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
Monday, December 24, 2007
Friday, December 14, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, December 10, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, December 7, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
And now... hockey
That’s right, the Chicago Blackhawks. We entered the United Center at the Michael Jordan entrance – easy to spot because of the giant bronze statue of Michael Jordan. Our party was a party indeed – us three lovely ladies and one loquacious five year old. After going through the labyrinth of hockey fans and special VIP entrances, we reached our box seats.
The first thing we saw was a woman putting the final touches on her free hotdog – sesame bun and all. We were living large. Aside from hotdogs, there was a sweet buffet of free food and beer. Budweiser products in cans. I felt the event merited Bud Heavy.
Though it never would’ve occurred to me, my roommate warned that it would be cold. Even in our fancy seats, it was pretty chilly in that iced United Center. In case it isn’t clear, this was my first hockey game. What better way to spend a Friday night than at my first hockey game?
The Blackhawks played the St. Louis Blues, and everyone got a free Blackhawks ballcap as they walked in. When you looked out at the crowd, you could see a series of bright red heads clapping and cheering as the players did their warm-ups. After warm-ups, the sea of red disappeared for the singing of our national anthem. I have never heard a national anthem cheered so loudly or emphatically before. The stadium used its many light-up signs to display waving red and white stripes, and stars of white on fields of blue. It was pretty amazing. I’m surprised I didn’t see anyone crying.
The game started soon after that – 3 periods of skating and scoring attempts. I took to asking my neighbors to the left, St. Louis fans, questions about the hockey. I was really curious about why the referees weren’t announcing their penalty calls over the loudspeaker. Also, unlike football or even baseball, there was little-to-no narration. Most of the other fans didn’t seem to mind, and I soon found myself as involved as the next person. Much like football, hockey is a full-contact sport, and it’s pretty exciting to see those guys smack up against the glass like a bird who didn’t see it coming.
I have never seen such perfect ice as this was after the zamboni machines cleaned it between periods. I bet that well-maintained ice wouldn’t look as good if it weren’t for the shovel girls. Instead of cheerleaders, it would appear that hockey teams have a set of scantily clad, able-bodied young women who skate out in their leg warmers and their bikini tops with shovels, to remove ice debris. Our five year old companion looked at these girls, then turned to me and said, “They must be freezing!” Freezing indeed. My friend’s nephew is wise beyond his years.
In fact, the attendance of this tiny wise man made the game much more exciting for me. His enthusiasm was contagious, and we had many a good laugh at his interchanges with Tommy, the Blackhawks mascot. I sometimes wish there were more funny five-year olds running around in my life. If he hadn’t been at the game that night, my friends and I would’ve drank a lot and made fun of everything. As it stood, we drank plenty, and made fun of more than a few things, but I also felt like I was more allowed to get excited about what was going on around me. We could cheer without being mocking, we could see the game through the eyes of a five-year old who played his slide whistle (think like a clown has) each time something got exciting.
In addition to the slide whistle, I was expecting to hear a lot of Journey and the like blaring over the loudspeakers, but I was surprised to find quite a mix. At one point, my friend pointed out that they were actually playing the Arcade Fire. I caught two snippets of Elvis Costello at various points throughout the night, too. It just goes to show, hockey is full of surprises.
The first thing we saw was a woman putting the final touches on her free hotdog – sesame bun and all. We were living large. Aside from hotdogs, there was a sweet buffet of free food and beer. Budweiser products in cans. I felt the event merited Bud Heavy.
Though it never would’ve occurred to me, my roommate warned that it would be cold. Even in our fancy seats, it was pretty chilly in that iced United Center. In case it isn’t clear, this was my first hockey game. What better way to spend a Friday night than at my first hockey game?
The Blackhawks played the St. Louis Blues, and everyone got a free Blackhawks ballcap as they walked in. When you looked out at the crowd, you could see a series of bright red heads clapping and cheering as the players did their warm-ups. After warm-ups, the sea of red disappeared for the singing of our national anthem. I have never heard a national anthem cheered so loudly or emphatically before. The stadium used its many light-up signs to display waving red and white stripes, and stars of white on fields of blue. It was pretty amazing. I’m surprised I didn’t see anyone crying.
The game started soon after that – 3 periods of skating and scoring attempts. I took to asking my neighbors to the left, St. Louis fans, questions about the hockey. I was really curious about why the referees weren’t announcing their penalty calls over the loudspeaker. Also, unlike football or even baseball, there was little-to-no narration. Most of the other fans didn’t seem to mind, and I soon found myself as involved as the next person. Much like football, hockey is a full-contact sport, and it’s pretty exciting to see those guys smack up against the glass like a bird who didn’t see it coming.
I have never seen such perfect ice as this was after the zamboni machines cleaned it between periods. I bet that well-maintained ice wouldn’t look as good if it weren’t for the shovel girls. Instead of cheerleaders, it would appear that hockey teams have a set of scantily clad, able-bodied young women who skate out in their leg warmers and their bikini tops with shovels, to remove ice debris. Our five year old companion looked at these girls, then turned to me and said, “They must be freezing!” Freezing indeed. My friend’s nephew is wise beyond his years.
In fact, the attendance of this tiny wise man made the game much more exciting for me. His enthusiasm was contagious, and we had many a good laugh at his interchanges with Tommy, the Blackhawks mascot. I sometimes wish there were more funny five-year olds running around in my life. If he hadn’t been at the game that night, my friends and I would’ve drank a lot and made fun of everything. As it stood, we drank plenty, and made fun of more than a few things, but I also felt like I was more allowed to get excited about what was going on around me. We could cheer without being mocking, we could see the game through the eyes of a five-year old who played his slide whistle (think like a clown has) each time something got exciting.
In addition to the slide whistle, I was expecting to hear a lot of Journey and the like blaring over the loudspeakers, but I was surprised to find quite a mix. At one point, my friend pointed out that they were actually playing the Arcade Fire. I caught two snippets of Elvis Costello at various points throughout the night, too. It just goes to show, hockey is full of surprises.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Pigskin, anyone?
I sat down to write a post about football, and ended up writing a poem. Let's try this again:
This weekend, we drove 8 hours to KC all for the sake of football. My ever-generous friend had her dad's amazing Chiefs tickets, and we meant to capitalize on them. (I also meant to wash the three loads of laundry I brought home in the trunk, saving myself $6. Yes, I'm to that point.)
Gameday (Sunday) dawned sunny and bright, with an extra hour of sleep due to Daylight Savings Time. The high was 71 degrees, and I had my red t-shirt and red bandanna, ready for action.
It's funny, but ever since graduating from college, I've been more of a football fan. I limit myself to professional football, though this year it's been fun to keep up with MU's record, etc. When I moved up here in September, I found myself watching Chiefs game feeds on NFL.com, cursing our lack of cable. Though those Chiefs are really struggling this year, I'm more determined than ever to be a fan.
Back to Arrowhead. We arrived in the parking lot at about 11am, with plenty of time to drink a beer and take in the spectacle. I watched the over-sized cars streaming across the lot, parking and unloading coolers and grills. You could hear music from people's stereos, and smell their grilling meats. The people next to us let us use their chairs, and people threw footballs between the cars. I looked around me at the astronomical spending power of America, and it didn't bother me one bit. I was too excited to get into the stadium and spend $7.25 on a lite beer.
The game started, and my friend and I screamed and cheered with the best of them. We befriended the toothless man who would yell, "Move the chains!!!!" each time the Chiefs got a first down, and scowled at the loudmouth Packers fan behind us. We ate nachos and drank beer and cheered for touchdowns. The weather was perfect, and the Chiefs almost won. On the whole, it was a great day. For some reason, I can't get enough of watching those giant men run into each other, sling passes down field, or run as fast as they can to jump on someone and stop them in their tracks. Go Chiefs!!
This weekend, we drove 8 hours to KC all for the sake of football. My ever-generous friend had her dad's amazing Chiefs tickets, and we meant to capitalize on them. (I also meant to wash the three loads of laundry I brought home in the trunk, saving myself $6. Yes, I'm to that point.)
Gameday (Sunday) dawned sunny and bright, with an extra hour of sleep due to Daylight Savings Time. The high was 71 degrees, and I had my red t-shirt and red bandanna, ready for action.
It's funny, but ever since graduating from college, I've been more of a football fan. I limit myself to professional football, though this year it's been fun to keep up with MU's record, etc. When I moved up here in September, I found myself watching Chiefs game feeds on NFL.com, cursing our lack of cable. Though those Chiefs are really struggling this year, I'm more determined than ever to be a fan.
Back to Arrowhead. We arrived in the parking lot at about 11am, with plenty of time to drink a beer and take in the spectacle. I watched the over-sized cars streaming across the lot, parking and unloading coolers and grills. You could hear music from people's stereos, and smell their grilling meats. The people next to us let us use their chairs, and people threw footballs between the cars. I looked around me at the astronomical spending power of America, and it didn't bother me one bit. I was too excited to get into the stadium and spend $7.25 on a lite beer.
The game started, and my friend and I screamed and cheered with the best of them. We befriended the toothless man who would yell, "Move the chains!!!!" each time the Chiefs got a first down, and scowled at the loudmouth Packers fan behind us. We ate nachos and drank beer and cheered for touchdowns. The weather was perfect, and the Chiefs almost won. On the whole, it was a great day. For some reason, I can't get enough of watching those giant men run into each other, sling passes down field, or run as fast as they can to jump on someone and stop them in their tracks. Go Chiefs!!
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
An Assignment
Tom has asked, and he shall receive. The assignment is below, and it's much more appealing than the homework I'm facing right now...
List 5 things that certain people (who are not deserving of being your friend anyway) may consider to be “totally lame,” but you are, despite the possible stigma, totally proud of. Own it:
1. I can sit down and eat Wavy Lays with Dean's french onion dip as a meal. I can sit and eat that until I am full. Many think this is gross; I think it is glorious.
2. My dancing. When dancing, it may look to outsiders like I'm extremely white and extremely sans rhythm, but in my head, it looks AWESOME. I love the way I look (in my head) when I am dancing. It's an added bonus when friends are embarrassed about this dancing, really.
3. My dad will occasionally drunk dial me on Monday nights when he gets home from his weekly basketball night with friends. When I tell people about this, it gets mixed reactions. Some think it's awesome or hilarious; others think it's a little sad and give me a look like maybe my dad has a problem. He doesn't, and I love those drunk dials because they are funny and affectionate.
4. I make a huge scene when a song I really, really like comes on in a public place. These songs take me by surprise, I get really excited, and I either sing along, gasp, or both. People think this is annoying but I think it is awesome.
5. I like to walk around in my underwear. Pants are for work. The only one who thinks this isn't embarrassing is my roommate. She's part of the "pants are for work" foundation. I think it's glorious.
Note: This took me a really long time to come up with. I think that I'm a pretty open person, and also I think it's tough to associate things that others find embarrassing with pride. There's almost a contradiction there, because if others weren't around, nothing would be embarrassing. Right?
List 5 things that certain people (who are not deserving of being your friend anyway) may consider to be “totally lame,” but you are, despite the possible stigma, totally proud of. Own it:
1. I can sit down and eat Wavy Lays with Dean's french onion dip as a meal. I can sit and eat that until I am full. Many think this is gross; I think it is glorious.
2. My dancing. When dancing, it may look to outsiders like I'm extremely white and extremely sans rhythm, but in my head, it looks AWESOME. I love the way I look (in my head) when I am dancing. It's an added bonus when friends are embarrassed about this dancing, really.
3. My dad will occasionally drunk dial me on Monday nights when he gets home from his weekly basketball night with friends. When I tell people about this, it gets mixed reactions. Some think it's awesome or hilarious; others think it's a little sad and give me a look like maybe my dad has a problem. He doesn't, and I love those drunk dials because they are funny and affectionate.
4. I make a huge scene when a song I really, really like comes on in a public place. These songs take me by surprise, I get really excited, and I either sing along, gasp, or both. People think this is annoying but I think it is awesome.
5. I like to walk around in my underwear. Pants are for work. The only one who thinks this isn't embarrassing is my roommate. She's part of the "pants are for work" foundation. I think it's glorious.
Note: This took me a really long time to come up with. I think that I'm a pretty open person, and also I think it's tough to associate things that others find embarrassing with pride. There's almost a contradiction there, because if others weren't around, nothing would be embarrassing. Right?
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