This Lil' Light of Mine ...

I walk by this building nearly everyday + every time I hope to run into a tenant ...Just to ask: "Did you have a choice in this matter?"

Dear Self, Rub-A-Dub-Dub: Fool In The Tub

For those of you who know me throughout my day by day or year to year …You’re well aware of just how many “Dear Self,” moments I have given a day. “

Dear Self, “ as in “Dear Self, This is your life + it’s happening right now” …Also known as the “I hope no one calls me right now + asks me what I’m up to,” moment(s).

It was nearing 11PM and I thought about taking a shower …I then wondered what the rush was, seeing as I had nowhere to go, wasn’t expecting any company and surely I’d be awake for a while …Why not take a bath?

There’s something comforting/discomforting about taking a bubble bath …First you’re filled with the thoughts of relaxation. A nice hot bath, lay back, read a book, perhaps some music …Ah, a bath. Then there’s the thoughts of being naked, vulnerable and the possibilities of what could happen while you’re confined in a tub* of water. What if there’s a fire? What if one of the cats injuries itself? What if there’s a burglary?

I decided to throw caution to the wind and focus on the relaxing aspect. It had been a bitterly cold day and I had spent most of my afternoon schlepping via bus throughout the city …Yes, a bath would be just the way to wrap up my evening.

*Other words for "tub": barge, barrel, bath, bathe, boat, bucket, cask, crate, firkin, keeler, keelfat, keeve, keg, piggin, scow, ship, tank, vat, vessel.
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Having cats means lending yourself to their own neuroses.

Feline Neurosis #1: The bathroom door is to never be closed …Never. It must be open at all times. Closing said door may result in zombie-like paws reaching underneath the door and possible whining. A pitiful sight to see.

Feline Neurosis #2: As with the bathroom door, the shower curtain must remain open …Unless you are showering and therefore water would splash everywhere. Closing the shower curtain while bathing results in pawing and the voyeuristic, sporadic peeking. Keep shower curtain open.
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Bubbles a plenty and the water temp was just right, I laid back and opened my latest read. A few pages in, I noticed Primo was sitting near the edge of the bathtub …His ears were back and he was focused on my foot peeking through the bubbles. I wiggled my toes and Primo took off. Slowly he crept back, stalking my left foot. I set my book aside and watched Primo’s curiosity unfold. After glaring at my orange toenail from various angle, it was time to strike …He raised his paw and “SWAP!” …He took off running towards the safety of the living room.

I thought to myself “Dammit Primo, why must you do this when I’m in the bath and my camera is in my bag?”

Eyeing my slippers near the door, I stood up and quickly wrapped my bubbly self in a towel, slipped my wet feet into my slippers and pranced to find my bag and try not to leave puddles. Camera in hand, I stepped back into the bathtub and sat there with my toe sticking out of the bubbles.

Camera: ON.

I thought to myself “Ok Primo, come back!”

I sat there, with my camera …Primo was nowhere to be found. After a few minutes, he reappeared in the doorway.

Wiggling my toes, I called for him “Primo, Primo! Come here!”

Nothing.

“Primo …Primooo, come here! Primo!”

Nothing. And that’s when it dawned on me:

“Dear Self,

You are sitting naked in a lukewarm bath of bubbles with your camera …Calling for your cat.

Crap,
-Self”
________________________________________________________________________

Friday, 5PM

Me: “I should wash my hair …I need to run to CVS.”
Lisa: “Yes, you must shower before going to CVS.”
Me: “Lisa, if I ever crack …And I’m found pushing an empty shopping cart, mumbling to myself up Broadway …I hope people will say ‘Hey, I just saw Amanda with a shopping cart, talking gibberish to herself on Broadway …And you know what? She smelled great!’.”

The Latest Craze: My Mother Has A Passion For Technology

Mom: “You both never -NEVER-had a pacifier!”
Me: “Ah, I couldn’t have one …I couldn‘t even have a bottle.”
Mom: “I know, honey but you know what I’m saying. My children NEVER needed a pacifier.”
Me: “Mom, I had a ‘suck-blankie’ until I was 5 and Matthew had a bottle until he was 4…”
Mom: “What I’m saying, Mandy, is that cell phones …ipods …All of those goo-gadgets are just pacifiers.”
Me: “Yes …”
Mom: “I see it everyday at work …These grown children visiting a sick family member and they both come walking in on their cell phones …And the moment their phone goes off, well by golly they have to answer it!”
Me: “I know but in some cases it’s relevant …I mean, I live alone, it‘s my main mode of communication.”
Mom: “Well, honey, we’re not talking about Amanda Jordyn Phelps, right now.”
Me: “I know but I’m just saying …Why I agree with you on people’s dependence on technology, especially their cell phones …It’s all relative, person to person …I’m just playing devil’s advocate here.”
Mom: “Well, what do you do when you go into a place of business or a restaurant?”
Me: “I put my phone on vibrate or on a rare occasion, I leave my phone at home on quick errands …But hey, we’re not talking about Amanda Jordyn Phelps here.”
Mom: “You shut the phone off or turn the ringer off! I raised my baby girl right …But Matthew had to go and call me crazy -CRAZY- when I got upset over him checking his text messages during our brief time to see each other.”
Me: “Well, the next time Matthew calls you ‘crazy,’ Mom …Just say that you’re not ‘crazy,’ that you’re ‘passionate’ …Say it very calmly and have that be that. There’s no need to exasperate the situation.”
Mom: “Passionate! That’s right …I’ve always been passionate, Mandy …I know I’m not Italian but when Matthew kept checking his phone during our visit, I was very passionately peeved about that.”
Me: “Yes …But Mom you have to look at it from Matthew’s standpoint …Think of all of the people he has to contend with, all the relationships that he has to juggle whenever he comes back to town for a short while.”
Mom: “Yes but I’m his Mother, Mandy!”
Me: “Now Mom, I hate to burst your bubble and I hate to state it so bluntly but look at the situation, you are the only person that unconditionally loves Matthew and I …And there are so many conditional relationships that Matthew must juggle that when it comes down to it who do you think he’s going to cater to at the end of the day? That‘s just how it goes fortunately and unfortunately.”
Mom: “ [sigh] I have two wonderful children, you know that Mandy …Oo, can I call you right back? I need to take this call.”
Me: “Ha! Take that conditional person’s call, I’ll be here.”

Why Cindy Brady Never Collected Coins

Numismatics (nu-mis-mat-ics): n. study of coins. The study of money or means of exchange. Usually exclusively used for the study of coins and tokens.

Numismaticist (nu-mat-I-cist): A coin collector. Numismatics deals with the historical, artistic, technological, social and commercial nature of money in the present, the past and in all countries of the world.

Last Friday, my friend Chris and I met up for drinks at a favorite neighborhood bar. Chris bought the first round with his newfound collection of $1 Presidential coins.

Chris: “I don’t know why …I was just at the bank and decided to ask for some …Look at John Quincy Adams.”
Me: “He’s never looked so good.”
Bartender: “You know, most bartenders would be upset over this but I’m totally taking some of these home!”
Chris: “These are a big deal for coin collectors …Numerists? Oo c’mon, they have a name ….”

[Note: The following is an excerpt from Chris and I’s great brainstorm. I’m noting to say that this all occurred before any proper sip of our hoppy beverages.]

“Numeri-st-es”
“Numatit-s-ist! Numatitsist!”
“Numer-o-cist-ses?”
“Numers”
“Nu-nu-s!”
“Coini-sists”
“Coiners!”
“Coin-deros!”
“Numa-mint-ists”
“Coin-minters”
“Wait, does it even involve ‘mint‘?”
“Numa-meros”
“Numa-numa!”
“Numathmaticians?”
“Num-Nums”
“You know I’m going to Google this when I get home.”
“Coin-countess”
“Numero-icists-s-s”
“Coin-istsas!”
“Nubians!”
“Rubulists!”

[Post-Google phone conversation]

Me: “Numismatics!”
Chris: “Yes! I knew it! Numismatics, nu-mis-mat-icist!”
Me: “Numismatici-st-s-s …No wonder Cindy Brady never collected coins.”

Maine is for Lovers

I'm now the proud owner of a chunk of the original granite flooring (circa 1927) from the Pittsfield Building. Located at 55 W. Washington St., the Pittsfield Building is not only the location of my dentist's office but one of my favorite buildings in Chicago.

Built in 1927, the Pittsfield was designated an official Chicago landmark in November of 2002. At the time it was built, the 38-story Pittsfield was deemed the highest building in the downtown area. It's art deco and gothic stylings make every dentist visit well-worth it for me. Look for yourself: www.pittsfield55.com/

Unfortunately, aside from being a Chicago landmark, the owners of the Pittsfield have decided to uproot the beautiful granite flooring and replace it with ...vinyl. Which will undoubtfully start to discolor within a year or so ...Plus not to mention all of the foot traffic that will cause numerous dents, scuffs and dings.

I'll always have my slab though ...I think it sort of resembles Maine.

And to Those I May Have Forgotten ...

Written on Nov. 14th, 2008

Yes, I write. Yes, at times I’ve referred to myself or have been referred to as a writer. Yes, I overuse commas and ellipsis’s. Plus, due to my texting habit I often replace “and” with the plus symbol. There are times I neglect to pre-edit but if any of you (and most of you have) have ever spoken with me there’s the ongoing debate that either I write how I talk or talk how I write. Hello chicken. Hello egg. On your mark …Get set …Go!

What I’m getting at is that whether or not I’m a writing writer, a talking writer or a writing talker …I have stuck to my guns that I have never dreamt or have aspired to write a book. The next “Great American” novel is not in me and I take much glee in that. Though it’d be an honor to write a how-to pamphlet or perhaps a collection of saved voicemails …I prefer to keep any and all ties with books (of which there are many) at a reader level.

That all said there is one fantasy I think any and all writers be it lit, blogging, even music share in …That one page sometimes put in the front and sometimes buried in the back: The “I’d like to thank …” page. So I figured I’d cut to the skinny of any good book and write my “I’d like to thank page”. Especially due to recent events throughout the past couple of months, I find the act of thanking quite fitting be it between two covers or on your computer’s screen.

Ahem.

The Author would like to thank:

Lisa + Paul (there’s a bottle of wine on my counter with our names on it), Jovan + Rey (I’ll be sure to pour you each a glass as well), Nick (for your continued presence in my life + pushing me to keep writing. I have the utmost respect for you), Jason (we’ve stuck to our guns for 6 yrs. [insert something deep + meaningful that would make us both sort of vomit in our mouths but is meant just the same]), Lexi (I miss your face always + my coffee is lonely), Jeff (we are retarded + our child would have hooves. You know the rest), Chris (for being a beacon of laughter + getting me to do outrageous digit drops on your behalf), James (for giving my plants a home, the smiles + steady breathing),Luke (for what it is worth),Mikey (for all of the fiercesness, taking expert care of my tresses + your no-bounds honesty), John (for all of the days of red mung bean dumplings + midget witch brooms. I wish you + Fando the best on your travels), Paul + Ana (the best neighbors turned friends a person could ask for), Elena (for calling me “snarky” + finding it refreshing), Greg (my phony green card husband by way of Finland), Danger Mike (for all the burritos + Bears/White Sox scores), Carissa (for all of those pep talks that went without questioning), Mat (for all the California lingo), Rebecca (your enthusiasm + downright sunny disposition is infectious), Mark (for becoming Canadian + 8 yrs of friendship), my Kopi family for keeping me slathered in hummus, fueled with caffeine and taking me in (Scott, Jesse, Garrett, Liza, Jenny, Chris, Rebecca + Lance, the best hummus rolls ever), to both Tristin + Rob (new friends + amazing Americanos).

I’d also like to say thank you to the four faces I start my days + end my nights with: Lola, Primo, Milo + Alton. You have never been able to truly comprehend all that is going on around you but you all find me when I need you the most. I’m always reminding you in some foreign language that we will be ok + I mean it more with each day.

To my family: Matthew, the best brother I’ll ever have (Thank goodness Mom just went through the change). I love knowing you + I'm proud. My Mother, my Mom, my Mommy, Robin. Thank you most of all for your unwavering support, pride and the unconditional love that defines Motherhood, that defines you. I should also say thank you for all of the material you give me on a near daily basis. You are truly the funniest woman I’ve ever known + your reflection follows me throughout my days. To my Father who instilled in me the importance of a clean home, the proper use of a lint brush and taught me that unexpected people might break your heart but that they too are human. Without meaning to you taught me the most important lesson that is empathy.

To Ben Schaafsma (Sept. 7th 1982-Oct. 25th 2008), the memory + the inspiration of you is now a part of me. You helped wake me up + there’s a lot I wish I could to tell you. Seeing how many people you’ve touched, how much you were able to cram within 26 years. I will forever be in awe + admiration, both of which continue to be inspiring.

To Chris Saathoff (July 1st, 1978-February 14th, 2004) , your life + loss carries throughout today. There are many moments I know your memory has kept me safe.

Dianna Catenacci + Patricia Bouck, there are no words try as I might to say thank you for all that your pressence + memories have instilled within me. Dianna, your laughter still echoes + the memory of your tenacious fight for life has picked me up when I’ve fallen. Patricia, you gave me the best gift of all that is my Mother and it was her who instilled in me your legacy.

I’d also like to extend gratitude towards: Harry Nilsson, traffic lights, Merrium-Webster, NPR/Chicago Public Radio, the Hopleaf, Bell + Howell, Richard Dreyfuss, Dean Martin, fabric softener, Sprint, the city that is Chicago, Intelligenstia, indoor plumbing, Simon’s, both Dell + Apple respectively, Featherproof Books, my dentist Dr. Deaver and ibprofrin.

What A Difference 5 yrs. Makes ...

Archives: October 2008

Org. Post: Thursday, October 09, 2008

Say Hello to 1500 (Give or Take) of My Closest Friends

After sitting on my sofa, playing air drums for a good 5 minutes I've decided to finally bite the bullet + tell the most memorable (if not best known story) of my summer.

The summer of 2008 will forever be remembered as "the summer of the ladybugs" or to be more specific: "the summer I bought 1500+ ladybugs …willingly". Actually, it was what I purposefully sought out to do on that hazy Saturday, in late June.

Two things you need to know beforehand:

1. I moved into my current apartment at the start of July, 2007. Anyone who has ever moved knows how consuming such a task can be both pre + post move. My new apartment brought about a decklet ripe for all the plants I so dearly wished for in my non-decklet/former apartment (it also brought about my common usage of the non-word "decklet"). With all of the aches + (growing) pains of moving, my plant aspirations would have to wait until the following summer. Enter 2008. Lisa + I made it a bi-weekly to-do to visit our nearest greenhouse. There we would enable one another to purchase new plants that would be added to our rotations ("Lisa, that blueberry bush wants to go home with you, c'mon!"). This summer, my decklet would play host to a handful of foliage. Aloe, various cacti + succulents (a personal favorite), a beloved (and sorely short-lived) Star of Bethlehem, coleus, a hospice tomato plant, an orange dalia, various sedum, oregano, cilantro, chocolate mint, flax, a dwarf sunflower (another personal favorite) …and a chili pepper plant. None too shabby for someone raised in a household of plastic green décor.

2. Aphids. According to Merriam-Webster, aphids are defined as: white, mealy worm-type pests.

Out of all my plants (the Star of Bethlehem + sunflower aside) my most prized was my chili pepper plant. I was determined to see a pepper by summer's end.

One sunny afternoon, Lisa + I were sitting out on my decklet, when I pointed to some white specks I'd noticed underneath the leaves of my seemingly stunted chili pepper plant. "Oo no! You have aphids!," Lisa exclaimed, "Yep. Those are definitely aphids."

After a little bit of research (something I'm prone to do …obsessively), it was true. Aphids. After further (obsessive) research, I discovered that all was not lost. A natural predator of such plant killing pests were none other than ladybugs. They seemed the least harmful to my edible (dream a little dream) plant. I knew they were sold at my trusty greenhouse …Though, I wasn't sure on the specifics (…yet).

Saturday rolled around, the pitch perfect summery day (and take it from me, I hate summer). It was also my neighborhood's annual Midsummer Fest. All of the businesses up + down N. Clark had a display, live music, free food + scantly clad, neckless leather daddies. I waded through the festivities with one goal in mind: ladybugs.

When I got to the greenhouse, I quickly found an employee + inquired as to where the ladybugs were.

Employee: "Aphids?"

Me: "You bet."

The guy pointed towards the outdoor checkout.

I walked over to the check-out, thinking "I'll just buy a few …Maybe 10." As I rounded the corner, I saw bowling ball sized bags made of plastic netting. Inside I could see a ball of hay + red flecks crawling all over.

Me: "I'd like to buy some ladybugs, please."

Check-out Guy: "Sure!"

(he grabbed one of the bowling ball bags behind him)

Me: "Um, how many are there?"

Check-out Guy: "About 1500 give or take."

Me: "Great …."

[I would later read the bag's description. Flown from California, they actually bag 1800 but estimate 1500 make the trip or for "mortality losses".]

My new 1500 aphid killers in hand, I started back down N. Clark towards home. As I made it through the festival goers, it occurred to me that I was out of my breakfast go-tos, green apples …I figured a quick stop at Edgewater Produce wouldn't do my new friends any harm seeing as they had traveled across the country.

Ladybugs in hand, I picked out a handful of apples + went to the check-out. The cashier gave me a sideways glance as I set my bag of ladybugs on the counter in order to pull out my pocketbook. In Spanish, my cashier spoke across the lane to the neighboring cashier. I couldn't pick up all that they were saying (I learned some German from a Swedish woman when I was a child. You'd be amazed at how little that has helped me in life) but I noticed they were staring at my ladybugs + then at me. I stood there with my cash in hand for my apples when I heard my cashier say "loco" …"Hey! I know what that means!," I blurted. They laughed. I grabbed my apples + my bugs.

Given all that Andersonville's Midsummer's fest entails, you'd think there would be plenty of things to oogle at aside from a girl with a bag of ladybugs. People made no secret of eyeing me as I continued, chin up, towards home.

"Hey, what's in the bag?"

"Whoa, are those ladybugs?"

"Whatcha got there?"

"Can I look at your ladybugs?"

"Is that your real hair?"

I nonchalantly tried to explain that my chili pepper plant has aphids but it fell on (leather-clad) deaf ears.

I finally made it home, unloaded my apples + changed into my summer home loungewear of choice: a strapless/sleeveless sundress (I assure you this description is key to the story). I had taken off my handkerchief + decided since it was my day off why not open a bottle of Old Rasputin (when drinking Old Rasputin you do not call it beer) before heading to my decklet to unleash my little black + red aphid terrorists. As I walked outside barefoot, I made sure to grab my camera + my fly swatter, which is in the shape of a ladybug + says "GOTCHA!" when it hits something (a gift from James after I told him about my plans to buy ladybugs).

I read the label for instructions.

"Dust off aphids before applying ladybugs."

This seemed silly since I wanted the ladybugs to EAT the aphids. They'd traveled a long way + had been living off of a few raisins. They deserved a real meal + my chili plant's aphid population promised to be full-course, OCB-style. I dusted off a few aphids but kept most of them attached.

"Open bag and sprinkle a few ladybugs onto plant. In a couple of days repeat process by re-applying more ladybugs."

Easy enough. I took a swig of Old Rasputin and tore the top of the bag open.

The label had said to "sprinkle a few" …The moment I tore the netting, there would be no sprinkling. My ladybugs were smart. They knew where out was + they knew how to get there. Within seconds, ladybugs were pouring everywhere …Including up my legs, between my toes, down my dress, in my hair (I was foolish to remove my handkerchief!). They were going up posts, down steps.

I did what I'd like to think anyone would do: I dropped the bag on my chili plant + started jumping, all the wile shouting "OH CRAP! OH CRAP!"

It was then that the wind decided to pick up + I realized just how touch sensitive my nearby ladybug fly swatter truly was.

"GOTCHA! GOTCHA! GOTCHA!," it started to shout.

"I KNOW! I KNOW!," I replied, while jumping up + down, left + right, arms flying.

"GOTCHA! GOTCHA!"

"I KNOW! OH CRAP! OH CRAP!"

And then, just like that, there was a calm. I caught my breath + tried to stifle my laughter. I stood there, watching as 1500 (give or take) ladybugs took over whole leaves on not only my chili plant but all of my other plants as well.

I shooed a few ladybugs off of my kitchen door's step + sat down. I couldn't stop laughing + was afraid that my neighbors would come out to our shared decklet.

I imagined having to break the news "Ah, Ana …Paul …Don't worry. I just unleashed 1500 …Give or take, mind you …ladybugs on our decklet. Everything is under control. I have aphids!" (Fly Swatter: "GOTCHA!")

The next morning, before work, I took a cup of coffee out to the decklet …I sat down and counted 1, 2, 3 ….7 ladybugs! 7!

As I sat there, sipping my coffee, I thought: "Well, thanks for sticking around guys."

The following days, the ladybugs would come back and within the week the aphids were gone. As the months rolled on, my chili pepper plant would become huge and offer one full-sized pepper.

The ladybugs would disappear entirely by summer's end …But I refused to see this as a loss. I'm sure that my neighborhood was the most pest-free neighborhood in all of Chicago.

Org. Post: Wednesday, October 22, 2008

A Tale of Two Siblings

[10/21/08, the eve of my brother Matthew's 22nd birthday]

Me: "I'm not wishing you a happy birthday yet. I'm not going to do it until it's official."

Matthew: "Don't do it, Manda."

Me: "I'm not going to and you can't make me!"

Matthew: "Don't!"

Me: "I won't!"

Matthew: "Good!"

Me: "Fine!"

_________________________________________________________

Me: [brother's voicemail] "Well, it's officially your birthday so I'm calling to wish you just that. Happy birthday! Twenty-two years ago I met you. I remember having to go to a friend's house after pre-school. Even though it was only October for some reason that day in school we had glued Honeycomb cereal into a snowflake pattern. As my friend's Mother drove me to their house, while Mom was in labor, I proceeded to eat the Honeycomb cereal off of the blue construction paper …glue and all. That's why I will forever correlate your birthday with the taste of glue. It's an acquired taste. Happy birthday! I miss you and like I said last night, enjoy your day, own it! I'll talk with you soon. "

___________________________________________________________

I've probably made mention of this before but I remember when my Mother first told me that she was expecting a child. I was three and a half years old.

Mom: "Mandy, honey, do you want a brother or a sister?"

Me: "I'd like a unicorn!"

Nine months later …

My best friend in preschool was a girl named Nicole. Best friends because we were close in age (she was a year older) and our Mothers had gone to high school together. The latter factor might also be the reason why I attended preschool at a Lutheran church (we had just moved back to my parent's native Michigan and my Mother was all for recommendations from close friends).

On one October day in 1986, Nicole's Mother picked us up from school …She quickly explained to me that my Mother was in labor and I'd be staying the night at their house. I hated staying over at Nicole's house. Her Mother made me eat things like salad and peanut butter/jelly sandwiches without the proper ratio of either.

_________________________________________________________

Years later, while making a pb+j in front of my childhood babysitter, Candy*:

Candy: "Hey, are you like making a designer sandwich or something?"

Me: [making sure the peanut butter + jelly evenly touched each corner of crust] "I guess so. Yes. Yes I am. How do you make yours?"

Candy: "Well, it doesn't take me forever!"

Later that evening, I successfully stayed hidden in the dirty clothes hamper during a game of hide + seek for two hours. Candy started to get upset, yelling my name throughout the house. I waited until she was near tears. No one makes fun of my sandwich making.

*Candy was my babysitter with dreams of being a "stewardess".

_________________________________________________________

Nicole and I sat in the backseat of her family's station wagon, as we drove to her house. You know, the station wagon where the seats actually face the opposite direction so that you can make faces at the driver behind you. A childhood rite of passage.

_________________________________________________________

Me: "Mom, I want a station wagon! They're so cool! Yesterday, Nicole and I were sitting in the backseat, pretending to choke each other and the guy driving behind us raised his finger at us …"

_________________________________________________________

That day in class, we had used Elmer's glue to place Honeycomb cereal into the shape of a snowflake. Nicole and I had finished eating our glued cereal bits by the time we arrived at Nicole's house.

The afternoon became evening and I wanted to go home. After desperately trying to brush the taste of lettuce out of my mouth and borrowing one of Nicole's nightgowns, I laid in their guest bedroom, staring up at the ceiling …There was a knock on the door.

Nicole's Mother: "Amanda, your Mother had a baby boy! You have a new brother!"

Me: [pretending to be asleep]

Nicole's Mother: "Your Father is here to take you home."

Me: [jumps out of bed] "Yay!"

The next day, I met Matthew. He was ruddy cheeked and his eyes wouldn't focus. There was also a horn missing from his forehead.

_____________________________________________________________

"Ninda," that's what Matthew used to call me. The mushy parts of his brain had yet to fully form and he in turn couldn't properly pronounce my first name. Within a year's time I answered to "Ninda" and to this day whenever I hear "Linda," I look over my shoulder.

Matthew would end up being my only sibling and honestly I couldn't imagine having another. I often wondered how the Partridge Family, the Brady Bunch or the Osmonds did it. All of those …children. Much like I'm amazed nowadays at the talk show teens who desperately want a baby or the sympathy I feel for first-time parents giving birth to quadruplets. I have four cats, who are exhausting within their own right but who I can legally put in a cage or leave alone for a few hours.

____________________________________________________________

Four years apart, Matthew was my best friend as a child. We shared a room up until I was 14 yrs old.

"Ninda, are you awake?"

I'd open my eyes to see those the same shade as my own, inches from my face, wrapped in a Ninja Turtle's comforter. I'd get up and pour us bowls of Fruity Pebbles. We'd then sit on the den's sofa, wrapped in our respective comforters like Eskimos, watching Tom & Jerry cartoons.

Like any family (especially of divorce), there's water under the bridge. As Matthew and I grew older, our tight childhood bond fell into such water. The four year gap that benefited us as children started to stretch as I entered my teens and left Matthew behind in those awkward pre-teen years.

_____________________________________________________________

Matthew locked me out of the house the first time he saw me smoke a cigarette (he hates this story). As I stubbed out my cigarette and ran up to the front deck after him, I heard the lock click. I also heard Matthew crying.

Matthew: "You're not my sister anymore! You're dirty! I'm telling!"

I pounded on the front door, begging him to let me in, apologizing, trying to explain to no avail. Finally, I would end up crawling through my bedroom window and finding him curled up in a ball on the sofa.

He stiffened as I appeared in the den.

Matthew: "How did YOU get in?"

He would spend the next couple of hours in our Mom's bedroom, until she arrived home.

[My bedroom, my Mother's and the bathroom were the only rooms in the house that had locks on their doors. That same year, Matthew would lock himself in the bathroom for two hours after I gave him a rather unsuccessful haircut. To this day I contest that I had no idea his hair was that thick.]

___________________________________________________________________

Enter the grey years. On one side of ring the burdens of being the eldest on the other side the burdens of being the youngest. The things I thought I was sheltering him from verses the things that neither of us could avoid. The missteps of being thrust into a parental battlefield. Matthew and I coming at things from two different perspectives, two different histories. We lost one another along the way. We lost those cartoon mornings and the afternoons of inventing games until the streetlights flickered. I thought of him as a spoiled brat that didn't understand what was going on and he thought of me as an nonsensical embarrassment.

Looking back now, it makes sense that Matthew didn't like me much then …I didn't like myself.

Recently, I was going through a pile of CDs that I have on the top shelf of my closet. I came across a weathered Sleater-Kinney album. Inside the jacket's sleeve, a small Post-It with "From your beloved brother," written in my Mother's script.

It was 2000, Matthew had taken to breaking my CDs as payback for any earlier upset. My Mother would sooner or later replace them, hence the note.

_____________________________________________________________

One year, for Christmas, Matthew gave me a thumb-sized, cast-iron gorilla statue perched on top of a plastic red ruby.

_____________________________________________________________

Today my brother is 22 yrs old. My own 22nd birthday marked two full years I had lived in Chicago. Things were changing, my visits back home had lessened, Matthew and I would talk here or there but we had yet to truly reach a point where we recognized one another.

The past couple of years (this past year especially) have marked the turning point for both of us.

Last year, he came out for a solo visit and stayed with me for the better part of a week. I took him around and showed him the sights that made up my day to day life. We spent our evenings playing Scrabble (a childhood pastime long forgotten) and for the first time in years: we talked about more than just the weather. We talked about Mom, we talked about Dad. We talked about high school. We talked about the times I couldn't leave my bed. We talked about what we loved, what we lost, what we missed and what we wanted.

This past August, Matthew visited with his girlfriend Andrea. It was unfortunately a brief stay but shortly after he left, I called my Mother.

Me: "Mom, Matthew just left and I miss him. I really miss him. That was the best visit he and I have ever had."

__________________________________________________________

When Matthew was 6 yrs old, I helped my Mom put together his Easter basket. While she was busy with his real basket, I was filling another with dental floss, raisins and his soap-stained bath toys.

The next morning, Matthew froze as he started to open the basket that I had made for him …Before the tears started, my Mother uncovered his real basket that the "Easter bunny" had tucked away behind the sofa.

__________________________________________________________

The little boy I built forts with out of pillows, that I taught to walk, that (briefly) liked Hanson has grown up. The boy that I had lost sight of was now taller with broad shoulders and sporting stubble. I have always loved him but most importantly now, I like him. If he were just another face in the crowd, I'd want to know him. Even as I type this, I want to introduce you to him.

Every year, on my own birthday, my Mother explains to me that it's a birthday for her, as well (forget the fact that her actual birthday is 4 days after mine). Today I understand what she means. It's a given that I don't think I'd be the person I am today without my Mother or even my Father (who I haven't seen in 4 yrs and counting) but I know I wouldn't be the person I am without having Matthew in my life. I'm happy to know him. I'm happy that due to our shared genetics we are stuck together.

As I type this, Matthew is in his third year of college in Grand Rapids, MI. He's an English major (therefore looking at a career in teaching, ahem). His intellect surpasses "smart" and his wit grows sharper each time I speak with him. We talk about music, books, politics, school, relationships and what crazy thing Mom said the other day.

Me: Matthew, Mom tried to talk politics with me again.

Matthew: Ah, I know! She tries to do that with me too!

Me: I just can't do it!

Matthew: Me either!

He's the brother I've always wanted and I finally feel like the sister that's worth having.



My brother, Matthew -November 2008.

Archives: May 2008-Oct. 2008

Org. Post: Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Chewing Gum For the Eyes: This Show Was Filmed In Front Of A Pseudo Audience

Wikipedia explains quantum entanglement as: "a quantum mechanical phenomenon which the quantum states of two or more objects are somehow linked together so intimately that one object cannot be adequately described without full mention of its counterpart — even though the individual objects may be spatially separated. This interconnection leads to correlations between observable physical properties of remote systems."

Albert Einstein described quantum entanglement as: "spooky action at a distance".

Dean Stockwell (who played Al, on the 1989-93 series "Quantum Leap"): "You're part of a time travel experiment that went a little ca-ca."

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(Nearly) A year without television.

"Good for you!"

"I couldn't live without cable!"

"Wait, you mean you haven't seen that commercial …"

"No television!?"

"What?"

That's what I've been hearing over (nearly) a year, now without cable.

"But wait, you have a television …You don't need cable, just get local. What? You don't want local either?"

Nope. No cable. Nope. No local.

"Go green!"

"It's nice to see someone keeping up with the punk 'kill your television' aesthetic!"

Truth be told, the sole reason I had cable in my former apartment was due to the fact that the ever faithful employees at Comcast never disconnected the former tenant's. Actually, they finally did disconnect "my" service …A full week before my move.

As for local, I apologize for the embarrassing simplicity of my explanation. In order to hook up local, I'd have to run a cord across my living room …I have four cats. Yep, that's what it comes down to. No thanks.

Sure, I miss CSPAN, who wouldn't? There are times I realize what a fantastic distraction television is …The urge to numb my brain …However, I refuse to fork over any money and even more so I'm not even going to begin the trials and tribulations of a lengthy cord and my cats' need to well, chew.

And then I take in consideration: Who needs a sitcom? Lemme tell you about my week!

_______________________________________________________

As a toddler, in Houston, TX …I remember sitting in front of our small tube television. My skin tanned from quality sandbox time, clad in a swimsuit, an orange sherbet push-up in hand …and dripping from my chin, sticky sweet in my hair.

"Savvvvvvve yooooooou monnnnnney!"

Ooo, it's on! My favorite commercial! I'd quickly hold out my hand, as though holding a fan of dollar bills (a dollar is a lot of money for a child) …"Savvvvvve yooooooooooou monnnnnnney!" I'd gleefully repeat back to the man with Ken-doll hair, on screen.

_______________________________________________________

It was Friday, I had spent my morning medicating cats and clocked out at 3PM. The telltale signs were all there: it was muggy, the bruised sky was moving by fast. It was going to rain.

After debating train and bus time, I decided it best to be out the door by 730PM. That gave me plenty of time to do a quick apartment clean, shower, powder my nose, practice walking in my new heels (which I did while washing a quick load of laundry, in my building's basement) and slip into my dress for the evening's event …which was located in the west Loop.

I grabbed my umbrella, "just in case," gave myself a look over in the mirror (because I do that …I also secretly question the width of my hair), grabbed a book for the ride and headed out … I congratulated myself for safely making it down the three flights of spiraled stairs to the courtyard.

I open the gate: TYPHOON!

Rain from the left, rain from the right, I quickly tucked my dress between my knees, my umbrella turned inside out the moment I foolishly opened it.

For those of you have been reading this "blog," over the past couple of years …You're aware of my feelings when it comes to cabs. They usually go something like this: "Don't hit me, don't hit me, don't hit me. Going to O'Hare? Going to Union? Nope. No. I'm not taking a cab."

I hailed the cab within seconds. Wet splotches across my dress, my hair surprisingly holding together, my bag completely soaked.

"847 W. Jackson. Yeah, it's nuts out there."

There's a reason Batman is filmed in Chicago. My cab driver seemed to be under the impression that he was not only in the sequel to the sequel to the sequel but he had in fact taken the lead. We're hydroplaning up Lake Shore in record time. It's barely 745PM. I guess I'm going to be early …if I survive.

I start playing the silent game of "Please don't do that. Please don't do that. Please …I have a Mother who loves me. Put down your phone," as Cabman starts sending/receiving texts on his phone …Meanwhile, I can barely see the city through the flood, whizzing by my window.

We turn off Lake Shore and start darting through the grid that is the Loop. Over this bridge, under this pass, take a left, a right, zig here, zag there. I try to divert what last moments of free thought ("Amanda ate all her strained peaches and she moved her big toe a quarter of a centimeter to the left, today, doctor") to my attire, my hair and my now soggy book (just add water). Such in-depth notions before Cabman kills us both.

Suddenly, both back windows start to roll …completely …down.

Cabman: "How you feeling? You look dehydrated!"

Me: [nervous laughter/the synapse of shock starting to flare] "Oo no! I'm quite hydrated! Ha-ha-ha …I'm just going to roll this up now, OK? Thanks though!"

We idly stop at a stop sign, a homeless Vietnam vet (according to his sign) thrusts a cup in my open windowed direction.

And off we go again.

847 W. Jackson. We pull up. Record time. I begrudgingly pay (and included an even more so begrudged tip) and reach for the door's handle. Nothing. I pull again. Nope. I silently begin to mindfully will the door open. A woman walks by. I tap at the window.

Woman: "Hey! Why won't you let this girl out!?"

She springs me free and I firmly plant my heels into the pavement. I successfully managed to stay both dry (yet hydrated) and vertical for the rest of my evening.

_________________________________________________________________-

My Mother taught aerobics as a hobby shortly after Matthew was born. For the longest time she taught Monday and Wednesday nights, 630-8PM. She'd kiss my brother, my Father and myself 'good-bye,' dressed in spandex and making sure she had the latest Toni Braxton c-single, in her bag.

Monday nights, Fresh Prince of Bel-Air came on at 8PM/Eastern. What sort of crazy hijinx would Carlton and Will get into tonight?

Monday nights also served as family pedi/mani night. My anal retentive Father (I assure you that reads rather sweetly in my head) would take it upon himself to make sure Matthew and I were the only kids in elementary to never suffer a hangnail. We'd sit there on the sofa, watching Will Smith hitch a ride from a cab that had a license plate that read "FRESH" and dice in the mirror …While my Father clipped our nails and scolded us for biting them.

Television is a great bonding experience between families.

_________________________________________________________________________

"You are wonderful."

That's what he said over brunch before we parted ways.

I stayed behind for a few minutes, opting to get a cup of coffee, a vegan cookie to go and chat with my friends Scott and Jesse, who were working.

It was a typical spring Saturday, albeit a bit cold and windy. My hair was down and I feared hitting others as I walked over to a nearby bench on the generally hectic stretch of Clark St. I dialed my Mother's number and we talked until I found myself back on my feet.

I wasn't sure what to do with the rest of my day. I knew if I headed back to my apartment, I'd just think and I didn't want to waste a perfectly fine day-off with such an annoying habit.

I started walking up Clark, the wind shuffling me forward, my hair masking my sunglasses, keeping an ear out for any sudden honking or a good Samaritan yelling "Watch out!".

That's when I walked smack dab into a longtime friend. Longtime seeing that we've known each other for a handful of years. A friend because we attempted dating at the beginning of the handful and make a point to hang out a few times a year. The modern day friendship.

After more coffee and walking throughout the neighborhood, we decided to grab a drink at a favorite spot, nearby, known for their unpretentious setting, a 10 cent historical tour and stellar jukebox selection (enough so that I can freely use the term 'stellar' without a hint of sarcasm).

There were two other people seated at the bar, Luke and I took a seat at a small table, drinks in hand. We were debating the usage of air quotes and I successfully managed to air quote the term air quote. He told me about the drawing class he had just come from ("We're all basically drawing 'WANTED' posters") and his boss's emoticon habits (the same boss that shares a name with a rail hoppin' forefather of folk music).

I put my morning's events on "delay" and was happy to be in good company, familiar company, fellow air quoting company.

In the time it takes to snap your fingers …Go ahead, feel free to do so for reference sake …Luke and I found ourselves elbow to elbow with zombies.

As though a clown car sat out front and had opened it's door, zombies started piling in (still with me?). Big, small, fake flesh wounds, green face paint …and packed in for some swill.

It then occurred to me that it was Saturday, the "annual zombie pub crawl," Saturday. My calendar had somehow neglected to include this (it does however highlight "National Dog Bite Awareness Week").

Luke and I looked at each other from across our dwindling space. My shoulders began to slump forward to make room for the bloody elbows and elaborate costuming making a beeline for my face. Luke reached over to a nearby zombie and asked "Hey, where are you guys going next?"

In a rather uncharismatic exuberant zombie fashion, the girl replied "CHARLIE'S ALE HOUSE!"

Luke [to me] "Do you want to go to the Hopleaf?"

Me: "Yes."

Amanda Jordyn, this is your life.

________________________________________________________________________

Every year, Matthew and I would get to pick out a new comforter. My choices ranged from Thundercats to the Care Bears and the Little Mermaid (Yep). Matthew opted for the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, X-Men and Lion King.

Every Saturday morning and certain mornings throughout the summer, Matthew and I would wake up in time for cartoons.

We'd sit there, on the living room sofa, wrapped in our respective comforters, a bowl of cereal in our laps. I was never one to put milk on my cereal and I remember using the term "muddles," a lot to explain this.

"But the milk just muddles the cereal's flavor."

I was a yenta in training.

For years, this was my brother and I's routine. Eventually, the trademarked themes of our comforters would fade, we'd opt for more solid/neutral …more "mature" tones. By that time, we also each had a television in our bedrooms and were beginning to realize the joys of sleeping in.

This would mark the beginning of my brother and I growing apart (for the usual teenage duration) and the end of cartoons.

_________________________________________________________________________

Last Sunday came and went. I had a somewhat abusive caller call for a spay/neuter appointment. A story that by this time I've had repeat so many times that it's become redundant, suffice to say:

-No, you cannot bring your cat in a produce box (And no, I don't care if there are holes in it).

-Even assholes name their cats "Snowball".

_________________________________________________________________________

My Mother's all-time favorite show is/was Friends (Yes, I had my money on the OJ Simpson trial or Dallas too).

To this day, come Thursday evenings 8-830PM, it's programmed to magically pop into my head "Oo, Friends should be on …Where's my Mother?"

_____________________________________________________________________________

I went into work Monday morning, throwing myself into work and my need for distraction.

It was raining and I was debating what state I'd find my decklet plants, when I clocked out at 3PM …Katie walked into the clinic and I followed her out to the front foyer. There stood a women, her hooded sweatshirt tied tightly around her grimacing face. At first, I debated whether or not her face was so obscured due to the damp drawstrings being tied too tightly …It then occurred to me that she was crying. Sobbing. In her arms she held a large tan canvas bag.

Her 18 yr old cat, Smitty was dying and she needed help. Before I had time to really decipher this information as she mouthed the words …Her crying was near hysterics, the type of hysterics that makes one lose their voice and gum their words …She thrust the canvas bag into my arms.

There he was, Smitty …He was starting to grow cold but his green eyes still flashed signs of recognition, as he wavered back and forth.

Smitty and I hung out for a little while, while it was decided that we'd euthanize him and give his remains back to the woman, to bury in her backyard.

I sat there on the wet foyer floor, holding this canvas bag, "Hi Smitty …"

"You are wonderful"/zombies/"go fuck yourself"/Primo's tumors/rent due/stomach flu/"You look dehydrated"

…And now Smitty.

Dear Self,

This is not about you. Do not make this about you. Do not cry. Do not choke up. Just do your job. Insert mental file of comforting things to say.

Crap.

While Smitty went to sleep, I sat with his owner, her fingers digging into my arm as she shared stories of the Smitty she had known for the past 18 yrs.

Smitty was closest to one of her other cats, Goldie. I commented that "Smitty and Goldie," sounded like "quite the team. Sort of like Cagney + Lacey." …The woman fortunately was able to choke out a laugh, as she wiped her nose and patted her eyes.

I told her that she had done the right thing.

She told me that she wasn't sure. That it's lonely in this world. That she just needed someone to listen. Someone to care. She asked my name and told me that she'd remember it because it's the same as her neighbor's. I listened. Putting on my best poker face. I silently tried to will her to please, just please stop crying. I know it's lonely. Please don't cry.

She kept talking about loneliness. I kept listening. I caught myself choking up briefly but quickly reminded myself: This is not about you.

Smitty was returned in a cardboard box …The woman slipped him back into the canvas bag. I held the door and asked if I could hug her. For some reason I always feel the need to ask ahead of time …It seems like an appropriate question after years of unsolicited hugs from strangers and acquaintances alike.

Her fingers dug into my back. It was still raining when she left.

I walked towards the backdoor. I stood out in the rain.

Hello, hello? Can I have some lemons? I'd like to make some lemonade.

____________________________________________________________________________

I've been writing the above for the better half of the past week …As of today, I have yet to step into another cab (I opted for the bus, last Friday night), no one has told me to fuck myself (or at least to my face or over the phone), cats continue to come/go/come again at work and I just sent Luke a text asking if I should get a map for the upcoming "Big Wheel Biker," pub crawl.

Last night, I brushed my teeth/washed my face …Content and ready to partake in a bit of escapism, some mindless fluff before sleep arrived, I turned on my television and put a DVD in (one that I had been neglecting to watch for the past few days). I pulled my throw closer to my chin, adjusted my pillow and hit "play".

"Le Scaphandre et le Papillon

Un film de Julian Schnabel"

Crap. I forgot that it's in French.

Org. Post: Friday, May 23, 2008

Whatever I Am: Messages From My Mother

May 9th, 438PM

Hello my darling daughter, I love you and I miss you …I'm not ignoring you, I've just been busy the last couple of days …I'm doing a garage sale and it's just going to be a one day thing …And I had to pay 20 bucks for that darn ad and I hated it! It kills me to do that! But that's how much they are …They start at 20 bucks at Midland Daily News and I thought the best way to sell my stuff is to advertise it so we'll see how it goes. I put in the ad, I put "Great sale! Everything under $3," [laughter] …I thought that might get them through the door. We'll see just how well I do. But I've been just so busy cleaning out CRAP. You wouldn't believe all of the CRAP. Downstairs in that basement …Old dishes, just sets of dishes that I've had and glasses and CRAP. So I'll see if I sell them. But I had to kind of tap into your brother when he came home today to help me lug the tables out from the little shed, that I use to put the stuff on, you know. So I've been really busy. I'm not ignoring you, honey. I'm thinking about you and I miss you! Hope you're doing fine. If I don't get a chance to talk with this evening …Well the sale is tomorrow, gotta get stuff together. Have a great day and weekend. It's Mothers' Day and I'm celebrating! I have the two best children in the world! I love my babies! They are the best! I'm proud of you! Love you! Bye baby!

May 18th, 210PM

Hi honey, I'm thinking about ya! I know you're at work …I was just driving back from Saginaw. I had to pay on the consumers bill. I'm thinking about you. I just passed the Saginaw mall. God, I can't believe how many times trip to Saginaw I made back in the day, just to go to the mall and Target …It's made me a little reminiscent. It's sunny here, still chilly but sunny and pretty. Hope you're having good weather and doing good. Matthew's off to Grand Rapids to visit friends …So I won't be seeing him this weekend. I have to get my brakes fixed. They're grinding. Yikes! It's going to be a bit expensive but Oo well. I hope Primo's still doing good and the other kitties are doing fine. If I don't talk with you later I love you, thinking about you. Bye honey.

Today, 131PM

Hi honey it's Friday I'm just getting out of work going home to change out of my work clothes. Tonight, Kristen's son's getting married so I'm going to that. Of course it's a dry reception, no drinking …Which is just as well since I have to work all weekend, be up at 5, work Monday/Memorial Day and then Tuesday. Can you believe gas is now $4.18! Yesterday, it was $3.99! So that's where most of my time and money is going. There's some kind of deal going on, if you ask me …Isn't that ridiculous? They know it's Memorial Day weekend! Anyway that's barely 2 gallons for $10.00. I'm lucky I can drive to Bay City and back. It's crazy. It's just really crazyQ Anyway honey, take care I'm thinking about you! If I don't talk with you it's because I'm working. I love you! Take care my baby! Bye!

Org. Post: Saturday, June 28, 2008

Just So That You Know That I Know + Then We Can Both Know

Me: I haven't written anything in almost 2 mths.

Nick: You have plenty to write about. No excuses.

Me: I'm sure I might if I had the energy. It just never feels right. I have my ladybug attack on the back burner.

Nick: Haha.

Me: 1500 of those little suckers all wanting me. I was very popular …The catch? I bought them.

Nick: !?

________________________________________________________

It's in the works.

________________________________________________________

Let's pretend for a moment that tone (yes, tone) wasn't acknowledged within the 19th century + to further this self-imposed land of make believe ...Let's say that the tone button on your radio came about between 1975-1982.

With that thought in mind (1975-1982), it's clear that the need for a tone button was mainly due in part to Michael McDonald's time with the Doobie Brothers.

It's the only way to understanding the first 30 seconds of "Taking It To The Streets".

Me: Michael McDonald ruined the Doobie Brothers.

Nick: The Doobie Brothers ruined the Doobie Brothers.

...You think you know someone after 6 yrs.

Org. Post: Wednesday, July 23, 2008

To The Market: Orange You Glad I Didn’t Say Never?

[Weds., evening-time, phone conversation w/ Mom]

Me: The truth is, Mom, I know 3 people who are battling cancer …Well, one of them it's possible, results will be back next week …When Dianna passed away, in February, you called me at work, I then returned to work …I worked the following day …During her funeral, I was at work. I mean, you called me from the procession …This is the first break I've had to really take all of this in …I hadn't seen Diana in years and now I just have that photo framed on my wall, nothing truly tangible, no sense of closure …

Mom: I know, Mandy …Dianna was very proud of you, sweetheart …And as far as closure, honey, I was there at the funeral and it didn't even seem real enough for closure …You've had a lot on your plate, Mandy …Don't let not being here for Dianna eat away at you. You had a great day today, honey …Dianna was very proud of you.

Me: …Well, when I ran into V, this evening, she started filling me in on her chemo …I didn't even realize my eyes had welled up until she stopped and told me to not get upset …So when you called and asked what was wrong, I was walking back home from talking with V and I couldn't help it.

Mom: You know what I wish you had, Mandy?

Me: What's that?

Mom: Rabbit ears for your TV.

Me: Ok …Mom, I really don't miss television all that much.

Mom: I know but honey, the Olympics are coming up and you would just love it!

Me: The winter Olympics? Mom, I haven't been a fan of the Olympics since I wanted to be a figure skater …And that was in the 4th grade.

Mom: Well, there's this one guy …I forget his name …But he's an amputee …You know, from the knee down, some accident …Well! They're not sure if he can be in the Olympics …He has those curved, long prosthetic legs and boy, he's fast! He could beat anyone with real legs!

Me: ….Well, I can imagine so, Mom? …

Mom: You really don't miss TV?

Me: I really don't …Mom? I love you for this, thank you.

[laughter]

_______________________________________________________________________________

Weds., 1045AM, Day III of my vacation, pay-day!

Me: [ring work's front door bell]

Russell: [answers door] "Well, if it isn't the lady of substance! Hellllllo!"

Me: Well hello, Russell, how are you? …Psst …You don't see me, ok? I'm still on vacation …Don't hassle me I'm local!

_______________________________________________________________________________

Yes, I'm off from work for entire week …Since Monday, I've been focusing on the things that have been set aside on my day-dreamy mental checklist of "Things I Wish I Could Do If I had The Time" (Yes, even my mental to-do list of hopes + dreams is in capitals).

On Monday, for instance, I packed a small bag w/ lakefront reading essentials: book (for the reading or for the "I'm Busy Don't Talk With Me" vibe), blanket, water, cell-phone (to keep track of time, of course) …I then stopped by a friend's place who I'm cat-sitting for through Thursday …Followed by a stop at Shan Foods for some amazingly tasty, amazingly cheap Indian-Pakistani take-out (I believe the term is "Indo-Paki" but I fear saying such out-loud) …And off I went.

Three things …

1. It was a beautiful day for the lakefront …I quickly found a grassy knoll with full view of downtown's points of high interest …I also, after a hour or so, glanced over towards a nearby patch of grass and noticed a ladybug. This amused me more than I care to admit.

2. I made the mistake of ordering only one slice of naan with my order of chana pulao …Remedy? I would take the unused lid off from the complimentary yogurt sauce (which I skip) and proceed to use said lid as a shovel from plate to mouth. I did this as inconspicuously as possible. Eureka!

3. Going to the lakefront on a nice afternoon with a pleasantly full stomach sounds great but doing so alone crosses out any chance for a nap. This bummed me out.

______________________________________________________________________________

Weds., 11AM

Next on my list? The Green City Market, located on the south end of Lincoln Park …A well-publicized, yearly farmer's market, open 7AM-130PM every Weds. + Sat. I'd never been and had always wanted to go …What better a time to nix that off of my list and revel in my need to take photos of pretty produce …Not to mention the promised joy of watching hoards of people under the illusion of expendable incomes, peck at produce like wild chickens.

Enter my friend Jovan, another Green City Market-newbie. After picking up my paycheck, we met up and made a quick stop at the nearest Jewel grocery for batteries (I needed them for my produce photography, after all).

I Yelped my Jewel experience, here (let this be a lesson): One Star Too Many

With coffee in hand, we were off to the market! After looping around the neighborhood a handful of times in search of parking …We were off to the market! (This little piggy …)

Immediately we were greeted by a tall fellow with a clipboard …"Would you like to help out the environment?" (I hate that question …It's like asking "Would you like to wake up tomorrow?" or "Are you upset with the state of our country's affairs in the Middle East?")

I politely, as much as one could, said (simply) "No, sorry, maybe later." (Insert a sad clipboard)

Jovan and I walked around for a good hour …To be honest, the market wasn't as large as expected but fortunately it wasn't as crowded, either.

I, of course, was attracted to any and all orange hued vegetables + fruits.

Orange Zucchini Seller: Would you like one?

Me: I'll take one, please …I'm a sucker for anything orange!

Orange Zucchini Seller: I wish I had an orange shirt on!

Me: …Ha.

String Bean Seller: Well hello, it's a great day to be at the market!

Me: Yes, it is.

String Bean Seller: Have you ever been here before?

Me: Actually, this is my first time.

String Bean Seller: Well, where do you usually shop?

Me: Ah [crap, ahem], Edgewater Produce [quite proudly, I might add]

String Bean Seller: Oh.

[End of conversation, wordlessly hands me my change]

I had brought along a separate bag, to put our produce in and by the time we left + broke the hearts, yet again, of the environmentalists. Sorry, Earth.

All in all, I spent under $20 and left with:

-1 orange zucchini

-3 orange cucumbers

-a bunch of purple onions (green onion-style)

-broccoli

-sweet cherries

-3 greenish/orange sweet peppers

-fresh basil

-fresh cilantro

-a rather large bunch of Chinese field greens

-Japanese radishes

-1.5 lb green/yellow/purple string beans (What? You expected orange?)

-green tomatoes

Now it's just a matter of deciding how to properly make the best use of my new edibles.

___________________________________________________________________________

Me: I went to the Green City Market today + bought 3 orange cucumbers!

Luke: Those aren't cucumbers. Whatever they are don't leave them alone with the cats. And don't feed them after Midnight.

Me: What about the purple green onions? Oo my!

Luke: There's no such thing as purple green. Clearly hallucinogens.

___________________________________________________________________________

The rest of the day, Jovan + I treated ourselves to a healthy dose of thrifting, lunched at the Chicago Diner (which has surprisingly good margaritas) and stopped along the to a few shops …We eventually ended back in my neighborhood, outside at the Coffee Studio, high-fiving ourselves for a day well done (and ok, a few pats on the back).

And wouldn't you know, I'm now seated cross-legged at the foot of my bed (that's a lot of appendages) and I'm actually writing.

[moment of silence]

[Ok, another pat on the back]

As for the rest of my "Things I Wish I Could Do If I had The Time" mental to-do list …Well, I need to find a kite …

Org. Post: Wednesday, October 08, 2008

All the News That’s Fit to Print: Sharing is for Suckers

For the first time in recent years, autumn appears to actually be here on time and I for one couldn't be happier (Also for the first time in recent months it appears that I'm writing).

Usually when you make mention of the autumn season, in Chicago, people smirk ("A whole two weeks worth") or jump straight towards their winter season dread. Be it two weeks or two months, I'll take any + all of autumn that I can.

Throughout the summer I refused to pack away my scarf + fuzzy red hat …Instead, they remained on my coat rack + greeted me (bitter sweetly) every time I came home. I've uncovered my slippers that I immediately slip into as soon as I enter my apartment (or like last night, I take them over to Lisa's to slip into as soon as I enter her apartment. My slippers + I were there for dinner). I've already accidentally left my apartment twice without noticing I still had them on.

I kicked autumn off with a complete apartment clean. An overhaul, really. A week long project with no holds barred. Why I had empty tea boxes in my cupboard or socks without a match but with holes, I haven't the slightest. Gone. Gone. Why I felt the need to keep every rent paid receipt from my former apartment (an entire 5 yrs worth) is beyond me. Gone x1000.

I'm waiting for the temps to drop + the city of Chicago to turn on the heat …Mainly because I have taken to tastefully stacking books on my radiators. Since my apartment stays toasty with only my bedroom + bathroom radiators on, I'm waiting for word so that I can take the books that occupy my bedroom's radiator + add them to the one in my living room (which remains off).

The days of humidity are gone once again + my mind is filled with daydreams of large cupped Americanos + leg warmers.

Wednesdays are my days off + within the past couple of autumn weeks I've taken to waking up early and heading over to one of my favorite coffee shops, which luckily is within my neighborhood. Once there I pick up the day's New York Times + the week's new Time Out: Chicago. I order a large Americano (in a large cup, of course) + find a seat in the back where I can browse the latest newsy tidbits + people watch on the sly.

Today, I did just that …Sort of.

The Wednesday edition of the NY Times includes the "Dining Out" section …Along with the Arts + front page sections, I neatly stack all three in front of me like a three course meal that I fully intend to devour …That is after I pick out the business day section.

Seated next to me was a man who I would later describe as looking like Bill Clinton's brother (sans curly mullet but with a young Donald Trump comb over) …I guessed him to be in his early to mid-40s. He was reading the Chicago Tribune's business section .

Light bulb!

Me: "Excuse me, sir …Would you like my NY Times business section?"

Man: "Sure! You're not going to read it?"

Me: "No, I usually toss it but if you'll get some use out of it, it's all yours."

Man: "Well thank you! I'd definitely read it!"

Me: "Well, good. You're welcome."

I started on my first course: the Arts section.

Man: "What sections do you read?"

Me: "Ah, well …The Arts (ahem), Dining Out + the front page."

Man: "Art is good."

Me: "Yes."

I turned the page.

Man: "I usually keep a copy of the Tribune in my bathroom."

Me: "…Oh. That's a …good idea."

This is when I decided to put on my best "I'm involved in a very interesting article: Do not disturb," furrowed brow look. That is to say for the next 5 minutes I read the Angelika Film Center's movie times (Vicky Christina Barcelona at 4:45 …It might take me a little longer to get to Houston + Mercer).

The man next to me started to laugh out loud as he leafed through his newly acquired business day section. I had to hand it to him …You'd be hard-pressed to find someone that would find a recent business article laughable. That aside I didn't take the bait. After 10 minutes of his laughter, the man fell silent. Enough time for me to quickly start in on the Dining Out course ("What's Hot, What's Not In Pots and Pans," I was just dying to know).

One measly paragraph into metallic mille-feuille and heat-conducting alloys, the man next to me decided to overlook my silent "do not disturb" distress signals and continue a conversation that unbeknownst to me we were having.

The stock market. Oo brother.

I continued to look back at my newspaper being sure to throw in the occasional "Oh yeah?" "Umm hmm" and "Ah ha" …Hoping he'd get the clue. Nope. He was halfway through telling me about what he lost in ENRON (don't worry, he sued and won),when he suddenly asked me if I had ever been to Washington DC or the east coast. I commented that yes, I was actually born in New Hampshire. A woman dressed in red and sitting nearby with her laptop piped in.

Woman: "I was born in New Hampshire!"

Me: "Really? I was born in Exeter."

Woman: "Me too! Exeter Hospital!"

Me: "Me too! Do you have a really small birth certificate?"

Woman: "Yes! It's the size of my social security card."

Me: "Mine too!"

Woman: "It's a small world."

(I knew she'd say that)

Me: "Yes it is."

She then launched into some story about trying to get into a show with her New Hampshire license + being given a hard time. She then realized it was an 18+ show. Silly her.

The man seated next to me sat back + took in the woman + I's conversation.

Man: "I think it's real cute that the two of you are from the same city."

…

The woman put her headphones on and I attempted to get back to the toils of Teflon …Secretly wishing I had taken the open chair next to my fellow Exeterite. Too late now.

The man continued to detail his career (something involving two prestigious sounding last names), a story about his "alcoholic" uncle who drives a limo (no punch line needed) throughout Washington DC (meets a lot of senators) and how (the man, not the alcoholic uncle who the family rarely speaks to because he's alcoholic) owns verses rents within the neighborhood and that it's seems to be working out "great" even though he's not one to be "tied down".

It was time to pull out my cell phone and text Luke. Luke + I dated over 4 yrs ago + on/off since (though this entry is not about that. If you've been reading my blog then you're familiar with my Luke/zombies story back in April) Luke is the person that is always there for me in such matters + has played hero more than once. His last heroic endeavor involved us going to see Zohan …in theater.

Me: SOS! Oo crap!

Luke: Is this about plants? Sorry, I like plants.

(I'm trying to get him to adopt two of my plants for the winter season)

Me: I'm seated near a creepy guy. He won't stop talking!

Luke: I am so far away. Tried picking your nose?

Me: It's ok, I figured you were far off. You're still my hero.

Me: "That's the name of the game: fun. Fun is a must. You look like you have fun." LUKE!

Luke: Blushing out loud.

Me: He looks like Bill Clinton's brother. I miss you.

Luke: This is like a transcript of a 911 call. I miss you too.

Me: "I've had the pleasure to be related to many interesting people. Very global. My Mother knows 7 languages."

Luke: Oh, the humanity.

The man seated next to me who I now knew (whether I liked it or not) as Mike seemed to overlook my very obvious texting + general disinterest. He pushed forward into a story about another uncle who died too young + was "way into" cubism.

By this time I continued my texting with Luke + had taken out my fresh copy of Time Out: Chicago. I think this finally tuckered Mike out as he spun tale upon tale laced with colorful adjectives about himself + not so covert attempts to find out more about me. He mumbled something about having to be somewhere, shook my hand + wished me a "joyful day!"

A hour or so more of reading, a second large Americano + after yet another (though much more enjoyable) unsolicited conversation with the effeminate guy who took Mike's former seat next to me. He also turned out to be an adopter from my work + I remembered medicating his cat.

(the conversation started like this:

Guy: "I just quit my freelance job + got an email from my boss wishing me 'good karma,' do you think she's being passive aggressive?"

Me: "Well, what is she usually like?"

Guy: "Oo! The Devil Wears Prada! She's Jewish too."

Me: "Well, tomorrow is Yom Kippur + she's been fasting.")

I decided to head home. As I walked up Clark, my friend Mat texted me.

Mat: "How was coffee? I had phys therapy at 11 so I couldn't make it."

Me: "Coffee was amusing. The stories I could tell you."

Let this be a lesson if you ever find yourself with the business day section. It's better to either go ahead and pretend to read it or toss it (Ok, ok recycle).

Archives: April 2008

Org. Post: Saturday, April 12, 2008

A Touched Lemon: It Is What It Is Until It Isn’t + Then It Was What It Was Until …

The truth is, the medicinal smell of his bandages just added to my nausea.

That's what I kept thinking, this past Friday, a day after Primo went under for a toe amputation and mass removal on the side of his neck.

I woke up with either a 24 hr. stomach flu or food poisoning …I'll spare those who have never had the great misfortune of either one and their gruesome details. Basically, I lived on my sofa and couldn't even hold down a glass of water. However, I still had to tend to my wobbling patient and his new round of medications. We were quite the pair.

Like some feline Houdini equivalent., Primo managed to shake off his bandages (three times in a course of a few hours. I kept count). I managed to stagger into the kitchen and there we sat, Primo between my legs, my head back, trying not to vomit, rewrapping his "new" paw …Wishing I could explain to him that he must keep this bandage on. Unfortunately, "infection," means very little to him and we struggled the whole way through. (I've failed to mention that as of Thursday, Primo weighed in at 15 lbs. 13 oz.).

As I type this, Primo is quite happy with himself …Rolling about the floor on his back and licking the inside of his cone-shaped collar (Surprising, two days after surgery …That is until I tell you: He's on painkillers).

I woke up this morning as though I hadn't been hurling my insides, the day previous. I managed to run a few errands and held my breath as I put my key into the lock and opened my apartment door ("Please, please still have that bandage on! Please?") …Sigh of relief, he hadn't worked any of his magic.

_____________________________________________________

"But Mom, you told me that you almost drowned as a child …And we have a pool!"

That was my usual argument, growing up, whenever the topic of "pets," would come up. My Mother was unknowingly raising a monster …Which directly contradicted her "The only sort of pet you can have, Mandy, must fit within a small tank."

I named my first (of many) goldfish, Beethoven. I would like to say that I arrived on such a name due to being a member of an orchestra (which I was) or that my goldfish had a fondness for both alcohol and powdered wigs. The truth was, I had just come back from seeing "Beethoven," at the local cinema. Since a dog could never fit within the confines of a tank (though I'm sure the Japanese are onto that), I named my goldfish a proper dog name …He died a few days later (unceremoniously).

My goldfish death rate knew no bounds …Soon I added chameleons, toads, frogs, a turtle (that lived in the bathtub for a day) and a gerbil to the tank-sized death toll.

I did manage to (sort of …) own two cats throughout this period …Though, the first (Tiger) would be hit by a car before I was able to bring her home and the second (Blackie) managed to go to a "farm," a few months after bringing her home (I should note that my Mother both never wants to talk about this and is the only person aware of the whereabouts of any supposed "farm").

I'm not sure how my younger brother, Matthew and I managed to wear my Mother down but my Mother's decision to allow a dog into the household was made so flippantly, as though Matthew and I had never asked for one. That's how we adopted Lady. A "dog," that I could never bring myself to call a "dog," without air quotes (that said, those who know me, know that I'm quite fond of air quotes across the board so it's really no surprise). She was a Chihuahua/terrier …So the air quotes are understandable. Lady would pass away 14 yrs later, during my first visit back to Michigan. I'd like to think that she waited for me to come back but I'm sure science would have something to say about that.

By that time, I had Lola and she was already half way towards hating the world.

All of this brings up the question: Did your lack of proper pets make you the owner of count them, 4, cats today?

Probably. Probably not. To be honest, I've never really thought of it that way but thanks for your in-depth analysis as to why most of my furniture resembles mohair (that's an exaggeration). Perhaps it's because my Father didn't hug me enough (that was sarcasm …or a Freudism). ___________________________________________________________

I've been holding my writing breath, so to say, over the past couple of weeks for fear that something would go array with Primo (He gave me a great scare while coming out of his biopsy, a week ago).

If you had asked me nearly 2 and a half years ago if I'd ever be sharing an apartment with a diabetic, (now) 17-toed (opposed to 18) cat …I would have said "No". Actually, I probably would've remarked on what a strange question that was and say "Sorry," as I walked away …slowly. Perhaps I'd give you a quarter.

It's true, Primo has been a crash course in cat-care 101. I can't even remember the near 6 mths I had him before he first crashed diabetic.

Having Primo in my life has been a share of highs/lows, ups/downs. A couple of days after his biopsy, when the results came back and I heard for the first time "mast cell tumors," I was admittedly upset and quite visibly so. I simply just felt bad for him …And yes, I felt scared. I was surprised by my reaction. I always lean towards the practical sense and I've held it together numerous times, always turning towards humor, throughout the many passings throughout my two years at Tree House Animal Foundation.

I know that pending any accidents (I'm looking at you cabbies), I will outlive my cats …A realization that's a lot easier to swallow when they've lived a long life …Primo's 4 yrs old. I'm his best bet through all of this and such a feeling of responsibility can be quite overwhelming. I wasn't ready in all my selfishness to let him go without doing and trying my best. That said, I by no means overlook my good fortune working where I work and I'm thankful for those who have been there for both Primo and myself.

As I shaved the side of Primo's head/neck, pre-surgery, I noticed a perfect surgical Y scar, near his ear. I can't recall, to the best of knowledge, Primo ever having any sort of ear related surgeries. I feared if I kept shaving I'd come across a prison tattoo. ____________________________________________________________

All of this said, I will never ask you to clean my cats' litter boxes (that is unless you cat-sit). You will never receive an invite to their birthday parties (nothing personal, I assure you, I'm just not one to do such). I will never dress my cats up in Burberry, lederhosen or rain slickers. I will never have a curio cabinet, within my apartment, entertaining a display of cat figurines.

I can't defend or argue the fact that I have 4 cats. All I know is that as I sit on my sofa, typing this …I look over to Primo, rolling on the floor, his pupils fully dilated, licking the inside of his cone. Lola sprawled out on top of a copy of the New York Times' Book of House Plants. (Princess) Milo curled up on my bed's pillows, as though he fell …And Alton (Brown) sitting up in the bathroom, holding watch for I don't know what (he's the weirdo) …They make sense. There's nothing about them that says out of place. They're home as much as I am.

And yes, there will be no number 5, thanks but no thanks.



Org. Post: Sunday, April 27, 2008

What’s Up, Left, Right …A Sit Down With Myself

I imagine if I were to be interviewed, right now (or if I were to interview myself, that is …I imagine such, I suppose) …It'd go something like this:



Me: Hi, Amanda Jordyn …

Myself: Hi, you can call me Amanda +/or Jordyn …'Amanda Jordyn,' sounds a bit backwoods …or like I'm talking with my Mother.

Me: Ah ok, Amanda

Myself: That works …Hey, could we keep this sort of short. I had a guy, on the phone at work, today tell me to 'go fuck yourself,' …So I sort of have plans.

Me: Ah ok, Amanda …That's a bit TMI.

Myself: TMI? Please no acronyms.

Me: Fair enough …Hey, is that 70s rock I hear in the background?

Myself: Yes …In moments of extremes I often turn to 70s rock. I also sleep on the sofa but that's neither here nor there.

Me: Sleep on the sofa?

Myself: Yes …I often wonder if my Mother had a sofa, in her womb …Whenever I'm overly stressed or out of sorts, I take to sleeping on the sofa …It also may have something to do with the fact that my sofa is located in front of my television and I like to fall asleep to a DVD, on repeat …

Me: That's not very environmental of you …It being only a week after Earth Day.

Myself: [cold dead stare]

Me: Let's continue, shall we? I know time is of essence.

Myself: What is this for again?

Me: Well, you haven't written anything in nearly a month and you're bored.

Myself: Oo yes, that.

Me: How's Primo doing? I know that he recently had a finger amputated and last we knew he was wearing an e-collar +/or cone.

Myself: Primo's great …He's actually curled up on my lap, at the moment. His paw looks wonderful, the hair is growing back and he's almost as good as new. It's funny, before his surgery, he never would lay his paw on my face …I now wake up to him casually tossing his amputated-finger paw on my cheek …He's always been a bit passive aggressive, in nature.

Me: I know that during his recovery, you were dealing with a bit of the stomach flu, how are you feeling?

Myself: I feel fine …The stomach flu was sort of a blessing in disguise …Just what I needed to put my diet back in check. I have yet to really venture out palate-wise …I'm sort of sticking to LARA bars, mashed potatoes and the occasional meal out. The other night I had a cashew butter/fig sandwich, which was delicious.

Me: How's your love life?

Myself: I'd prefer not to get too personal, here …Though, I'm sure any Woody Allen quote would do in response to such a question.

Me: Ah ok, so Woody Allen does your PR?

Myself: He should …If only I were 10 yrs younger.

Me: I know you haven't been writing, lately …We'll touch on that later but have you been reading at all?

Myself: Sure, I'm surrounded by books. I have a list of books I should be reading …My concentration hasn't been all that great but I did manage to finish 'I Thought There'd Be Cake," by Sloane Crosley, which I found charming. I've been hoping around 'The New Kings of Non-Fiction,' which has an introduction by Ira Glass …Not too bad. Right now though, I'm enjoying 'Jokes, Riddles, Funny Stories," a children's book from 1959 that I picked up, last week, at the Brown Elephant.

Me: Jokes? Care to share any?

Myself: Sure! Why is it useless to send letters or telegrams to Washington?

Me: I have no idea …

Myself: Because he's dead …You gotta love children's books.

Me: From the mouths of babes …I hear Elton John, in the background …Aside from 70s rock, have you been listening to anything new?

Myself: I have a copy of Cat Power's latest covers album, on my coffee table right now …Like most, if not all, of her cover work, it's quite good. I particularly like her cover of James Brown's 'Lost Someone'.

Me: Any particular reason?

Myself: [cold dead stare] …I just like it. This morning, I was listening to that very track, making coffee and getting ready for work …I decided to switch to the radio and they were playing Harry Nilsson's 'Without You,' …I had to laugh.

Me: Don't get me wrong, Nilsson is great but that's not really funny …

Myself [cold dead stare] Like I said, I had to laugh.

Me: Ok, ok, I'll let it go.

[quick side note: it's moment like this that I fear my phone ringing + someone asking me "So what are you up to?"]

Myself: I've also recently been listening to a local act called Red Delicious …She sounds a lot like another favorite of mine, Mirah. I strongly recommend.

Me: Good to know …It's been ages since anyone has heard you offer a music review.

Myself: Then you'll remember it.

Me: O…K, so …You have new neighbors! Are they everything you had hoped for?

Myself: Why yes they are! I'd even go so far as to say that they are neighbors-slash-friends …Anna + Paul are great. Paul is a commercial photographer and Anna is getting her Masters in writing. They're both well traveled and we can often be found sitting on our shared back decklet, talking/laughing. I really lucked out …I had a list of worries.

Me: I also hear you have a few new additions to your decklet.

Myself: Who are you hearing this from? Name your source.

Me: You.

Myself: Ok …Yes, new additions indeed + I'm quite excited. I finally did away with my dead/rotting aloe plants …Who sadly didn't make it through winter …In turn, I have a few new plants. Greek oregano, chocolate mint, poppies that are rising by the day and a new aloe plant …I also repotted the Christmas cactus that my Mother had given me months ago. I'm about 60% sure that it's dying but ye have a little hope when it comes to a green thumb, am I right?

Me: That's a far cry for someone who was raised with plastic plants.

Myself: My favorite new plant, however, I bought last Wednesday and it's honestly one of the most beautiful flowers I've ever seen …It's called the Star of Bethlehem.

Me: Star of Bethlehem?

Myself: Yes …I carried it around the plant shop with me, for a little bit …During which a bumble bee opted to catch a ride on one of it's petals …Needless to say, I walked slowly. On my way home, plant in hand, I passed a couple …One woman was in a window and the other was on the sidewalk …As I passed, across the street …Window woman yelled out 'Like the plant she has!' and Sidewalk woman yelled over to me 'Hey what kind of plant is that?' …I yelled back, across my street 'Star of Bethlehem" …Something I never thought I'd yell and had to laugh.

Me: You're hilarious.

Myself: Thank you.

Me: We're nearly two pages into this interview …I want to touch on your lack of writing, if that's ok.

Myself: That's fine but I'm afraid there's little to say. Sometimes things happen, life gets in the way, I'm busy or I'm a bit saturated in numerous stories +/or to-dos that I'm really not sure where or how to begin …Usually it works itself out and …please excuse the term …I get a spark that leads to a topic I can weave a few happenings/observations together.

Me: You shouldn't be afraid of using "spark" to explain your process …It's kind of poetic.

Myself: Exactly …I hate poetry.

Me: Oo yeah, that's right. I'll edit out spark, if you'd like.

Myself: Thank you.

Myself: That's fine but I'm afraid there's little to say. Sometimes things happen, life gets in the way, I'm busy or I'm a bit saturated in numerous stories +/or to-dos that I'm really not sure where or how to begin …Usually it works itself out and …please excuse the term …I get a spark that leads to a topic I can weave a few happenings/observations together.

Me: Don't you find talking about your writing as some form of process a touch self important?

Myself: Yes, it's making me a bit uncomfortable with you …But you asked.

Me: Are you going to get that text message?

Myself: Yes, it's my friend Nick …He wants to know why I'm joining the nunnery.

Me: You're joining the nunnery?

Myself: [cold dead stare]

Me: We're almost done, I promise …

Myself: Good, I need to go fuck myself, you know …

Me: You rarely curse.

Myself: I was using air quotes.

Me: Are you laughing because the Shaft theme is playing?

Myself: Right on …

Me: You're such a bad mutha ..

Myself: Shut your mouth!

Me + Myself: SHAFT!

Me: Hey, the cat that you crawled under a house for, back in January, was adopted …That must feel great.

Myself: Yes! A definite silver lining to my day.

Me: Well, Amanda …Is there anything you'd like to add?

Myself: Always but I'm going to keep such on the back burner, for now. I'm kind of tired and have to be up early for work, tomorrow.

Me: I understand …Waiting for that spark?

Myself: I should go brush my teeth.

Me: I notice you have two toothbrushes.

Myself: [cold dead stare] …I'm big into dental hygiene.

Me: Fair enough. Thank you for your time.

Myself: To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering one must not love. But then one suffers from not loving. Therefore to love is to suffer. Not to love is to suffer. To suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy, then, is to suffer. But suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore to be unhappy one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer from too much happiness.

Me: Are you quoting Woody Allen?

Myself: Yes …Didn't you see my air quotes?

Archives: Mar. 2008

Org. Post: Thursday, March 13, 2008

Bonjour Jeune Fille: I Think I Just Stepped On ...

Note: I’ve started writing this …piece …while watching a movie (or film, since it’s subtitled and French …Isn’t that the definition of "film"?) …Yes, I’m writing while watching a subtitled film, which I’ve been meaning to watch for the past couple of days. I have no idea what is going on, as I glance from my computer’s screen to my television across the way. I think two of the characters are having a bit of a squabble (I mean, two characters are being French and passionate).

1993-1994.

I’m not connected to the internet at the moment so I can’t give you a list of events that happened throughout those two years.

[The French people are making out …I mean, the French people are being French and passionate]

Unfortunately, my copy of Random House’s Timetables of History ("revised edition," no less) doesn’t lend itself to 1993-1994. It stops at 1993 but only lists up to 1992.

The events during such a time are somewhat pointless, anyway. Basically, all you need to know for the sake of this …piece is:

-I was in 7th grade

-I was the youngest in my class (something about being the first born, the guinea pig …My brother would wait an extra year before starting school and in turn be amongst his age group).

-My parents were riding out the rest of their marriage. A legal separation that would last a full year before the actual divorce proceedings. A divorce that would take yet another full-year to become finalized.

[A French woman is dancing topless, in a pair of black stockings …I mean, ah you get it by now.]

I spent the summer of 1993 recuperating from what would be my last surgery (a bone graph, in case you were curious). I spent my hot summer days laid up on the sofa, eating mashed potatoes, drinking Ensure and reading about my latest obsession: The Beatles.

By Fall, the first day of junior high, I was beyond well-read on Liverpool’s best known export.

A couple of you knew me during this period (My brother Matthew, especially, since we still shared a bedroom at the time). A handful of you have probably heard me refer to my "Beatle years" or how "some people deal with their awkward pre-teens and a divorce with drugs and alcohol …I became obsessed with John, Paul, George + Ringo".

It’s funny, the way only hindsight can be funny, to think of how my adoration for the Beatles could separate me from my peers and give way to a year of ridicule. A year that was already marked for such given that I was on the cusp of puberty and my most exciting summer story began with "…And then they took bone marrow from my hip bone and implanted it in my gums …". I was definitely in the market for being ostracized.

Though, I’m sure the retainer I had to wear that had a false tooth attached until the marrow hardened and descended as a bonafide tooth or the growth of my hips or my skin’s need to erupt played a role in my peers looking at me sideways (or my fondness for wearing knitted vests ….) …What seemed to capture everyone’s attention the most was that I was indeed (and self-admittedly) obsessed with a popular band of yesteryear.

It’s true …I was a Beatle-maniac. I make no excuses for that. I collected and celebrated the entire catalog. Any books I could get my hands on, records, cassettes, cds, posters, tshirts, a bedspread, movies, ticket stubs, figurines (yes, figurines), pins, newspaper clippings, coins, trading cards …etc. etc. You name it, I had it.

After a day of school, being called "Beatle girl," ("Beatle freak" and eventually just "freak" would come as the school year unfolded into spring), kids stomping their foot and shouting "I think I just stepped on a BEATLE!" …I’d walk through my parents’ latest shouting match, straight to my bedroom (Matthew was quite popular. Four years my junior and friends with nearly everyone in the neighborhood so I had a few hours to myself) …I’d push "play," on my stereo, grab a book profiling the meaning of every Beatles song ever recorded and escape to a simpler time. A time when everyone loved the Beatles. A time I would have belonged.

[I’m so behind on watching the French film across from me …Two characters are walking about, blindfolded. This doesn’t speak to me at all.]

John was my favorite, followed by George. Paul sort of annoyed me and Ringo, well he was hit or miss (though, ultimately, that same year Ringo Starr and his All-Star band would prove to be my first concert).

When John said he wanted to "hold your hand," I was palms up. When he said to "imagine," I gave it my best. When I found out that "Norwegian Wood," was rumored to be about John’s infidelity, I hung my head in dismay. When John and his band mates delved into the teachings of Maharshi Yogi …Well, I had to draw the line somewhere.

Flea markets, museums, rummage sales, antique malls …These were my hip hang outs. I’d nod politely while flipping through a woman’s records labeled "for sale," while she explained to me that she quit eating ham sandwiches after Mama Cass died (true story).

To my Mother’s credit, she chauffeured me through all of this, literally. She was 7 yrs old, in 1964, when the Beatles made their US debut on the Ed Sullivan show. She wasn’t much in the way of being a fan …Perhaps if Michael MacDonald had been a member. Regardless, she was my backing and would readily listen to my constant Beatles-speak. My Mother even helped me with my 1965-era John Lennon Halloween costume, that year (which was a dark day, for me, throughout the classrooms of Central Intermediate).

During this time, the lead singer of some band named Nirvana, committed suicide. The halls of my junior high were filled with flannel clad kids, crying near their lockers, whispering about a "conspiracy ," sharing Walkmens and later on in the day, cigarettes across the street. I was confused …Why were they mourning someone who chose to take their life? …John Lennon didn’t have a choice!

[French film: off]

By 1994-1995, my love for the Beatles had waned. The first day of 8th grade, I walked into school …the usual smell of freshly sharpened No. 2s …and a handful of classmates wearing Beatles’ tshirts. The same kids that had ridiculed me for the better half of the previous school year. Yet, no one said anything about them, no one threw anything at them, no one stomped their foot or uttered a word about John and Paul "masturbating" with each other.

By the end of 8th grade, my Beatles shrine had all but disappeared. Packed safely away in the attic …where it remains today, back in Michigan. My listening to the Beatles had all but dwindled to the occasional song on the radio. My Father had moved out for good and divorce proceedings were taking hold. I moved into my own bedroom. The first poster I hung up on one of my new walls was R.E.M.’s "Monster" (I had a bit of a crush on Mike Mills, who listed John Lennon as an influence).

To this day, I still have all of the Beatles’ US and UK release dates dictated to memory. Four times a year, I’ll be going through my mental to-do list …"Ok, work at 11, I need to pay my cell bill during lunch break, should probably stop by the grocery after work, need more cereal …Oo and it’s George Harrison’s birthday, hmm …Oo, should probably return so and so’s phone call."

This past Wednesday, I found myself browsing at my nearby Brown Elephant resale store. I made my way through the books, the coffee mugs, the various 3rd grade handicrafts, the framed pictures, shoes, stereo equipment, pots/pans/cake molds, etc.

Before heading out, I glanced over the cds/cassettes section. It appeared that someone had donated their entire collection of Beatles’ albums on cassette. Nearby, a boy of 15 or 16 was rifling through copies of "Revolver" and "A Hard Days Night" …In his hands were 4 or 5 other Capitol/Apple released titles (3 or 4 if you count the "White Album"). I smirked to myself. After the boy had left, I reached over for "Rubber Soul," slipping it into my basket.

I’ve been trying to get "Michelle," out of my head for years ..But then again, you see how I am when it comes to French.

Org. Post: Tuesday, March 18, 2008

My Golden Girl: What’s My Line?

I received the following card, from my Mother, yesterday:



Inside: "There’s nothing a little lipstick can’t fix!"

My Mother wrote: "Oh my! If this isn’t going to be me in 20 yrs. (or so). Ha!"

Later on, in the evening, my Mother called:

Mom: "Hi honey, did you get my card?"

Me: "Yes and you obviously didn’t get my voicemail."

Mom: "Oo, I haven’t checked it."

[Note: And this is how it goes. If I call and leave a voicemail, she never checks it. However, if I call without leaving a voicemail ...I can expect a call a few minutes later, "Are you ok, honey!? You didn’t leave a voicemail!"]

Me: "That really is you, in 20 yrs. ’or so’."

Mom: "Well, almost! I’m going to look like Betty White ...Don’t you think so?"

Me: "Yes, Mom, you are going to look just like Betty White."

[I’ve debated this in the past and trust me when I say, much like going down to the river ...do not go up that mountain.]

My Mother will look like Betty White, in 20 yrs. (or so) and that’s that. I get a kick out of the fact that within 10 yrs. my Mother has gone from "I strongly resemble Sela Ward" to aging aspirations of Betty White.