Politicking

I read the blog below this morning, and it strikes something that's been bothering me for awhile, so I decided to share it. Let me preface my introduction of it by saying that I still haven't decided which Democratic candidate I'm voting for in the primaries tomorrow (though, let's face it, Obama will more than likely win Illinois). It's been hard for me to decide, and so, in true Bethian fashion, I've put it off. I find both Clinton and Obama appealing in very different ways, but from the minimal reading I've done it looks like they have a lot in common, policy-wise.

However, my decision-making process has been hampered by an intense anger at "Hillary bashing." I hear from friends, or fellow students, or family members that Hillary is "evil," Hillary is "crazy." There is a flipping facebook group called "One Million Strong against Hillary Clinton" (or something similar, I can't remember). Last summer, when I saw that my old roommate had joined this group, I laid into him. "Why," I wanted to know, "must you hate someone? Can't you instead find some other candidate to support? What good will hating her accomplish?" Obviously, it's too late for such arguments in the world of televised ads and debates. Our system has made itself into a monster of criticism. Fine.

But here's my theory: Hillary Clinton is, above all else, a politician. She's smart, she's shrewd, and she's been in or around politics for a very long time. The public and the media attack her for a variety of behaviors, but aren't these simply the behaviors of male politicians which we've seen for years? Example: she is often called "calculating." I'd agree that "calculating" is not a flattering attribute. However, I also think that any politician around is going to be "calculating." Hillary Clinton is being attacked for normal politican behaviors because she's a woman. I think that deep down, we've all coached ourselves to believe that women aren't like that. And so it makes me angry. Please read (or skim, or whatever) the blurb below. Think it over. And don't forget to vote!

(Side note: perhaps H Clinton's behavior is doubly noticeable because she's running against a candidate who is so highly un-political, who presents an image of the idealist for the first time in a long time. Just a thought.)

http://fish.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/02/03/all-you-need-is-hate/

My $7 Nose Salt

Today is day 6 of My New Job, of The Rest of My Life. The cubicle has its disadvantages (it's a cubicle) and its benefits (everyone leaves me alone so I can blog on the clock on Friday afternoons when there isn't much to do).

I'm working for a software company, hereafter known as Initech. It's not a bad gig, really: the pay is very good and my coworkers are kind and flexible. It's no FOA crew, but it'll work. The work is odd. One never pictures themself in the places one ends up.

Because it is February, because it is cold, because I have so very little self-restraint when it comes to weekend benders, I find myself with a lingering sinus issue. As I am uninsured, I decided I would fight this sinus infection on my own, no drugs and no doctors. Step One of this self-healing went like this:

Last Saturday, after brunch (no, I didn't accidentally elbow the busboy while I was gesturing wildly with my fork), I headed to Whole Foods to buy a neti pot. The neti pot has been recommended to me for two years now, but I couldn't bring myself to buy what is essentially a nose-douching device. But these are different times, and last Saturday I left Whole Foods with the little pot, some $7 nose salt, and a German chocolate cake brownie.

I'm pleased to admit that the pot has some lovely benefits. It really does make me feel less stuffed up, and I can tell when a day passes andI haven't used it. Also, it is the time of my roommate's life when she gets to watch me stand over the sink and attempt not to drown in my own salt water.

In spite of the weather and the sinuses, this is my best quarter yet. Classes are truly enjoyable, I met David Sedaris at a book signing, I'm making some money, and earning partial scholarships. Hot Chip and Justice will both be here in the next month or two, not to mention some heartily welcomed visitors from home (brothers, aunts, friends, oh my!). I feel badly for neglecting my blog, but I think it's the result of increased productivity at school. I'll take it.

(So if you don't know what a neti pot is, look it up on youtube. You won't be sorry.)

I look better in sepia tones

On January 1, I determined that 2008 would be the year of the positive. I woke up that day with a hangover, and my roommate and I decided to yuppie it up and drive her car to collect some friends for a Bowl-watching party. In my disabled bodily state, things seemed sharper and it was difficult to keep up with the positivity. However, the Bowl-watching party ended up being 3 dudes and 5 rambunctious ladies, so I spent most of that time giggling.

When we went back out into the world, I started to recede from my football happy state. It was cold and gray and slushy in Chicago, and even though I was in car, I wasn't in my bed. We passed a couple on a street corner, all bundled up and waiting for the light to change so they could cross the street. They held hands, and began to jump as they waited, bouncing up and down. "Christ, aren't they chipper," I thought to myself, silently hating them with their energy and their hand-holding.

"Look at that couple," our friend Jenny said. "They look like cute jumping beans."

And already, I'd failed. I laughed, and told Jenny I had been looking at the same couple, with a moderately different take. My days here are somewhat manic. Yesterday, I went from being completely frustrated with the Illinois Secretary of State (an attempt to get a new driver's license) to completely thrilled with myself and the possibilities that the city holds (after a fairly positive job interview).

Update: I got the job. I will be making an hourly wage larger than I've ever before received to spend three days a week in a position that is in no way appealing. I was so happy to hear I'd gotten the job, truly I was. I begin the year with my financial worries (a blooming, leafy plant that was planted in Sept when I moved here and has grown to catastrophic proportions) eliminated and with two classes so far improved on last quarter's I can't think of a metaphor to illuminate the difference. The gods are promoting my positivity, and I've no choice but to act on it.

In preparation for Christmas Eve mass, hungover

Favorite Holidays, ranked from most to least:

1. Halloween
2. Thanksgiving
3. St. Patrick's Day
4. 4th of July
5. Memorial Day/Labor Day
6. Summer Solstice (I don't actually celebrate this, but think I should start.)
7. My birthday/friends' birthdays
8. Christmas
9. Valentine's Day
10. New Year's Eve

The saving graces of Christmas:

1. Wrapping my brother's gift in an egg carton.
2. Our annual ugly sweater party
3. Cookies
4. White Christmas/Love Actually/It's a Wonderful Life/Linus
5. Nat King Cole
6. Festivus
7. Families who drink

In the vein of Allison's subterannean homesick blues

It is 9:15am on a Friday morning. My first quarter of grad school completed, I'm sitting on my parents' loveseat, enjoying the hour before I have to be at work. Really enjoying it. There's no one in my family's house, and I realize that this is the first time I've been alone in a few weeks. As I drink my tea and putter around on my computer, I realize how relaxing this is. The TV is off, no one is stomping around the house, and I can make all the loud sounds with my nose that I want.

I miss my place in Chicago. I don't know if the emotional tumult of moving created a dramatic shift in my brain, but something happened and my parents' house is not my place anymore. My apartment is my place. The sense of comfort I feel in my parents' house will never go away, but it has changed dramatically. There is no way for me to finish what I started while I'm in this house. I don't know what it is that I've started, but it has been abandoned these many days now.

I've had the "coming home" conversation with many people my age. For some, the home they grew up in stopped being their home once they started college. Some felt it shift after they got home from being abroad. (Side note: What enormous privilege we have.) I think for me, this is the first time the shift hasn't felt like a bad thing, like a betrayal. After I graduated from undergrad, I came back home and tried to make this my life. I tried for two years. And I was happy here, but I wasn't full. And maybe I won't be in Chicago, but for now the difference is so great that I'm at least distracted.

Side note: Check out this website Emmy led me to. It's a bunch of graphic designers who created a phony medication in an effort to display the manipulation of our nation's health. It is so funny. Be sure to take the quiz.

Cooking for the Vice President

Last week, Kansas City had the great pleasure of hosting VP Dick Cheney for a day. Over the past three weeks, I've had the great pleasure of being in Kansas City. Thus, our paths have somewhat collided.

In these KC weeks, I began the work I came home to do: make money. The easiest (or so I thought) outlet for this cash flow would be working for my friend's mother, a caterer. I signed on to work parties and do prep work and dishes in the kitchen. Mostly, it turns out I am a slave to the kitchen. Imagine my shock at the foot and back pain gained by working a 9 or 10 hour day on one's feet. Life is full of new experiences. A borrowed pair of running shoes from my mother has improved my outlook tremendously, though.

Last Thursday, the kitchen was catering a luncheon for someone we were referring to as "The Republicans." This fundraiser featured a special, mystery guest, a VIP that had to remain unnamed due to security measures. Yes, you put those pieces together correctly - I cooked lunch for the Vice President. I, Helen E, chopped vegetables for Dick Cheney's crudite. I, Helen E, mixed roasted red pepper dip with twice the amount of required garlic (whoops) for Dick Cheney's enjoyment on the pita chips I created myself.

Actually, the truth is, Cheney wasn't allowed to eat any of the food our kitchen prepared. Security was too tight. My boss had to go meet with Secret Service the day before, and all the servers working the party had to report their dates of birth, full names, and social security numbers to these same Secret Service. Apparently, before the party began, they were all forced to wait in the garage while they were supposed to be setting up. Those SS guys aren't effing around. I was supposed to work that party, but I got cut at the last minute, due to poor turnout. I think some higher power never meant for me to meet that scary devil of a man. Our forces were never meant to collide.

Aside from the VP, cooking has been a trip. It's tiring, but I must say that I've had worse jobs. The other day, I was peeling carrots, and had no less than four smells assaulting me: carrots, thawing lobster, baking chocolate, and sauteeing onions. It's quite stimulating, plus I get to listen to NPR all day. I like to feel like I'm up to date again. Though each night when I come home, no matter how glorious the food smelled that day, I flipping stink. Apparently that vibrant mix doesn't travel well. There are worse things, I suppose.

Fun Stuff

Check this lady out. She's got it goin' on. I giggled while reading.

I found her on this, most excellent, Chicago art-dudes site. Many thanks to Abigail for sending me their way.

Today, my (temporary) work catered a party for some local Republicans. These dudes happened to be hosting VP Dick Cheney. Unfortunately, I had to stay back in the kitchen to wash dishes and make horseradish sauces. I guess the world wasn't ready for a Cheney/Maggard pairing just yet. Maybe someday??? More on the catering later. I have to ice down my thighs and drink four beers to recover first.