Last year on this day (give or take) I made my new year's resolution: lose weight. I was hoping to lose about 10 pounds. Instead, I've gained 10 pounds (give or take). This is not good.
I know, I know, it's silly and counterproductive to make new year's resolutions. It puts undue pressure on oneself to accomplish tasks that may or may not be possible, and it almost guarantees that the goal will not be met. But I did meet it two years ago, when I resolved to quit caffeine by the end of the year. Sure, I've since backslid into more-than-occasional caffeine intake, mostly in the form of decaf coffee, but it was a conscious decision -- and a necessity in the holiday season, when I often don't get my full amount of sleep.
So yes, I will be making a resolution again this year. But it's not going to be some edict to lose n pounds by X date. Instead, I resolve to eat healthier foods, exercise more often and get outdoors more. Those three very general things will make me feel better, and will most likely have the side-effect of helping me shed a few pounds.
Steps are being taken to ensure these resolutions succeed. Cinnamon signed us up for an organic food co-op; we'll be getting a box of fresh organically farmed veggies each week from Newleaf Natural Grocery. And a Bally's Total Fitness is opening up at Clark and Howard, so I plan to work out there at least once a week. Don't worry, I'm not going to join under one of their oppressive "lifetime" memberships; I'll buy one off eBay or through Craig's List, or get one through a friend. I'll also probably get a set of barbells for use at home. I'll also look into a yoga class that fits my schedule. There's a center out in Barrington, but all their classes are either early morning or mid-afternoon, so it looks like "convenient to work" is out. Anyone have any experience with yoga centers in Rogers Park or Evanston?
So, do you have plans for New Year's Eve?
We kind of coasted into our plans this year. I don't know about you, but it's not one of my favorite holidays. I mean, what's the big deal? I like a day or two off work as much as the next guy, but how 'bout one in the middle of January, a month otherwise bereft of holidays, instead of less than a week after Christmas? Yeah, it's the day we switch from the used up calendar to the spiffy new one, but that mainly means I have to remember to finish 20__ with 04 on my checks now. Woo. Hoo.
In recent years, we usually went out for dinner with friends and celebrated the ringing of midnight at whichever restaurant/bar we were at. But the service is always terrible and the food usually sucks on New Year's Eve (it's one of the two busiest days of the year for food service, along with Valentine's Day) and I really don't feel like paying $75-100 for a meal and a champagne toast at the end of the night. I'm not fond of champagne, and by the time midnight rolls around I've usually had a couple drinks of something else, so the bubbly just serves to upset my stomach. Woozy nausea ensues, and I end up puking or feeling like I need to. No fun.
Last year we made dinner at Mike & Em's and watched the fireworks around town from their 41st floor balcony. Lots of fun, far cheaper and more our speed. The Purvi aren't able to host this year and we've been invited to a couple other people's places, so we'll be doing a little party hopping this time around. Thank god for the penny rides on the El; no need to catch a cab or worry about drunk drivers the way we're travelling. Hope yours is safe, too.
I picked up a copy of Wired magazine at the airport last week. The only place I ever bother with that rag is at the airport -- it's a slim shade of its former self, no longer on the cutting edge of anything. Pretty much the technogeek equivalent of Cosmo, though, so it's perfect for idle in-flight skimming.
There was an article on Hollywood's love affair with Philip K. Dick, which I didn't read but glanced at a sidebar. He was apparently a bit of a paranoid in addition to being a brilliant sch-fi writer -- not that that's surprising -- and also invented a word for the useless detritus that gathers around us in modern life, the newspapers and discarded candy wrappers and rubber bands and all that. The word is kipple.
My life is elbow deep in kipple. Newspapers pile up, old pencils, notes and files that will never be opened again, receipts and fortune cookies and frequent customer cards and old floppy disks rattle around in drawers and on my desk. Regular cleanings do little to stem the tide. Even online, it's the case. The Google search for "PK Dick" delivers a text ad for "Pakistan sex."
As you probably guessed, I'm heading out of town today for Christmas with my family in Arizona. We shouldn't have any problems getting to the airport on time: we're leaving four hours before our flight is scheduled to depart. Take that, Orange Alert!
I may or may not post between now and next Monday. Have a happy holiday season, whether or not you actually participate in any religious celebrations!
I got my Badge Swap button in the mail on Friday. It's the second from the left, bottom row on this page (my contribution is top left on this page). I haven't added my little pear-headed friend to my jacket yet, but rest assured, I will.
It was another one of those fooled-ya weather weekends. You know, one of those those days when it looks like it should be cold and blustery and it turns out to be just cool and blustery? Walking out the front door Sunday, all bundled up for December in Chicago, we found ourselves chedding our gloves and squinting in the sun. Very unexpected.
Other than that, an uneventful weekend. We had a FriendChristmas dinner Saturday night at The Room. You know, one of those dinners where you get together with some close friends and exchange presents and stuff? We got a basket of booze -- gin and scotch and saki and glögg -- from Mike and Em and a kitty themed tray and cat treat jar from Lauren. Cinnamon gave the girls coupons for purses, while I gave Mike a golf game for his computer and a "bottle of scotch to be named later." Only yesterday he called to say that the game wasn't in the box; I bought it at one of those game exchange places (the game itself was new) and they apparently took the game out of the box but were fooled by the rattling instruction manual into thinking it was still inside when they gave it to me. I can't find the receipt, so I'm picking up the box tonight at pleading my case tomorrow. "Excuse me, do you have an extra 'Pro Golf 2003' (or whatever it was called) CD-ROM behind the counter? You do? Great, put it this box you sold me, please."
So, as I mentioned, there was a Star Wars Christmas Special viewing party last night, which was a blast. The SWCS was great, in that "it's horrible but I can't take my eyes off it!" kind of way. As promised, Mark Hamill looked like a drag queen (too much mascara, Luke!), Harrison Ford looked embarrassed and Carrie Fisher seemed high -- how else could they have convinced her to sing that "Life Day" song over the Star Wars theme at the end? Throw in some ridiculous scenes with Harvey Korman, Bea Arthur and Art Carney, plus a 15 minute stretch in which nothing but Wookie was spoken, and you've got yourself a train wreck!
The other event at the party was an Inappropriate Ornament contest. Basically, we were to come up with the weirdest, most offensive or otherwise inappropriate Christmas ornaments possible, with the promise of a "big prize," which turned out to be a large Santa Claus lawn sculpture. Extra points went to those who combined the Christmas and Star Wars themes.
My entry into the contest was a gingerbread star destroyer -- the arrowhead-shaped imperial ship that makes appearances throughout the original three Star Wars films. I went online and found some reference images for the design, including a series of CAD drawings of the ship, and made some basic templates based on them.
Making the gingerbread was harder than expected. Because the kitchen was so warm from the oven, the dough got too warm to lift off the counter after it was rolled out and cut. I ended up rolling it out directly on the baking sheets and just doing more batches than originally planned.
After letting the gingerbread dry for a day, I began assembling the star destroyer. The diamond-shaped construction made it a bit difficult -- it was hard to glue to a ~30 degree angle using only frosting -- but eventually it took shape.
A little detail in the back -- red hots formed the glow of the engines.
Here I am, modeling the Star Destroyer at the party. The "big prize" Santa is in the background.
I didn't win the contest -- Louisa's pipecleaner Santa with an enormous pink penis, titled "What do you want for Christmas, little girl?" won -- but I was awarded the "dedication award," just beating out Phineas's manger scene with Han and Leia as Joseph and Mary and R2D2 as the baby Jesus.
We all partook of the destroyer at the end of the party. The verdict: The Dark Side never tasted so good!
Over on IdeaBlog (which has been all but abandoned in recent months {not that there was much action on it to begin with}) there are two cult threads that continue to get regular traffic. One is about Mom's Taxi Service, and the other is about band names.
There are now a good 100 or so band names listed in the comments to that post, and still people ask for new names, as if there were none already offered. I've dealt with this in two ways. A) I've posted yet more names, and B) I've pointed out that there are a ton of available names listed already, ripe for the choosing.
But the thing is, these people ask for names, then never come back. They never stop in and say "Hey! Me and my band The Coreys are doing great! Thanks for the name!" Nope, they're all ungrateful sons'a'bitches, the lot of them.
Anyway. The gingerbread Star Destroyer is finished, and makes its debut tonight. Photos tomorrow, promise.
Joiner loved to smoke. He liked the feel of the cigarette between his lips, the curl of smoke extending up from the glowing hot tip, the smell of it. He relished his opportunities to smoke, in between the loads of dishes carted back by the busboys. He lingered in the back doorway, screen door propped against his foot, and watched the whirling dervishes of trash swirl and collide in the alley behind the diner. Joiner spent as much time in this spot as possible on his shift, away from the bustle the kitchen, as far as possible from the incessant happiness of the Mexican music on the radio.
He was down to his last two cigarettes, enough to get him through another two, maybe three loads of dishes before he'd ask the younger busboy, Juan Marie, to run to the corner store for another pack. He always gave the kid the change from his fiver; the kid's parents both worked long shifts for shit wages -- such is the life of your average illegal immigrant -- and Juan and his brother and sisters didn't have much spending money for themselves. Hell, Juan was only 14, but he claimed he was 16 so he could work at the diner eight hours a week to put a little extra food on the plate. He probably earned more in his share of tips than his mother earned in a full shift at the laundromat. Joiner figured the change would help them much more than it would him, and anyway he'd just end up losing it in the couch at home, so why not.
Joiner had two jobs, too. During the day, he pasted up classified ads at the Daily Leader, a nice union job with OK benefits and some perks; he picked up a nice set of lithographs at an estate sale a couple weeks back before anyone ever saw the ad in print. The dishwashing job paid shit, but it gave him an opportunity to exercise. You wouldn't think it, but dishwashing is a pretty physical activity, what with all the scrubbing and loading and unloading. A stack of 20 plates can weigh a good 25 pounds, and Joiner washed, sanitized, dried and stacked upwards of 300 plates on a good night, plus countless bowls, glasses, silverware and coffee cups.
His meals were always free, which more than made up for the cuts he got from the cracked glasses that sometimes hid in the murky wash water. And there was always someone to talk to, on the few occasions when he wanted to talk. But mostly, it gave Joiner a chance to smoke in the back doorway of a downtown diner. He liked the drama of it, the film noir-esque scene it must set for anyone chancing down the alley. And anyway he could never fall asleep before 2, so he might as well earn some money with those hours. Better than watching TV all night.
He took one last drag off his cigarette and flicked it into the drifting newspapers, following its trajectory, then went back to the triple sink, the screen door slapping closed behind him.
You know how things go around the holidays: you've got so much you have to do, all in the span of a few brief weeks, and everything accelerates as the big day(s) arrives. I'm in the fits of this right now. Between my various projects and the social calendar, I'm pretty much busy from now until January 3. Whoo-hoo! Or not.
To Do This Week:
Yesterday afternoon and into the night, I baked gingerbread for my Star Destroyer. It took a lot longer than I anticipated because A) we have no Kitchenaid, so I was using a hand mixer to mix the dough -- not an easy task when the recipe calls for 6 cups of flour and half as much brown and white sugar -- and B) the kitchen was too warm, so even after chilling in the fridge for an hour or two, the dough was too sticky to get off the rolling surface after being rolled out and cut. I finally just rolled it out directly on the cookie sheets, which worked much better.
Anyway, after dinner, as I toiled in the kitchen, Cinnamon put on About Schmidt. It was a good movie to "watch" without being able to see the screen all of the time, since most of the film's action took place in the dialogue. It was nice to see Jack Nicholson not playing himself for a change -- the only hint of Jack in Warren Schmidt peaked through early on, in his body language while on the phone with his daughter after his retirement party. And while everybody made a bit to-do of Kathy Bates' nude scene at the time About Schmidt came out, I really don't know why; it was brief, uneventful and not all that shocking. An overweight woman took her clothes off, big whoop. Nothing I haven't seen before in a figure drawing class.
The gingerbread turned out really well. I undercooked a couple sections, so I had to throw them back in the oven for a little while, but I ended up with enough extra dough to make some cookies for us. Tonight I assemble the beast -- expect photos on Fridaay (I don't want to show them before the party on Thursday).
(The rest of the weekend was a blast, too. But I'm not ready to talk about it, other than to say my body aches from dancing Saturday night {which, for those who were present, tells you how out of shape I am.})
I'm about half-way finished with Christmas shopping, I think. I've gotten presents for Pete and my dad, for Brandon, for my grandparents (well, sort of -- my grandma bought something for herself and told me how much it was, so I guess that counts) and Cinnamon's brother Cassidy. That leaves quite a few people, unfortunately.
(You'll note Cinnamon isn't on that list. Cinnamon and I are getting each other a car for Christmas.)
I have some ideas for the rest of the people on my list -- scotch or a golf game for Mike, a wallet for Danny, my mom told me a few things last night, some other things for other people... I'll probably shop more for Cinnamon's family out in Phoenix.
The funny thing is, I haven't thought about what to get my newer friends. What to give Naz? Jes? Phineas? Jim and Amy? Shylo? Nothing, or something trivial? Considering many of them will read this blog, I'm not about to say exactly what I'll be getting them here. But I feel like I ought to. On the other hand, if I give them something, they'll feel obligated to get me something, even if they weren't planning to. Oy, the vagaries and complexities of gift-giving. The delicate dance of who-gets-what.
...is just one of the silly blends of Christmas and Star Wars I thought up last night.
To explain: A friend is throwing a Christmas party centered around a viewing of the Star Wars Holiday Special, the much-written-about, nearly unwatchable TV tie-in that aired once (and only once) in 1978 and was never heard from again. As my friend so eloquently described it in his email:
Chewbacca's gibberish-talking family is there. Art Carney, Bea Arthur, and Harvey Korman perform variety-show style skits that would have embarrassed Vicki Lawrence. Diahann Carroll performs. Jefferson motherfucking Starship performs. Mark Hamill looks like a drag queen. Harrison Ford looks embarrassed. Carrie Fisher sings a "Life Day" song to the tune of John Williams' familiar Star Wars theme. Boba Fett has his own cartoon.Needless to say, it should be loads of fun.Is this real? Did George Lucas's characters really whore themselves out in a slipshod 1970s made-for-TV special? You bet your ass they did. Word is, Lucas says if he had the time and a hammer, he would track down every single bootlegged copy of the SWHS and smash it.
The other attraction/diversion at this party will be an Inappropriate Ornament Contest. Basically, a no-holds-barred competition to see who can create the ornament in the poorest of taste, for what has been promised to be a "big" prize.
Although it's not required, one option that is highly encouraged is to merge the two themes -- Christmas and Star Wars -- together in this offensive ornament. I spent an hour or so late last night (I couldn't fall asleep) dreaming up ideas along this theme. A sampling (these are ones I won't be executing):
I'm also thinking about making a gingerbread Star Destroyer or TIE fighter. Anyone free to help on Sunday?
On my recent trip to Ohio, I picked up some cheese at Heini's Cheese Chalet -- a whole lot of cheese, actually, more than 7 pounds. Not all for us, mind you; a 3-pound wheel of jalepeno cheese is destined for Emily's fridge, and a couple other chunks are headed for friends.
One half-pound chunk was specifically for Ali, who read on Gapers' Block of my plans and requested that I pick up a block of horseradish cheese for her. She went to school nearby and missed the stuff terribly.
Our schedules didn't line up last week, so last night was the first opportunity I had to drop the cheese off to her, over at WLUW's studio (she's the DJ from 6-8pm Tuesday nights). I walked through the rain, looking like a dark nylon mushroom underneath my umbrella, through Loyola's campus and up to the studio. Ali ducked out of the booth and gushed with thanks for going out of my way to deliver some nostalgia.
On my way back, I cut across the track field, where a couple was running and skidding in the mud right in the center of the field, lit by the floodlights as if it were a major event. I couldn't help but smile as I continued on my sodden way.
I own a bowling ball. Furthermore, it's been anointed in blood. How I ended up in possession of a bowling ball is somewhat interesting; the blood anointing really is not.
Back in high school, one of the few activities available to us, short of heading down to the city, was bowling. My friends and I did so fairly often, and in spite of this remained merely average bowlers (although we were consistently average, which counts for something, doesn't it?) My friend Mike's first date with his wife Emily, in fact, was a trip to the bowling alley.
So it was that toward the end of my senior year, I took my girlfriend and a couple of her friends bowling. As per tradition, we chose bowling names -- I was "Gink," Melissa was "Grace," Meridith was "Mer" and... I can't remember the name or nickname of our fourth -- and had a blast bowling poorly. I broke up with Melissa a little while later (and ended up dating her again later on, but that's another story) so this fun came to an end quickly, but it apparently made a big impression on the girls, for at my graduation party what should I receive but a gift certificate for my very own ball, courtesy of my bowling partners.
I settled on a dark blue irridescent ball, weight 10 lbs. -- yes, this is light, but it fits my bowling style. One of the first times I bowled with it (not with the girls who gave it to me, alas) I flung the ball in my usual hard manner, and when it came up out of the ball return, I noticed a little line of darkness in the thumb hole. Upon closer examination, I realized it was some sore of red liquid. Looking down at my thumb, I saw a slice about an eighth of an inch wide, just above my nail: I had stabbed myself with the nail of my middle finger as I released the ball!
My blood-annointed ball, along with the bowling shoes I stole from an alley in Fox River Grove, now sit in a bag in my closet, gathering dust in between my approximately yearly bowling treks. The next one will be coming up this Saturday, as we celebrate Phineas's birthday in the traditional manner.
Caffeine is slowly creeping back into my diet. I am not happy about this.
It's not all that surprising, though. The holiday season tends to mean lots of disruption to the normal sleep routine -- later nights, earlier mornings, days off not really off, and so on. Because of this, sleep deprivation is a real danger. And it's one I've been courting since Thanksgiving. Thank god there's no big plan this coming weekend -- I might actually get to sleep in.
The GB get-together went very well -- exceedingly well, in fact. All seemed to enjoy themselves, and quite a few seemed to enjoy other people as well. Saturday's party prep went quickly. Saturday night's dinner party was nice, and because we got there an hour early (Cinnamon remembered the time wrong) we got to hang out with the regulars at the restaurant's bar and had some fun. They even offered to buy us drinks.
The party on Sunday went pretty well, although there was an insane amount of food left over. Brandon decided to hold back on much of the dessert items because the crowd had thinned considerably by then, but by then the leftovers pile was already high -- one and a half roast turkey breasts, an entire spiral cut ham, two and a half noodle-rice casseroles, two veggie trays, etc., etc. We went home with enough to feed a family of four, as did Maureen, Mom's friends the Oldens and Pete's girlfriend. Brandon ducked a doggy bag of his own by claiming that his household didn't eat leftovers -- wise man. It's ham sandwiches for the rest of the week for me.
Yep, it's one of those.
Tonight, we of the Gapers' Block clan will be at Danny's Tavern, 1951 W. Dickens, for a li'l get-together. I'll be there around 8, leaving whenever I get tired (sure to be after 11). Stop by if you get a chance -- we'll be the dorks with GB stickers on our shirts.
Tomorrow, out to my parrents' to help prepare for their holiday party, which occurs on Sunday. Cinnamon and I will be assisting my mom and Brandon (who is managing the party so Mom can mingle) make hors d'ouvres and arrange flowers and other such stuff. From there, we're off to a holiday dinner with a couple other friends somewhere in Skokie (I hope Cinnamon remembers to get directions.)
Then, on Sunday, is the party. Which to a certain extent will be work. I know, I know, it's supposed to be fun, but every one of these I've been to, I've ended up helping out behind the scenes. On the one hand, Brandon and our friend Maureen will be working the party, but on the other I'll feel strange not helping my friends -- and my mom. Not to mention the stress of being at a party surrounded by your parents' friends and feeling out of your element. So we'll see.
An Iowa family that took part in research that helped identify a gene linked directly to heart attacks has gone public. ... The research helped doctors identify a gene, called MEF2A, which plays a role in protecting the artery walls from plaque buildup that can impeded blood flow and lead to heart attacks, said Dr. Eric J. Topol of the Cleveland Clinic, head of the research team. A report appeared in last month's issue of the journal Science.
Researchers have also discovered a genetic basis for several other conditions:
I was thinking today, on my way back to the office after lunch, about feathering an entire wall in my apartment. You know, covering the entire thing with feathers.
Well, no, not really. What I was really thinking about was more fluid, starting from a recollection of a Trading Spaces commercial I saw last night in which a wall was feathered (looked like goose down to me, although it might've been chicken feathers for all I know) and a teaser for tonight's edition of Marketplace, on which the home makeover TV genre will supposedly be exposéed. Apparently, these incredible decorating schemes aren't always viable for day-to-day living -- imagine for instance, having to clean a wall covered in feathers, or inviting a feather-allergic friend over.
But the idea of a feather covered wall might work in, say, a restaurant or nightclub. but rather than using down, I think full-size feathers would be better. You could mount them by sticking them into a clay-like substance (placticine? fimo? I dunno) and arranging them on the wall starting from the top and going down, so that each successive row covers the mounting material of the previous row.
So yeah, it might look cool. But what about maintenance? If a feather breaks, just replace it. When they get dusty, just take'em down and wash them -- if you used the right material to stick them to the wall, they should be easy to put back up.
I'm not going to actually do it, of course, but I think it'd look cool, and in theory it wouldn't be hard to do, just a little tedious.
Apparently Gov. Schwarzenegger (that still has a strange ring to it) has gotten the California legislature to repeal a law allowing undocumented immigrants to get California driver's licenses. I don't know the specifics of the law, so I can't say whether I support the decision or not, but I have a couple of thoughts relating to the question of whether of non-U.S. citizens driving in this country.
First, why not let them apply for an international driver's licence? I'm sure they're available from Mexico, and otherwise they could perhaps be obtained from AAA or the National Auto Club. This would give foreign drivers an extra level of credibility when driving in the States.
Second, my understanding is that the backers of the repealed law saw it as a way to encourage illegal immigrants to get auto insurance. I don't see why that can't be accomplished without the law, either through US insurance companies insuring non-native drivers or Mexican insurance companies covering drivers who enter the US. I'd imagine the collections process would be more difficult, but it couldn't be worse than dealing with an uninsured driver.
Just my two, not very well-informed cents. Pick away at it as you wish.
It was a nice trip, but I wish we could have spent more time with any of the people we saw. It felt like we were rushing from place to place most of the time. Oh well, we'll be going out to see Cinnamon's family again in early January for a late Christmas (we're going out to Arizona to be with my mom's family at Christmas -- the first without my grandfather) so we'll get to spend much more time with them then. And hopefully we'll get to spend more than an evening with Tom and Rosa this summer.