty good about it, especially given that I'm pretty sensitive to caffeine (half a Coke at dinner will keep me up all night), but this week has been rather ornery. The last time I got this bad with coffee was during 4th quarter Medill hell, of which I only remember bits and pieces.
The main culprit for the coffee cup upgrade is my next-door neighbor. I don't know what he does, but he's come home every night this week at 3 am. Because our building is like, pre-historic, the walls are quite thin and there is very little sound insulation, so I get startled awake when he comes in. And then he usually spends the next hour or so opening/closing drawers, running the water, and treading the floorboards, which must be connected with mine, b/c I can hear the creaking inside my apartment. Very spooky, given my fear of ghosts/demons/burglars/etc. Yesterday morning, he was whistling. Since then he's developed a cold, b/c this morning he blew his nose until about 4 am.
As you know, my commute is about 2 hours and change each way, slightly longer in the afternoons due to traffic. To get to work on time, I normally get up at 5:30 am, leave the house at 6 am. So when it was 4:15 am and I had no hope of falling back asleep, I was like "Eff this in the face, I'll just catch the 5:22 am bus." So I got up, turned on the news, restrained myself from slashing wrists, etc. I decided that, due to the sheer awfulness of the morning, I would treat myself to coffee and a hot sandwich at the Dunkin' Donuts.
I get to Davis St a little after 5 am, really kind of looking forward to burning my mouth on a turkey cheddar bacon flatbread sandwich. That's when I found out that the hot sandwiches at Dunkin' Donuts are delivered frozen and would not be ready to be heated up until at least 6 am.
What. The. Eff. Are you serious??? You're killing me here, DD!!
In a fit of depression, I bought a medium coffee and sat on a bench with the other poor, vagrant souls who board buses at ungodly hours. The early morning 208 bus driver is really cheerful and made jokes about shopping (the route takes it to 3 separate malls). The early morning 272 is super crammed. A woman fell asleep on my left arm, which really tested my boundary issues.
So if you see me today and I snap at you without provocation, know that I've been up since 3 am and was on a bus to work before Dunkin' Donuts was ready to make hot sandwiches. My apologies in advance.
And if, for whatever reason, you foolishly choose to provoke me today...God help you. May God help you.
The main culprit for the coffee cup upgrade is my next-door neighbor. I don't know what he does, but he's come home every night this week at 3 am. Because our building is like, pre-historic, the walls are quite thin and there is very little sound insulation, so I get startled awake when he comes in. And then he usually spends the next hour or so opening/closing drawers, running the water, and treading the floorboards, which must be connected with mine, b/c I can hear the creaking inside my apartment. Very spooky, given my fear of ghosts/demons/burglars/etc. Yesterday morning, he was whistling. Since then he's developed a cold, b/c this morning he blew his nose until about 4 am.
As you know, my commute is about 2 hours and change each way, slightly longer in the afternoons due to traffic. To get to work on time, I normally get up at 5:30 am, leave the house at 6 am. So when it was 4:15 am and I had no hope of falling back asleep, I was like "Eff this in the face, I'll just catch the 5:22 am bus." So I got up, turned on the news, restrained myself from slashing wrists, etc. I decided that, due to the sheer awfulness of the morning, I would treat myself to coffee and a hot sandwich at the Dunkin' Donuts.
I get to Davis St a little after 5 am, really kind of looking forward to burning my mouth on a turkey cheddar bacon flatbread sandwich. That's when I found out that the hot sandwiches at Dunkin' Donuts are delivered frozen and would not be ready to be heated up until at least 6 am.
What. The. Eff. Are you serious??? You're killing me here, DD!!
In a fit of depression, I bought a medium coffee and sat on a bench with the other poor, vagrant souls who board buses at ungodly hours. The early morning 208 bus driver is really cheerful and made jokes about shopping (the route takes it to 3 separate malls). The early morning 272 is super crammed. A woman fell asleep on my left arm, which really tested my boundary issues.
So if you see me today and I snap at you without provocation, know that I've been up since 3 am and was on a bus to work before Dunkin' Donuts was ready to make hot sandwiches. My apologies in advance.
And if, for whatever reason, you foolishly choose to provoke me today...God help you. May God help you.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
questions from our readers
Happy 10/10/10 day, everyone! For some reason it feels really satisfying to write that. 10/10/10. It's also the birthday of one of my favorite friends, which makes it just that much better.
Because a writer without an audience is, basically, a sad and lonely diary-keeper, today's post will be dedicated to answering questions from the loyal and awesome readers who keep my self-esteem afloat in the sludgy sea that is journalistic rejection. You have no idea how much the six of you mean to me.
So without further ado, let's begin the inaugural edition of Questions From Our Readers.
Vicky, why do you write so much about stuf that annoy you? Don't you like anything at all?
Why yes, dear Reader, there are many things that I like. I like the fine selection of brunch locales in Chicago. I like the convenience of public transportation. I like frozen yogurt/soft serve in all its incarnations, from Red Mango to Rita's Water Ice. I like wearing pajama pants in the middle of the day, catching up with old friends, and making slow-cook foods like chili and spaghetti sauce. See? There are lots of things that I like.
Okay. But why do you have such disdain for fake international students?
Because they suck.
What?
Sorry. I got a little emotional. Here's the thing: real international kids are, generally, really cool. Several of my favorite people in the whole world are/were international kids. So I can see why some people want to act they are, even though, really, all they did was go to some fancy international boarding school...in Vermont. Here's a sample conversation to show what I mean:
Person: So where are you from?
Me: Virginia. You?
Person: Well, my mom is British and my dad is French. So I'm pretty international.
Me: Wow. That's really cool. Did you grow up in England or in France?
Person: Well, I went to a boarding school in New England.
Me: Oh, gotcha. That must've been hard. Do you ever go to England or France?
Person: Just England sometimes. My mom's from Manchester and my dad's from Louisiana.
Me: Oh, so he came to Louisiana from France?
Person: Well, one of my ancestors did, in like the 1700s.
Me: ...So...what you're saying is, you're half-British and half-American.
Person [getting annoyed]: Didn't you hear anything I said? My dad's from Louisiana.
Me: ...Right. Which is in...the US.
Person [defensively]: Look, Louisiana is basically France.
Call me stupid b/c I didn't have a fancy international boarding school education, but I'm fairly certain that it's been a while since Louisiana was a part of France. It's weird, but I've met an inordinate number of people who have one parent from Louisiana and claim partial French citizenship. It's one of the most maddening and illogical things ever. Maybe it's not considered "cool" or "hip" in the international circles to be part American, but uh, suck it up.
Who do you think should win the next Nobel Peace Prize?
Without a doubt, the team behind Procter and Gamble's Swiffer series. It's completely revolutionized cleaning! They took the need for cleanliness, combined it with human laziness/aversion to cleaning, and built an empire. I want my apartment to be clean, but I'm not about to be hauling around a mop and a bucket. The Swiffer WetJet (a kindly donation from David) minimizes cleaning time and yet maximizes cleanliness. What is not to like? It's genius. GENIUS.
Speaking of cleanliness, why do you clean so much? I mean, you have a 3-step process just to clean your floors: sweeping with normal broom, then Swiffer Sweeper, then Swiffer WetJet. And, if you're feeling particularly germaphobic, you'll go over that with some multi-purpose cleaner. Don't you think that's a bit of an overkill?
Well, you know what they say: cleanliness is next to godliness. This because a dirty home would literally drive me insane and to commit random acts of senseless violence--not very godly, you know. So it's important to be clean. I live in a 100+ year-old building where railroad grime coats the window panes and the dust of pioneers is coughed up from the floorboards with every creaky step. And given that my immediate space has been inhabited by approximately 19454328 anonymous people of unknown lifestyle practices over the years, I don't think it's unreasonable to want to sanitize it much as I can. Basically, the only thing standing between me and a rage blackout is a clean apartment.
Well, there you have it, Readers, the first edition of Questions! If there's anything that you want to know, just leave a comment or send me an email, and I'll try to include it in the next edition.
Because a writer without an audience is, basically, a sad and lonely diary-keeper, today's post will be dedicated to answering questions from the loyal and awesome readers who keep my self-esteem afloat in the sludgy sea that is journalistic rejection. You have no idea how much the six of you mean to me.
So without further ado, let's begin the inaugural edition of Questions From Our Readers.
Vicky, why do you write so much about stuf that annoy you? Don't you like anything at all?
Why yes, dear Reader, there are many things that I like. I like the fine selection of brunch locales in Chicago. I like the convenience of public transportation. I like frozen yogurt/soft serve in all its incarnations, from Red Mango to Rita's Water Ice. I like wearing pajama pants in the middle of the day, catching up with old friends, and making slow-cook foods like chili and spaghetti sauce. See? There are lots of things that I like.
Okay. But why do you have such disdain for fake international students?
Because they suck.
What?
Sorry. I got a little emotional. Here's the thing: real international kids are, generally, really cool. Several of my favorite people in the whole world are/were international kids. So I can see why some people want to act they are, even though, really, all they did was go to some fancy international boarding school...in Vermont. Here's a sample conversation to show what I mean:
Person: So where are you from?
Me: Virginia. You?
Person: Well, my mom is British and my dad is French. So I'm pretty international.
Me: Wow. That's really cool. Did you grow up in England or in France?
Person: Well, I went to a boarding school in New England.
Me: Oh, gotcha. That must've been hard. Do you ever go to England or France?
Person: Just England sometimes. My mom's from Manchester and my dad's from Louisiana.
Me: Oh, so he came to Louisiana from France?
Person: Well, one of my ancestors did, in like the 1700s.
Me: ...So...what you're saying is, you're half-British and half-American.
Person [getting annoyed]: Didn't you hear anything I said? My dad's from Louisiana.
Me: ...Right. Which is in...the US.
Person [defensively]: Look, Louisiana is basically France.
Call me stupid b/c I didn't have a fancy international boarding school education, but I'm fairly certain that it's been a while since Louisiana was a part of France. It's weird, but I've met an inordinate number of people who have one parent from Louisiana and claim partial French citizenship. It's one of the most maddening and illogical things ever. Maybe it's not considered "cool" or "hip" in the international circles to be part American, but uh, suck it up.
Who do you think should win the next Nobel Peace Prize?
Without a doubt, the team behind Procter and Gamble's Swiffer series. It's completely revolutionized cleaning! They took the need for cleanliness, combined it with human laziness/aversion to cleaning, and built an empire. I want my apartment to be clean, but I'm not about to be hauling around a mop and a bucket. The Swiffer WetJet (a kindly donation from David) minimizes cleaning time and yet maximizes cleanliness. What is not to like? It's genius. GENIUS.
Speaking of cleanliness, why do you clean so much? I mean, you have a 3-step process just to clean your floors: sweeping with normal broom, then Swiffer Sweeper, then Swiffer WetJet. And, if you're feeling particularly germaphobic, you'll go over that with some multi-purpose cleaner. Don't you think that's a bit of an overkill?
Well, you know what they say: cleanliness is next to godliness. This because a dirty home would literally drive me insane and to commit random acts of senseless violence--not very godly, you know. So it's important to be clean. I live in a 100+ year-old building where railroad grime coats the window panes and the dust of pioneers is coughed up from the floorboards with every creaky step. And given that my immediate space has been inhabited by approximately 19454328 anonymous people of unknown lifestyle practices over the years, I don't think it's unreasonable to want to sanitize it much as I can. Basically, the only thing standing between me and a rage blackout is a clean apartment.
Well, there you have it, Readers, the first edition of Questions! If there's anything that you want to know, just leave a comment or send me an email, and I'll try to include it in the next edition.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
old men/women
I have a fear of growing old and becoming an androgynously gendered elderly person.
You know what I mean. We've all seen couples who have grown old together, holding hands and wearing similar bulge-y sweatshirts, elastic pants and sneakers. Not that there's anything wrong with that; I aspire to still want to hold hands with my spouse when we're both 85 and crotchety.
The problem lies in the fact that it takes far too long to discern which one is the man and which one is the woman b/c they are (somehow) the same height, have the same short haircut and same vague whiskers on their chins. I feel like such a creepy, staring at their chests to determine who has more boob, and thus, is the woman of the couple.
I shared this fear with Tyler, as I do with all my fears. He responded with great sensitivity and tact.
"Wait. You can't be serious. You really think that people are going to confuse us??" said my 6-foot-tall boyfriend incredulously. "Ever??" And then: "Why are you crazy???"
Okay, fine, so it probably won't ever happen with us, but still, I think it's a valid concern. I don't want to be a man-grandma!
You know what I mean. We've all seen couples who have grown old together, holding hands and wearing similar bulge-y sweatshirts, elastic pants and sneakers. Not that there's anything wrong with that; I aspire to still want to hold hands with my spouse when we're both 85 and crotchety.
The problem lies in the fact that it takes far too long to discern which one is the man and which one is the woman b/c they are (somehow) the same height, have the same short haircut and same vague whiskers on their chins. I feel like such a creepy, staring at their chests to determine who has more boob, and thus, is the woman of the couple.
I shared this fear with Tyler, as I do with all my fears. He responded with great sensitivity and tact.
"Wait. You can't be serious. You really think that people are going to confuse us??" said my 6-foot-tall boyfriend incredulously. "Ever??" And then: "Why are you crazy???"
Okay, fine, so it probably won't ever happen with us, but still, I think it's a valid concern. I don't want to be a man-grandma!
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