Suffice: intransitive verb
1 : to meet or satisfy a need : be sufficient (a brief note will suffice) —often used with an impersonal it.
2 : to be competent or capable
transitive verb : to be enough for
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Scene: Saturday evening; Brian + I sitting on my living room's sofa.
Me: "[insert analytical mastery that escapes me at the moment] ...suffice."
Brian: "What does that mean?"
Me: [face falls]
Self-Mental Flash: "Oo no, he's dumb. Oo crap, wait, what? He's usually so smart, how can he not know what 'suffice' means? Uh-oh. How do I explain without being condescending? I don't want to hurt his feelings. Crap. I can't believe he doesn't know what 'suffice' means. I'm dating a guy who doesn't know what 'suffice' means. Crap. He's looking at me. He's reading my face. Ok, here goes ..."
Me: "Uh, well suff-"
Brian: "Honey! I know what suffice means, I was teasing! Did you really think I didn't know what 'suffice' meant?"
Me: [sigh of relief]
Self-Mental Flash: "Thank goodness! Thank you, thank you. I knew he knew what it meant! Of course he knew, I never doubted him for a second!"
Me: "Don't scare me like that! I didn't want to hurt your feelings!"
Brian: "Honey ...Suffice it to say you are a whore. Did I use it in the right context?"
Me: "Yes! I'm so relieved!"
[side-splitting/tummy aching laughter ensues]
____________________________________________________________________
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
A-Click-Click-Click: Lima Bean, You A Bean!
“Remember: Fluffernutter (compared to life)”
I had been awake for nearly 24 hrs., last December and as I laid in bed, daylight highlighting the snow, I started to construct my next bit of writing.
My eyes grew heavy and my pillow was all too soft so before sleep finally found me, I reached for my bag which was hanging on the knob …I took out my pocketbook + fumbled for a pen. In my mini-notepad I wrote the above.
Everyday since then, I’m reminded: “Fluffernutter (compared to life)” and the piece that remains unwritten, unpenned.
So please bare with me, I assure you it’s coming ‘round the bend. For those who know me know that piece is within me with fluff, peanut butter + two slices of bread.
___________________________________________________________________________
I ventured out in the negative temperatures + purchased a couple necessities for my night in. My first stop was a small Mexi-mart, nearby. There I would purchase a can of butter beans. As I stood in line, a man cut in front of me.
Cashier: “Sir, the end of the line starts behind the woman with the red hat.”
Man: [on his phone] “She only has a can of beans.”
Cashier: “Sir, please step behind her.”
Man: [still on phone] “I won’t take that long, I only have a few things.”
Cashier: “Sir, she only has beans, it won’t take too long.”
Man: [still still on phone] “I’m in a hurry!”
Me: “It is a BIG can, sir.”
Man: [on phone, glares at me + my red hat. Insert audibly aggravated sigh as he steps behind me]
I made a couple more stops before heading home, my ears bright enough to match my cap but still intact.
_____________________________________________________________________
This evening, as I started to make dinner, I turned on a collection of Nina + started my chopping.
On the menu was a tried + true recipe that will forever mirror my life here, in Chicago.
It was the winter of 2003-04, I had lived in Chicago for nearly 2 yrs., in my then-breadbox sized studio apartment. I shared my first Chicago residence with only one cat, the infamous Lola. I was 21 yrs old on my way to 22. I was in a long distance relationship with a snarky artist, spent my evenings over cups of black coffee at a nearby diner, wore a white belt and picked up freelance work here/there after recently (and indefinitely) pulling myself away from writing reviews.
It was during this time I happened to befriend a man named Bill, who was raised in one of Chicago’s many Irish/Italian immigrant homes. His Mother, Italian, had spent her days cooking recipes for her family of 8 …”Peasant” recipes that were inexpensive, hearty + from her homeland of Italy. It was her recipe for butter bean soup that Bill would teach me + years later continue to find it’s way into my kitchen.
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I’m sure everyone has that one recipe, that one meal or dish that they’re good at …Even the worst of cooks must have that one culinary pitch-perfect note. Whether it be an expert bologna sandwich, the way you add carrots + tofu to Ramen or on a grander scale, Grandma’s Stove Top stuffing recipe. Microwave to oven-made, hot dogs to filet mignon.
I could make butter bean soup blindfolded (I also believe I‘m the sole owner of such bragging rights). I’ve changed the recipe somewhat from the original (fresh garlic opposed to garlic powder) but it remains basic, tasty + especially nowadays the all too important: cheap w/ budget-friendly leftovers. I’ve never posted the recipe but I’ve always been game to share it.
Ingredients:
-5 cloves fresh garlic (I happen to love garlic + with this weather any boost in immunity will do. Less/more depends on taste)-1 can butter beans
-1C (or half a small bag) of pastini (small pasta)
-Water
-Salt/pepper to taste
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In an event of a fire, I’d be sure to grab my cats (it’s in their contract), hopefully have enough time to grab my pocketbook, my laptop, Primo’s insulin (that too is in his contract) …Of course, given more time I’d make sure to grab family photos, a few select books and my beloved stockpot.
Yes, beloved. Yes, a stockpot. Given to me as a gift a few years back by a former neighbor who manned the kitchens at the Drake Hotel, this stockpot has been the base of many a meals. Plus, I store it on the top shelf, in my kitchen, which makes me step onto my tippy-toes. Great for calve muscles.
____________________________________________________________________________
Back to the soup …
I start by smashing the garlic cloves (I buy them pre-peeled, a genius idea that secretly makes me bitter for not thinking of it). Placing my stockpot on a front burner, I click on the gas + coat the bottom of the pot with extra virgin olive oil (vegetable oil would work but eww). 
Adding the garlic on low, I wait until it becomes fragrant w/ a few stirs before adding the complete contents of my one can of butter beans. Raising the heat to med/high, I half-cover + bring to a soft boil. It’s at this point that I add black pepper (sometimes red pepper flakes + celery seed because well, I like celery seed), stir. Using the same butter beans can, I add one canful of water.
Half-cover + bring to a boil.
La Moderna makes great small pastas which can be found at grocery chains + small Mexican marts alike. Usually priced at 75 cents or less a bag, I opt for the stars due their strong resemblance to the Star of David. I never measure an exact amount but find that half a bag makes for plenty. When bean/garlic/olive oil mixture comes to a boil, add pasta + lower to a simmer, stirring occasionally. Within 10-15 minutes (I chose to play with my brand new Slinky during this time. Note: Cats hate Slinkies) …Ta-da, soup’s on!
I like to add Saltine crackers (and ok, steal Saltines from the counter every time I walk back into the kitchen to stir the soup) + sometimes I add whole green beans or frozen sweet peas along w/ the pasta. I’m sure there are many things that could be added, Bill liked to add parmesan or a parm/romano blend. Ridiculously simple. Store leftovers in the fridge, soup will thicken. Delicious.
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And now how about some more Nina?
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
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?"
Friday, December 5, 2008
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.
___________________________________________________________________________
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.
___________________________________________________________________________
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!’.”
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.
___________________________________________________________________________
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.
___________________________________________________________________________
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!’.”
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
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.”
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.”
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.”
Monday, December 1, 2008
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.
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