Jackrabbit Snipers!

I wish I would've walked to school more when I was in high school. I didn't live that far away. Just up the street, about a mile. There weren't any major hills, and it was slightly downhill going to it. I did everything in my power not to walk: rides from friends, friends' parents/siblings, brother. I don't know why. Maybe I didn't want to get all sweaty (Missouri can get quite warm, and quite cold) before class, or because for some reason I thought it wasn't cool. I walked to elementary school with friends, and the middle school was basically in my backyard, and that would've been silly to get a ride. There's an exception to everything, and I guess there were a handful of days when I did walk to h. school. Also, the big duffel bags during sports seasons were a pain in the ass to lug. Eventually I got my own ride and that was fun.

Now I'm back to my pre-16 days without a car. And I have to say, I love it. I walked a lot in college because I always lived on or near campus, and I walk a lot now, being in the city because the CTA is never there when you need it. I really hate paying for cabs unless I absolutely have to take one, and then I try to get as close to my destination as possible before caving, and usually I talk myself into just finishing out the walk because I am so close. Sometimes the night doesn't permit it though and I get creeped out by the strangers lurking just beyond the streetlamps.

Anyway, what brings this on is that I was really enjoying walking to work today - there's just something about the fact that you got yourself from A to B all on your own accord, without a motor or a machine. That you, yourself, are a finely tuned machine with muscles propelling you in the direction of your destination. It's rewarding. And I think I'm in love with running again. Not obsessively so just yet, but getting close. I think I need to get new shoes before that happens. I've always enjoyed it - well, not true. I was on the track team for about a week in 8th grade, and then I got shin splints, ugh! it was awful, and I was a little baby about it, but I feel it was slightly warranted as I was only 13 and shin splints are no good no matter what the age. But yes, I find running to be a fun, sometimes relaxing, and most definitely energizing, and a positively meditative experience.

I ran 13 on Saturday, east down Chicago Ave. then up and down the lakefront, in 2 hours - so that made me happy, and it was noon-time. Hotness, and salty sweat. Then, I stretched while waiting for the bus - good use of time. It finally came and I moved to the back of the bus, just because sometimes that's where I sit if I'm going to be on it for a while, and also I was smelly, but so was the little boy next to me. There were about 1,000,000,000 kids in the back of the bus, and as soon as I took the step up to the platform and saw them, I wanted to turn around. But it was as if I made contact with every single one of them (I didn't really, but that would've been really bizarre/possibly humorous/most definitely um, creepy?) and they dared me to sit in their insanity. So I rose to the challenge and took a seat. Anyway, we're zooming-stopping-starting down Chicago, and we're good for about 5 minutes, then I smell rotten peanuts, if there's even such a thing. It was, let's say rancid peanut butter that had been splashed with some toxic acid and sitting in the sun for 14 days. It came in waves, getting stronger and stronger. The little boy sitting next to me was about 2 (I don't know, could've been anywhere from 11 months to 14 years old - kids are kids) and he had a diaper on, and he was squirming, and this lead me to believe that he was pooping himself. I just sat there and tried to breathe out of my mouth. It was difficult, and I couldn't help but thinking that I was eating the smell. You know when you're a kid, and someone farts in a group, and you plug your nose but then you need to breathe and you take a big gasp, and kids say, "gross! you're eating the fart air!" which is totally worse than smelling it!! And still, sometimes to this day I hold my breath when I drive past a cemetary. Call me crazy... and I'll slap you.

So, I was walking. Wind in my hair, sun on my face, then it wasn't because of all the tall buildings, but I still felt good. Good'ay, Monday. As I was approaching the street I turn on, there was a homeless woman, who probably made herself look as good as she could so she could panhandle on Michigan. She was wearing a semi-clean looking outfit, and her hair was pulled into a tight side half-ponytail sitting on top of her head, but she had the tell-tale smudged dirt on her face saying this isn't just a day job. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be street urchin, the scourge of society. And it made me think about living a day in the life, but that's it. It's just a day, and after that day, you get to go back to being you, and living your life. You can't live a lifetime in a day. And then it made me think of stupid(!) Tyra Banks and her fat suit day when she cried and said she knew what it felt like to be fat and to be looked at by people, and how hard it was to get around, which come on! That was a joke. Seriously?! It didn't even look real, and wow. Really, Tyra Banks, really? How did you get a television show again? Okay, you've probably got the world's best breasts, but brains and personality?! OH NO, MISS, OH NO! So then I got irritated and decided that I would never be able to be a street urchin for a day, and that I would have to try it for a week instead, and then I thought it would probably be dangerous since I was a woman and all that stupid double-standard bullshit that goes on in this society and world.

My Heart's Just Not in it Today

I'm about to cut my right arm off!!! 8 down, 6 to go..... MERH!!

WOOT! We have some fresh hands in the office and I had to teach them the ways of profile writing. I trained two gals, and they each wrote a profile to feel it out, which went on my quota, but then my boss said not to worry about quota today since I was helping. Awlright!!

Feeling much better, and 1/2 hour to go. I should probably work now. The below is stuff I wrote right before the MERH, Arm cutting blurb - it needed an intro.

God! Talk about wunderkinds making you feel inadequate. Simon Rich is pretty funny. Until just now I was convinced he was a graying 47-year-old gay man, kind of like David Sedaris. It makes me sad that he isn't, and that he's living my dream. Ohhhh.

http://www.boston.com/news/globe/magazine/articles/2007/04/01/scared_silly/


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Also, I just wanted to mention that I did watch Game 6 last night, and I did root for the Celtics, as they were the home team AND the underdogs of the season! Thank goodness for that. Besides, the Lakers suck without Kobe, and 16 is very strange looking.

Note, when KG (yes, I have nicknames for them now, as I'm claiming Celtics to be my new favorite, and only, team to support) was taking some point shots for the fouls like 5-2 minutes left in the first half, y'know at this point Celtics were on their streak. Anyway, he was all excited about them winning, and I said in my head, "Hey KG, you got more than half'a this game left. Keep ya head in it." And it was like he heard me because the smile vanished and the concentration washed over his face like the steady stream of sweat pouring down it. Anyway, he held his composure up until the last 5 minutes, when the Championship was a sure deal and then he acted like a madman. Michelle, you look good. Here's a funny article giving a play by play of the foaming, mumbling mess that became KG when the confetti fell down:

http://www.slate.com/id/2193863/

Stream O' Consciousness

SO I was reading "No one belongs here more than you." this morning, on the bus. No one wanted to sit next to me, on my right side, because I brought my guitar along - tonight is the last class, we play together for an hour and then we have a concert, which is actually just an all classes recital, a cheap ruse for not giving me my money's worth of lessons, if you ask me. By the way, next round of group lessons I sign up for I am totally going to go the 1040 tax route by proving to them I am legitimately poor and need the $150 discount rate, so I only have to pay $7 for all eight weeks of classes. Neato. - but I didn't mind because they probably would've cramped my style.

Right. Enough jibba jabba. I got off the bus, slung on my guitar, crossed the street against the light (no cars), ran up the stairs (in preparation for Sears Tower), wiped the sweat off my brow, walked down Michigan, and up Lake to work. I was thinking about things while I was walking. Something I normally do. As Descartes said, I think, therefore I am. And so do, and so am I.

I was thinking about how maybe I'd like to work for Oprah after this job ends. I was thinking why Oprah would want to hire me. Why wouldn't she?! I'm semi-fabulous, and occasionally a hard worker. I think she should give me a job. My resume is becoming something spectacular. For example, I'm pretty stoked about this sock puppet theater class at 826 (it's full, plus 3 extra chillin's) and I wasn't even thinking about it in terms of how I can put it on my resume, but a friend brought it up the other day and I thought, "Hey! Yeah! That's pretty cool!" (because I created it, planned it, and taught it - this last part will include me bossin' my assistants around!!) And I play guitar, I'm not sure what that adds to a company, other than the fact that I'm awesome and sometimes I gnaw on my left hand fingertips. Additionally I, ummm... run, and raise money while running. Okay, I haven't started raising actual monies, but I'm signed up to do so. Ahhh! I have so many things to do, and I'm so sleepy right now.

We started out this month only having to write 12 profiles a day, then last week they upped it to 13, and now it's 14, and soon I fear that will increase to 15!! I mean, I can do it, no problem. The only thing is after I reach quota, I start working on my overtime profiles - we get paid time and a half for every extra 20 we do... did I already explain this? We're behind right now, so that's why the offer was extended past weekends. - and the more they add to quota, the less I can do my work from home at the office!

Anyway, Oprah got me thinking about things, and now that I'm trapped in this cube, I'm not really feeling like writing all the things I thought I wanted to. I worked really hard to pump out 5 profiles in 2 hours, 2 of which I didn't even have the slightest clue of what they did, but I built the shit out of them, and they were quality! I think one was for a grafitti artist, they claimed they could put custom designs on anything from apparel to jewerly to the interiors of homes and cars... ummm, okay? Yeah. This is the shit I deal with on a day to day basis, at least it wasn't a contractor or a dentist, or a criminal lawyer. I like to pretend I'm the business owner while I write, I feel this prepares and trains me as I develop my playwriting skills.

I walk really fast, and I'm pretty good about weaving through crowds.

I sometimes, and by this I mean all the time, wish that I could literally run into P. Charles Right when I'm out running on the city streets, around the corners, taking 'em sharp. And we would recover, and both of us would say, "Oh my! I'm terribly, terribly sorry!" Catch our breaths as we fall in love. "Are you alright?" "Yes. Are you?" "I am now." And running and love would ensue. He, too, would be training for a sub-4 hour marathon time and we would train, train, train together and laugh and explore the world and I wouldn't ever feel awkward or ugly around him. I blame these thoughts on the movies for serving up their delusions of grandeur and other things that would never happen to everyday, normal, upstanding citizen folks.

Who knows where this is going? I think I'm becoming delusional from hunger. I only ate a banana for breakfast because I was running late, and my lunch is sad and simple, as well. I really need to go grocery shopping, I just don't know when I'll have the time. Tonight guitar, run, ah - then grocery!, then dinner, then bed. How boring, yawn! Yawn! I was supposed to go out for drinks with a couple of pals from the pub, but I couldn't drag my lazy bones outta the sack to run this morning at 5 - just couldn't do it, too happy snooze-a-roo'in'.

I've done a lot of cat stretches in my chair today. My shoulders pop. Well, crack would be the more appropriate word. Maybe it's all my tendons and muscles moving against my skeleton. I don't know. I don't know anatomy that well.

Okay, back to work. Work, work, work, work. Something is whistling. A machine, not a person. Oh! Maybe it's the robot who's going to replace me.

Maybe, if you're lucky, and I'm productive today, and become inspired in the afternoon, I'll write what I was thinking about writing when I was walking in the morning sunshine.

MMMMM! Music

Listen to the new My Morning Jacket album, "Evil Urges":

http://free.napster.com/view/artist/index.html?id=11552534

I'm really digging it so far. Showcasing their versatile sound and awesomeness. I think it'd be pretty great to see them live. The vocals on "Highly Suspicious" remind me slightly of Prince, he sings so high, so high-i-high-high-iiiiii! Mm. I'm at work right now so I haven't been able to devote complete concentration on soaking in the sounds, but it's been an enjoyable experience.


And, how about this! She & Him on NPR. I think Zooey D. is a wonderful actress (although I question her reason for being in M. Night Shamalamadingdong's "The Happening" because I heard that it was, get this, AWFUL!) and I very much like listening to her singing. Probably better than stupid Scarlett Johannse/on (sp?). Anyway, She & Him, is Zooey and M. Ward. This is a little interview with the two of them, then some music, and it finishes off with talking to their producer man god, Steve Lillywhite, who's helped such acts as U2, Johnny Cash, and on and on... he's basically Bruce Dickinson - watch out for this gold record!!

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=91377953


So enjoy, my dear blogger enthusiasts. Enjoy. I must send off my TPS report and head home, fighting the angry mob of pedestrians and motorists to get to the comfort of my smelly, sticky apartment. Oh yay! Annnd, Game 6 tonight! So that should be really exciting!! I can't decide who I want to win... Lakers for the underdog rootin', or Celtics... we'll see who has the best lookin' team. That's usually how I decide things.

Peace!

Chuck Norris in a Red Bandana on Michigan Avenue

I thought it was him, it's true.

He didn't just have the full, deep auburn beard, either. He was wearing a black karate Kung Fu outfit, of some sort. It was pretty amazing, and I half-expected him to Judo chop the cat that walked in front of him as he was going into the coffee shop. But he didn't, he was poised about it, reacted quickly by haulting his feet from their forward motion.

And that red bandana. At first I thought he was a hobo, but then I realized he was clean and had an earring (or perhaps two), so he was just... stylin' a different style. Bummy-Norris chic. That's what we'll call it.

I always see people that look like famous people, Chicagoans are famous for looking like they could be someone else. It's true. Look it up. We're all a buncha shape-shifters.

Tourists love it!

A Miniature Life

After a long day in the office yesterday--

[It wasn't really that bad. Management was gone at the Cubs game all day, so those of us left behind acted like 2nd graders with a substitute teacher, making it really hard to do actual work... I goofed all day, too, it was great! Although I did manage to make quota. Yes. I have an adult job where I have to make quotas. Actually it makes me feel like I work in a factory. My fingers are crippled after 8 hours typing, and I have tyrannysaurus arms from bending at the elbows for the majority of the day. OH! And right now I'm at a cofffee shop b/c the internet at my house is shotty. Filthy says it's Comcast's fault. I say it's Filthy's fault for spending bill money on dildos rather than giving it to the Man. Annnnnnyway, I'm here to do my weekend work. 20 profiles for time and a half (only 8 hours, but still, bettah than nothin'). I can't seem to sign in to the company website... I can't figure out what I'm typing in wrong, and no one is in the office. Early out. Awesome! I got Chipotle for lunch and it was delicious. So, it's looking like I'm going to go in tomorrow morning after my long run and type like a madwoman so I can party the rest of my weekend away. --------- Also, this cat baristo (? are male coffee bar attendants still considered barista?) has amazing musical tastes... keeping it funky fresh and flipping it back old school, Doors to J5. I like!]

-- I went to the Art Institute. It's FREE Thursday and Friday nights. Oopa! And I really had to pee when I got there, so I headed down to the bathroom (Now early ninties Radiohead - I might steal this kid), did my biznass (you don't really need to know this, but I'm taking you on my journey. Come along), and bobby-pinned my bangs back b/c they were sweaty - ew! I was going to go upstairs but then I saw there was a Miniatures collection (!!!!) and I think I heard someone say once that it was a pretty cool collection, so I wandered in. Sure enough, it was great!! GREAT! So intricate. The detail on most was 1' = 1". Oh, and they were of rooms through the ages: English, French, American (great halls, libraries, dining rooms, parlors of sorts), then a Traditional Chinese Interior, and Traditional Japanese Interior. I was really very impressed, and I read that the woman... Mrs. James Ward... ahhh, somebody was very demanding that every last detail matched the real thing, same wood used in real thing and so on. Blah blah blah, really detailed. Impressive. So I've said. What I'm getting at is that it was so real I really expected (AHHHH SMOKEY ROBINSON! not in the displays, in the shop) the little man from Indian in the Cupboard to come running through holding a mini scalp. Ha ha ha. No, he wasn't violent, but he would've been in the Colonial American displays. I really wanted to see some miniature ghosts, or another thing, I was wishing I was very, very tiny and I could live in these rooms. I would love it, but then I thought how terrifying it would be to have GIANT people looking in at me and saying, "Oooh! Look at the chandelier. This chandelier is my favorite! And the little chess set. OOoh! Look at this chess set!" There was a group of 4 12yo in front of me and they were very excited.

I like strolling through museums with my arms crossed thoughtfully inspecting the pieces.

After the miniatures I began to make my way to the stairs only to be stopped by the TOUCH GALLERY! I love touching things!! I love it, love it, love it!! They were busts - sexy, sexy. So I touched a marble one of some guy, I forgot already so he wasn't important. He could've had a big nose, and perhaps was bald, or maybe it was a woman. YES! It was! And she had a bun, and some guy that was in love with her when he was in art school in Paris in the early 1900s sculpted her with such fine detail. Then there was a limestone/granite Chinese guard with the scowl and bun... I'm seeing a theme. Joan of Arc was bronze, I touched her crown and put my hands around her neck. Then there was this bronze lady WITH a marble veil. I liked the combo, but didn't. Then there was another bronze bust, but of a guy, and he had the big nose, so I stole it (his nose, like you do a baby).

Photography wasn't anything special, so onward and upward to PAINTING!

I like the paintings where I would like to either be in the scenery, or watching the painter paint. Specifically seascapes. Also, there was this one of a chariot race, I forget who did it, but the horses were painted with such terror in their eyes, and the fine detail of the foam. It exploded off the wall. Merh merh merh. I started to get tired/thirsty when I was up there, slowing going into delusion, so I left.

Walked to the Blue Line, took it to Damen, walked home. Went to run/gym. Walked home. Went to the grocery store. Ate a dinner of this wonderful egg dish that is pretty much the only thing I make besides banana bread, and drank some Yellowtail CabSauv. Yes. I know. I am so fancy. I can barely handle it myself. Then I went to bed. My life is sooooo exciting!

In other news, I have to write a 5-ish minute play for the children, using sock puppets. I believe it is going to revolve around Porter (67, fancy. Wears a top hat, monocle, cane), Camilla Cavendish (45, fancier. Exciting) and HR Sockston (a sock monkey). So, we'll see what happens with that. I'm not sure of the plot yet, since it does have to be G rated. I'm pretty excited. And I want to design a little theatre... so that's tomorrow, after work, MEEEEH!

Sunday, my friend wrote this one man show that's going to be amazing, so I'm going to see it with another friend. Sometime I've got to fit in Anne Sather's and her cinnamon rolls, as I'm having withdrawls. And that is all.

I probably won't write for another week, as I seem to have no spare time on my hands anymore. It kind of makes me happy that I'm doing so many things, but at the same time I used to consider myself a pretty lazy person, and now I have no time to be lazy. I guess the only thing I've been lazy with is my personal writing, and that makes me sad. Although I do compose things in my head, which some people might call "thoughts," but I formulate stories... hmmm... Now I must go home and collect my loan information (ARGH!) so I can consolidate them all into something I will never, ever be able to pay off... I love that my math skills made me think I had $10,000 less to pay, and then my credit report broke my heart. I'm never going to see the other side of the world (HERE COMES MY BABY! I LOVE THIS SONG> KEEP SEEING THIS PICTURE OF YOU!!! HERE COMES MY BABY!! HERE SHE COMES NOW!! AND IT COMES AT NO SURPRISE TO ME, WITH ANOTHER GUY!) I gotta go.

Consolidate. Wine. Guitar. Laundry. Wine. Fold. Wine. Guitar. Wine. Pass out. Sounds like a FUN FRIDAY NIGHT!! I gotta rest up for tomorrow. I'll be 23 in 12 days. Hoo-de-hoo!

Too-dah-loo!!

Robots, and other things I hate.

Robots are the worst. Kind of like tuberculosis, or monsters under the bed, or Hillary Clinton. They're all bad. Except for that movie with the Savage brothers, something with "Monster Under My Bed" in the title, maybe "Don't Tell Mom That The Monster Under My Bed Took Us To His Underground Lair With Lots of Stairs and Boxes." Something like that. Wow. Ben Savage is looking real good these days, real good.

So, why do you hate robots?, you ask. Well, duh! Why wouldn't I? They're evil outsourcing bastards! They steal jobs from capable, hardworking humans, and that is just downright unacceptable! Also, they terrify me. Blame it on my paranoia and Arnold Schwarzenegger (yeah, good luck spell check - wow. it got it, that's amazingly odd, though not at all because he's the highest and most powerful robotic form), he didn't just play a robot as coincidence, he is one. And a damn charismatic one at that! Have you seen "Junior" or perhaps, "Twins" - both co-starring Danny Devito (who[m] I love!)? Amazing. AND KINDERGARTEN COP!!!

Yes, I have been thwarted by the robots. It turns out this job that I just started two weeks ago - which I'm very much enjoying, might I add - is going belly-up and moving to a coastal robot factory at the end of the year. Kind of bums me out, mostly because it's a pretty sweet deal, and I really don't like looking for jobs, interviewing, and that whole stupid process. Though, maybe I'll be able to land a job with Oprah... I don't know how much better that would be seeing how as I'm also convinced that she, too, is a robot.

Robots ruin everything. Everything. And clowns. Make a movie about a clown robot, and of course it's evil, and most definitely I will not be going to the theater to see it, or even renting it when it comes out. Thank you "It." Thank you Stephen King. He's a really great writer I must admit, have you ever read, "Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption?" Amazing. Soooo good, I love it, a lot.

Alright, I'm losing my train of thought because one of my co-workers is making courtesy welcome calls to let people know that their online business profiles are up and running, and he's speaking unbearably loud so I'm finding hard to concentrate on blogging (so much so that I first typed "concert" instead of "concentrate" - must be my subconscious, I really want to go to a concert, and soon! Thank goodness the Blues Fest is this weekend, thank goodness it's summertime in Chicago!). Also, he keeps saying, "Have a good/great afternoon." Umm, well, it's only 9:45am, so I'm pretty sure that it's not afternoon time anywhere that we're calling. I bet people on the west coast are not enjoying that.

Good day, and until I write and you read again. Farewell and adieu.

Horsemeat