Tuesday, September 28, 2004
And they said I was Mad, MAD I SAY!
So today was a day of website goodness. That is - meetings were held in which I displayed much website to many people who collectively said something along the lines of "ah".
This is much better than "aieee" or "no" which are two words (noises?) that I have come to fear.
These were both words uttered by me at various points on my journey home. I would like to send an open letter to those of you who drive on the Kennedy Expressway in the evenings.
Dear Sir or Ms,
You drive like a moron. No offense, but there is a serious lack of panache in your driving style - not to mention a lack of safety, regard for others' safety, and interest in the rules of the road. The very idea of you existing as a possible hazard with which I will meet on my travel home is enough to make me break out in a cold sweat. Yes, Mr. BMW, I'm talking to you. You do not know the meaning of the turn signal. It is that thingy which clicks when you lift up on it. It is the thingy that ALLOWS OTHER PEOPLE TO KNOW WHEN YOU ARE GOING TO MERGE IN FRONT OF THEM. This would be a good thing to remember if you don't want me to hit your shiny new car. Mr. Truck... I see you hiding there, come out where I can see your eyes - you are so much worse. See that turn signal thingy that Mr. BMW doesn't know how to turn on? You apparently have no idea that it turns off as well. Do you have any idea how unnerving it is to drive behind a car which seems to be (at any moment) ready to merge left for 20 miles? You thought that I forgot about your attempt to merge RIGHT INTO a car in the left lane in front of me this evening? That was not nice and nearly incited me to throw a handful of dates at your ill-washed vehicle. Don't even get me started Miss Minivan...
Thus, KT's rules for the road - adapted for Chicago drivers with suggestions for punishments of violators:
1. The turn signal is your friend - know it, love it, use it. Violators will have to tow one of those construction arrows behind their car for a month while listening to the verse "the signal on the bus goes click click click" from the popular "The wheels on the bus go round and round" sung by an atonal choir of children.
2. Speed, for God's sake! No one ever goes anywhere NEAR the speed limit so just keep up with traffic. Violators will have their foot encased in a lead shoe and glued to the gas pedal of a stationary car while they watch repeated loops of the jump to hyperspace in Return of the Jedi.
3. Phones, drinks, and flossing are activities allowed in cars that are moving - eye makeup in the rearview or eating with chopsticks are not. Violators will be subject to squads of white trash ninja hairdressers who land on the roof of the car, break through the windows, and style the offender's hair into the 80's ratted wave of bangs with badly done blonde highlights. Extra mirrors will be added to the dashboard to complement the effect.
4. If someone lets you in, you must WAVE to acknowledge the niceness of the person letting you in - because really - we could have driven past your sorry ass and left you at the end of the traffic jam. Violators will be tied to the back of a semi and have a bevy (an entire bevy) of schoolchildren jeer at them while sticking out their tongues and chanting selected portions of "All I need to know I learned in kindergarten".
5. Stop signs are for stopping. That's why they're called Stop signs. This may seem elementary, but apparently people in Chicago do not understand this concept. Violators will be forced to spend a month working as a crosswalk guard outside a southside highschool in purple plaid pants.
Really - that should cover my annoyances for the day. I have found that the best method of retaliation when people clearly violate my car's personal space is to stick my tongue out at them. Somehow, the strangeness of this gets through and I at least get the sorry shrug. Ah well.
This is much better than "aieee" or "no" which are two words (noises?) that I have come to fear.
These were both words uttered by me at various points on my journey home. I would like to send an open letter to those of you who drive on the Kennedy Expressway in the evenings.
Dear Sir or Ms,
You drive like a moron. No offense, but there is a serious lack of panache in your driving style - not to mention a lack of safety, regard for others' safety, and interest in the rules of the road. The very idea of you existing as a possible hazard with which I will meet on my travel home is enough to make me break out in a cold sweat. Yes, Mr. BMW, I'm talking to you. You do not know the meaning of the turn signal. It is that thingy which clicks when you lift up on it. It is the thingy that ALLOWS OTHER PEOPLE TO KNOW WHEN YOU ARE GOING TO MERGE IN FRONT OF THEM. This would be a good thing to remember if you don't want me to hit your shiny new car. Mr. Truck... I see you hiding there, come out where I can see your eyes - you are so much worse. See that turn signal thingy that Mr. BMW doesn't know how to turn on? You apparently have no idea that it turns off as well. Do you have any idea how unnerving it is to drive behind a car which seems to be (at any moment) ready to merge left for 20 miles? You thought that I forgot about your attempt to merge RIGHT INTO a car in the left lane in front of me this evening? That was not nice and nearly incited me to throw a handful of dates at your ill-washed vehicle. Don't even get me started Miss Minivan...
Thus, KT's rules for the road - adapted for Chicago drivers with suggestions for punishments of violators:
1. The turn signal is your friend - know it, love it, use it. Violators will have to tow one of those construction arrows behind their car for a month while listening to the verse "the signal on the bus goes click click click" from the popular "The wheels on the bus go round and round" sung by an atonal choir of children.
2. Speed, for God's sake! No one ever goes anywhere NEAR the speed limit so just keep up with traffic. Violators will have their foot encased in a lead shoe and glued to the gas pedal of a stationary car while they watch repeated loops of the jump to hyperspace in Return of the Jedi.
3. Phones, drinks, and flossing are activities allowed in cars that are moving - eye makeup in the rearview or eating with chopsticks are not. Violators will be subject to squads of white trash ninja hairdressers who land on the roof of the car, break through the windows, and style the offender's hair into the 80's ratted wave of bangs with badly done blonde highlights. Extra mirrors will be added to the dashboard to complement the effect.
4. If someone lets you in, you must WAVE to acknowledge the niceness of the person letting you in - because really - we could have driven past your sorry ass and left you at the end of the traffic jam. Violators will be tied to the back of a semi and have a bevy (an entire bevy) of schoolchildren jeer at them while sticking out their tongues and chanting selected portions of "All I need to know I learned in kindergarten".
5. Stop signs are for stopping. That's why they're called Stop signs. This may seem elementary, but apparently people in Chicago do not understand this concept. Violators will be forced to spend a month working as a crosswalk guard outside a southside highschool in purple plaid pants.
Really - that should cover my annoyances for the day. I have found that the best method of retaliation when people clearly violate my car's personal space is to stick my tongue out at them. Somehow, the strangeness of this gets through and I at least get the sorry shrug. Ah well.
Ah.
So there has been general department-wide freaking out about lack of classes, over-enrolled classes and variously unattractive classes. This leads me to the conclusions that (1) I am SO glad I'm not taking classes this year and (2) This department really needs to get its collective shit together and (3) I feel the need to write a short paragraph of encouragement to my 1st and 2nd year friends.
Thus: It's ok. You are so incredibly smart that it is a damn shame that (insert professor's name here) is too stupid to recognize that you are a stunning addition to his / her class. Clearly your talents are going to be missed by your classmates that won't have the benefit of your commentary. The department IS trying to make your life difficult, but only unwittingly and thus they are to be blamed for everything up to and including that blister on your toe that you got while sprinting to a class that might not be over-enrolled. Because of this, you are entitled to not do any class work this week (as you don't know what classes you are really taking anyways) and instead drink copiously while singing an off-key rendition of "Erotica" inserting random jargon for pub patron amusement. You are also entitled to various ranting, calling of friends, and tears. These are yours because of the unnatural nature of the situation in which you have been placed, and cannot be revoked - even by God himself (unless said situation is part of some quest as a martyr and we can probably rule that out). Thus, in conclusion - It is not in any way your fault, and as the fault of the department you are not to be held responsible for the possible (clearly inevitable) consequences (even if they become entertaining).
Good luck to you all in class-finding!
Thus: It's ok. You are so incredibly smart that it is a damn shame that (insert professor's name here) is too stupid to recognize that you are a stunning addition to his / her class. Clearly your talents are going to be missed by your classmates that won't have the benefit of your commentary. The department IS trying to make your life difficult, but only unwittingly and thus they are to be blamed for everything up to and including that blister on your toe that you got while sprinting to a class that might not be over-enrolled. Because of this, you are entitled to not do any class work this week (as you don't know what classes you are really taking anyways) and instead drink copiously while singing an off-key rendition of "Erotica" inserting random jargon for pub patron amusement. You are also entitled to various ranting, calling of friends, and tears. These are yours because of the unnatural nature of the situation in which you have been placed, and cannot be revoked - even by God himself (unless said situation is part of some quest as a martyr and we can probably rule that out). Thus, in conclusion - It is not in any way your fault, and as the fault of the department you are not to be held responsible for the possible (clearly inevitable) consequences (even if they become entertaining).
Good luck to you all in class-finding!
Friday, September 24, 2004
Uh... hold on a moment - I have something offensive to say.
I hate to say this, because really I don't ever want to interfere with people's reproductive rights, but I know someone who may be pregnant and who really really really should not be having another kid.
I mean, she doesn't even take care of the one that she has. I mean that he is already so far behind academically that he will be behind for the rest of his life. I mean that he is going to turn out as a hellion for the utter lack of discipline enforced upon him. I mean that he lives in fetid horror.
And now - another child.
I'm suddenly thrust into the middle of a moral dilemma. Is it right to say that people like that should not be allowed to have more children? My better half suggests that this is insane, and that I am in no position to judge (nor is anyone else for that matter) on the fitness of someone for parenting and their reproductive rights. But then again, if you saw this child - if you saw how he is suffering even though he doesn't have a clue as to what is going on - if you saw his life stretched out in front of him and it isn't a pretty prospect - If you saw how he is 5 and doesn't know his own full name - how does the practical connect with the ideological?
She is, of course, extremely excited about the idea of getting / being pregnant. Perhaps she should stick to cats instead.
I mean, she doesn't even take care of the one that she has. I mean that he is already so far behind academically that he will be behind for the rest of his life. I mean that he is going to turn out as a hellion for the utter lack of discipline enforced upon him. I mean that he lives in fetid horror.
And now - another child.
I'm suddenly thrust into the middle of a moral dilemma. Is it right to say that people like that should not be allowed to have more children? My better half suggests that this is insane, and that I am in no position to judge (nor is anyone else for that matter) on the fitness of someone for parenting and their reproductive rights. But then again, if you saw this child - if you saw how he is suffering even though he doesn't have a clue as to what is going on - if you saw his life stretched out in front of him and it isn't a pretty prospect - If you saw how he is 5 and doesn't know his own full name - how does the practical connect with the ideological?
She is, of course, extremely excited about the idea of getting / being pregnant. Perhaps she should stick to cats instead.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Murmurs of mutiny.
So I went to the teaching workshop today.
"Ah yes," you say, nodding your head encouragingly, "is that a pencil I see sticking out of your eyeball?"
"Yes, yes it is." With my good eye I stare into space blankly... my lips mouthing sentences on leading a good discussion without a sound.
"And the pencil?" you again, intrigued at the fact that my mental numbness has actually deadened the pain receptors in my eye.
"That was hour 6" I shudder "we started our third discussion on discussions"
you nod sympathetically and helpfully add "at least it's over"
"Not... yet..... tomorrow too! ARRRRGH!" I pull the pencil from my eye and plunge it into my neck - forever freeing myself from my duty to attend the second section.
Ok. It wasn't that bad. But after our third vague discussion on leading discussion in which we were told "X is essential to running a good discussion, and none of you know how to do X, but X is different for each department / class / professor / moon of Saturn so we can't discuss any particular strategies for accomplishing X but simply leave you with the vague terror that without X your discussions will be simply incomplete" I really was starting to feel the butt-numbing pain that only 8 solid hours of lecture punctuated by 15 minute breaks can bring.
Oh man. At least they fed us. And there was coffee. And some of the speakers were really good. In fact, all of the speakers were good, it was just that we were sitting and sweating in a kiln with either too much or too little time to address the issues at hand.
Bleah. More tomorrow if I survive.
"Ah yes," you say, nodding your head encouragingly, "is that a pencil I see sticking out of your eyeball?"
"Yes, yes it is." With my good eye I stare into space blankly... my lips mouthing sentences on leading a good discussion without a sound.
"And the pencil?" you again, intrigued at the fact that my mental numbness has actually deadened the pain receptors in my eye.
"That was hour 6" I shudder "we started our third discussion on discussions"
you nod sympathetically and helpfully add "at least it's over"
"Not... yet..... tomorrow too! ARRRRGH!" I pull the pencil from my eye and plunge it into my neck - forever freeing myself from my duty to attend the second section.
Ok. It wasn't that bad. But after our third vague discussion on leading discussion in which we were told "X is essential to running a good discussion, and none of you know how to do X, but X is different for each department / class / professor / moon of Saturn so we can't discuss any particular strategies for accomplishing X but simply leave you with the vague terror that without X your discussions will be simply incomplete" I really was starting to feel the butt-numbing pain that only 8 solid hours of lecture punctuated by 15 minute breaks can bring.
Oh man. At least they fed us. And there was coffee. And some of the speakers were really good. In fact, all of the speakers were good, it was just that we were sitting and sweating in a kiln with either too much or too little time to address the issues at hand.
Bleah. More tomorrow if I survive.
Sunday, September 19, 2004
Exhaustion.
I just got back from IKEA after sending my sister on her merry trek back to Madison. We had a delightful weekend that contained all of the following (in any order you please)
marzipan
cinnamon covered cashews
cheap booze
drying racks
meatballs
curry
estate jewelry
daredevil
craft fair
pearl earrings
laughing
talking
eating (obviously)
buying spices
48 solid hours of shopping
Having a wonderful time
I don't get to see her very often, so it is always cool to have her come down and spend some time. She came prepared too! I have, like, a list of 25 places in Chicago that I should visit because of her outstanding research.
And now, I am tired. Dead tired. I am also exhausted, beat, fall-down-sleepy, and mildly comatose.
So, of course, I am doing the one thing that requires the minimal amount of activity necessary to keep me awake - namely, blogging.
The retreat was Friday - exciting and yet confusing, amusing and yet sunburnt, informative and yet boring. I got the eerie feeling that I will remain in limbo regarding my appraisal of the whole affair. It went off nicely and yet it wasn't smashing or anything. Perhaps time will tell on this one. I must say, however, that the Indiana skyway (although expensive) is a great way to see the city skyline at night. I would also like to indicate that setting a lot of English students free with a ill-drawn map and instructions to return in an hour is a dangerous proposition (especially with unmarked roads). We all returned safe -n- sound, however, and I hope that my rental car is ok.
Now it is time to get back to business, buckle down, work, and variously whine. I'm ready - after I take a quick nap.
marzipan
cinnamon covered cashews
cheap booze
drying racks
meatballs
curry
estate jewelry
daredevil
craft fair
pearl earrings
laughing
talking
eating (obviously)
buying spices
48 solid hours of shopping
Having a wonderful time
I don't get to see her very often, so it is always cool to have her come down and spend some time. She came prepared too! I have, like, a list of 25 places in Chicago that I should visit because of her outstanding research.
And now, I am tired. Dead tired. I am also exhausted, beat, fall-down-sleepy, and mildly comatose.
So, of course, I am doing the one thing that requires the minimal amount of activity necessary to keep me awake - namely, blogging.
The retreat was Friday - exciting and yet confusing, amusing and yet sunburnt, informative and yet boring. I got the eerie feeling that I will remain in limbo regarding my appraisal of the whole affair. It went off nicely and yet it wasn't smashing or anything. Perhaps time will tell on this one. I must say, however, that the Indiana skyway (although expensive) is a great way to see the city skyline at night. I would also like to indicate that setting a lot of English students free with a ill-drawn map and instructions to return in an hour is a dangerous proposition (especially with unmarked roads). We all returned safe -n- sound, however, and I hope that my rental car is ok.
Now it is time to get back to business, buckle down, work, and variously whine. I'm ready - after I take a quick nap.
Thursday, September 16, 2004
A mini-rant.
ARRRRRGH!
You know, everything was just fine until my cell phone died.
So Friday night the Boyfriend comes down to see me, and all is well.
Saturday, we hook up with Karin and her Eric for a charming evening of AMAZING food (Pappadeux - think fried alligator, oysters, shrimp, and delicious sour apple margaritas... mmm), fantastic company, a good movie, cheesecake, and the general laid-back cool hanging-outness that characterizes the group of beautiful laid-back people. Great evening.
Sunday was good too... as my Boyfriend and I hung around Evanston playing Morrowind and eating food that was oh-so-bad for us.
And I was having so much fun that I decided to follow him back to Madison on Monday.
Then my phone ran out of charge sometime Monday evening. I go on with my days - merrily incognito - silent and serene, and then I check messages today. 7 messages in varying stages of freaking out.
Apparently people were trying to get a hold of me. Apparently I am now driving a van to Michigan tomorrow - and then coming back to meet my sister tomorrow night to celebrate her birthday all weekend and I need to make some time to hang out with my family that is really missing me so I have them scheduled for next weekend, but I couldn't talk to them on the phone because it was, well, dead - and then I figured out that both my insurance companies and the university have gotten back bills that they sent me because apparently the post office has decided that I don't live at my apartment anymore and because of that I haven't gotten my phone or electric bills, not to mention the bills from the time when I sprained my ankle and it swelled up like an apricot and I have to call the NSIT people and get this websiteonlinesothatpeoplecanuseitand....
yipes. A full week worth of trauma condensed into 15 min of voicemail.
Whew.
See y'all tomorrow - bright and shiny early. I think that the ride over will suck, but people in my van are lucky 'cause I brought kazoos. Seriously.
You know, everything was just fine until my cell phone died.
So Friday night the Boyfriend comes down to see me, and all is well.
Saturday, we hook up with Karin and her Eric for a charming evening of AMAZING food (Pappadeux - think fried alligator, oysters, shrimp, and delicious sour apple margaritas... mmm), fantastic company, a good movie, cheesecake, and the general laid-back cool hanging-outness that characterizes the group of beautiful laid-back people. Great evening.
Sunday was good too... as my Boyfriend and I hung around Evanston playing Morrowind and eating food that was oh-so-bad for us.
And I was having so much fun that I decided to follow him back to Madison on Monday.
Then my phone ran out of charge sometime Monday evening. I go on with my days - merrily incognito - silent and serene, and then I check messages today. 7 messages in varying stages of freaking out.
Apparently people were trying to get a hold of me. Apparently I am now driving a van to Michigan tomorrow - and then coming back to meet my sister tomorrow night to celebrate her birthday all weekend and I need to make some time to hang out with my family that is really missing me so I have them scheduled for next weekend, but I couldn't talk to them on the phone because it was, well, dead - and then I figured out that both my insurance companies and the university have gotten back bills that they sent me because apparently the post office has decided that I don't live at my apartment anymore and because of that I haven't gotten my phone or electric bills, not to mention the bills from the time when I sprained my ankle and it swelled up like an apricot and I have to call the NSIT people and get this websiteonlinesothatpeoplecanuseitand....
yipes. A full week worth of trauma condensed into 15 min of voicemail.
Whew.
See y'all tomorrow - bright and shiny early. I think that the ride over will suck, but people in my van are lucky 'cause I brought kazoos. Seriously.
Friday, September 10, 2004
And there was PARTY and it was good.
Yesterday was wonderful.
Much stress had by me on Wednesday was entirely wasted, as it all went off without a hitch. There was pre-partying, there was party proper, there was post-party, and it was all spectacular.
Started out the day in HP running errands (for party). Met with Karin, Steph and Amber for lunch (mmmm Florian Nachos), and then took off on a wild and crazy adventure. That is, Karin, Steph and I hit Gethsemane (for Judy), The Swedish Bakery (also for Judy- mmmm marzipan), Cold stone creamery (dude - I know it's Steph's favorite, and perhaps her Magical combination of mixins does the trick, but my ice cream was so damn sweet that I thought I would go into a diabetic coma (ask Karin about the cake batter ice cream)). We then achieved Aveda for "pretty girl" purchases (rock!) and drooled over the objects in a swank furniture store (whose name I can't quite remember) from the monetary safety of the street.
Apres ca, Chez Amber for some ooohing and aaahing over her extra-swanky new apt - very cool.
Then KT took a nap on the most comfortable daybed in existence - all was oblivion until 6:45 when I was awoken to go to the Party!
Party was fantastic. People at Lucky Strike were uncommonly nice, our waitress was a sweetie, and the food / drinks went off without a hitch. The bowling was both hysterical and awesome with moments of utter coolness thrown in (although I think that Karin was hustling us, 'cause she said something about never having bowled before and then proceeded to knock down a shitload of pins; more than me. But then again, that is not saying a lot as my lack of bowling skill is already well developed [i'm thinking of a theory that develops anti-skills here] and I cannot possibly bowl without looking like a moron). Then there were presents, and marzipan cake, and carousing (yes carousing). I believe that a fantastic time was had by all.
After that wound down and most everyone was on their way home, I wandered into the bar to calm my hostess nerves with a drinkie-poo.
And then things got even more interesting. Dave, Amber, Lee, Amber's wonderful friend whose name I can't remember for the moment and am feeling really bad about, and Adam sat around at Lucky Strike for awhile boozing, having a few laughs - We run out of ice-- so I run out to get some.... Damn, slipped into musical mode again. We hung out, chatted about various things, and eventually decided to adjourn to Jimmy's for more carousing and possible hanging-outness. And then things started to get odd and yet incredibly cool. First, Dave (we love you, man) bought rounds of drinks, and then I whipped out the old Tarot deck for some party-pleasing amusement. And then I started doing readings - and then it got extra freaky because they were very very eerily accurate. Obviously I can't go into details, but feel free to ask Lee or Amber about the amusing moment when they asked me to do a reading for Gopal? (Whom I had never met before in my life). All were stunned, I was stunned, and generally it was a stunning experience. I drove home that evening, chatting with my boyfriend and exclaiming repeatedly - "it was so correct?! I was right!?" yipes.
Anyway - I arrived home and fell down into the fitful sleep of the exhausted bowler.
Thank you, everyone, for making this an incredible evening!
Much stress had by me on Wednesday was entirely wasted, as it all went off without a hitch. There was pre-partying, there was party proper, there was post-party, and it was all spectacular.
Started out the day in HP running errands (for party). Met with Karin, Steph and Amber for lunch (mmmm Florian Nachos), and then took off on a wild and crazy adventure. That is, Karin, Steph and I hit Gethsemane (for Judy), The Swedish Bakery (also for Judy- mmmm marzipan), Cold stone creamery (dude - I know it's Steph's favorite, and perhaps her Magical combination of mixins does the trick, but my ice cream was so damn sweet that I thought I would go into a diabetic coma (ask Karin about the cake batter ice cream)). We then achieved Aveda for "pretty girl" purchases (rock!) and drooled over the objects in a swank furniture store (whose name I can't quite remember) from the monetary safety of the street.
Apres ca, Chez Amber for some ooohing and aaahing over her extra-swanky new apt - very cool.
Then KT took a nap on the most comfortable daybed in existence - all was oblivion until 6:45 when I was awoken to go to the Party!
Party was fantastic. People at Lucky Strike were uncommonly nice, our waitress was a sweetie, and the food / drinks went off without a hitch. The bowling was both hysterical and awesome with moments of utter coolness thrown in (although I think that Karin was hustling us, 'cause she said something about never having bowled before and then proceeded to knock down a shitload of pins; more than me. But then again, that is not saying a lot as my lack of bowling skill is already well developed [i'm thinking of a theory that develops anti-skills here] and I cannot possibly bowl without looking like a moron). Then there were presents, and marzipan cake, and carousing (yes carousing). I believe that a fantastic time was had by all.
After that wound down and most everyone was on their way home, I wandered into the bar to calm my hostess nerves with a drinkie-poo.
And then things got even more interesting. Dave, Amber, Lee, Amber's wonderful friend whose name I can't remember for the moment and am feeling really bad about, and Adam sat around at Lucky Strike for awhile boozing, having a few laughs - We run out of ice-- so I run out to get some.... Damn, slipped into musical mode again. We hung out, chatted about various things, and eventually decided to adjourn to Jimmy's for more carousing and possible hanging-outness. And then things started to get odd and yet incredibly cool. First, Dave (we love you, man) bought rounds of drinks, and then I whipped out the old Tarot deck for some party-pleasing amusement. And then I started doing readings - and then it got extra freaky because they were very very eerily accurate. Obviously I can't go into details, but feel free to ask Lee or Amber about the amusing moment when they asked me to do a reading for Gopal? (Whom I had never met before in my life). All were stunned, I was stunned, and generally it was a stunning experience. I drove home that evening, chatting with my boyfriend and exclaiming repeatedly - "it was so correct?! I was right!?" yipes.
Anyway - I arrived home and fell down into the fitful sleep of the exhausted bowler.
Thank you, everyone, for making this an incredible evening!
Wednesday, September 08, 2004
In which I am cranky and ill.
For some reason I woke up this morning in a bad mood - could be stress - could be paranoia - could be both (as they say in medicine - "a dog can have ticks and fleas"), could also be the fact that people are yelling loudly in Romanian? Czechloslovakian? Russian? next door and apparently trying to get through my wall with a sledgehammer. I have great respect for these people (as they are making my apartment building nicer every day (including labor day - what the hell?)) however, they are seriously messing with my sleep schedule. Confused, I sit up in bed as my dream momentarily melds with reality so that I am sitting in an abandoned warehouse while a construction crane smashes into it. Kinda Freaky. Shaking my head to clear the morning muzziness, I stagger to the bathroom and scrutinise my annoyingly pale face in the mirror
"you need more sleep"
"Can't sleep in a warzone, sweetie - it might be quieter if you curl up on your kitchen floor"
"Thanks, no - I guess I'll go the shower route"
"Good idea"
Shower accomplished, various mental and physical systems seem to be online, and a sort of wave of unpleasant memories of the past few days wash over me. This happens every morning. You know - when you wake up in bed and then remember that you really DID say that to that one person and that you really DO have to go apologise, or that thing about your life that stresses you out and you temporarily forgot about for purposes of sleeping sneaks back in on cat feet to ambush you when you're out of the shower and feeling perky?
Yeah that. So I fled to Gurnee Mills and spent several hours sitting in my car reading "The Monk of Monks Hall" until I hooked up with Becky for shopping and Chili's (which I fear made me rather ill). Then back home to field emails and generally get ready for tomorrow.
Don't mind me - I'll be on the upswing by tomorrow afternoon. Just life and its little stresses. Maybe I'll break out the stripey pants. That would be good. Stripey pants it is! And maybe something shiny. These things will brighten my mood. See y'all tomorrow.
"you need more sleep"
"Can't sleep in a warzone, sweetie - it might be quieter if you curl up on your kitchen floor"
"Thanks, no - I guess I'll go the shower route"
"Good idea"
Shower accomplished, various mental and physical systems seem to be online, and a sort of wave of unpleasant memories of the past few days wash over me. This happens every morning. You know - when you wake up in bed and then remember that you really DID say that to that one person and that you really DO have to go apologise, or that thing about your life that stresses you out and you temporarily forgot about for purposes of sleeping sneaks back in on cat feet to ambush you when you're out of the shower and feeling perky?
Yeah that. So I fled to Gurnee Mills and spent several hours sitting in my car reading "The Monk of Monks Hall" until I hooked up with Becky for shopping and Chili's (which I fear made me rather ill). Then back home to field emails and generally get ready for tomorrow.
Don't mind me - I'll be on the upswing by tomorrow afternoon. Just life and its little stresses. Maybe I'll break out the stripey pants. That would be good. Stripey pants it is! And maybe something shiny. These things will brighten my mood. See y'all tomorrow.
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
What a day.
Ahhh.. it's all a clusterfuck again.
ah well.
At casa Katie we will be serving canned mushroom soup, leftover pineapple, diet pepsi, and my choice between a stunning array of sugar-free puddings. mmmmmmmmmmmm
Follow me on the tour:
Enter the front door - see that stack? That's mail that I've been ignoring - you say that some of it is printed with Ancient Eqyptian heiroglyphics? Don't touch it! That is my credit card bill and I need to pay it - your fingers may crumble the paper to dust - can't you see that it is ancient?
Walk carefully as you go - the floor is littered with random metal objects from hasty repairs and insane projects.
Enter the living room - notice the health rider that isn't being used? Yes I know that it was pointless to bring it down here when there are treadmills in the basement - yes I know that I never use it. But doesn't it look fantastic draped with my new reflex bow? Watch the pile of books there - it is high enough that the tremors from the l-train tend to cause small avalanches now and then. There's the computer - side panel removed for better airflow and papers strewn about to improve sanity - clearly not working. Yes, I know that the kitchen table is covered in jewelry - I can't keep it in the dental cabinet until said cabinet stops oxidizing the metal. No, for your own sake - don't look in the bedroom... or the bathroom.
What do I do all day so that my place looks like this? Well - today I was down at the department attempting to arrange website goodness. And Judy's party. And finding out that I need to go on the retreat (yay apples). And filling out forms. Bleah. I agree with Stephanie - cranky and antsy are the words of the day.
ah well.
At casa Katie we will be serving canned mushroom soup, leftover pineapple, diet pepsi, and my choice between a stunning array of sugar-free puddings. mmmmmmmmmmmm
Follow me on the tour:
Enter the front door - see that stack? That's mail that I've been ignoring - you say that some of it is printed with Ancient Eqyptian heiroglyphics? Don't touch it! That is my credit card bill and I need to pay it - your fingers may crumble the paper to dust - can't you see that it is ancient?
Walk carefully as you go - the floor is littered with random metal objects from hasty repairs and insane projects.
Enter the living room - notice the health rider that isn't being used? Yes I know that it was pointless to bring it down here when there are treadmills in the basement - yes I know that I never use it. But doesn't it look fantastic draped with my new reflex bow? Watch the pile of books there - it is high enough that the tremors from the l-train tend to cause small avalanches now and then. There's the computer - side panel removed for better airflow and papers strewn about to improve sanity - clearly not working. Yes, I know that the kitchen table is covered in jewelry - I can't keep it in the dental cabinet until said cabinet stops oxidizing the metal. No, for your own sake - don't look in the bedroom... or the bathroom.
What do I do all day so that my place looks like this? Well - today I was down at the department attempting to arrange website goodness. And Judy's party. And finding out that I need to go on the retreat (yay apples). And filling out forms. Bleah. I agree with Stephanie - cranky and antsy are the words of the day.
Monday, September 06, 2004
Do you want to know how unreasonably strange I am?
This is how unreasonably strange I am.
I got up this morning thinking about essential oils (no biggie, right). And thinking of flavoring my own shampoos myself instead of paying $10 to have it done for me (totally sane). And then I thought about buying essential oils online and spent 3 hours learning about the differences between essential, flavor, cosmetic, fragrance, and non-cosmetic oils (getting stranger). These still seemed expensive, so I spent another 2 hours learning the theory behind the creation of essential oils: direct steam, steam, boiling, oil saturation, etc. (starting to become odd). And then I was thinking "that doesn't look too difficult, but I don't have all the stuff here" - so I went online to American Science and Surplus to find the glassware I would need and worked up a rough sketch of the burner - flask-tubing-condensor-titrating funnel with stopcock-arrangement that I would need and figured out the pirces so that the next time I'm up in Milwaukee I can stop by and pick up the stuff (beyond odd). And then, after all that, I started working up alternate glassware configurations that would be equally effective but less expensive.
And then I thought - And how do you work sugared substances such as honey or coconut? And how do you clean the excess oils from the condensor? Jojoba? Almond oil? And isn't that a little - er - oily? I mean you want the oils, but not the oily residue so there has to be a very high concentration of fragrance to each drop of oil so perhaps I could find an alcohol or ether base to rinse the flask with and really when you come to think of it, wouldn't it be easier to use an alcohol or ether soak for the extracting process and then drive off the excess alcohol but then that is a fire hazard not to mention a health hazard and the chances of it substantially changing the flavor of the oil are such that one should prefer the steam method...I'm going to need a lilac plant. And a peppermint plant. I wonder what kind of sunlight a peppermint plant needs and if it grows really large and smells like the dickens like the mint plants in my backyard and I know I can get lilacs from my mother's garden but I'll have to wait for those and maybe rose would be a good scent. Perhaps I could just grow a peppermint plant so that I can simply boil the leaves in a pot whenever I want the pepperminty flavor and then again I have a mortar and pestle (courtesy of Kerri) so I could totally just crush some peppermint and add that to my shampoo but that might shorten its shelf life but the shelf life of shampoo is pretty short in my apartment anyways (which reminds me that I have too much hair and need to get it cut soon) but then again I want it flavored like coconut...
I got up this morning...
I got up this morning thinking about essential oils (no biggie, right). And thinking of flavoring my own shampoos myself instead of paying $10 to have it done for me (totally sane). And then I thought about buying essential oils online and spent 3 hours learning about the differences between essential, flavor, cosmetic, fragrance, and non-cosmetic oils (getting stranger). These still seemed expensive, so I spent another 2 hours learning the theory behind the creation of essential oils: direct steam, steam, boiling, oil saturation, etc. (starting to become odd). And then I was thinking "that doesn't look too difficult, but I don't have all the stuff here" - so I went online to American Science and Surplus to find the glassware I would need and worked up a rough sketch of the burner - flask-tubing-condensor-titrating funnel with stopcock-arrangement that I would need and figured out the pirces so that the next time I'm up in Milwaukee I can stop by and pick up the stuff (beyond odd). And then, after all that, I started working up alternate glassware configurations that would be equally effective but less expensive.
And then I thought - And how do you work sugared substances such as honey or coconut? And how do you clean the excess oils from the condensor? Jojoba? Almond oil? And isn't that a little - er - oily? I mean you want the oils, but not the oily residue so there has to be a very high concentration of fragrance to each drop of oil so perhaps I could find an alcohol or ether base to rinse the flask with and really when you come to think of it, wouldn't it be easier to use an alcohol or ether soak for the extracting process and then drive off the excess alcohol but then that is a fire hazard not to mention a health hazard and the chances of it substantially changing the flavor of the oil are such that one should prefer the steam method...I'm going to need a lilac plant. And a peppermint plant. I wonder what kind of sunlight a peppermint plant needs and if it grows really large and smells like the dickens like the mint plants in my backyard and I know I can get lilacs from my mother's garden but I'll have to wait for those and maybe rose would be a good scent. Perhaps I could just grow a peppermint plant so that I can simply boil the leaves in a pot whenever I want the pepperminty flavor and then again I have a mortar and pestle (courtesy of Kerri) so I could totally just crush some peppermint and add that to my shampoo but that might shorten its shelf life but the shelf life of shampoo is pretty short in my apartment anyways (which reminds me that I have too much hair and need to get it cut soon) but then again I want it flavored like coconut...
I got up this morning...
Sunday, September 05, 2004
In the works.
So the party for Judy is in the works. I really hope it comes off ok.
And in my attempt to make it rock I stopped off at the T-shirt deli today. Oh man is this place cool. I am now thinking of all the possible slogans that I should have printed on t-shirts. Perhaps the suggested "Martha-MacGyver" would be a good choice. Perhaps "If chintz could kill" perhaps something else. Damn expensive, though. You think that $1 a letter is cheap until you realize how many $ are in "instatiation". I have a feeling that my cheapness combined with my knowledge of 15 letter words are not going to work together happily on this venture. Damn that degree in literature. I'm sure that some kind of postmodernist commentary on the poverty of modern language can be made here - perhaps it can be combined with an analysis of classified section advertisements, perhaps not. I am personally not up to the task.
The people are really nice (although suspiciously high), and smiled when I walked in.
me: (staggering in the door after driving around for 20 min trying to find it and running a stop sign) "I need a t-shirt"
Them: "My god! It looks like you have a T-shirt emergency!"
me: are they serious? I look down at my shirt - do I look that bad? Or do I look that worried? And what exactly would constitute a t-shirt emergency? shouldn't lights be flashing and a squad of t-shirt operatives drop from the ceiling to offer assistance? I look into her smiling face which is staring at a spot 3 inches to the left of my ear unblinking (must be high) and said "Yes. A t-shirt emergency. This is urgent. I need a t-shirt. I need a slogan. We must make haste"
She took this in stride and walked me through the amusing steps to t-shirt goodness. Walking out of the door, doggie bag in hand, I realized that I could have made this shirt at home for 1/3 the cost, but the charm and effortlessness was enticing. I will return.
In any case. I enjoyed my first day alone in Evanston for the past 2 weeks. Ahhhh.... silence. I don't know how I became socially involved, and it is (for the record) quite fun, but sleeping in and doing my dishes have their merits. I think, however, that I am done thrifting for awhile. I have been on thrift overload. Tomorrow will probably prove to be another lazy day eating muffins (my sister makes AMAZING muffins), sleeping, working on the website, and writing things down in the new planner that I got. My planner is so cool. I finally have enough things to do that I can't remember them all. So now I have a planner with a spaceship on it.
I also went to this amazing place yesterday called Body Chemistry where you can scent your own lotions and shampoo. I got a lotion with sparklys in it with honey and lilac scent, and it is the most delicious thing I have ever smelled. Sweet!
Ok, I am obviously tired because this is one of the most rambling posts yet. I apologise and will go straight to bed.
And in my attempt to make it rock I stopped off at the T-shirt deli today. Oh man is this place cool. I am now thinking of all the possible slogans that I should have printed on t-shirts. Perhaps the suggested "Martha-MacGyver" would be a good choice. Perhaps "If chintz could kill" perhaps something else. Damn expensive, though. You think that $1 a letter is cheap until you realize how many $ are in "instatiation". I have a feeling that my cheapness combined with my knowledge of 15 letter words are not going to work together happily on this venture. Damn that degree in literature. I'm sure that some kind of postmodernist commentary on the poverty of modern language can be made here - perhaps it can be combined with an analysis of classified section advertisements, perhaps not. I am personally not up to the task.
The people are really nice (although suspiciously high), and smiled when I walked in.
me: (staggering in the door after driving around for 20 min trying to find it and running a stop sign) "I need a t-shirt"
Them: "My god! It looks like you have a T-shirt emergency!"
me: are they serious? I look down at my shirt - do I look that bad? Or do I look that worried? And what exactly would constitute a t-shirt emergency? shouldn't lights be flashing and a squad of t-shirt operatives drop from the ceiling to offer assistance? I look into her smiling face which is staring at a spot 3 inches to the left of my ear unblinking (must be high) and said "Yes. A t-shirt emergency. This is urgent. I need a t-shirt. I need a slogan. We must make haste"
She took this in stride and walked me through the amusing steps to t-shirt goodness. Walking out of the door, doggie bag in hand, I realized that I could have made this shirt at home for 1/3 the cost, but the charm and effortlessness was enticing. I will return.
In any case. I enjoyed my first day alone in Evanston for the past 2 weeks. Ahhhh.... silence. I don't know how I became socially involved, and it is (for the record) quite fun, but sleeping in and doing my dishes have their merits. I think, however, that I am done thrifting for awhile. I have been on thrift overload. Tomorrow will probably prove to be another lazy day eating muffins (my sister makes AMAZING muffins), sleeping, working on the website, and writing things down in the new planner that I got. My planner is so cool. I finally have enough things to do that I can't remember them all. So now I have a planner with a spaceship on it.
I also went to this amazing place yesterday called Body Chemistry where you can scent your own lotions and shampoo. I got a lotion with sparklys in it with honey and lilac scent, and it is the most delicious thing I have ever smelled. Sweet!
Ok, I am obviously tired because this is one of the most rambling posts yet. I apologise and will go straight to bed.
Saturday, September 04, 2004
Where oh where has that little girl gone?
So I constructed a huge update entry that was essentially what had been going on with me for the past week or so - and blogger decided to delete it. So now, sans post, I have to either reconstruct with less enthusiasm or come to terms with the fact that most of you don't really want to know about my day-to-day activities and would much rather hear about my amusing Barnes & Noble story.
If anyone really wants to know about my romps across the midwest, a (good) explanation for my bruises, how the boyfriend's cousin's wedding went (eep), wants to know how Kevin, Lee, and I proposed to beat someone senseless with a mickey mouse poncho, a vase, and a collection of pickle forks, or has a deep interest in what I bought while thrifting - just let me know.
In any case-- last night, Becky and I were in Racine hanging out (I had run up for the stupid-little-easy-to-forge-dumbass-Social-Security-card that says "KT is a US citizen" so that I can work (as if the university didn't already have this information?). So while in Racine I thought I would hang out with the ever-cool Becky at (no kidding) "Jose's Blue Sombrero" which has amazing nachos. Post this we went over to Goodwill for some quality thrifting and then ended up at the B&N.
After aquiring frappuchinos and finding a table in the back of the store at which we could sit and chat, we commenced our in-depth conversation on the intrigues of her coven. And suddenly, like, out of the blue this kid walks up to the table with his two buddies (very young - I'm thinking 16) - the transcript I will detail for you with my thoughts attached:
"Wow, There's, like, a table here now? There was only, like, a chair here before right in front of this pillar - this is like - so cool!"
My thought: eh? Is this his pickup line? Becky is giving him a bewildered stare that falls on the border between amused and annoyed. He continues, oblivious.
"Have you guys read the hip-hop dictionary? It's really cool" (pause for a moment while he trots over to grab said dictionary) "it has, like, a million slang words for everything. I didn't know half of them - I go to a rich white kid school where all the kids want to be black and they use slang like this but they don't even know what it means - hey look they have *looks at friends* like a million words for pot..."
He proceeds to stand there in front of our table and read all of the words for pot to us from the dictionary (which, I might add, is not very complete). Becky and I are staring at one another, his friends are shuffling their feet and looking confused - one of them has braces. The boy who is talking keeps smiling at us in a very disturbing way - 16, no wait... maybe 15. How old does he think we are?
looking at friends "what was that other word that we were looking up?" *silence* "I'll find it myself... it was like..."
I helpfully add "Bitch? Fitty?"
He looks them up with little success.
I ask - for my own amusement "which white kid school?"
he replies "St. Catherines high school, where do you go?"
Me - "the University of Chicago"
Him: "oh, at Loyola?"
Me - "No. The Unversity of Chicago" (rrrrrr)
This continues for 5 minutes while Becky and I stare at him. He has now consumed at least 10 minutes worth of time pontificating (book in hand) at rapid speed. His friends bodies have disappeared behind the bookshelf, but their heads are still peeking out, watching the insane boy.
Finally they scatter. Becky looks at me and says "what the hell?"
me: "were they seriously trying to pick us up?"
Beck: "Yeah. How old do you think he was?"
me: "16 - damn - neither of us looks less than 25"
Beck: "If he comes back, I'll ask him to go out to the bars with us."
If anyone really wants to know about my romps across the midwest, a (good) explanation for my bruises, how the boyfriend's cousin's wedding went (eep), wants to know how Kevin, Lee, and I proposed to beat someone senseless with a mickey mouse poncho, a vase, and a collection of pickle forks, or has a deep interest in what I bought while thrifting - just let me know.
In any case-- last night, Becky and I were in Racine hanging out (I had run up for the stupid-little-easy-to-forge-dumbass-Social-Security-card that says "KT is a US citizen" so that I can work (as if the university didn't already have this information?). So while in Racine I thought I would hang out with the ever-cool Becky at (no kidding) "Jose's Blue Sombrero" which has amazing nachos. Post this we went over to Goodwill for some quality thrifting and then ended up at the B&N.
After aquiring frappuchinos and finding a table in the back of the store at which we could sit and chat, we commenced our in-depth conversation on the intrigues of her coven. And suddenly, like, out of the blue this kid walks up to the table with his two buddies (very young - I'm thinking 16) - the transcript I will detail for you with my thoughts attached:
"Wow, There's, like, a table here now? There was only, like, a chair here before right in front of this pillar - this is like - so cool!"
My thought: eh? Is this his pickup line? Becky is giving him a bewildered stare that falls on the border between amused and annoyed. He continues, oblivious.
"Have you guys read the hip-hop dictionary? It's really cool" (pause for a moment while he trots over to grab said dictionary) "it has, like, a million slang words for everything. I didn't know half of them - I go to a rich white kid school where all the kids want to be black and they use slang like this but they don't even know what it means - hey look they have *looks at friends* like a million words for pot..."
He proceeds to stand there in front of our table and read all of the words for pot to us from the dictionary (which, I might add, is not very complete). Becky and I are staring at one another, his friends are shuffling their feet and looking confused - one of them has braces. The boy who is talking keeps smiling at us in a very disturbing way - 16, no wait... maybe 15. How old does he think we are?
looking at friends "what was that other word that we were looking up?" *silence* "I'll find it myself... it was like..."
I helpfully add "Bitch? Fitty?"
He looks them up with little success.
I ask - for my own amusement "which white kid school?"
he replies "St. Catherines high school, where do you go?"
Me - "the University of Chicago"
Him: "oh, at Loyola?"
Me - "No. The Unversity of Chicago" (rrrrrr)
This continues for 5 minutes while Becky and I stare at him. He has now consumed at least 10 minutes worth of time pontificating (book in hand) at rapid speed. His friends bodies have disappeared behind the bookshelf, but their heads are still peeking out, watching the insane boy.
Finally they scatter. Becky looks at me and says "what the hell?"
me: "were they seriously trying to pick us up?"
Beck: "Yeah. How old do you think he was?"
me: "16 - damn - neither of us looks less than 25"
Beck: "If he comes back, I'll ask him to go out to the bars with us."
