Un: Let's start off with a photo of what it looks like where I live. My favorite part is how the side view mirror captures a kind of microcosm of the bigger thing. Took this between church and work today and just thought, "Wow." Then I thought, "Oh, that man wildly gesticulating behind me probably isn't happy; that erect finger doesn't look like a friendly salutation."

Dos: I'm working on a Valentine's Day gift for Job!! Clearly it's late. It's taking awhile because, like me, it's crafty. I'm going to take the chance that he won't read this; it's a series of note cards, sheathed in adorable handmade envelopes, each labeled with an integer (1-91), entitled something like "91 Reasons I Love You". Not an arbitrary number! There are 91 days between Valentine's Day and our wedding...I may post a picture of the project at a later stage, because while it's been said there is a fine line between genius and insanity, I wouldn't want it ever to be said that I enforced a line between my genius and your insanity (for being a supporter of mine!). Also it is shaping up to being super cute, and I really feel like, Masters in English aside, coffee career aside, political stuff aside, my TRUE calling may be as a note card afficionado adviser to the executives at etsy. Duh.

 I used to make almost all of my gifts (ask Jude), regardless of budget, and while I arrived at the decision to make vs purchase this one for a number of reasons, ONE of them is that I have a ton of extra and new expenses right now. I'm grateful to have arrived here, though, because I've forgotten that I'm artistic. Not autistic though.  It kind of tickles me that the concept of do-it-yourself stuff is not new to me, but the acronym is. I feel like it's one of those phrases where, once I'd learned it (thank you etsy & pinterest: it's like I just became an offical woman, according to the internet), I now hear and read it absolutely everywhere. Everything is uber "DEEE EYYYEEEE WHYYY", y'all. This could, however, be because I'm utterly inundated with (for the most part unnecessary, unsolicited) wedding planning information--much of it a result of having visited upon myself the abomination that is theknot.com (which I am sure is a fabulous resource, IF you have, perhaps a year or two to plan a wedding, and wish to be apprised (daily)(hourly, even) via an assault on your email inbox, of allllllllll of the "ABSOLUTE ESSENTIALS!!!!" that "EVERY WOMAN" other than you is sure to include in her wedding. I don't even like to denote is as "her special day". I guess I'm kind of anti-establishment when it comes to wedding planning. I am LOVING the amateur (don't be offended, anyone, there's no "ish" suffix there! I just mean no one's on the payroll, yo! in large part because there exists no payroll--.) assistance I'm getting on a near-daily basis from people like Anne (Visit her blog! My best friend! Her blog! Visit it! And read it! you don't even have to do what it says! hey, I don't even do it: we have no Whole Foods or Trader Joe's in Vermont, so I have an out. But she's masterful at what she does, much more succinct a writer than me, and most importantly, blogs very, very consistently: http://www.glutenlessfoodie.com/); my mom; Christine; Lisa Richard Tate; Stacey; Jamin; --it's fun to add semi-colons but I'm done--, with wedding thoughts and planning. Anne's also planning her wedding, and although she and Josh were engaged before Job and I, their wedding is two weeks after ours. Primarily (and even secondarily, tertiarily, systematic, hydromatic, well it must be Grease(d) liiiightninnnnn') because of Job's impending military commitments, we're doing what I quickly grew to accept is a bit of a rush job, but is in no way unmanageable. Thanks to the women I mention above, really. And God. Where's it's due. Where it's due.

Also, I have no doubt that though it'll be marked and marred by mistakes, oversights, last minute anxiety-laden freak outs, this wedding will be mine, will be ours, Idiosyncratic, memorable, imperfect & therefore utterly perfect. <---btw if you just puked a tiny bit in your own mouth, nbd, so did I.

 DIY, right? Lol, OMG, totes, obvi. 

Tres: I suppose there is no reason not to disclose what has long been a dream of mine. There's nothing proprietary about dreams, particularly ones that are far-fetched. I have a lot of experience with dogs (helped open a dog daycare...beyond that my 'experience' is purely personal), and a ton of coffee experience. I wish I could somehow synthesize the two. The one that serves a greater need, arguably, is the idea I first began to toy with 7 years ago, just after graduating from college. A dog daycare/shelter hybrid. That sounds more socially aware, more conscious of pairing a love of mine (animals!) with an actual marketable scheme, with the end result an actual product that a significant demographic has both the need and disposable income for. The other? is just coffee. But I love working in the coffee industry. I wonder what would happen if instead of providing daycare for both owned (commonly called 'homed' in the rescue community) and homeless/shelter dogs because the owner needs to go to work, or on vacation, the draw was the actual space. the place. What Starbucks has termed one's "third place". A coffeehouse! A place you (the human) would love to spend time in, socialize in, work in, conduct business in. While your dog gets his or her socialization on. Separately. Just a thought. or many. Someday. Mark my Helvetica. :)


CATORCE: Hope you enjoy this...I know I have enjoyed the daily fodder from which I'm drawing the inspiration for the 'column'.

"How Speak-To-Text Technology Is Both Ruining AND Enhancing My Life"

I'll try to keep these in roughly the appropriate columns,but it should be pretty intuitive :)


Mom:"Great, but your text says "traffic settings for thurs", what is that?"
Me:"Hahaha, I said, "dress fitting's on thurs". Sorry mom!"


Me:"Almost home, will send you the draft pick in two mns!!"
Me:"HA!! Dress pic. not draft pic. WOW."
Jamin: "I was able to translate ;)."


Me:"Screw the Patriots AND THE GIANTS!! I am a future gay man's strife!!!"
Me:"Wow."
Me:"Baby, I meant "Navy Man's Wife."
Job:"Well, I should hope so."

-------------------> and, my personal favorite<-----------------------:

Me: I know you know this like 10 fold bike just dance of the ballad eating your decision!!!
Anne: (silence)(already annoyed at my Speak-To-Text incompetence)...
Me: "....Oh....my....gosh....are you KIDDING ME SPEAK TO TEXT? I meant: I know you know this, like tenfold, but this stuff is just validating your decision!!!"

Introducing....OF THE DAY(s)

Surreptitious move of the day: Attempting to casually wipe legit FROST from atop my laptop, and, as it would  subsequently turn out, from every.single.individual crevice and fissure the mammoth (multimedia size: don't ask, it was a stupid choice on my part, but the system runs, and four years later I've not needed to replace it!) behemoth of a machine boasts...because I left my laptop in my car overnight the one evening Vermont decided to pony up some actual frigid weather. Oops!!

Most Adorable Discovery of the day: Okay, this didn't actually occur today, in the literal sense. But it most certainly earns a spot in today's blog post. I'm considering developing a column about the things I find when I clean the church. Sometimes the haul of "oh.my.gosh.that.is.too.adorable.to.throw.away!!!" stuff rivals the stuff I tote out as actual stuff. Caleb Dundas played two games of Hangman this past Sunday. The word in both games? "EMILY". His big sister's name. AUDIBLY AW. You must.
IT IS A PROBLEM THAT I COLLECT AND KEEP THINGS CHILDREN I KNOW CREATE. IMAGINE HOW I'LL BE WITH MY OWN CHILDREN.
EVEN MORE FRIGHTENING, IMAGINE IF HUGO COULD DRAW.


DB observation of the day: Overly self impressed 30 year old guy in his pressed suit pants, (somewhat) matching top, loudly gesticulating about his "disastrously wicked good time....so hungover, bro....bruuuutalll" at the Superbowl Party, where he "totally met Maxim models, who were dressed as superheroes". Eau de Desperation clogs my nostrils when I'm in remote proximity....and all I need is  a glass of water. Wadah. I require the water THAT. MUCH. MORE after being forced to tolerate this guy's douchebaggery. The word running through my mind as I looked at him was "POMADE", and I feel like that word should be restricted to the heads of men born prior to 1960, and of course permitted liberal use on set of HBO's "Mad Men".

Most awkward public misunderstanding of the day: woman: "May I possibly ask, um, do you have a...second pair of pants?"---me: "Pardon me? No, I, I'm not even wearing any. I mean---I'm only wearing tights anyway...Why would.....?"----woman: "Oh, no, I was wondering if we could grab your second chair, by chance?"---me: "OHHHHHHH. Yeah, absolutely. Here, I've got it."
WHOA. Whoa. I eyeballed her. Think she's an 8. Could've worked out.


Vulnerable admission of the day: I remember texting my half-sister Julia when I discovered that it was possible to run and cry concurrently. It had never occurred to me that you could not do both, like standing on one's head and swallowing; I suppose the surprise was that I found myself in a situation where I was jogging east on Dundee Road in Northbrook, fully exposed to public passersby and cars, with tears just STREAMING down my face.  Now, I know your reaction may be something akin to "Oh that's so sad!", or "Wow, what could have made her so upset that she was in tears, yet obviously didn't incapacitate her enough that she couldn't go for a jog?". Truly, I remember that day better than I care to admit even to myself. I don't know why it occurs to me right now. I do, however, know, that whether I realized it then, or only know it fully now, five years later, the ability to run is a constant. This world is full of inconstancy. We, I think, are trapped. Caught. We like to lament that fact (that things feel so transitory) but are participants in all sorts of behavior that perpetuate it. I think enough self-examination, both individually and as a culture, would force us to admit that we find a lot of comfort in it.
Example: Relationship tough? Just break up. Get a divorce. Take the fabled "break" from one another. Because no matter to what degree you are committed to one another, you deserrrrrrrrve to enjoy your own life. And if something's difficult? There's an implicit escape clause. Called individual liberty. Haven't you heard? It's a trump card. It's tantamount to self-abuse if you force yourself to honor a commitment you have made, with or without the guarantee that things will improve. I know I don't know a lot. But I do know that things are much much much more likely to improve if you don't abandon them.


COMING SOON ON THE CHRONICLES:

1. "An Open Letter from Rutland, VT to Evanston, IL"
2. "Things That Resemble, & Just Might Be, Portals"
3. "How Speak to Text Technology Is Both Enhancing and Ruining My Life"**
4. New Column: "Purse Dump"
** Teaser: what I spoke aloud to my Android: "I had success!!"
                  what was transmitted instead: "I have a sexy ass!!"
Hey, I didn't say it was inaccurate. It's just not precisely what I said.

Stow that Vermontitude.

I was going to lead with something different in this post, but let me interrupt if not the post,my thought process, and share the following: The governor of Vermont, Peter Shumlin, the man against whom Job and I campaigned last year (on behalf of former Lieutenant Governor Brian Dubie), just walked into the coffee shop where I'm reposing, approached me, and said "Lisa, right?". Permit me to set the scene. Facing him were both my day planner (adorned with a BRIAN DUBIE sticker) & my mammoth laptop (BRIAN DUBIE sticker also prominently displayed, permanently adhered on the computer).

things current VT governor Peter Shumlin said to me today, in person, during a chance encounter, & my mental responses, sharpened a bit by reflection:

"It's Lisa...right?" whoa. I mean, yeah, it is. but how...?
"You know, Brian and I are, as you probably well know, very very very close friends." No, I didn't know that.....from what I understand, you gravitate towards attractive late 20 something/early 30 something year old females as FRIENDS, but..--oh, wait....Um. I've got to run.
"Hey! Congratulations on the engagement!" Very kind.
"So, hey, remind me: you guys won Rutland County, eh?" <----the answer is yes. decidedly, sir. sorry for your loss.
"What's good here?" The conservatism. Oh! My bad. :) The dark roast & scones.

           * * * 

I has it. The GUMPTION for Resumption. Blog Resumption.

Remember me?
If you read this, leave a comment. I crave feedback.
Dude.
Dudes.
I have not blogged in eleven months, but am prepared, based on a confluence of factors....among(st) them, the obnoxious new Facebook format; the decidedly tethered condition to Facebook in which I find myself (yet can't stop perpetuating by checking it 6x daily!); the fact that despite having studied English and writing for yearzzzzzzz, I have no formal outlet for my writing; and, finally, the fact that, to my surprise, there were a fair number of you--and I imagine if I were to commit to posting regularly that number could potentially inflate a bit--who seemed to enjoy tuning in to feast your peepers on my lunacy. For reals. Not just those of you who've shown your faces,or expressed support. I track demographics, yo. This is one step down from the Pentagon.


So. Should I focus my energy, creativity & time on these hallowed chronicles (and deploy a bit more discipline in hopes of writing about things you'd actually like to read) rather than the amorphous, somewhat superficial venue of penning a 'status' every time something tickles me, patting myself on the metaphorical back every time someone 'like's what I've posted?
Second question: do you love run-ons? Good. Me too. You'll be pleased here. Your table's nearly ready.


Oh! I'm engaged, btw. 
NBD.

Aye-Aye

Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T

**STRANGER to Me: "Yeah,...I totally read that in your blog..."**

Before I explain the titular comedic value (true story, real quote, said by a stranger, to me, recently) of this post, a quick photo that I like but that needs no real contextualizing or elaboration. I always equivocate about showing stuff like this for fear of it seeming boastful. But I'm proud of my dad! VERY. He's fallible, he's a regular man, he's human, he's a dad who adores me but has faults, but despite all of the benefits & disadvantages both that accompany his unique station, the bottom line (no pun intended, lil' corporate parlance for you) is that I'm proud of him. Cool photo.

"Hu are you....HU HU, HU HU!" President Obama. Dad. The president looks like he's genuinely paying attention to my dad. Premier Hu looks like either his earpiece translator isn't operational or he just has a severe need to urinate. Either way, kind of cool. Dad does that with his hands a LOT--it's not contrived to make him look important; it's just truly one of his innate characteristics. I will see it no fewer than 40 times when we meet for coffee today. :-)

* * * * *

MOVING ON, but not in a Soros kind of way (anyone else feel like the man kind of appropriated what has historically been a pretty broadly used phrase? Move on? Bummer). ANYWAY, WE SHALL. :-)

As for the blog post's title, I was sitting in the first of a set of three interviews for a marketing position at a company in rural Vermont about three weeks ago. The two folks I sat down with initially comprised the design team, and were both pretty cool, very inviting and disarming. At one point during the requisite 'get comfortable with small real life talk woven into a discussion about the actual purpose we're here for--second round job interviews', I mentioned that I'd worked on a dissertation a long time ago for a woman for whom English is a second language. --Honestly after she tried to stiff me on three months' work by claiming that the language barrier had prevented her from understanding what hourly rate we'd agreed upon combined with the fact that the first 100 pages read like Wing Dings on crack, I would have easily believed English was not her second language. More an aspiration at that juncture! 

ANYWAY, I referred to it, and the dude in the interview giggles good-naturedly and says, "Oh yeah, totally, I read that in your blog." Whoa. I guess what one "publishes" is as far away as a Google search. While I certainly knew that to be true, it was still momentarily alarming to hear a man I'd never laid eyes on before casually refer to the Chronicles. Like he knew what was up. Hey: I don't know what's up, kids!! I guess Jim Morrison was right, on occasion.

* * * * * 

It absolutely never fails to be humbling to resume running after having stopped, even intermittently. My desire to battle the whole post-holiday (I'm aware that I tread dangerously close to cliche status here but I suppose it's true for a reason) lethargy and weight gain was derailed by the oral surgery debacle. The 9 or so days preceding it were sort of a blur of pain, and the days following the actual deal I was of course not supposed to be exercising--nor did I feel up to it. 

I began this week, and again was reminded how much easier it is to lose fitness than to regain it. But, I enjoy the challenge, and as twisted as it sounds, feeling out of shape reminds me that being in shape is absolutely attainable again. 

So I was in the Forest Preserve the other day, and Chicago's been remarkably indecisive with the weather of late. I certainly don't mind a jump from 15 degrees to 40, but the ensuing melt/refreeze/mud combo isn't the most pleasant. A couple things result: I look like a total a$$ clown sporting YakTrax on a path where during the 6 mile stretch I'm puffing through there are a total of three significant ice patches (but they're stubborn!)

I did note a few really interesting things about this awkward Winter/Spring breach we're experiencing here. Ducks. Ducks everywhere. I stopped at a place where I generally stop (let me be totally honest with you and disclose this right up front: I stop a LOT. I've had severe asthma since age 5, and take three medications daily, yearround, irrespective of illness; in other words, in order to maintain a baseline of pulmonary NORMALCY, I take medication. Beyond that, there are other measures....hospitalization is my least fave) to stretch and take my inhaler. To my left was a field where during warmer months, some after school soccer and XCountry teams practice. It's pretty large, but I'd never before noticed how concave it is. The combination of rain we've received and snow that's melted had rendered this thing a total pond. Like, if you'd never happened by before? You'd be convinced this was a pond. I counted NINETY FOUR DUCKS. 94. 

You're welcome: it's like I thought you'd take me more seriously if I busted out real integers. 94!!!!! 

It was pretty bleak out the next day, but I decided to try and consider the mix of ice and water "pretty" rather than just signifying yet another bizarre weather fluctuation. Here's a pic. Gives you an idea of how small an area these 94 ducks were sharing the previous day. I also thought it was rather pretty.

* * * * * 

"Annal(s) Surfing"

This edition of "Annal(s) Surfing" (which I hope I'm not insulting either your ignorance in assuming you get it nor your intelligence in wondering if you don't, but is a play on CHANNEL SURFING...) isn't photographic like the first few have been. It's anecdotal. I KNOW: you're in luck! I'm gonna WRITE MORE. 

So, I know I'm by no means unique, nor a pioneer in this field, but I'm realizing that college was two things: a) a charmed time--and--b) a time during which I did some really strange stuff. One afternoon, a group of my close friends and I decided--and it must have arisen from some casual comment and escalated, as these things no doubt do,--that the following evening, when the campus library (a mammoth behemoth of an old building--absolutely your prototypical wealthy yet weathered Liberal Arts school's academic fortress--closed, we would remain inside, elude the closing staff, some of whom were students and others librarians and 'real adults'. 

This plan involved eight of us, and we assembled the materials and concocted the strategy relatively quickly. Now, this was an enormous building. But there was a large contingent of people we'd need to avoid at midnight (EIGHT OF US!), including maintenance workers, in order to pull it off. Logically, we determined we'd have separate stations. That's a euphemism for "hiding places". I was in a particularly popular reading room that our one night's surveillance indicated would be checked just before midnight by staff, as they did a sweep through for errant books or sleeping students. 

I HID IN A CUPBOARD. FOR OVER TEN MINUTES while they cleaned the room. My 7 compadres were all stashed in similarly ridiculous places, but I suppose if the proof is in the pudding, our planning wasn't entirely unsuccessful. Eventually they closed, the lights were shut off, Security locked the building, and there we were.....I remember it as being the most irreverent, subversive thing I did (in the sense that it broke the abject rules of a real institution...of course I broke more broad rules & made some poor decisions in college, but those were rendered more abstract and FELT more innocuous considering the culture). It was a hilarious, fun night. We did absolutely nothing to harm any of the books or other contents of the library. Just set up shop in one of the large study rooms, the one with the most couches, and had a veritable sleepover.

Also, I'd frequently buy orange juice and instead of paying for a small refrigerator, keep it outside my first floor window in the snow. VHS yoga tapes, alone, in my room? You betcha.

Annal(s) Surfing, concluded.

* * * * *

Could someone please explain to me why this is the honorary name of the Evanston Civic Center's main road? Look closely. It's the avenue to many civic offices, but that seems like a stretch. Like, for real: someone alert evangelists the world wide--all they need do is direct people to 2100 Ridge Ave in Evanston. 
                        Done deal, apparently.

Happy 8th Birthday, Hoss!!

Annals Surfing:

Hugo is 8. WOW.

His life expectancy is 13-15, thankfully.

Ah, we were both mere babes! To be young again.....

Lists By One Most Listless, continued: #'s 48-55

48.) So I've been scrambling to locate that comprehensively brilliant & terrifying article on torture that I read in a Northwestern class (entitled, oddly enough, "Milton's Material World") so I can begin to fulfill my self-assigned task of writing and publishing (the fluidity of such terms now that blogging has arrived is a bit scary--I'd never tout myself as 'published', for instance, simply because I trot out some of my poetry for your perusal here) that editorial on the topic; I'm quite pleased most of you voted for it because it's something I'm not feeling ready to expound upon, which I take to mean that I need some education--from various sources--before I can do so intelligently. EVERYBODY WINS. Except perhaps the dudes in hoods at Gitmo.
 Listen, I know that kind of wry humor can make it seem like I'm diminishing something that needs, if nothing else, to be taken more seriously,  to be unearthed and looked at with some intentionality, and not simply shirked as an unpleasant topic that we relegate to the domains of the military or the government. Because let's be honest, there is nothing more banal, more fundamentally human, more relevant, than the way we treat one another. Forget for a moment the mitigation of criminality; of course in theory the people being tortured are criminals, often war criminals, and until my research indicates otherwise I'm going to assume that in the majority of cases they are guilty of something. My point: forgive the jokes. It's in my nature, but it doesn't mean I won't consider the topic with characteristic thoroughness and humanity.
In the meantime, Ahmad Sadri, a former professor of mine and brilliant Persian-American author, activist & respected academic, took all of four seconds to respond when I posed the question, "heeeeey Ahmad, any names occur to you if I'm looking to read some of the more intellectual stuff on torture?". Google Ahmad if you've got 6 consecutive hours to spare, and would like your mind blown by a remarkable intellect.
 Michael Levin's famous essay I'll certainly deconstruct,--- and it occurs to me just now that despite my inherent dislike for and distrust of Christopher Hitchens for some of the things he's written that so crassly disrespect my God, he's still a brilliant writer, I love "Vanity Fair", and in fact I don't know of many people who were willing to undergo waterboarding in order to better write about the topic of torture, as he did. More soon.

49.) I was scrounging in the clearance bin at a fancy boutique yesterday in search of a gift to supplement the small one I have for my grandma and came across a hat that I LOVE. Those of you who know me at all will know that in order for me to post anything concerning fashion whatsoever, it's got to be a pretty big deal. I appreciate nice things. I just don't seek them out. And while I own TONS of clothes, I wear the same variations on, like, approximately 6 outfits CONSTANTLY. I'd like to cast it in euphemistic terms and call it loyalty. I'm just loyal to certain clothing items. Anyway, I took a picture of my new hat the moment I tore the tag off and hopped into the car, to text Job. I like it. Enough to post it here. Self-shots are uber-flattering, right? Wrong. (Found my grandma a phenomenal ______ --who knows if she peeps this, so we'll go dark on the noun for now!---and am uber excited to give it to her!)

THERE'S SOMETHING FRIGHTENINGLY VACANT ABOUT MY EXPRESSION HERE. THE ROBOTIC HEAD TILT AND OPAQUELY FLAT PUPILS AREN'T MUCH HELP. BUT ANYWAY, DIG THE HAT.
THAT IS INDEED SWEAT ON MY HAIR. I'D JUST FINISHED JOGGING. MCNERNEY'S ARE KNOWN FOR HAVING BIG HEADS (I'M SUPER SUPER EXCITED ABOUT GIVING BIRTH WHEN YOU CONSIDER THAT PLUS THE SIZE OF JOB'S DOME....I WANT TO, LIKE, PRE-ORDER AN EPIDURAL NOW),  BUT THIS HAT CAN HANDLE IT.
LOVE IT.

50. & 51.) I should *not not not not not* be considering acquiring another dog. Let the asterisks and bullheaded repetition of the word 'not' be sufficient evidence for you to know that I am--if and only if it's the absolute ideal situation. For all four parties. Parties consisting of: The family. The new dog. Hugo. And me. It'd only work if I do end up in Vermont sometime soon, which I'm more hopeful of (I suppose this'll be sort of an impromptu transition to #50...here we go, yo)......COMMENCE #51.... after some really promising connections the past 36 hours have yielded. I'm a bit chagrined to realize that the incidence of response, positive response, has increased tenfold now that I've done two things: 1) buckled down and actually taken the time to write 14 consecutive cover letters, and 2) widened the scope of the lens through which I was seeing potential opportunities. The major hitch was that I wasn't even aware I'd imposed a lens over my vision. The past day and a half or so has been kind of heady! :-) It's delightful to realize that while extensive unemployment has been really hard on my self-esteem and taken a real toll on my sense of self-worth (I think knowing this is the case doesn't diffuse it, unfortunately,it just lends some perspective), there are so many things I'm qualified to do, and if I just adjust my thinking accordingly, perhaps deviate a bit from the course one would take if handed my resume and blithely told to assume my identity....all things are possible. It is so incredibly heartening to see opportunities, even if they're still really amorphous, like communicating with a potential employer after seeing a Craigslist ad. See, I think I assumed I was safe from the constraints of doing things in order to please others--I'm not pursuing certain vocations to please either parent, for instance. What I hadn't accounted for, however, was some serious inflexibility in my own thinking. I wouldn't even consider it an attempt to 'reinvent myself'--kind of a popular phrase in the self-improvement parlance. I'm young enough where it's perhaps just a correction in course.
Regardless, there is one opportunity in particular I'm especially excited about. The short version on why I won't elaborate: 1. I'm privy to magical thinking (beware a REALLY reductive, simplified explanation here): the tendency to think that the way we think or speak about something we desire, or fear, either end of the spectrum works, can actually influence the outcome. I consider it a neurosis, not an asset. Nevertheless I recognize that while it's irrational, and not in line with my spiritual thinking, it's potent. 2. In this age, everyone's media-savvy. If a prospective employer locates my blog, I'd rather have it appear that I'm appropriately restrained in what I share--especially considering that I don't want to conflate my eagerness and excitement about the position with overconfidence. Or have it appear that way. 
In any event, EXCITING!!!!!!! The kind of excitement that'll diminish, surely, if the opportunities I'm presently stoked about don't come to fruition--but still, the kind that breeds a more broad sense of peace. An 'I got this'. Kind of refreshing.

[I know it was pretty insulting of me to switch font colors to usher in #51, because I imagine pretty much anyone stumbling upon this blog post can discern the difference between me waxing endlessly about my love for--and desire to obtain a second--dog(s), and a bubbling editorial on some prospective jobs. In case anyone couldn't, I went maroon for you.]

52.) Observation. When I'm driving, and encounter a vehicle with an out of state license plate, I'm prone to be a little saucy. Not visibly so--I'm an extremely polite driver. We're talking total private passive aggression. This frequently entails me saying something like, "Heh, maybe that's cool in MICHIGAN, pal..." when the driver does something minor- that normally wouldn't perturb me. (You can substitute any state for Michigan--the sentiment's the same. My inexplicable juvenile attitude does not discriminate amongst the 49 states.) I certainly hope I'm not the cause of similar disdain. I've spent extensive amounts of time in Vermont and Ontario. Wonder how many people have been scornfully derisive when Myrtle the Murano has committed some negligible offense, like braking too quickly at a light...."Maybe that's how you roll in ILLINOIIIIIIIIIIYYYYS." I suppose I'd deserve it. The beauty is this all occurs in the confines of my own car, and I feel not even the slightest annoyance toward the actual driver. Just, as I noted, an observation.....just a funny quirk considering I'm often disarmingly friendly (too open, in fact) with strangers. :-)

53.) I'm gonna need you not to question the veracity of this, no matter what your first impulse is. Yesterday at the forest preserve, I was walking, prepping to jog, when up ahead I saw a deer. Not uncommon. It was standing directly next to one of those huge city-issued industrial tin garbage cans, painted green (the can, not the deer, stay with me), and I noticed it notice me. Its ears pricked, we locked eyes, its senses were heightened, the whole deal. Then?

It spit. into. the. garbage. can. There's really nothing else to say. 

True. Story.

54.) In a recent post (http://blogtitletbdfornow.blogspot.com/2011/01/36.html), I introduced you to Kaya and Darwin, two dogs whose breed I now know to be American Indian Eskimo. At the time I'd only (and I'll ask you now, in advance, to grow up) seen their holes, and posted the photo depicting them. Now, I've met them numerous times, and they've even cavorted a bit (Darwin more readily than Kaya) with Hugo. Here are a few more pics of them on the perimeter of their kingdom. I dig these dogs, big time. Love them long time. You're gonna wanna say a silent prayer of thanks for me having discovered Picnick, because I'm able to condense tons of photos into one or two, thanks to their collage function, and it makes these interminable blog posts a bit more palatable, no?

GORGEOUS. BOTH PREOCCUPIED WITH HUGO, WHOM YOU'LL SEE IN THE NEXT SHOT, CERTAINLY KEPT HIS DISTANCE. THEY'RE SWEET, THOUGH, AND WERE WHIMPERING FOR HIM TO COME CLOSER. HE, IN TURN, WAS WHIMPERING SOMETHING UNINTELLIGIBLE THAT SOUNDED LIKE "MOM, GET OOOOOVER HERE, THEY'RE HUGE!!"

CONTENT TO ACQUAINT HIMSELF FROM A DISTANCE.

COUSINS.
GORGEOUS.
THE ONLY DARWIN I'LL EVER LIKE. :)

55.) So, oral surgery was a blast, natch. Check out the comparison photos. I wish I'd thought to take one earlier. The swelling was far more grotesque. Ah well, you get the picture. :) I'm grateful it's over. And appreciative of ALL of your prayers during the painful time preceding and following it!

God bless & thanks for reading!!

I sincerely hope this blog'll get more interesting as I rediscover the ability to write.

Thanks for your patience in the meantime.

Happy Birthday Slim

I realize you'd NEVER deduce this on your own, but I actually did the photoshopping myself. 

I know the kelly green I chose is virtually indistinguishable from that of the sign (in front of which I screeched to a halt, threw my hazards on and whipped out my Blackberry for a pic), but that green triangle was actually a different hue, originally. I know. Couldn't tell, huh.

Design? Potential second career.

Hey-- first, even.

happy happy happy birthday Stephen Adam.

Welcome to 30. I've kept the seat warm for you for nearly two months, bud!

"WE CLEAN UGGS"

Big ups to Cyndi Hutchins for reminding me that the poll (at right) is indeed closed after I promoted it on Facebook moments ago with this status:
"interesting: so far, the majority vote on my blog's poll is for me to write an essay on the topic of torture. I'm intrigued by both it, and the interest in it. Go vote if you haven't. It's quick & anonymous (<--that's-what-she-said)."
I may have to hire Cyndi in some capacity.[ Hitch: I too am unemployed.] 
So, the results of the esteemed poll are as follows.The original question was undoubtedly titillating, "What would you be *most* (and I'm hoping most of you understand how I use asterisks...I occasionally use them for their intended purpose, but generally when I bookend a word with an asterisk on each side it's to impart a certain emphasis on the word. I guess it's an idiosyncratic way of highlighting an idiosyncrasy, you dig? you follow?  -- really not a momentous loss on your part if your eyes glazed over for the past few sentences because we'll return now to your regular programming outside of this parenthetical world, where things are far far simpler) interested in me writing an essay about?"

The topics, and the respective percentage of votes they each garnered, below:

The Wisconsin State Sentate debacle...20%

Literature, a subtopic tbd...6%

Torture...26%

YOU...12%

The alligator vs. the crocodile...20%

My business plan for a dog daycare/shelter hybrid...20%

SO, TORTURE IT IS!! I'LL HAVE TO DIG UP (MUAHAHAHAHA, MORBID) AN ESSAY I READ ON IT FROM A CLASS I TOOK ON JOHN MILTON. I REMEMBER THE ESSAY WAS FANTASTIC, BUT ALSO WEIGHED ABOUT AS MUCH AS OCTO-MOM IN HER 3rd TRIMESTER, SO I'D BETTER GET CRACKING. I'LL TRY NOT TO DISAPPOINT YOU KIDS. WHO DOESN'T LOVE A GOOD SPIRITED PIECE ON WATER-BOARDING, ANYWAY. OBVIOUSLY A HIGHLY NUANCED, POLITICIZED, CONTENTIOUS SUBJECT. SHOULD BE INTERESTING TO DELVE MORE DEEPLY INTO.

*  *  *  *  *

The cleaners adjacent to my apartment building boasts many signs, the design, messaging and placement of which are very self-evident in their purpose. To inform you, the casual passersby, that this cleaners is special, has garnered numerous awards, been around many years, and is not only a fixture in Wilmette, but a well-respected, well-run fixture. Two problems: if you've truly been in business for, like, 40 years, how on God's green EARTH are you going to castigate me for my dog's completely indiscriminate, undiscrimi-NAT-ing, purely biologically driven decision to urinate on the side of your sign. Newsflash, skinny, angry proprietor man, I guarantee you that Hugo is not the first to sully your sign--in part? yeah, in part because there are VISIBLE urine marks, tantamount to water marks in a toilet, on your sign sir, and in no small(er) part to the fact that your enormous sign is in fact erected on a huge patch of grass that dog owners frequent. The two points are, I'm sure, not unrelated. Let's not act like Hugo pioneered it, and let's not reinvent the piss wheel.


2nd observation: The conspicuous "WE CLEAN FINE FURS" has been replaced with a placard that reads "WE CLEAN UGGS". I've eyeballed the font to be at about 88. You can't miss it. 
Even if I had the disposable, dispensable income to do things like have my Uggs cleaned, I don't know that I'd be compelled to; I was heedless of the fact that Uggs required cleaning, and I feel especially swarthy in mine considering they've carried me through many a winter.
Nothing but love, cleaners, nothing but neighborly love. ( I had the urge to write "just airing some dirty laundry" here but even I can't tolerate that kind of pique ).

*  *  *  *  *

It sort of troubles, bothers, intrigues, amuses, annoys & preoccupies me that the author of a series of books I'm reading has taken tremendous pains to have her full-body shot (a bit much for a writer, no?), wait, ha, not as in body shots, there's no one snorting salt & pounding Jaeger, but a head to toe portrait of her, placed on the back of each book--hardcover & paperback alike. To belie my 6 years of Barnes & Noble experience & the ensuing (or latent but just reinforced by constant proximity to literature and other nerds) dorkiness and familiarity with publishing lingo, yes, even on the "mass media" sized paperbacks, the smallest, thickest ones you generally purchase, paying whatever Hudson News is demanding to read a story you're barely interested in because Delta's delayed 17 hours. It's not problematic for me that her picture exists. What is so bizarre is that the nature of this detective series is, as far as I can tell, that you're meant ideally to read them in sequence, but it's not required. So, the same descriptions and details of basic characters, their physical traits, relationships to one another, histories, etc, are provided in each book. The weird part is this: her portrait, down to the very style of boot & nail polish color, are modeled after (chicken. egg. i don't know. so weird) that of the protagonist. There's no mistake or coincidence. She's dressed up AS the main character. Odd.

*  *  *  *  *

"LADIES & GENTLEMEN?.....TEXTUAL CHOCOLATE! (new working title for text/intertext/context)":

• "Sometimes we're so street it actually hurts...Thug life."
• "No, really. My toilet's like a wave pool."
• "The cost of your decision will be my displeasure."
• "CARRIE ANN Inaaaaaaaaaaaaa-baaaaaaaaaaaa."
• "C&C Music Factory! Also, the "you're a hooker" applies only if you'd lost my number."
• "He's dated some real trolls."
• "Having like a rave up in here."
• "...Did you two get married today?"
• "Oh. My. Gosh. Guess who Googled me?"
• "For the record I've always done dodgy stuff like that."

Gonna Winehouse this jazz and go back to black font here for the dismount. 

Hey, you wanna know what's fun? Having a 3 month job process end with a summation of how wonderful the candidate they chose over you is...best analogy I can proffer: being invited to (and forced to sit in the front row, mayhaps) your ex-fiance's wedding. Like I'm truly truly glad to know it was a tough race, and the HR director gave me some phenomenal complimentary feedback, but it was a bit tough to hear. Thanks to all of you who encouraged me during the process!! 

Other irons in the fire.

En Fuego, Diego.

(I just realized I had a list of about 5 intended topics for this post--hit none of 'em.)

:-)
*  *  *  *  * 

post script: my kitchen sink's been leaking (terrifically, torrentially at times!) for nearly 5 weeks now...it occurred to me during one of my bail-out sessions, wherein i take the full bucket of water into my bathroom and dump it down my shower drain, watching as a strange mixture of coffee, dirty water, soap & anything else that's made its way into my sink swirls away, that depending on how intense the leak is on a given day, it sounds quite different. a slow trickle. a steady drip. or, my least favorite: when it sounds like a grown man is urinating full force after a 12 hour hibernation. <--it is my hope that someone will stumble onto this blog solely because they had reason to search for the phrase "urinating full force". if you're that someone, hey, welcome!

For Illinois Residents: Important Legislation!

Hi all,
I'll keep this uncharacteristically brief. Before I launch in, please know that a similar appeal is forthcoming (next few days) on a different topic, but for now, this is pressing: 
One of my best friends, Anne (high school classmate, my age), is a cancer survivor, specifically skin cancer/melanoma. 
On March 1st (just a few days from now!!!!), a bill proposing to ban minors from the use of tanning beds will go before the Illinois Senate's Public Health Committee. Anne's alerted me to the fact that there's a good chance this bill will pass, and if it does, it would be huge as far as preventive measures go. Indoor tanning, while voluntary and legal, would at least no longer be an option for those under 18. And the fallout would be uniquely minor (no pun intended): some teens who are pissed they won't look as hot for Homecoming or Prom, but whose health & livelihoods may be inadvertently improved (and who knows, saved?) because they can't subject themselves to the harmful stuff.
Please take the time to send a form email (provided below) to the respective legislators (also provided below); it could influence the outcome of the vote on Bill 1329, and spare some folks the pain of what Anne experienced --the aftereffects she of course continues to manage--at the age of 26. If you want to talk to me, or to Annie directly, just holler. If you feel like you'd like to contribute some correspondence but aren't comfortable without knowing more, I absolutely understand; you all know how to reach me :). THANK YOU GUYS!


SAMPLE LETTER TEXT:
Re:  2011 – Illinois Senate Bill 1329

Dear Chairman William Delgado and members of the Public Health Committee:

As an Illinois resident, I strongly urge you to support Senate Bill 1329 which seeks to ban the use of tanning services by individuals under 18 years of age and will be heard before the Human Services Committee.  I feel it is extremely important to protect the children of Illinois from this known human carcinogen.

I have personally seen the adverse effects of indoor tanning. <>

I am concerned about the growing incidence of skin cancer.  The International Agency for Research on Cancer, a division of the World Health Organization, has moved UV radiation from tanning beds to its highest cancer risk category, labeling it as “carcinogenic to humans.”

In 2008, the National Cancer Institute reported that the number of melanoma cases for young women between the ages of 15 to 39 increased as much as 50% from 1980 to 2004.  It is believed that the rising rate of melanoma is, in part, due to the popularity of tanning salons among young women. 

This year, more than 2 Million new cases of skin cancer will be diagnosed in the United States.  Melanoma, the deadliest form of skin cancer, is now the second most common cancer in women aged 20-29. It is the leading cause of cancer death in women ages 25-30 and is second only to breast cancer women aged 30-34.

In 2010, approximately 68,000 people in the United States were diagnosed with melanoma, of which 8,650 died from this disease.  Last year, Illinois reported approximately 2,280 new cases of melanoma and an estimated 360 people in Illinois will die from this disease this year.

With these statistics come staggering health care costs.  In 2004, the total direct cost associated with treating just non-melanoma skin cancer was $1.5 Billion – $1.2 Billion was attributed to care received in a physician’s office.

The World Health Organization, AIM at Melanoma, the American Medical Association, and the American Academy of Dermatology have recommended that no one under the age of 18 use tanning parlor radiation.

In the interest of protecting teens from the early onset of serious medical conditions, I strongly ask that you support Senate Bill 1329.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,

<>

ADDRESSES

wdelagado@senatedem.ilga.gov
senatorhunter03@sbcglobal.net
ilsenate29@sbcglobal.net
info@noland.org
Senator@jschoenberg.org
hsteans@senatedem.ilga.gov
info@senatordavesyverson.com
shanecultra53@yahoo.com
senatorchristine@frontier.com
carole@pankau.org

HERE, TOO, IS CONTACT INFORMATION SHOULD YOU WANT ANY OTHER INFORMATION:

For more information on indoor tanning legislation throughout the country, contact Samantha Guild at sguild@AIMatMelanoma.org

NEW POLL at right.

That about says it. NEW POLL. Get at it. Ravage that poll with honesty and insight.
Thank you!

Call me Alexandra Rueve.

As I sit here in the most tremendous physical pain I've ever experienced, I'm acutely (I even wince at the use of that word in any function other than as an adverb to melodramatically but accurately precede the word PAINFUL) aware that though in my head I keep marveling, "Wow, I can say without hesitation or equivocation that this is the most pain I've ever felt", I have not yet given birth to a child. I hope I'm not the type of woman (are there types? I suppose by 30 I should know this; I have friends, cousins, classmates, some a few years older, some my age, and even a few younger who have already begun having kids--it is most certainly on my short term radar screen, my boyfriend and I discuss it, I'm a year or two past the point where I recognize what I jokingly term, heretofore in my own head, "womb envy") who is so terrified at the prospect of the short term physical pain that I want to miss the experience entirely-- but this eternally humanizing experience that at once both elevates and reduces a woman--it seems as though all the discussion and anecdotal musing and preparatory chats in the world won't prepare you for an undertaking that's so commonplace it occurs every moment of every day, but yet so fascinating and spiritually powerful, it will change your life. If nothing else, I suppose there's solace in the fact that when the astonishing pain from this sinus-induced abscess finally abates, the reward will be just that: relief. Childbirth, I suppose, has quite an altogether more fascinating, unique gift.
I'm not sure if it's to taunt myself by way of reminding myself that so far it's been anything but efficacious (the drug, not Wikipedia, though we're getting to that), but I've got the Wikipedia page (a source I decry constantly to Job, who loves to "wiki" things; I'm super disdainful of it, but I suppose if you keep in mind you can't consider its definitions as having merit without at least 3 other sources, you're still safe to play in the erratically monitored playground minefield that is reader-contributed online encyclopedias...) window open to "Hydrocodone/paracetamal". Like, as though there'd be something pivotal in the general description of the medication that was somehow missing from the pharmacy instructions, on the bottle itself or from the very thorough verbal directions the doctor provided over the phone.... I swear to you, though, if I could tease some additional information, however far-fetched, even from the labrynthine sketchfest that is Wikipedia, like "a 500 mg dose of Hydrocodone is best absorbed into the bloodstream if one sustains a mounted tripod for 17 minutes on one's bedroom floor, while humming the theme song to the original score of 'Shaft'"...I'd DO IT. THIS HURTS. Okay, enough about that.

TEXT/INTERTEXT/CONTEXT: My SIM card's weak sauce

You know the drill. Recently received or sent (usually the former) texts, stripped of sender/recipient identification. Funny, to me, at least, out of context. I can't bring myself to maintain original misspellings, except in the case of texts from my mom, the comedic value of which are predicated upon her absolute refusal to spell properly when texting. :)

1. "Wait, how did we share a baby?"

2. "Oh I'm eating the bagel and drinking the OJ you callously rejected."

3. "Chops McLogger, which is what I propose we call your lumberjack boyfriend."

4. "Will you be Job's valentine? He's shy. That's why I'm asking for him." (for more knee-slappers like this one, visit http://www.bummerfreezone.blogspot.com)

5. "I picture you wearing your Crocs right now. Please confirm."

6. "Neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeern!!!! ...Dawg."

7. "Home. Took the Vicodin. Hey, tell Mark thanks for feeding Hugo that spicy sausage stuff--he's puked twice..."

8. "The eye-patch was just stupid. Even after the patch she always had something over the left eye. No need. Like, we get it."

9. "With a side of neo-nazi."

10. "I can't worry about it all at once. Or I'll lose my mind. So, one thong at a time."

*Special addendum to Text/Intertext/Context! I received an email from Obadiah this morning. I'm going to transcribe it word, or...character for character, and then give you Christine's interpretation of its meaning. She's a trusted source considering he penned it while on her lap. Not much has made me smile the past 48 hours as it's gotten to the point where I can't recollect how it feels for the pain not to eclipse every other feeling or thought, but THIS, this made me smile. I love Obie.:

11. "ohc8+o

88

8cvgcgdfre"

"The above message is from Obadiah. It says "I miss you Lisa!"

This post's title: I'm going to literally cut & paste my Facebook status regarding this odd occurrence into the blog body--for those of you who'll read it twice, I'm sorry. May it be equally funny & an addition to your day now as it was two days ago in your newsfeed:  Lisa McNerney

is choosing to interpret the fact that this phantom _Norton Anthology of Poetry_ a) arrived addressed to my apartment; b) appears to have been ordered by an individual whose listed phone #'s aren't in service; c) is a canonical book I didn't encounter in undergrad or grad English programs; & d) flopped open RIGHT to "Eve To Her Daughters"** as a challenge to read it. cover to cover. it's on.

I admit I didn't address the book's arrival from textbooks.com as hastily as I should've. Both my neighbor and I stepped over it for a few days, each presumably figuring it belonged to the other. Finally I stopped to look at it and saw that it was indeed addressed to my apartment, but to a woman named "Alexandra Rueve", for whom all the listed phone numbers are out of service. Considering it's one of the most glaring omissions in the career of an English grad student not to have read, I've charged myself with the task of reading it cover to cover. Approaching it like one does the Bible, though. Not necessarily reading it Genesis to Revelation...easing in with the more palatable, contemporary stuff, a la the Gospels, if you will. Trust me, especially when bedridden, Plath or Gwendolyn Brooks are far more accessible than Beowulf's Middle English. Anyway, I'm excited. Below is the Judith Wright poem** I referred to in my facebook status. I've always liked it. Serendipity, I thought, when the book opened to that particular poem.


It's always been tremendously difficult for me to get my Fray on.....to "hurry up and wait", if you will. Now
that I've had some serious interviews for things I feel strongly enough about to wait a bit on, without the routine of running (it's been too hard the past few weeks with travel followed/coupled by the pain--I'm sorry I keep bringing it up but my eyes blur as I write this, it's so offensive.), I'm at a loss as to how to structure my day. This 1,376 page behemoth is a start. I think I can put my academic pants back on enough so as to spend a few hours a day with this. :)

Also, I'm super excited. My friend Sam made me a few CD's of music he likes, and a lot of it is righteous. But the most important part is this. He labeled the discs "A. McNernial"; "B. McNerniality"; and "C McNerniaucity". I appreciate other nerds so much! Thanks Sammy.

Quick Question:

I have friends being laid off in virtually every industry. The scythe of this economic travesty's been indiscriminate. People with doctorates. Baristas. CEO's. Explain this to me. I'm stymied. How does a business like this sustain itself? Also: dollhouses are fundamentally creepy.

** Eve, To Her Daughters:

It was not I who began it.

Turned out into draughty caves,

hungry so often, having to work for our break,

hearing the children whining.

I was nevertheless not unhappy.

Where Adam went I was fairly contented to go.

I adapted myself to the punishment: it was my life.

But Adam, you know...!

He kept on brooding over the insult,

over the trick They had played on us, over the scolding.

He had discovered a flaw in himself

and he had to make up for it.

Outside Eden the earth was imperfect,the seasons changed

the game was fleet-footed

he had to work for our living, and he didn't like it.

He even complained of my cooking.

(It was hard to compete with Heaven).

So he set to work. 

The earth must be made a new Eden

with central heating, domesticated animals,

mechanical harvesters, combustion engines,

escalators, refrigerators,

and modern means of communication

and multiplied opportunities for safe investment

and higher education for Abel and Cain

and the rest of the family.

You can see how his pride had been hurt.

In the process he had to unravel everything,

because he believed that mechanism

was the whole secret--he was always mechanical-minded.

He got to the very inside of the whole machine

exclaiming as he went, So this is how it works!

And now that I know how it works, why, I must have invented it.

As for God and the Other, they cannot be demonstrated,

and what cannot be demonstrated

doesn't exist.

You see, he had always been jealous.

Yes, he got to the centre

Where nothing at all can be demonstrated.

And clearly he doesn't exist; but he refuses to accept 

the conclusion.

You see, he always was an egoist.

It was warmer than this in the cave;

there was none of this fall-out.

I would suggest, for the sake of the children,

that it's time you took over.

But you are my daughters, you inherit my own faults of character; you are submissive, following Adam even beyond existence.

Faults of character have theri own logic

and it always works out.

I observed this with Abel and Cain.

Perhaps the whole elaborate fable 

right from the beginning

is meant to demonstrate this; perhaps it's the whole secret.

Perhaps nothing exists but our faults?

At least they can be demonstrated.

But it's useless to make

Such a suggestion to Adam.

He has turned himself into God,

who is faultless, and doesn't exist.

--Judith Wright