slowly returning to writing beyond the three-sentence e-mail
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| Yeah right slowly returning to writing beyond the three-sentence e-mail |
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 11/12/2003 08:06:00 AM
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BODY:
pondering it all with a migraine
ok, the best times to make major life decisions are NOT when you have a migraine. You probably shouldn't get out of bed if you have a migraine and you've just started your period, either. But here I am at the Perk, hissing sounds of milk steaming and customers clomping on the hardwood floors with their brand new winter boots.
I smell chocolate, hazelnut syrup, french vanilla coffee, chocolate, some customer's godawful perfume...
Esam pounds espresso out of...I can't remember what proper names are of anything at the moment. But metal hits rubber hits metal hits wood...Even a customer shaking a sugar packet sounds like a room full of angry rattlesnakes.
Migraines curse and bless. I can function through most of them -- as long as middle pixels of my vision don't start swirling. What I find as "blessings" are the heightened senses of smells and sound. Granted, every decibel and ever whiff makes me want to vomit or bury my head in my Boblbee backpack....
But sometimes I wonder if I would even notice these things otherwise. If they didn't inflict so much cranial and nervous chaos, would I ever note the different pitches that my keyboard evokes? how I noticeably push harder on the right side? Would my world be all about the visual and the felt?
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/25/2003 12:06:00 PM
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BODY:
sitting at the Perk
Fernando, the guy who cleans our place, walks in with his little grandsons. His daughter comes and asks if I have any babies.
At the same time, a man hunched over walks into the store, grabs a Wall Street Journal, and settles on the couch. He pulls a pen from his baby blue slicker and starts writing furiously on the newspaper. I'm sitting like 10 feet away from him, and I can't see his face for his chin buried in his chest and the striped stocking cap creeping down his forehead. He rips the front page of the paper and rips and rips and rips. Then pushes the strips of paper and pen back into his slicker. One of our neighbors just came by and ushered him out. I wanted to say, "What's the big deal? He's just writing on papers we would throw out today anyway." But I didn't have the nerve.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/22/2003 01:06:00 PM
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BODY:
my every-so-often newsletter
this time, I sent out a newsletter about my life, rather than "what's perkolating" at the Perk:
hi, you'ns all,
I think i've told most of you, but, just in case, I'm an aunt! My brother-in-law and his wife in Sweden gave birth to Jamie Lucas on October 3. So far, he's kept his blue eyes! (Who would have thunk?) But he definitely looks like a Mikhaeil.
anyways, just some happy news to relate. since i'm an only child (or was raised such; some of you'ns know the story), being an aunt is an awe-inspiring new experience for me.
oh, in other good news:
The Perk was in the Chicago Tribune twice in two weeks!
Oct. 17, top of the front page of the Tempo section:
From the grounds up: Casing the coffee joints
Oct. 7, Reader's Choice story based on feedback from metromix.com.
My friend Hiromi and I took a cross-country trip to Los Angeles/Orange County this month. There, I was able to once again just breathe in and sigh at the dance of my close friend Scott Putman. The Praxis Project at the Ford Amphitheatre (check out this venue!) highlighted Scott's choreography in a duet, "Everlasting Now," part of a larger ballet series, "Experiment in White." Scott is artistic director and founder of Cerulean Dance Theatre, for which I've ecstatically been board secretary since it's inception in the late 90's. Cerulean is probably my best kept secret; we've been on hiatus for about three years and now are showing up all over the world in festivals. A lot of work to do in the coming year. :)
In Los Angeles, I also got to reconnect with a few friends (Todd, Keturah, and Clint) and meet some new ones (Richard, Alex, Katie). underEXPOSED, Todd's pilot at Bravo, is set to be complete by January; no word on when it airs...but you'll be hearing about it and all the other projects that Todd is working on with Sean Hayes and company. My friend Keturah dances with John Malashock; they just premiered a film project and they perform four performances in San Diego, beginning Oct. 31. (If you're in San Diego or know anyone in the area, I highly recommend the experience. Keturah radiates as a dancer and person.)
Building Green Bridges (where I sit as a founding board member) celebrates a growth spurt of activity. Check us out at www.bgb.org. We've launched a new Chicagoland web calendar called Greening Chicago and we received a grant for a youth stewardship project in China. (Kevin, Alan, I might need your insights on this!)
I finally finally finished the book project from hades. Well, it's not finished finished, but invoiced for complete project. :) Apologies to all whom I've bitched about this.
Chicago Company of Friends is busy busy busy in November, leading with a November 3 joint workshop/networking venture with ChicWIT and Barry Moltz, author of "You Need to Be a Little Crazy: The Truth About Starting and Growing Your Own Business" (Dearborn 2003). November 11, we bring back the "So You Want to Be an Author?" workshop; November 12, we have our first ever game night with Hubbub. And November 19 is our Worst Working Moment Contest with Terry Kozlowski. Oh, am I the happy programming diva.
Last but not least, I'm looking for a full-time gig in addition to freelancing frenzy. Full-time, I'm searching for production/project manager (communications, events, non-profit/associations) positions; freelance, I want more book typesetting and/or proofreading projects. I've been pilfering at my career for the past two years, while building up the Perk. And I promised Ramana a novel. ;)
The Perk is a major part of my life; I'm just redirecting energies to the search, my fiction writing, and my health/fitness.
Oh, and Esam turns 33 on Friday. If he tells you he's 35 or 40, laugh and don't believe him. :) Wish him a happy birthday if you get the chance.
Hope you all have enlightening autumns. Thanks for your continued support. We're lucky to have you as friends and Perk patrons (near and afar).
--
lynne marie
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/21/2003 08:25:00 AM
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BODY:
at 35 West Wacker
in the freight elevator. a tall African American man sits in an armless office chair, neck and back hunched forward over this small Memorex DVD player. the player could fit into his palm. and on that tiny screen is Edward Norton's face and some sans-serif caption beginning with "Fuck."
"is that The Italian Job?" the guy with me asks as we maneuver a cart filled with box lunches and too-large-for-me-to-carry coolers into the large metal room.
"no, 25th Hour." i don't think the operator wanted to talk. he just wanted to ask our floor and return to the movie. my company wanted to gab about Ed Norton. i just watched that face frozen on a postcard-sized screen.
the player sat on a battered cardboard box, so old that whatever identification it had was pretty much worn off. the box was on its side, with the top facing the operator's chest, so he could reach in and grab one of the honey buns lying there, I guess. the box sat on top of a Chronicle of the 20th Century, which lay on one of those black step-stool/chairs you see in file rooms. the whole structure reminded me of a wobbling triple-decker ice cream sundae.
i offhandedly commented that i had seen The Italian Job. no one noticed i had uttered a word. so, i just watched Ed Norton's face and pondered on when i could afford a new PowerBook, and how people can be ingenius on filling the moments of a "boring job."
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/20/2003 07:27:00 AM
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BODY:
psychic creepiness
a friend of mine works as a front page editor for a local newspaper. he writes:
I'm at work Tuesday night, I have a hole on my front page the size of Texas, and we're waiting to see if the Cubs -- now in the eighth inning of Game 6 -- can win, whereby I go with page 1 layout Plan A. If they lose, we go with layout Plan B. I've got it all set up for either possibility so all we have to do is drop in text and photos. I even have headlines written for both outcomes.
So the night copy desk chief jokes to no one in particular that the Cubs should decide right now if they're going to win or lose, because deadline is not getting any farther away. At this time, the Cubs are up 3-0, but the Marlins are threatening.
For much of the season, while watching Cubs and Sox games at work, I had been proclaiming inane, often grandiose predictions about their outcomes or what the next play or pitch is going to be (we almost always have the TV on at work if there's baseball). Well, none of my preposterous prognostications had ever come true, except one: I had once predicted a walk followed by a Frank Thomas home run; it happened.
On this night, I respond to the night desk chief's quip with "I bet the Marlins put up eight runs right here and put the game away."
Within 10 minutes, the Fish had scored 8 runs. Final score: 8-3.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/20/2003 07:25:00 AM
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BODY:
morning dialogue
My latest mantra comes from Yoda. Of all people. I can't get this old, old, old (maybe original?) Star Wars quote out of my head: "We don't try. We do or do not do. There is no trying." Something like that. This morning, Esam said he was going to try to quit smoking in front of my person; I quipped, "No, there is no trying. There is only doing or not doing."
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/18/2003 04:18:00 AM
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BODY:
it's 4 o'clock in the morning
i abandoned this blog for no good reason. this past month, i've falled into moments of intensity, where one thought, one stray emotion, expands by hundredfold. i feel a moment's guilt about a supposed wrong, and then soonafter, I'm bawling, obsessing, pulling out hairs, making over amends. to be honest, i suspected pregnancy, but those slight nagging feelings were put to rest this morning by several drops of blood.
the craziest thing about marriage: you make a mistake. you offer to handle the mistake by yourself. say, in this instance, you offered to sponsor coffee for about 700 walkers in the American Liver Foundation/Illinois' annual walk. so, you tell your husband that you realize you made a mistake, you'll handle it all by your lonesome, he can sleep in and dream of a non-mistake-making wife. he blathers about your mistake for about 30 minutes, then says he will wake up with you to make coffee for 700 walkers.
i can never doubt that this man loves me.
he might play aloof boy a lot now, but he still is hopelessly foolish for me. next month, we have our fifth wedding anniversary. nearing those half-decade marks chokes me up sometime. it's establishment. that belief that you are no longer newlyweds, you are submerged into the "old married couples" realm. i should know you implicitly by now; i should be intercepting thought waves and predicting changes in temperament and eating patterns.
i know him well. but i don't think i will ever know him well.
still, i'll make him tea in a little while, tickle him out of bed and into the shower, and listen for about forty minutes on why i'm an impulsive sap for trying to help so many people when i have little money at the moment. :)
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/08/2003 07:37:00 AM
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BODY:
my nails are too long
"fingernails grow 1/8-inch per month," i read somewhere in a girly magazine, the ones that your thumbs pilfer as you wait for someone and their 50 containers of cottage cheese to get through the check-out lane.
i wish! mine probably grown a 1/4-inch every 10 days.
i used to joke with a friend that i would happily switch my fingernail-growing frenzy for her fingernail-stunted-growth malady. i'm serious. while long fingernails might look oh so pretty polished and trimmed, i would rather have chewed-to-the-quick slivers. i can't type as quickly with nails such as these.
anyways, the nail conundrum is just a distraction from the fucked-up world where i reside for the moment.
saturday, i gave up fighting the establishment. my husband's and mom's drearidom added just enough weight to send me to their blue world. i couldn't find the vision. i couldn't remember why i'm grateful. i couldn't just love what is, and think of all the cool projects, the cool people, the cool moments of conversational bliss.
i became a grump. and i hate myself this way. i hate that i caved, i conceded, i plunged forward into despair. i'm not sure how i'm going to pull myself out of this feeling. at a soul-level, i know it's not me. but fighting their dispositions just tires me too much.
i hate that lack of money is directing my fate, my marriage, my mood. this caricature is NOT me.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 8/24/2003 10:35:00 PM
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BODY:
compendium
sometimes, you know why you got up in the morning and made the effort. i would hope that all of us realized, recognized, thanked God for that clarity every day. but, let's be true, most of the time, we wake up with no clues.
my sunday typically consists of the drive to the Perk to open, then drive back for the 9:30 a.m. service at Unity, then coffee with Mark at the enemy, then a day spent either being highly productive or spent sleeping and watching movies. today didn't differ from that routine.
yet, i actually listened to everything today. (i'm not saying that i ignore Rev. Ed's message or that i nod ignorantly through my Sundays. but my mind usually does wander as i try to keep my back from knotting up.)
anyways...
Stop pretending and open your eyes.
How many times are you halfway in a guided meditation and someone says that phrase? I almost burst out in giggles. (Meditation is NOT my strong suit unfortunately. I usually end up thinking about bills or sex or the book I'm reading.)
Our speaker today AmanMotwane, turned a Unity service tradition on its ear. Close your eyes, see yourself in a wood or a jungle or a prairie (I can't remember), to your left is a roaring lion, to your right a ferocious elephant ready to stampede, in front a wolf, behind you a tree with an overhanging limb and on that limb is a poisonous snake about to strike....
What are you going to do? ... Stop pretending and open your eyes.
Motwane is 6 feet 5 inches. His father is 5 feet 7; his mother is 4 feet 11. He reached his current height at the age of 12. "You probably know someone from India and can imagine what that was like for me," he said. "My schoolmates had every name for me ... Empire State Building ... Long tall Sally ... A tall drink of water ...." Motwane started his talk with a recollection of a family reunion, where his aunt, at 4 feet 7 inches, stood on a ladder to "see the world from his eyes." Laughter and tears aside, the story continued to one resolution:
(paraphrase) From that day forward, I have never prayed to God to bless me because I know I am already blessed. I pray for the clarity to see that blessing.
As Motwane recited statistics from this society of more prisons than schools, more divorces than happily ever afters, he threaded the urgency to "see the blessing as it happens." We think we have more infinite wisdom than God and focus on the blessings of others rather than on our blessings, he said. In consequence, we ignore and abuse and lose our gifts.
We recognize our blessings retrospectively, not presently.
I bit the inside of my lip. Just as I had last night when I lay on the loveseat, watching HBO and recounting all the wonderful things I let slip away. Esam asked me why I hadn't slept; I said I was too busy remembering how I have gotten everything I have ever wanted in my adult life, and how I've fucked it all up.
This past year, we have scraped to survive as a couple, as a business, as individuals who have the basic survival needs. No need to publish my accounts. But I admit that I have been overdue, overdrawn, pay-the-rent-or-we-will-start-eviction-procedures probably the most ever. We choose to support our parents and Esam's sister; we've supported one of his brothers as well in the past. It's been rough with starting a business, maintaining my freelance, and coping with this resurgence of back and other pains.
Yet, for the most part, last night's insomnia aside, I've remained hopeful. I've still laughed. I've not moved at the same speed as I wanted, and I've fucked up on so many matters. But I have kept going. I have revelled in all the wonderful friendships I have. Lately, I've felt guilty about my laughter and smiles. "I can't imagine you being happy during all this," my mother told me this week.
So, last night, I was ready to jump onto the life-is-fucking-horrible bandwagon.
And, this morning, I opened my eyes and saw all the blessings around me. I decided to pick up the pace a bit more, but still keep moving.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 8/14/2003 11:29:00 PM
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BODY:
bliss
how do you define it? does it define you? this afternoon, as i lay beneath the cushiony cotton sheets at Serendipity Massage, i wondered why bliss is so easily attainable yet i don't make the time to attain it.
because bliss is not so elusive. it doesn't play hide and seek with me in dark alleys or amid the racks at Marshall Field's. i know what makes me sigh with content. why do i feel i don't deserve it most days? because i lack necessary cash reserves ... that's not good enough of a reason.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 8/13/2003 07:59:00 AM
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BODY:
sleeping
The best ideas ALWAYS arrive about five minutes before I succumb to sleep. Always, always, always. Ever since my memory starts. I've tried putting a tape recorder on the nightstand, a pen and spiral notebook, even a crayon and poster-size sheet of butcher paper.
What do I always do? I just revel in the words, spin them, weave them around myself and drift off into vivid happy dreams and nightmares.
Go figure.
So, last night, as I was sighing and shrugging and disrupting my husband's light slumber with my twist to the left/twist to the right (stand up, sit down, fight! fight! fight!) ....
I was recalling silly snippets of life. Like the first time I said "fuck." Oh, I know that sounds so sick to the modern literate professional. Why would you remember something like that? That's like reconstructing the first moment you wiped your ass by yourself or learned what a "blowjob" meant or accidentally farted in a public setting (like while doing your sixth-grade oral book report). It's crude. Unfashionable. Unfathomable. Vulgar. All those nasty adjectives that no self-respecting New York Times reader would ever add to his/her memoirs.
But if the place is still there, I could take you to the spot where I first vocalized those four letters strung together into a one-syllable construct that would get me detention or, worse, a slap-on-the-face confrontation with my mom.
I was standing under the tree that guarded the walkway to the back porch. I don't know what kind of tree it was. It had to be a dwarf something. The tree branches provided a drying rack for Granny's peppers, a community site for birdhouses fashioned from gourds ... shelter for us as we sat in 50's-style rusted turquoise lawn chairs and shuck corn, twisted ice-cream maker handles, snapped beans, repotted ferns and peace lillies. Granny and Grandaddy seemed to make that tree their office.
If I had raised my left leg and kicked, I would have struck football mums. I was looking toward the garage; I think the lavender irises were out and Granny's favorite yellow tea rose bush was in bloom. Some anger rose up in me on this stupid crush I was playing out at high school. (I was barely 16.)
Why do you play the lovestruck fool about Ernie Van Zant? You don't like anyone here. You don't want to stay here. You want to forget here. Yet, you still want people to think you're normal and normal is being stupid dumbstruck over some jerk of a senior who thinks he has it so good because you lend him his Algebra III homework. Damn, Damn, Damn. Fuck, fuck, fuck, stupid girl....
I bit my tongue and did a 360-turn. No one outside within hearing distance. Thank God. Then, like a good little teenager, I proceeded to utter the syllable about fifty times.
Because in our family, you could say "shit" and "goddamn" even if you were the children and grandchildren and spouse of a deacon at Hopewell Missionary Baptist Church. You could let your daughter go weeks with the same socks and underwear; you could let your daughter forge your signature on her own school notes or anything else. You could get your daughter to forge your parents' signatures on checks and other official documents. You could stack piles and piles of non-needed stuff in your parents' home, so much that your daughter can barely get to the phone or that your daughter has to sleep on the kitchen floor under the oven door that likes to slam down within three inches of her head at 2 in the morning.
Oh, you could do so many things. You could ignore so many sins. But that one word was a surefire ticket to hell. It was the beginning of my demise into a turncoat, a Democrat then a Green for goodness sake. Hallelujah, praise God and forgive her for her sins. That explains why I started dating Indians...Hindus, non-Christians for heaven's sake. That explains why I converted to Catholicism, then started attending Unity (that cult!), dabbled in yoga and other things. Oh, yes, that one magical mystical moment determined my woeful fate. Of course, I needed to go to some country preacher in Whittington to be exorcised of all these demons that would make me like to wear black, read books involving vampires, sneak money behind my mother's back, hide schnapps in my cough medicine bottles and take them to school, wear earrings that had silver snakes....
How fucked up is that?
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 8/06/2003 09:50:00 PM
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BODY:
typical conversation at the cafe
How did Jason and I get on the topic of fires and the likelihood of my Boblbee backpack and my PowerBook Ti melting? I can't remember, but the ensuing conversation still has me thinking.
ME: Seriously, even if my data is forever screwed, the case wouldn't melt, would it?
J: You know, I can't remember where titanium is on the periodic chart. Let me look it up. But even if it melted, there wouldn't be serious air damage.
ME: But, I thought if titanium vaporized ....
J: Nerve damage, you're right.
Jason uses his new 17" PowerBook (which is aluminum, btw) to discover the melting and vaporization point of titanium online.
J: Oh, you're safe. The melting point is blah, blah, blah. And the vaporization point is blah, blah, blah.
ME: So, when I die, if I'm cremated, the titanium rods, screws and pins will melt or not?
J: But you'll be dead.
ME: But I don't want to be a hazardous waste site. I'd hate some funeral worker to get something and it was because of me.
Jason does some more research online about crematorium standards.
J: Well, it looks like that titanium does not melt in standard crematoriums. No worries about vaporization either. It's actually quite light.
ME: Hmmm...Yeah, that's why they upgraded from steel to titanium, for the flexibility.
J: You know they have to have some collection procedures or something. Think of all the mercury that funeral workers have to deal with it. And they've got to have some experience with other bodies with titanium implants.
ME: So, I'll be a landfill contribution.
J: Well, yes. Have you heard of people using the carbon from ashes to create diamonds so that your loved ones can have you with them always?
ME: No, I heard about them using ashes in Florida to help rebuild coral reefs, I think.
J: Oh, that's cool.
ME: Is titanium recyclable?
So, seriously, I'm bothered by this newfound fact. How weird is that going to be to collect my ashes and for my titanium rods and paraphrenalia to still be intact? Granted, I'm glad that I'm not going to be the cause of someone's early painful deterioration, but what are you going to do with titanum rods that once fused my spinal column? Maybe I should start researching into recycling options. Maybe I should start lobbying for recycling options. I don't want parts of me -- the parts of me that extended my life -- to be meshed amid IV bags and catheters and other biohazardous waste, in some landfill in New Jersey or wherever. My constant contribution to the Earth's demise. Surely, they could just sterilize the rods and screws and pins and send to an industrial facility where part of me is refashioned into a computer case or another person's life-saving device.
I've been arguing with my mother for years -- she's convinced that this could threaten my heaven-boundedness -- and my argument has, in part, based itself on the fact that I don't want my corpse to be extra waste and space in a world that already has lost too much wilderness. But I can just hear her now saying, "Well, your rods are going into a landfill anyway. So, what's the big deal of just burying you in the family plot?" She would concede that I could be buried in just a shroud or a pinebox, just as long as I'm buried so that my body can rise again when Judgment comes. Damn it. I've got to do more research, plan this all out. Because I have to put this all into a will. Just in case I do die before she does. I can see it. She will persuade Esam that she, as my mother, as the person that has known me the longest, knows that I didn't really want to be cremated --- it was an aberration from the myriad of things I wasn't supposed to be doing because I was raised better. Esam, in his grief, will let her do whatever ... and my corpse will rot for decades, for centuries, in some plot in Grayville, Illinois. She might even put me in one of those white-satin-lined casket monstrosities because I'm her "little baby doll."
Eeeks, I hate white.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 8/03/2003 11:03:00 PM
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BODY:
does this make sense?
the new apartment managers installed three brand new WHITE washers and three brand new WHITE dryers. why is the color so important? well, the old washing apparati appeared to be as older or older than I; at least, that's what the 70s mustard veneer screamed at me every weekend.
so, yay, we have new washers/dryers. yay, we even have one extra of each! but, boo, the new washing bliss machines came on a Friday afternoon, and the building managers hadn't informed us of how to acquire the brand new cards that these machines demanded. (we had plastic/carbon tickets before.)
and the management office is no longer open on Saturdays. so, the new WHITE washing/dryer bliss machines stood with their mouthes agape all weekend.
so, the monday rolls around, and i go to acquire my new card for laundry bliss.
new building manager not in office. i wait, i attempt to whistle, i pat foot. ten minutes later, he appears.
"it's $5 for the card." ok, i bite my tongue a little. FIVE DOLLARS! for a laundry card. before these blokes came into our universe, we paid $8 for 10 tickets (a ticket=wash/dry). now, we have to pay $1 per wash/dry AND we have to pay $5 for the privilege of having a card.
ok. whatever.
"so, are you putting up vending machines in the laundry rooms?" i ask. i mean, that's what IIT did when they converted to the smart-card system. doesn't that seem LOGICAL?
"no, you know because the machines have money in them." the new building manager shifted his weight from foot to foot. i'm thinking, "didn't i choose this place in part because of the myriad of cameras everyplace?"
"so, how do I add money?" he points to a machine behind me, in the office, which is now only open from 10 to 5 on weekdays (whereas it used to be open 10-6, Monday through Saturday).
"um, you're not open on Saturdays anymore and you're only open during regular business hours. how do people put money on their cards when they're at work during your office hours?" i know i was glaring. i apologize for glaring, but i don't have much use for illogical processes.
he chuckles! "well, you know, i am usually here on Saturday and the maintenance guy lives in your building. you can call him and he'll open the office. or you can put $100 or more on your card at a time." hmm, and i'm sure the maintenance guy would love being diverted from his day-off activities for my need to wash Esam's underwear.
by then, my tongue was swelling from all the bites. "that doesn't sound very pragmatic." he didn't say anything. i turned and put $10 on my new card (all the cash I had; used to, we could write checks for tokens ... we could also deposit checks/cash in the manager's mailbox and he'd put tickets in our mailboxes).
complaining is not my natural state, and i've been bitching about this whole user-unfriendliness for days now.
yes, the WHITE washers and dryers work so much better than the old ones. yes, they are bliss laundry machines now. but, i'm still grumpy.
i accept change. i don't fault the former owner for wanting to sell and move forward. it was her husband's dream and work to create Artists in Residence. Twenty-four years is a long time; I'm sure she has a million of things she wants to do now in this stage of her life.
yet, i'm cringing. i'm wondering. i'm questioning, "do i want a condo in a neighborhood or a loft near downtown?" maybe this is just the kick in the ass i need to start seriously earning and saving for us to move to our own place next year. sigh.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 8/03/2003 10:42:00 PM
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BODY:
gratitude x 5
1. Sunday morning rituals with Mark.
2. Hot baths with lavender and chamomile oil.
3. Cable TV. (I don't need it, but some days, it just helps the convalescing so much.)
4. My friend Hiromi's e-mails.
5. Soy chai lattes
+ one for good measure: Lavender and peppermint essential oils.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 7/26/2003 12:26:00 PM
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BODY:
desire
i'm extra good at keeping secrets. one of the three main things my mother taught me first. she'd holler and wail out a stream of "how could you say that?"s, then resign herself to the "lynne, we had to survive. you got what you got because of it."
i giggle at her little excuse. telling lies was another early lesson, along with forging signatures. i often wondered what the U.S. justice system would do with a four-year-old forger. i've lost my knack for it, though. i don't need it anymore.
anyways, sometimes i wonder if i'm not following my true calling. if i had had a better body, could i have been a successful spy, an uncaught thief?
what is my calling? i'm unsatisfied with the words that flow from my fingers; i seriously wonder if i have abused my writing and editing gifts, if maybe i'm left without a purpose.
a neighbor last night said she had no passion for painting -- it was something she just did well, so she decided to make it her avocation. i sincerely believe the world would be a better place if we all worked from our passion and compassion. yet, the majority of us do what we do well, or do what we're told we should do. we mold our work lives around paycheck amounts and energy expenditures. i repeatedly ask myself if a job well done is better than a job well loved.
yet, i also believe that, at times, we are required to do jobs well done in order to get to the jobs well loved. sometimes, we need to stay in a holding pattern, to survive, to breathe, to think, to plan.
but when do you break out?
chaotic ramblings. :)
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 7/16/2003 12:01:00 AM
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BODY:
are you comfortable with bleeding?
the tall acupunk asked. "i want to lancet the back of your legs; it will help with the pain."
i inhaled and said, "yes."
"have you ever been cut before?" i wanted to laugh. if i could have bent with ease, i would have leaned over the examining table and just guffawed.
serious voice though. my "giving medical history" voice. "yes, once for a sore throat on my fingertip and once on the back of my knees when i had a second-degree sunburn."
of course, i left out all the hundreds of other little nicks and cuts over the years.
lying down on the exam table, head in the doughnut hole of the headrest, i tensed and relaxed. this was a new acupunk. would he be extra gentle? would he do quick cuts as i used to do with my grandaddy's razor in the bathroom? would he cry with me?
"i am just going to take this lancet and press down a few times." pressure. pressure. little blood flow. "then, just cut a little deeper like this." flick, flick, flick.
repeat.
then, he decided to cup those spots and let me rest. i could feel "all the bad energy" being sucked up into little glass globes. my mind easily careened down cliffs of thoughts into a peaceful oblivion. i didn't want to rise. i didn't want to do anything but just let the blood flow.
that sounds sick, eh? it's been nearly eight hours since that treatment, and the backs of my knees are still sore. the sensation hasn't waned. later, after he'd stuck me with about eight pins (one of which made me scream in agony for about two minutes) ... well, i contemplated whether my love of acupuncture isn't all about the pain relief, the "get rid of bronchitis and other infections without antibiotics."
what if part of my love stems from my cutting nostalgia? horrible thought. sounds so masochistic. growing up, though, cutting was the only way that i could discover calm amid the pain and chaos. it was my meditation. as twisted as that sounds, it really was.
i'm sitting here in my living room. my back is a little less out of sorts. i have at least a hundred things to accomplish before heading down south this weekend. and i can't get this disturbing thought out of my head.
and i feel calm, which disturbs me even more.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 7/12/2003 04:44:00 PM
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BODY:
back out
move forward. step, step, ste...ow!
from July 3 through July 10, the Chicago skies let loose thunder and rain. intermittently. one moment, gray hazy; another, that bright bright sun that always follows rain.
my back was not at all happy about it. and, in protest, it threw out my jaw, my shoulders, pretty much my whole skeleton. every step, every bend, every flicker of movement sent pain signals to my brain and heart. the acupunks spent about five hours on me over two days before i finally could walk without crying.
pain is part of my everyday existence, and i always end up feeling guilty about it. lying on the couch with my feet propped up on six pillows, i watched TV and read the Harry Potter book ... and reckoned i was the world's greatest loser. this past year, I've lost the ability to block out the spikes and the jolts and the throbs. and it annoys the hell out of me.
once upon a time, i could just focus and get on with everything. is it age that's making me all wimpy? or is it an accumulative thing? you only get so many tough girl points then you have to allow the knock outs.
this happened in college, about seven years ago. new actors, new locale, same shit. it's what forced me to quit journalism school and move to chicago. grrr argh. such insanity.
i need to spend more time meditating on this whole thing.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 7/03/2003 08:07:00 AM
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BODY:
gratitude x 10
1. Dinner last night with my friend Tracy at Adobo Grill
2. Our ad in the Red Eye turned out well. Ryan shouldn't complain.
3. Yesterday morning, maintenance walked into the apartment. I hadn't heard their knocks, and I was sleeping on the couch. What I'm grateful for is that I had thrown on a blanket over myself somehow in my sleep because I was nude -- I had opened the coffee house with Esam, came home, stripped and crashed. Unconsciously, I must have known that two strangers-to-me men would be coming into my apartment at about 9:30 a.m. :)
4. My friend Tess is coming in 17 days!
5. Wi-fi in coffee houses
6. My husband Esam's ability to make me crack up in hysterical laughter
7. Jeans
8. Chai lattes
9. Sleep ( I need more. )
10. One department of YMCA gave us dates for breakfasts through December!
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 7/01/2003 09:04:00 PM
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BODY:
gratitdue x 5
1. Two ads out of the way. Now, why can't I finish all this other stuff. Time moves too quickly. But, hey, this about gratitude. I'm digressing.
2. I moved the couch around so that I can lay down with my laptop and still be plugged into DSL. Momentary solution to my craving for wireless at home. The Perk has me spoiled in that respect.
3. While walking down Granville, I saw Brandy, someone I know from CoF. Turns out we're neighbors. She gave me this nifty orange smiley pin-- one of her Freshly Squeezed designs. It's lifted my spirits all afternoon.
4. Heartland Cafe delivers.
5. I've been keeping to my 5-minute walk pledge this week. My goal is to get back to 3 miles a day by Labor Day. (Sigh. I used to walk 10 miles a day, 5 times a week, then take 20-mile hikes on the weekends. Maybe next year.)
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 7/01/2003 01:34:00 AM
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BODY:
gratitude x 10
1. My $10 haircut that I can't believe I got and I love. Pigs are flying somewhere.
2. "Get It Faster" by Jimmy Eat World. I've started every iPod session with this song today.
3. Melaney and I went to see Urban Funk Ordinance at Metro last night. Fucking awesome musicianship. I'm in awe of my neighbor Vinny's musical ability. Plus just great danceable creative stuff.
4. My three-hour coffee klatch with my friend Lauren this morning. We hadn't seen each other since the fall, when she helped me paint my apartment. This past week has been rough. I needed the time with an old friend.
5. Chai soy lattes. Thank God for Oregon Chai.
6. The new building maintenance guy came today to check out the falling tiles. He's going to redo my entire shower! Wow. (Of course, if the tiles hadn't broken in their flight of the bumblebee attack on my personage, he wouldn't be doing so. Oh, well.)
7. I just finished doing the house charge and catering invoices for the week.
8. My husband's kisses.
9. My brother-in-law from Sweden called today. We had a nice chat.
10. I love to stretch.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 6/28/2003 11:34:00 PM
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BODY:
i don't know
for several years in my life, i never cried. not once. maybe i shed a tear or two during a really bad back day, i might be lying. yet, i could look at the most despairing of situations, in life and on screen, and feel nothing close to tearfulness.
my grandmother had started crying, and it perplexed me somehow. i knew then that she preparing to die. so, i guess i started getting ready in my own way. this woman had cried maybe four times in my twenty years or so of life. she laughed, she argued, she sighed, she berated.
but she never cried.
then, after surviving a terrible illness and recovery, she started bawling at crazy times. during dinner. while combing her hair or watching a country music video. her face, which i had always thought looked forever young started to wither. gray hairs showed at her temples and throughout her hazelnut mane. her hands shook when she handed me my RC bottle. i would ask her what was wrong, and she would say that she was remembering or that she was seeing. she never gave much more reason.
when i was watching Far From Heaven, i couldn't help but think of all the secrets and tears of life, of all the things you're never supposed to say.
i thought i knew my granny more than i knew anyone in the world. being older, i realize no one knew her all that well. she talked with "friends" at church, at the hospital where she worked in the kitchen. everyone who ever met her raved about how cute she was, what a good cook she was, what a green thumb she had, what a blessing she was to her church and to her job. but she never talked on the phone with friends, or met someone for lunch at the Dairy Queen. she never let people to be closer than a friendly debate about the upcoming election or what the program should be for next week's church homecoming.
i was her carbon copy in so many ways until i went away to college. then, everything changed in good and bad ways. my perspectives altered. i started sharing and sharing and sharing and sharing. i was the ancient mariner. i started crying again.
she died during that time.
sometimes, i wonder what my life would have been like if she had lived a bit longer. would she ever have told me what made her cry through the last five years of her life? would i have been so devastated by my boyfriend's breaking up with me because i was christian and american? would i have finished my journalism degree? would i have moved to chicago?
you can ask all the questions for which you will never, should never, know the answers.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 6/28/2003 11:07:00 PM
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BODY:
gratitude x 5
1. My friend Mark
2. Summer
3. Little rituals like going for coffee with friends
4. The experienceo of watching Far From Heaven tonight
5. My luck that, when the four tiles fell on me while I was in the shower today, they didn't hit me hard or on the head
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 6/28/2003 12:43:00 PM
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BODY:
gratitude x 5
1. The new Apple Store in Chicago. last night, my friend Jason met me at the Perk and we walked up to North Michigan Avenue. A line coiled around the block, people huddling near the Sony Store (what irony) to leave space for all the shoppersby. Jason and I both weren't enchanted by the thought of staying in that line so we went to dinner.
when we finally got into the space (and picked up my friend Chris along the way), i felt immediate warmth and love. laugh all you want.
the store opening was wildly wonderful. i'm all aglow in technology lust; it's bad. the upstairs studio overlooks a rooftop garden; everywhere there is stuff to play with --iMacs, PowerBooks, iBooks, G4s, digital cameras, cinema screens, camcorders, pdas, iSights galore. it's like taking the idea of "test-drive" and blowing it up way beyond any conceived proportion. i was a happy baby. (now, I just have to work harder ... :^) )
2. We made rent at the Perk yesterday. Now, we are completely paid up on our back rent! Yay! Today is our first birthday by the way.
3. I can walk.
4. I've been strong enough to set up the outdoor cafe two days in a row.
5. We've already got two major catering gigs lined up for next week.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 6/26/2003 11:12:00 PM
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BODY:
gratitude x 5
have you seen a pattern here? i always tend to feel better when i consider what blissifies my life, rather than frustrates it. because i have literally nearly melted down this week, i decided that new daily practice was in order ... at least until i can get back to a semi-organized/clarified existence.
1. My iPod
2. The Weakerthans, Dillinger Four, Legendary Pink Dots, Blonde Redhead, Something Corporate, Good Charlotte, The Mendoza Line, Anchormen, Ani DiFranco, Los Imposibles, all my Buffy dialogue and Christophe Beck scores, Metallica, Philip Glass, my huge collection of punk covers, All American Rejects, Sister Hazel, and so many more bands and musicians that distract me, electrify me, illuminate me
3. My love of reading
4. Zenus, our employee from heaven
5. The fact that Reem's picture in our ads for the Perk turned out well
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 6/26/2003 11:03:00 PM
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BODY:
bubble wrap bliss
who does not love to pop bubble wrap? if anyone says yes, i seriously doubt their level of sanity. when i was working at IIT, the designers would fight over any bubble wrap that entered our midst. it was not uncommon to see someone dragging a deflated plastic sheet of former joy to his/her desk in hopes that someone missed a bubble.
so, when i unopened Tess' package from Alaska and found all my goodie gifts mummified in bubbles, i shouted in glee. oh, how this woman knows me and what i need.
pop. pop. i'm savoring the puncture wounds. self-control is rising from some unknown place because i haven't demolished the sheets yet. i know i'll need them tomorrow and the weekend.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 6/25/2003 10:00:00 PM
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BODY:
gratitude x 5
1. The Perk turns 1 year old on Saturday.
2. We had a kick-ass catering gig the past two days.
3. Company of Friends brought a bunch of cool, great-energy people to a thoughtful presentation.
4. I have the world's best acupuncturist in the world (Alan Uretz!). And that best acupuncturist in the world just bought a holistic health practice!
5. The Apple Store on Michigan Avenue opens on Friday!
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 6/23/2003 10:48:00 AM
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BODY:
songmaking
this past thursday, i went to a friend's songmaking workshop. i actually had more fun than i originally perceived (i've been cranky baby these past two weeks; husband wearing off on me).
adam assigned us a stanza (it was a 30-minute workshop, part of a larger event). the goal: "profess your love in outrageous, quite unbelievable ways."
so, here's my ditty. of course, i would do none of the following for my current love. but he would never ask. :)
I would give up coffee
I would drive a Chevy
I would stop downloading music
Next time we bought a computer, I would let you choose it
I wouldn't do that
I couldn't do that
I would not, could not, should not
I would not, could not, should not do that
lame, lame, lame. but i smiled and wasn't crabby for a good 15 minutes. :)
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 6/15/2003 10:25:00 PM
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BODY:
thin cuts so deep
that was the name of my novel for the juvenile market. unfinished. just like about four stories that were meant to be novels. aarggh. why can't i finish these things and release them?
but that's not the point of this entry. the point is that i need to shave and i can't. no, it's not that i have some horrible skin disease or that i am on Cumodin or any blood thinner. my three-quarters-inch stubble reminds me that i don't trust myself. and i can't fathom why because the only razors we have are Esam's Schick Sensors and the cruel joke of the Gillettes of this world is that razors for women are 10 times sharper than razors for men.
so, why am i paranoid? i can't careen and write blood poems on my legs with these incompetent things. still, i look at the razor each morning, then at the Nivea shaving cream can, then at the mirror ... and i shrug and forget about the whole thing. eight years ago, i got over the worries of what people will think with Lynne with Hairy Legs and Underarms. yet, i still go through this internal squabbling every day.
that internal burning, bleeding, never goes away. fingertips tingle. you can almost hear the blood speeding just under your skin, pushing the boundaries of arterial walls, wanting to crash through the epidermis. sometimes, i swear that blood is pouring from an imaginary wound. (one of the acupunks at the clinic explains that my chi is leaking. what a nice way to put it.) thoughts and pulses race, and i just know that if I let a little blood out, everything will be calm. or the pain of my back is just too much to bear and i crave the sanguinary distraction.
is this what an alcoholic suffers? eight years ago, the state committed me to a mental hospital for three weeks because i had etched my skin with more than 80 thin lines. all the way from my toes to my neck. i can still remember screaming when they "disinfected" me with a brillo pad and some acid they called soap. those weeks, i swore i would never allow myself the release because i could never allow myself to be in a psych ward again. it's the one promise i have kept to myself.
yet, i still feel that tightrope beneath my feet. i won't handle sharp knives; i steer clear of projects that involve Xactos. scissors are about as sharp an object i'll approach. i avoid any pastel-colored razor like the plague (yep, another cruel joke of the razor industry). i would have thought that eight years of life would have dulled the need. yeah, wrong.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 6/13/2003 12:04:00 PM
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BODY:
plagiarism
or borrowing. I just read my sunshine Hiromi's blog, and laughed and laughed at the reminder of Captain Underpants. I'm Zippy Applebuns if you follow the following formula:
Fwd from Loopy Cootiehead:
Sometimes when you have a stressful day or week, you need some silliness to break up the day. Here is your dose....
Follow the instructions to find your new name. The following is an excerpt from a children's book, "Captain Underpants and the Perilous Plot of Professor Poopypants" by Dave Pilkey: The evil Professor forces everyone to assume new names...
Use the third letter of your first name to determine your new first name:
a = poopsie
b = lumpy
c = buttercup
d = gidget
e = crusty
f = greasy
g = fluffy
h = cheeseball
i = chim-chim
j = stinky
k = flunky
l = boobie
m = pinky
n = zippy
o = goober
p = doofus
q = slimy
r = loopy
s = snotty
t = tootie
u = dork ey
v = squeezit
w = oprah
x = skipper
y = dinky
z = zsa-zsa
Use the second letter of your last name to determine the first half of your new last name:
a = apple
b= toilet
c = giggle
d = burger
e = girdle
f = barf
g = lizard
h = waffle
i = cootie
j = monkey
k = potty
l = liver
m = banana
n = rhino
o = bubble
p = hamster
q = toad
r = gizzard
s = pizza
t = gerbil
u = chicken
v = pickle
w = chuckle
x = tofu
y = gorilla
z = stinker
Use the fourth letter of your last name to determine the second half of your new last name:
a = head
b = mouth
c = face
d = nose
e = tush
f = breath
g = pants
h = shorts
i = lips
j = honker
k = butt
l = brain
m = tushie
n = chunks
o = hiney
p = biscuits
q = toes
r = buns
s = fanny
t = sniffer
u = sprinkles
v = kisser
w = squirt
x = humperdinck
y = brains
z = juice
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 6/12/2003 04:55:00 PM
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BODY:
edits and rewrites and other things that go bump in the night
last night, i lost my wallet. or someone lifted it. i don't know what is the case, though i suspect the latter. one moment, the waitress was carding me; an hour later, i went to refill the meter and discovered my red Kenneth Cole bought-it-because-i-was-frustrated-with-my-mom billfold was gone.
the story expands beyond those simple facts, but i don't feel like relaying the moment of discovery and the moments of frantic skullduggery. i've never lost a wallet or purse in my life. so, i guess i was due for some mischief. only a few cards and receipts were in the wallet anyways. the only thing that bugs the tar out of me is that my grandparents' drivers licenses were in there. i've kept them with me for like 10 years, and i miss those daily reminders.
this morning, i went to bp to get gas. i sat down in the driver's seat, and felt something prick me through the denim of my pantleg. i slid my fingers underneath my thighs and brought out my cameo earring, the one that always rests in my left earlobe. somehow, an earring back that has been in the same place for years (with very few intervals of absence) fell.
i paused. the earring was part of a pair i gave to my granny for mothers day. how old was I? 5 or 6? i remember mom taking me to York's Hallmark, when it was still on the north side of the square. mom told me i could pick out a gift for granny; she would pay. granny's second-favorite color was brown (her first was green; she was an earth goddess). i chose the cameos in part because they had a cocoa-colored background. when granny died in 1995, i started wearing the earrings every day. i lost one earring on my first job in Chicago.
so, what are you trying to say, grandmother? first, i lost the license picture with you in the red windbreaker you stole from grandaddy (that was way too big for your small frame). then, i almost lose the earring. i told todd the story, and he even choked on the eeriness.
my granny was my Oracle. she was like a Cassandra; i didn't always, couldn't always, believe her. but, she always arrived at these oddly appropriate conclusions, at these crazy weird times.
anyways, i can't tell the story of last night in completion. one of the players was too drunk to recall everything, and i'm too tired and too worried to recount. how honest can i ever be in a blog? i have to edit, to mask, to create amalgams.
so, i will once again hide the incredible features of my life in fiction.
i have friends who are brutally honest about their lives in their blogs. but something always lingers behind the pixels, facts that become back story for e-mails and IM conversations. i can speak for other people, tell other secrets, on paper but not here in this space. this is the way it has to be.
but what would life look like if we all just told the truth, if we didn't censor, if we accepted that what happened happened and that the lessons are there. yesterday, as the acupuncture intern went through the medical history intake, i thought how i would never reveal these things to anyone else, even my husband. oh, sure, you're going to say to your loved one that you've been having problems with gas or that you have deep red blood clots during your period. in part, no one really cares; in part, you never want to acknowledge your humanity in complete.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 6/09/2003 01:07:00 PM
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BODY:
assortment of me
all these Perk patrons sit around me in varying degrees of being: laughing, chatting, studying the newspaper, writing down their thoughts, sipping coffee while zoning out on some music filtering through the headphones.
i just want to stay here and read the net, play Mah Jong, organize my music and photo collection. i don't want to work. i just want to think about all the things that my friend (and coach) Terry told me this morning. she challenged me, and i can't just let it go and move forward in my day of ads due and calls to make.
bliss is so much life that i'm not giving myself right now. i shiver, cower, scream, scratch ... i know exactly what to do, how to do it, what to say. yet, i can't reach for those words, that choice that says "Lynne, your health, YOU, are more important than any other responsibility at this moment."
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 6/01/2003 12:17:00 PM
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BODY:
random memories
He told me that I would get everything I want. Were we at his place or in my car? I can't remember what the world looked like beyond his silhouette. A part of me laughed without any glee; a voice inside my head, that ever-present woman from so long ago, confirmed the words as truth.
Sitting here in the coffee house, ten years later, I can't help but affirm he was right. I have received everything I have ever wanted, and I have neglected and abused the privilege more times than I care to admit.
That year after my surgery, this guy recalled every trick of mine, every concealed truth. He brought all my secrets out in the open, on the table so that I could see them and choose which ones to keep with me when I left home.
The last time I saw him was by accident, at a Bon Jovi concert in the rain. He looked at me and asked if he had been right so far. I laughed and nodded yes.
I know where he is; my mom sees his parents each Sunday at church. Sometimes, I think of calling him up, but what would I say? He already knows what he did for me, how he was like a guardian angel taking me from McLeansboro to the other side of my life.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 5/22/2003 08:31:00 AM
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BODY:
love
wake up at 5:45 am, brush teeth, put deodorant on, slip into whatever clothes and sandals are nearest to my hands when I open the closet door, slink behind an already-on-second-cigarette husband downstairs to the car, close eyes to blinding sun.
after an hour of arranging muffins and half-and-half carafes, drive home, take a shower, re-dress, go back to the Perk and work. or sometimes, just go back to the desk and start working.
every weekday morning for the past three months. leaving in lemon-yellow light is so much easier than leaving when the night is still a navy blue. still, the morning has become a rote drill.
yesterday, i came home will full intention of satisfying the robot impulses. todd would be at the Perk sometime that morning. (when people know i'm at the coffee house, they just say, "oh, i'll be there in the morning" or "i'll be there for lunch" rather than specify times. i'm happy to be a spontaneous decision, most days.)
camisole top thrown on the floor. my body collapsed onto my extra soft comforter. no metaphor. just propelled into a deep sleep. i didn't even realize what happened until a buzzer interrupted my dream Buffy speech. (she was looking for a new house somewhere in California, now that her house is obliterated. and she met the Connor that doesn't know he's Angel's son anymore.)
stretch. grab camisole and slink back into decency. slothlike movements to the intercom. "who is it?"
"FedEx." now, this must be a new deliveryperson, because FedEx NEVER tries the addressee first. usually, all packages go straight to the building manager, who then slips a little red matchstick-thin paper in your mailbox.
"is it from Apple?"
"yes."
"fourth floor." if he had said no, i would have said, "go next door to the manager." but, now that i think of it, the delivery was before 10 am, when the office opens. so, i guess he just instinctively knew that Lynne Marie needs this gadget fix.
i met him at the elevator. i'm sure i had that eye-crud in the corners of my eyes, and my face had pillowcase-wrinkle imprint. i told him i loved him. i honestly did. he laughed.
the box was so small, which delighted me even further. i went straight to my desk and called Chris, my Mac tech, who is responsible for this yearslong obsession. (he had the first iPod in my network of friends.)
"it's here." i gasped as i lifted the black cube from the brown kraft box.
"what's here? who is this?"
"oh, it's me." as if that helps. "my iPod is here. i thought i was on caller ID. why am i not on caller ID anymore?"
"new phone."
"oh, i just am so excited."
"yeah, you're good at that." quick conversation as i opened the jewelry-boxlike package. i left him to his saviorness, and i started exploring.
i forgot all about Todd, about the Perk, about the logo that is giving me fits. i started charging the iPod (it's Firewire-powered! yay!), then dashed into the shower for the shortest (but still effective) shower ever.
back to exploring. Todd called. i absentmindedly answered. "where are you?" oops. i'm home. i'll be at the store in 15-20 minutes.
such is the way of new love.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 5/20/2003 08:30:00 AM
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BODY:
five and a half inches
i think today is the anniversary of my immediate growth spurt. as i was giving my medical history for the thousandth time yesterday at the acupuncture clinic, i searched through the mental databases. i'm fairly sure that my final surgery was on a Wednesday, which would make this the day.
my spinal reconstruction surgery. the biggest impression i will ever make on myself and on anything i leave this world. you'ns may never see the scar that runs down my back, from just under my collarbone to just a half-inch below my waistline. or ever notice the two white-patch indentations on my forehead (or search through my hair for the other two). no matter what anyone thinks of me or my work or the coffee shop, the thought wouldn't exist without this surgery having happened. i literally rebirthed myself.
when i was back home, my mother was recounting the months spent at the hotel in Chicago. she was talking about how Dr. Michaels lifted me to my feet after the last surgery (i was dizzy and sleepy and i didn't want to move) and how i looked her straight in the eyes. five and a half inches taller. i always looked up to her physically (not metaphorically). now, we were on an even level.
she's not the same person, i tell myself. but i hate when she talks about my surgery and all the therapy involved beforehand and afterward. i want to staple her mouth shut, erase the words from her larynx, banish the boasts from her mind. strangers remark on how dedicated a mother she was, to live in a hotel in the big city -- not knowing whether her daughter would live or die, would walk or wheel out of there.
but she's the reason why i was there in the first place. why can't i let that go.
the clinician yesterday asked me all sorts of questions about my curve, about the unsegmented bar, about the rib resection. "when were you diagnosed?" six. "so, the brace didn't work?" i never had one. "hmmm?" my mom couldn't deal, so she kept me from physical activity ("you aren't feeling well because you went dancing despite what i said.") and thought that would save me. when i went to the doctor for my school-required shots, they would mention i was getting worse, my breathing was getting worse, my spinal column was collapsing inch by inch. she would tell me that she needed to get the apartment cleaned better, get a better air conditioner so that i could survive the body cast in a Southern Illinois summer.
always a reason why not. so, when i turned 18, i went searching for a solution. when the first orthopaedists told me there was nothing they could do --- i would be in a wheelchair within a few years, i would die quietly by the time i was 40 because my heart and/or lungs would burst. i continued searching. then, i found dr. hammerberg.
the clinician shut up and diverted his attention to my bowel movements and periods.
i inherit my grudginess from her. she holds pains so close to her. they color her words. they eek out into every explanation of why the world is unfair. i always rush the moments, the conversation, beyond the past transgressiosn. i shush her or laugh loudly or tap my fingers across a nearby desk.
i let everything go except for this one thing. it's the root of the complaint tree. she was conscious enough to comb her hair, to help buid deer stands for her friend, to drive to and from the nearby WalMart. she ate, drank, bought many things she has never used. my grandparents worked every day, made tons of money, argued, sat in church every sunday and practically kept that church going with their money and their time. they gave me a car when i turned 16 because i had straight A's and was their pride and joy. they gave me a brand new car when i turned 19 because i had never gotten a B.
relatives lived their lives elsewhere, but still came to visit on occasion. schoolteachers saw me shrinking every year. school administrators excused my many absences because i was the "excellent student, a genius." doctors gave me meds when i got bronchitis or pneumonia, never even asking to see me.
the county coccooned me. so many people told me how wonderful i was. i did the principal's son's homework for him in Algebra III. we got caught --- he was in trouble, i wasn't. nothing makes sense.
no one seemed to care that i was deteriorating. pulmonary functions at 19 percent. temporary paralysis. a couple years ago, my great aunt told me that there was a schoolworker who wanted to report my situation to the state. "your grandparents were afraid of losing you, but they took care of it."
who was the one person who tried to rescue me?
i look so self-absorbed in these lines. poor little me. pity isn't really a part of it, though the sentences might evoke it.
i've made so many mistakes in life, made so many wrong choices, abused moments and dollars and friendships. i've also laughed my ass off, talked with intriguing and message-giving strangers, revelled in raindrops and snowstorms. life is good, in chaos and in calm. how can anyone not love living? apathy in others sends me to looking for my soapbox.
i wonder if i ever will let the anger go. dr. hammerberg saved my life, but i performed the miracle. i keep that knowledge close to me; it is my skin, in a way.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 5/20/2003 07:36:00 AM
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BODY:
objects
according to Apple, my newly beloved gadget is en route. a million sighs. i'm already reconsidering my earlier decision not to accessorize until i get another invoice paid. the FM tuner is only $30 ... eeks, i can be so hopeless when it comes to this stuff. esam will see all these packages and declare, "lynne, you forgot to get me more underwear."
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 5/17/2003 10:04:00 PM
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BODY:
restless
i can't believe my husband is watching a Lifetime movie. here, i sit amid all the things i'm supposed to be doing, and i listen to someone complain about her husband's sexual addiction. he must be really tired. he always gripes when i watch soaps (guilty pleasure admitted).
when did i stop having weekends all to myself? i can't think of one weekend where i just read or watched TV or went out dancing. it's not a complaint, just a pondering. lives flow across rocks and along rapid currents. it just is. someone asked me today if i would have redone the coffee house. while i regret certain moments, i don't regret ever taking the risk. still, i would like to have a weekend to play.
esam reminds me that we have a large catering order in the morning. a graduation breakfast. i can't sleep. so much rambles around in my head from the trip back home, from the folders on my desk, from client talks this week. before, during and after a trip down south, i always feel as if my spirit is attempting abandonment. energy crashes against the walls of veins and layers of skin.
and i always regain a few memories. i push them away, cram them into little spaces in hopes that they will just suffocate. i can't remember and be around my mother. she's different now; she deserves some respect of the process she's undergone the past 15 or so years.
still, sitting in the rental Malibu outside the East Side, i thought too much. silly little details of the building evoked silly little recollections. i got angry and bitchy; i just wanted to sleep in the car and not be around anyone, as i used to do when i was younger.
what is the realistic expectation for forgiveness? can you forgive without ulterior martyr motives? i don't know. we all change; can we still be blamed for things we did 20 or 30 years ago? we aren't the same people we were then. the words "i am sorry" are supposed to wipe the slate clean. but they often don't. even when you see that the person has made a huge leap of faith and work.
sigh. we keep moving forward. this summer, i have to help mom coordinate a move to the country. she has obsessive-compulsive disorder, and she is much more rational and productive than she was when i moved her from the apartment I left to her new house. somehow, i think that this summer will be the pinnacle, the milestone, the ultimate test.
so, i remain restless. guess i can enter business card info into my database.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 5/17/2003 12:20:00 AM
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BODY:
an end to lust
well, at least, for my yearslong coveting of friends' iPods. i gave into temptation. my back-home trip pulled me in numerous directions, twisted and snapped off a few nerves, led me down paths of memory and creativity. so, i rationalize that I deserve this little 10gig wonder of life.
besides, none of my friends with iPods would upgrade and gift me with their older versions. no matter how i used the begging-puppy eyes. i conceded.
where i'm from
he's replaced the mattress since we were teenagers. yet, it still has that saggy bouncy quality. i lie on the slate blue bedspread and look at pictures of Lawler and other wrestlers, of the St. Louis Cardinals team from when we were eight or nine (i think), of Alabama and so many of the bands we spent so many nights and days weaving our stories around. he twists and turns and looks for CDs from the big comfy blue chair (another remnant from being 17).
i always go to Darin's place first. this time, i called him from Mt. Vernon, convinced him to be late for his Mother's Day dinner plans, and zoomed to the house on Meadow Hills Lane. Darin thought i would knock on his bedroom window, as I used to do. but i couldn't wait to flounce on that twin bed and listen to his life story of the past year.
we talk online and on the phone. it's not the same as hanging out at his place. Darin is one of the rocks in my foundation, one of the things that I want to keep from McLeansboro. he's never asked much of me. he's always been there. for a time, i spent more time at his place and in my car than i did at my mom's. because i could just be, could just listen to music and laugh at wrestling and abandon all the worries and thoughts of life.
Darin is a home. he's witnessed my countless rebirths, and he knows all the reasons. how lucky am i.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 5/05/2003 09:16:00 AM
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BODY:
would i have foregone the experience
today's New York Times Business section headlines "Concert CD's Sold on the Spot by a Radio Giant." Imagine going to a concert and leaving with a CD musical souvenir?
Clear Channel introduces the venture, Instant Live, in the Boston area. bummer.
ten years ago, i took advantage of my recovery from spinal reconstruction to record bootlegs. i still have most of the tapes; some were sacrificed in moves from Southern Illinois to Columbia to Chicago. i listen to them from time to time, and i love the crackles, the cavelike effect, of the recordings. jokes where i can only hear a few words and laughter. a guitar drowning out the lyrics so that I have to identify the song by the tracks rather than the vocals.
the tapes weren't for anyone else; they were for me to remember headbanging at concerts with a plastic brace enveloping my torso.
how did i get past the metal detectors? well, i already have three titanium rods and I-can't-remember-how-many screws in my spinal column. back then (and, still today, at airports, out of necessity), I just lifted up the back of my shirt, showed my turtle shell or my scar. (i love my scar, by the way. better than any tattoo.)
these bouncers with arms the size of my head would go all red, sometimes even weepy. they'd pat my shoulder. "what happened?" a few would say. i would smile and say, it's ok, i'm alive and i wouldn't be without this scar. if there wasn't a long line behind me, i'd sometimes get drawn into the story of me and scoliosis.
so, if there had been an option for a tape or CD to take home, would i have foregone the experience?
nope.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 5/04/2003 11:46:00 PM
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BODY:
maybe God is trying to tell me something
i gave up. tried to fix my software hell, found some residual fires and flames, cursed Darwood the gremlin, slammed the door behind me as I went to the Heartland for brunch.
The Heartland Cafe is my fave restaurant in Chicago. i could segue into a rave restaurant review, but i won't now. someday.
so, today, i sat within five feet of a group of people from Unity. faces all recognizable; i could recite most of their names and their roles in the church. no hello's exchanged. we don't know each other. i kind of like it that way. i don't need to know everyone; everyone doesn't need to know me. i could just sit and read and enjoy my buffalo burger.
anyways, i left the cafe and walked down Sheridan Road toward home. passed the Village North Theaters and decided to see XMen 2. just like that. no preconceived plan. no worries about all the work i had at home because, heck, i couldn't do much anyway.
a purely spontaneous decision. how novel.
AND i got to see a first-run movie for $4. four bucks in a $8.50-a-ticket town. i have friends who look down their noses at my choice of the skanky theater, but it's $4 for matinees and $6 for evening shows. plus, it's about a half mile from home. i can forego the luxury of stadium seating and a bar.
why do i want to remember this? because, once upon a time, this pattern was my weekend ritual. sometimes at home, sometimes downtown, but always brunch then a walk then a movie then coffee then a walk. my sabbath. my mini-retreat.
i gave up the rhythm when we started the coffee house. too busy. too tired. too broke. too many excuses to create a routine of just home, the Perk, and CoF events.
how come, when I was making $9/hour, i always found the breath, the time, the money to attend dance concerts and movies nearly every week? when i was not working at all and had a $20/week allowance for my "wicked, irresponsible lifestyle," i went to music shows every night of every weekend.
i've got to change back.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 5/03/2003 11:43:00 PM
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BODY:
where is my camera?
tight black shorts with fringe skimming the tops of her thighs. a black velvet cape with pictures of the King stamped like starbursts. black shellacked hair standing at least 6 inches from her skull. gold rhinestone-studded sunglasses --- lens in total darkness. red and white satin calf-chaps falling over her black pumps. her hands carrying an 80's Panasonic tape recorder (you remember the ones where you had to have upper body strength to push the buttons?). so loud that you couldn't distinguish what the words were, but you knew who it was.
Elvis came to the store today. in the person of a woman who liked vanilla syrup in her coffee.
i'm trying to do a good thing
what do you have to do to train people to recycle? doesn't everyone know that blue bags or receptacles screams "Throw your cans, glass bottles, plastics, papers HERE"?
when we first opened, i had grandiose ideas about a recycling station. visions from Harmony and Real Goods danced in my head and in my notebook. we didn't have the space and esam didn't want to lug home blue bags on the L every night (no recycling set-up in the building).
i conceded. so, i focused on waste reduction, soliciting friends and other customers to donate their old silverware, plates, cups. we always asked "for here or to go?" we save quite a bit from the landfill.
but summer is coming. customers will order more and more Fuze, soda, smoothies, and other drinks that come in recyclable packaging. Lynne, let's try again.
Day 1 in my experiment and i nearly murdered an elderly woman.
a regular customer and new friend heard my intake of breath when the "sweet" lady poured some of her coffee into my recycling can instead of the regular trash can. (note to self, separate the two --- like across the store) i bit the inside of my cheek. the woman had already yelled at esam for asking her if she wanted strong coffee.
still, what is so difficult about noticing a blue recycling bin and honoring the many labels I printed out on my P-touch? "DO NOT MIX WITH REGULAR TRASH" "PLEASE RECYCLE YOUR CANS AND GLASS BOTTLES" "PLEASE RECYCLE"
Darwood
i've named my gremlin. "Darwood." I figured since he likes me so much and has decided to just take permanent residence this spring ... well, not naming him seems impolite.
last month, i ranted about my communication failures --- busted phone handset, cranky cell phone, static on the phone line, DSL drop-offs. apparently, i didn't notice that the VCR also broke and esam took it downstairs for the electronic junkies in the building.
yesterday, my Sidekick dial-wheel stuck and moaned through my calling and e-mailing habits. today, no problems.
then, my InDesign software decided to play baby. the director of my entire working existence has been a bitch ever since i got her, but she could always be coaxed to start up.
today, nada. repeatedly nada. she says she can't load a plug-in; the Finder says that all my plug-ins are there ready and waiting. no resolution.
of course, i have a no-ifs-ands-or-buts deadline on monday. of course, i can't duplicate the file into Quark because fucking Quark hasn't come out with an OS X version, and my Classic version won't convert my supposed-to-be-new-and-fancy InDesign files. and, of course, Adobe suggests re-installing, and, of course, i cannot for the life of me find the CD. (because, of course, i'm going through my yearly spring ultra-cleaning and everything is strewn here, there and yonder.)
so, because i think i inherited the software with my beautiful Purvis (Powerbook), i just now plugged down $300 for a new version to be overnighted to me. ooooh, happy baby am i not.
on the bright side, i qualified for a $400 discount because i had previously purchased PageMaker seven years ago.
still, grrr arrghhhhhhh.
update
my baby still loves me. he's curled up on the loveseat now, watching Rocky and looking very much relaxing. granted, he's giving me this "what for?" look as I stare at him dreamily.
the brother-in-law created a big deal over the fact that we have Italian sodas now. i'm still not impressed. nice flavored fizzy water. i'd rather have a Fuze or a Chai or a plain Orange Crush. but it's not all about me, is it?
i temporarily burned my fingers from pulling clothes from our manic dryer. when this in perpetuam phenomena began a couple months ago, i reported to my apartment manager. "we're wasting tons of electricity!" i cried. "horrible utilization of resources, since the other dryer takes two cycles to get a load dry." blah, blah, blah. the manager said that what I was proposing was impossible. he had never heard of a commercial dryer continuing to run inexhaustibly until you open the door and keep it open for longer than 30 seconds. (yes, that is right. we're all stealing time away from some dope's ticket hours/days ago. you time it just right, hurry/scurry, and you get your clothes dried for free!) i have a horrible habit of doing laundry at night and forgetting clothes in the dryer ... now, after having clothes tumbling for 10 hours or more, i lay notes everywhere reminding "You have laundry downstairs."
esam cannot recall how many times he has seen the Rocky series. we have such differing tastes in film.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 5/01/2003 11:06:00 PM
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BODY:
days pass
i am such a poor correspondent that i don't think anyone reads this. so, i'm just writing because the typing anesthetizes. i need to write. it's a soul thing.
my husband just lost a friend today over $156. and it's my fault. my fault.
values-based me says that a real friend wouldn't go into hyperventilation over $156, especially when esam offered to pay the debt then and there, apologized for my negligence, etc. a realist wouldn't say, "you fucked up my credit." because, hey, we all know that a past-due cell phone bill for $156 wouldn't really fuck someone's impeccable record that much at all.
my fault. my negligence. my getting caught up in the coffee house, CoF, design work, other people's visions. i've let so many details slide. trying to grow two businesses, trying to prove that i'm important to this world.
and now my husband has lost a friend. his first friend in the States. i rationalize all i want, but it doesn't erase the hurt in my husband's voice, the add-one-more-reason-why-America-sucks-because-none-of-my-friends-in-Germany-or-Egypt-would-be-that-way list.
why do these virtual entities, these little green-inked pieces of paper, direct everything in life? friendships, marriages, families, dreams, societies all manipulated.
a disintegration in integrity does have something to do with it. i admit to my preoccupation with the coffee house and making it work; i admit that i've let my inbox overflow; i admit now that i probably should back away from the store and focus on getting a full-time job so that i can be in focus and without debt. when i switched cell phone contracts, i just took it off my radar screen. i didn't think about having any left-over charges. i ignored letters because i figured they were "we want you back" circulars. my ditziness. i confess, i own up to it, i apologized.
still, what is wrong with me? where do i belong? i cannot imagine throwing away four years of laughter over a spouse's mistake. we were the only friends this guy had at his wedding reception.
my husband says that love isn't enough nowadays. money makes things possible. whatever happened to vision? to faith? to love? we are working on something that makes a difference, makes a statement, creates a nest for our current and future family. but all that doesn't matter because i don't have a full-time job that someone else gave me, because i have two full-time jobs that cannot pay regularly enough for the eight adults who now seem to rely on me to live.
when we started this coffee house business, when i left my job at the university to go out on my own, i agreed to the sacrifices of Nordstrom shoe extravaganzas and regular trips to San Francisco. i knew i would have to say NO to things I wanted. i agreed to forego my eating, my book-shopping, my conference-attending, my gym-going, my sleeping habits.
lately, i wonder if i will have to forego my marriage habit.
one of my friends says that extreme success and extreme failure are on the edge of the same sword. most moments, i know for certain we are about to realize our vision. tonight, i falter.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 4/17/2003 08:19:00 AM
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BODY:
lack of communication
i'm communicationally challenged, which is way bad since I'm in the communication biz. Mercury is in retrograde?
so, the saga begins on Sunday when my cell goes bye-bye. this fall from connected grace results from my wacky hours lately. in other words, i've been so busy and my mind is so crazy with the coffee house that i neglected to pay the bill. and the bill is more than $400 because i've also failed to note how many minutes i'm using. so, i wait for an invoice to be paid; all the money i had went to the store's rent last week.
but, witness the domino effect. tuesday, my DSL started dropping off. the little green light for "dsl" blink, blink, blinked but wouldn't stay solid long enough for me to connect to my myriad of waiting e-mails ... or the connection would happen then disappear after five minutes. truly, tuesday was a gorgeous day outside, so I figured it was God's way of saying, "Go outside, run errands, let sunshine fall on your face."
wednesday morning, the same shit happens. now, my office phone is all snap, crackly, poppy. of course, the week before, my handset stopped working, so i'm having to conference people into my life in this tunnel.
time to call Earthlink. now, i have had HORRIBLE experience with the customer service department at Earthlink. i 've been put on hold for 30 minutes or more. i was cringing as i dialed the 1-800 number.
after about five phone-trees, i get a person. a nice person. a person who wants to help me figure out this problem.
and, sure as shooting, as soon as she gets on the line, my DSL links up. grrr. however, she believed me and staid with me until it eventually did drop off and i could go "see, what i mean?"
test, test, test. "sorry, ma'am, it appears to be a problem with your phone line. i've ran all the tests and your service is fine."
"so, you mean, I have to call SBC?" my stomach twisted.
to shorten the story, i called SBC, i didn't curse, and i do have a faulty phone line that is causing difficulty in my DSL service. a repairperson should be there to fix my life (I wish!) by 5 p.m.
so, i come to the coffee house this morning to catch up and ....
the server is down at my web hosting company. can't update the website (check out my news section!). can't get e-mail.
what is the universe trying to say? i should be a hermit?
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 4/08/2003 07:34:00 AM
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BODY:
wind
i'm not small in size. oftentimes, i wish i were some petite thing. something that could be picked up and carried for blocks on end. still be a baby in a way. (and thus, not have to worry about all these adult things like rent)
Yesterday, the Chicago wind granted my wish, lifting me and pushing me forward for about a block. I wanted to stand still, to breathe, to do my cat stretches because my back was all crabby. Yet, the wind had other ideas. Gusts of snow and freezing rain whirled around my head, my legs, my arms. Molesting in a way. I couldn't inhale. I couldn't be still. The wind felt like 250 pounds of muscle carrying me away from the coffee house toward I don't know what. Along the way, I managed to redirect motion and collide with our Golf. My head still aches.
Hmm. I think the whole petite/waif envy thing just got swept away into the lake. I'm kind of glad now that I can't be easily lifted up and carried away.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 4/02/2003 10:49:00 PM
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BODY:
as old friends do
they reappear in the twilight, or just before dawn. you forgot how you felt secure, wanted, believed when they were around. you forgot the commitments you made.
this is my life as writer. all those old stories, those old friends, put aside for need of money, desire to cram several lifetimes into a few decades.
Every time I walk into the local 7 Eleven, Mrs. Taylor starts to shuffle her dollar bills—counting all her money as some miser does in a Victorian novel, let’s count with heads up, let’s count with heads down, let’s put all the fives and tens together, let’s mix in a couple of ones for every five.
Her SAS shoes tap out every number on the legs of her barstool, until I slide my VISA card across the glass case showing off the latest selection of lottery options. As she waits for the little ticket to pop up and the chugging noise to sound out to the world that I have good credit, her stomach bumps back and forth against the counter. You don't realize she's swaying to some music in her head, until that thump. I used to think it was to remind herself and me that her belly was alive, unlike mine. Now, I don’t come up with such notions.
I just watch a red Swiss Army knife dangle from a silver keychain, a pendulum that doesn’t care where it hits or if it just swings through air for the rest of its existence. The knife invariably bumps against the Bugs Bunny Pez dispensers, knocks Bugs to the floor where Mrs. Taylor kicks it back beneath the display for Mr. Taylor’s long fingers to rescue later when all the tragedies and joys of this town leave the aisles and she can sit on the barstool and pull up her auburn curls and pretend that she looks like this picture of Nicole Kidman she saw in Us.
The knife arcs up higher, as if some force is pushing it higher, higher, higher. It grazes the fur of a rabbit’s foot, knocks it closer to a set of AA batteries. The knife and rabbit’s foot fly away and toward each other for longer than it takes for me to write my name and say “Thank you, Mrs. Taylor.”
I never know where the wind current that sets all this play into motion comes from, but it happens every time.
She murmurs, “You’re welcome. Have a nice day, Dr. Foley.” Slides the receipt back to her and that belly. Crumples it up and keeps her head down. I don’t hear the cash drawer open until I’ve turned around and headed for the door.
That is my little daily dance with Mrs. Taylor. All for gas, a Snapple and a granola bar.
unfinished business. a novel started and abandoned because i got a bit scared about how well i wrote a rape scene...made myself sick and started remembering all the hours on the hotline, all the nights spent dreaming someone else's nightmares and then recalling my own.
but the good doctor who rapes and kills men because she can't visualize who her rapist is --- and it really isn't that simple --- she comes to me at night and i fill a few more chapters up on my laptop in my head.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 3/25/2003 08:53:00 PM
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BODY:
driving
i've rediscovered my love of driving. to prove the point of this newfound waste of CO2 emissions, I spent 40 minutes looking for a Bank One location that had a suitable parking space. four years ago, i would have scoffed: "i live in a city with mass transit. having a car here is silly."
every single place i visited today was easily accessible by train or bus. granted, i couldn't have squeezed all those meetings into my day so nicely. (productive me) disgusting hypocrite am i.
the biggest slap in the face: esam suggested giving the car back to the bank and eliminating all the automobile costs from the budget. i whimpered, and said, "how can i work without it?"
again, i state: i am a lazy hypocrite.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 3/24/2003 07:39:00 AM
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BODY:
on three hours of sleep
incredible sunrise today over the lake. what's surprising is that my husband noticed it first. my eyes were still swollen and sealed shut with sleep. but the magentas and blue-grays, the billowing clouds, woke me up and completely dissipated my original intention of drop the boy off at the coffee house and head home for a few more hours of sleep.
we drove the whole way, making note of how the light reflected off high-rises and the lake. it made me remember my fascination with traffic and other signs in Frankfurt. he'd make fun of me, but always was watchful for something new and unusual to add to my photo montage.
even driving home on the Drive was bliss. no traffic whatsoever at 7 a.m. clear sky with lots of sun. early morning joggers and walkers on the bike path. i sang along to Sister Hazel and just zoomed. for about 15 minutes, i forgot all the self-pity of the weekend. i didn't worry about the store, or my business, or my mom, or my marriage, or the war. it's just a beautiful day outside.
of course, then, I get home and spend 15 minutes trying to park in my spot, thanks once again to Dodge Disaster. i was in such a good mood that i didn't once contemplate dinging his turquoise-painted side panel or knocking over the motorcycle that causes his lovely Dodge Ramness to park so close to where my space starts.
something eery to remember
at the time they announced the war on Wednesday, the sky rumbled with thunder here in Chicago. no kidding. the first thunderstorm of the year came in with the news and continued into the next day, ending just before the protest that closed down Lake Shore Drive.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 3/23/2003 05:08:00 PM
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BODY:
insomnia
another late night. once upon a time, insomnia meant that I slept at 2 a.m. and woke up at 10 a.m. now, it's like i go to sleep at 6 or 7 a.m. and sometimes sleep until 2 p.m. --- and sometimes sleep just until 9 a.m.
i love the sun, but the darkness brings so much more peace around here. the boy sleeps and i can just type and download and play and work in my little cave. last night, i spent hours at Apple.com searching for and playing with freeware, in between ragging columns and correcting course descriptions for this academic bulletin project. no arguments over bills. no phone calls with silly questions that could be answered via e-mail or IM.
momentary bliss. maybe this is the way that's it's just supposed to be for me. another defiance of medical opinion.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 3/21/2003 03:21:00 AM
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BODY:
cheap stuff
what i end up doing when i can't sleep: setting up a Cafe Shop for Millennium Perk. feed your consumer passions by buying a Perk bib for every baby you know. :^)
seriously, the idea isn't a bad one, though i'm somewhat livid that they prefer a jpeg over an Illustrator eps file. (my friends Jackie and Ben gave me a mug from there for my birthday, and i could tell the difference in quality. surely, i'm not the only one.)
still, i'm sure my mom will exclaim in glee. and we don't have the cash flow right now to order more mugs. so, why quibble over resolution at this moment.
i need to quibble over tax schedules instead! groan.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 3/20/2003 09:08:00 AM
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BODY:
i want to be a
Purple Cow. sometimes, i think i'm quite remarkable, stand away from the rest.
Then, I look at my check book and my husband's crumpled face as he looks at a bill. And i feel as if i have nothing to offer the world, as if all the hours awake were misspent.
i hate being an experiential person in a repressive economy. yesterday, he blasted me on all the economic hardships incurred by my independence. i think the past 18 months have been quite extraordinary. yes, money is tight, but think of all the thought-provoking and entertaining people who have passed through the days. think of books read, lessons learned, resolutions resolved.
he counters, "think of bills past due."
it's just not my economy. i work hard, more than 18 hours a day on most days. I work six days a week. the store is blooming, and I have some great projects on my roster. all these facts should be sufficient to keep me independent from bureaucracy. i don't make as much money as I made before, but I am a better designer, a more sane individual. if this were three years ago, i could revel and just stick out my tongue to my husband's naysaying.
now, i have to keep my tongue in and start looking for a job. then, i'll be a purple cow at nights and on the weekends, plotting evil plots to regain my popularity and creativity another day.
yeah, i know. it's perspective.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 3/19/2003 10:18:00 PM
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BODY:
the only thing that makes me laugh at this moment
i need to work, but all i seem to be able to accomplishing is snacking on peanuts while watching CNN. still, our Chicago mayor made a quote just now that makes me chuckle:
"Mickey and Minnie have a (a no-fly zone). Maybe if they lived in Chicago, we'd have it."
seriously, the fact that there isn't a no-fly zone over the Loop does make me quiver, especially since the coffee house is about a half-mile from the Sears Tower. very little about this war makes sense to me. i should just focus on doing my design work.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 3/13/2003 01:25:00 AM
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BODY:
drooping
i haven't been writing in a while. business picked up, arguments raged, a few checks bounced, a lot of people boosted my ego, my printers decided that they are playing hide and seek on a regular basis.
it's 1:19 am CDT and the officejet d125xi still scoots paper along. TODAY, both the all-in-one and the laser printer work as they should ... well, at least, as good as it gets until HP figures out the software conflicts between the two. Yesterday, they both just disappeared from my Print Center screen. Then, this afternoon, magic, poof, here I am. i am so dependent on these things that even i think i am pathetic.
someone said in tonight's focus group on InDesign that he knows designers who don't design on the computer. "They still do hand-drawn comps and do cut and paste." i can't fathom. most of my whole waking life centers around my PowerBook, my T-Mobile Sidekick, various softwares, e-mail, Internet, these blasted printers and a variety of other peripherals. people are starting to call me "gadget girl" and "gadget maven" in the networking circles around town.
quite the geek. yet, i still read. a friend of mine "loves" e-books and books-on-tape. i scoff. such a paradox. i've converted almost everything else in my life to "digital" ---- e.g. camera, communication methods (phone to e-mail), recorded music (CDs to mp3s), video (VHS to DVD).
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 2/02/2003 01:02:00 AM
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BODY:
found
shuffling through the coats in the closet, a sky blue paper heart fell from one of the million leather jackets Esam brought back from Germany. folded in the center, the heart opened up to read:
As long as I can breath I am happy
in my husband's scrawl. sigh. he doesn't feel that way now. the past few weeks, he hasn't felt anything close. one of the reasons why i'm moving so slowly this month.
quiet
we just zoomed our way home from River Grove. a snobbish bone in me sniffs at the fact that I spent a Saturday night in River Grove, and a selfish set of facial muscles still pout that I spent four hours listening to Arabic and Spanish, surrounded by strangers when I have so much work here to do. Plus, what's worse, my Sidekick didn't get a network signal, so I couldn't e-mail or surf or do much of anything except play Shuffle.
I just wasn't in the mood to make the best of things.
no matter, though. esam and i went out all that way because, while I had no one who would chat with me, imagine being at your own wedding reception (of about 200) and only being able to converse with anyone except your mom and little sister. esam's best friend here married today, and the reception was swamped with his wife's family, who are all Mexican immigrants or first generation Mexican Americans. my husband celebrated a friendship, which makes all my snobbish, selfish bones and muscles cringe and creak with guilt.
to look on another bright side, the cake and music were, for the most part, good. I do think I will have nightmares about the Spanish covers of "Achey Breaky Heart" and "Walk Like an Egyptian," tho.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 1/17/2003 10:54:00 PM
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BODY:
familiarity
my prime motive in life is avoidance of boredom. still, i love being a "regular" at a restaurant, a coffee house, a bar. tonight, i begged Esam to go to Ethiopian Diamond for dinner. the past two days, i've saved for the chance to go out tonight.
so, when we walk into the crowded, jazz-and-spice filled room, we sit by the window, say hi to the waitress, and immediately order. "assa watt, tikil gomen and shai (tea)." i have the menu memorized. all i have to do is ask Esam "fish or lamb" then act accordingly. no heavy decisions, just good food and music and friendly chatting with the staff. i'm so happy.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 1/17/2003 10:38:00 PM
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BODY:
cold
i will not complain about the blustery winter wonderland that is Chicago.
i say that, and i don't mean it. i hate the cold. i don't understand layers. i can't fathom wanting to look like a Chou for six months of the year. i hate socks.
still, i love this city. i have a great community of friends and acquaintances. the coffee house is a blast (if I don't think about money). for the most part, i love my life here.
do i want to "stay" here, though? every year, as i approach another anniversary of being a Chicawgoan, i return to this debate. will one winter, i magically start buying thermal underwear? the argument preoccupies me for about a month, then i resign to the fact that i just don't know. tonight, esam and i talked of moving back to Germany. i just don't look into the future.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 1/13/2003 10:33:00 PM
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BODY:
sanctity of life
from the inbox:
Hi all,
The blanket clemency issued by Gov. Ryan has spurred a torrent of emotion as well as some really great soundbites.
For instance, this one -- my personal favorite -- comes from DuPage County State's Attorney Joe Birkett, talking about capital punishment:
"By executing these people (on death row), we make a moral statement about the sanctity of human life."
Huh?
If any of you can decipher this one, lemme know.
i second that emotion
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 1/06/2003 12:05:00 AM
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BODY:
connected
so, there, I was at the enemy's in Sauganash (Chicago 'hood). i was having a hazelnut soy latte, made by someone who appreciates the subtlety of hazelnut syrup. (too many places overpump.) my right hand was thumbing on my Sidekick, having an impromptu AIM meeting with my friend in Richmond in regards to the dance company. (more on that project in a later entry.) my left hand cradled my soon-to-be-ex-cell phone, on which I was talking with my snow-stranded buddy in Baltimore. meanwhile, thanks to the T-Mobile HotSpot, my eyes were darting to the registration list for an upcoming CoF event.
whew. i probably looked the silliest. but i must admit that i was impressed with the multi-tasking. (did you know that I can talk on my Sidekick AND check the Web or AIM or e-mail or any other function? i'm such a geek.)
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 1/04/2003 11:55:00 PM
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BODY:
open door policy
our hallway has Oscar the cat for its mascot. nearly every evening, his lounging orange-and-white striped body welcomes you home. he noses feet and mewls ... and rarely moves beyond his post six feet away from his home's front door.
then, today, our apartment overheats and I open our door to create a cross-breeze. (all our windows face east.) soon, i have a lovable chubby cat on the garnet-colored rug in the front hallway. he scratches, sits, falls down and rolls around the cotton weave for a while before springing to explore. for the next 15 minutes, he investigated the apartment as a kitten would --- what does that cord do? where does this hall go? hmm, this surface is soft. yes, you may pet me, but i'm more interested in that scrap of paper over there.
i want a cat.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 1/04/2003 06:14:00 PM
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BODY:
cough, cough, cough
sometimes you just don't care if someone thinks you're loony.
you walk on the sidewalk, in Mary Jane-style walking shoes sans socks. your legs are clad in too-big-for-you workout pants, and you're wearing a long-sleeved burgundy sweatshirt that you got from the Giveaway Table in the laundry room. no bra because you were afraid that the underwire would cut too deeply when you cough. long too-big-for-you-but-you-love-it-so-much coat draped around your aching body, the coat gaping in the front because, didn't we mention it, the coat is a couple sizes too large. and a silvery alpaca wool scarf wrapped like a noose around your neck, with an end stuffed into your mouth because the air you're breathing feels like daggers. hair pulled into a ponytail, stuffed under a brown hemp cap.
but you're happy because you just spent four hours waiting, reading, luxuriating as someone gives you a manicure and pedicure.
you come home, explain some cell-phone feature to your husband, start coughing, take Nyquil, check e-mail, then collapse on the loveseat and start to blog. then, you think about how you look like crap, feel like crap (damn friends and their gifts of colds, which always lead to bronchitis for you) ...
yet, you're so happy to have your nails done. those glossy beds of chitin make up for almost every dreary, upsetting calamnity.
i am such a loon. i don't even care that someone saw me publicly cough up a glob of yellow phlegm onto a sidewalk. i don't care that the pedicurist saw my haven't-shaved-this-week legs. sometimes, you really can't take yourself and manners so seriously.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 12/29/2002 01:36:00 PM
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BODY:
Internet vs. internet
a professor from the University of Pennsylvania is leading a crusade to decapitalize the internet. Capitalization irked [Joseph Turow] because, he said, it seemed to imply that reaching into the vast, interconnected ether was a brand-name experience.
"The capitalization of things seems to place an inordinate, almost private emphasis on something," he said, turning it into a Kleenex or a Frigidaire. "The Internet, at least philosophically, should not be owned by anyone," he said, calling it "part of the neural universe of life."
thanks to today's online edition of New York Times. free registration is required to access the article.
as an everyday writer, i capitalize things when i want to capitalize things. most times, i prefer typing quickly without the use of the shift keys. as an editor, i'm manic, obsessed with issues of style. so, i'm interested in how Turow's crusade continues. many publications have turned to "website" instead of "Web site" and "email" instead of "e-mail." we've morphed brand experiences into everyday experiences, and most web users (especially bloggers and hosts of fansites) get all prickly when you talk about trademarking phrases and cease-and-desist letters on links and site addresses.
after all, did you know that Starbuck's has trademarked the term "venti"? the other day, i saw its use (without the TM symbol) on a billboard ad for a local chicago food depository. customers ask for a "venti" drink at the coffee house, and we tell them that the word is a Starbuck's trademark, not an Italian expression for 20 ounces or larger.
that's another rant. :^)
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 12/29/2002 01:11:00 PM
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BODY:
much ado about nothing
Friday night, esam says i was cleaning and sorting and hiding as if I were Saddam Hussein getting ready for weapons inspection.
then, when mom didn't come to the apartment after all, esam launched into another U.S./Iraqi relations metaphor. sigh. i've always envied the egyptian tendency to find the jokes in life, no matter how depressive or irritating the day may be.
still, i'm tiring of every day, this tension, this anticipation, this preoccupation with CNN and Fox and MSNBC and all things warsy. i'm not apathetic. i have opinions and emotions. yet, as we come home from the coffee house, esam immediately heads for the news channels and i wander aimlessly through Buffy forums or blogs, or track where my Sidekick is (Irving, TX), or read a business book or something sci-fi. esam will ask what a word means, and i'll wake from my personal revery and say, "huh?"
this bothers me. i have all these different theories about why i'm not glueing my fingers to newsprint or remote buttons. (it's not that Joss Whedon has brainwashed me, as esam suggests.) my hair is just getting long enough for me to chew on, or braid, as i figure this out.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 12/27/2002 10:02:00 PM
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BODY:
inquiring minds
egads, i'm obsessed with tracking my Sidekick. the phone just left Addison, TX. quite pathetic me, but i know more than i ever probably should know, thanks to the Internet. (think of the hours i have spent this past year on Buffy spoilers.
i should be cleaning up the office. mom did come to Chicago after all. instead, i am checking spoilers (sites and discussion boards), tracking my phone, half-listening to esam rant about George W. Bush, reading blogs. i wish i could be a bit more focused today.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 12/25/2002 11:47:00 PM
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BODY:
cell-phone graveyards no more
in my christmas call to mom, the issue of where do all the old cell phones go came up. mom's nokia is on its dying breath, and my friend Heath lured me into the Sidekick Nation. so, there are two phones and accompanying chargers headed for a cardboard box sent to some donation and/or recycling initiative. (most of my friends have updated their phones this past year as well.) mom thought you just turned the phone into Verizon when you renew your contract, like a lease. i laughed and let her know the most unpleasant news about cell-phone disposal. (recent estimates are that by 2005, a half a billion phones will be in the graveyard.)
after i hung up the phone, i started reading through past e-mails. (esam is watching Cheech and Chong; nuf said). i noticed that major cell-phone manufacturers have signed a life-cycle management initiative. 'bout time. i'll be interested to see how this initiative plays out.
instead of inventing new processes, why not learn from an innovator, like Gordon Shields and Shields Environmental's Fonebak program in the U.K. (See "Mobile Afterlife" in the current issue of Ready Made. The article isn't online unfortunately.)
Fonebak is a cell phone recovery program endorsed by U.K. telecoms, retail chains, and the British government; it places food drive-style drop-off kiosks and postage-paid envelopes in wireless outlets and at retailers like Dixon's and Virgin Megastore, making it easy for the customer to recycle as they update their phones. According to Fields, most phones they receive are not that old at all. Fields sells working models to second-tier markets; non-working phones are junked and recycled. Incinerated casings produce energy to recover other materials and to heat homes; metals are extracted and resold; and batteries are refashioned by the steel industry into irons and saucepans.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 12/15/2002 01:01:00 PM
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BODY:
passenger
when i was younger, i couldn't wait to drive. i hated being a passenger, hated the feeling that someone else was steering you in directions and missing interesting routes. you had no choice as a passenger. (maybe that fact was the reason why i disliked being a child. hmm)
anyways, my granny had a driver's license, but always "let" grandaddy drive. i always fumed at her on those driver's-license birthdays. "What's the point of having a license if you never get to drive?" grandaddy would never let him drive her around, but he would let my mother or myself chauffeur if we were travelling far or visiting cities that confused him.
granny tolerated it. here was this woman who didn't marry until she was 28, didn't have a child until she was 31, had her own bank accounts, owned her own property and managed her own farming and oil accounts, gardened and mowed and did all the farmwork ...
and, in my 23 years of knowing her, she drove only a handful of times.
so, when esam started driving, i determined that we would take turns being the "driver." now, in these past few months, i notice i am the passenger more times than not. this morning, as we drove down Lake Shore Drive to open up the Perk, i huddled down in my passenger seat and counted bird nests. the sky was what i now term as Apple blue. the new Mustang GTIs have such wide rearends, and there goes a traditional BMW with the prominent circle headlights. why would anyone get up at 7:30 on a Sunday morning to jog on the bikepath? and they put a Santa cap on the azure "W" that leans against the W Hotel.
maybe granny enjoyed noting the trees and wildflowers, the birds and lost coyotes, the occasional red fox. maybe, that's why she never complained about always being the passenger, about being "picked up" from work or taken on errands. come to think of it, she would be the one who would yell "stop!" so that we could gather the wild asparagus or blackberries. she always knew where the wild beauty hid, and she always would be the one who predicted (accurately) the weather from "the signs" she saw around us.
maybe i judged wrongly.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 12/12/2002 11:09:00 PM
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BODY:
barista me
nearly six months since we opened the Perk, I make my first hazelnut latte.
ALL BY MYSELF.
I even made two lattes, just to prove to everyone that I could do it with consistent quality. the first latte, i even enlisted a taste from my husband, brother-in-law, and brother-in-law's girlfriend (who took the time to teach me yesterday). other than the fact that their faces convulsed at the taste of soy milk ("it tastes like a cracker," the girlfriend said), they all agreed that it looked and felt like a proper latte.
me: "see, now i can manage the store all by myself while you guys go shopping. i'll be able to help. i am a natural. perfection!"
esam: "oh, good. i'll leave right now."
me: "no! i'm not ready yet, but, see, i can help. aren't you proud of me?"
esam: "yes, very proud of you. why do you want to help here? why do you want to get coffee all over yourself? deal with customers and lines? how can you help? get more design work."
me: pouting. this is a months-old conflict. the guys want me to be the secretary, the marketing guru, the gal who drums up catering biz from "outside the building." esam further wants me to focus on my design/editorial business. i want all these things, too, but i want to work behind the counter a few shifts a week -- make a latte, serve people their morning coffee, remember people's drinks and fave sandwiches. i love it at the Perk; i even prefer working on my other work from there.
a million sighs. i've got to work harder. next time, i'll try a chai latte, then a mocha and a capp and a macchiato. i'll become invaluable behind the counter; the customers will ask for me by name. and esam will one day tell me that his former "spouses shouldn't work together" manifesto was b.s. after all. another million sighs.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 12/08/2002 11:27:00 PM
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BODY:
sick
ok, my friend mark forwarded me this game with the caveat to "save the children from the gloved one!" i keep playing it, and, every time, i laugh so hysterically that i can't keep my cursor on the basket and the game admonishes me as having poor parenting skills.
it's sick, sick, sick. and i keep laughing.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 12/08/2002 09:27:00 PM
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BODY:
my december
tis the season to catch up with filing, fa la la la la la la
it is also the season to write everyone i love, to revel in this year's holiday card design, to agonize over my current year receipts for taxes, to purge old files, to remove outdated clothes from the closet, to celebrate friendships at numerous holidays, to watch the latest Marshall Fields window display, to walk down Michigan Avenue under thousands of -- what my mom calls -- "Italian lights" ....
not the season to be laying out a 250-page book or working on other projects that fall outside the realm of "catching up."
i'm resentful that this is not my december. i'm pouty and all those unpleasant adjectives that i associate with spoiled children. so, i cram all that i can into the days ... then crash and burn and spend a Saturday watching DVDs. (again, can i say, thank you god/goddess for NetFlix?)
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 12/08/2002 05:02:00 PM
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BODY:
a life lived with conviction
philip berrigan died recently. reading about his life makes me think of how I spend the moments of mine. not everyone needs to spend hours in jail for protests or set up a commune for pacifists or pour blood on warheads ... what would the local news and all our societal commentaries be like if we all lived our hours in conviction and creative expression?
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 12/07/2002 11:03:00 PM
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BODY:
sorry for the absence
i am grateful that i have work. but it and the Company of Friends holiday party pre-occupied my mind. i'm still listless.
today, though, i actually read through my non-work e-mails. my friend michael sent a recap of his amazing year. take some time to read through this memory.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 11/29/2002 08:28:00 PM
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BODY:
the only things i like about the suburbs are
...my friend Kristine's sanctuary/home;
...the expanses of darkness;
...IKEA;and
...Dairy Queen.
otherwise, i'm horrified, mystified, stupefied....
today, i experienced three out of the four delights. my friend Kristine invited me for lunch. the afternoon was quiet, solace, a joy-filled moment. the sun had set when i left, and i drove home for several minutes in the darkness, punctuated only with car headlights and not stories-tall streetlights and skyscrapers with all the windows a yellow glow.
i didn't want to take I-88 past the glass-and-steel behemoth corporate campuses. so i continued along backroads until i found that large red-lips sign.
yippee! here i go into Blizzard-land, and, while i was already cheating on my non-dairy diet, why not have a double cheeseburger with just pickles for nostalgia sake?
walk in the too-bright-white room, empty of any living soul instead of a congenial Indian man -- maybe my age or a bit older.
"hello, what can i get for you?" hmm, let me see as i pondered the nutritional benefit of having a peanut-butter blizzard vs a cookie-dough one. and, oh, if i were patient, i would love to sit down to a strawberry shortcake, but, no, i need to get to the store. (mind you, i don't normally crave ice cream, but DQ is one of the only good things in my hometown.)
"ok, i want a small peanut-butter Blizzard and a double cheeseburger with just pickles." as i was saying this, i was scanning the menu to see what the costs were, and my eyes couldn't find the hamburger section.
"we don't have hamburgers." the guy behind the counter smiled and pointed to the menu section where the only non-ice-cream treats were chicken sandwiches, fish sandwiches, fries, chicken strips and hot dogs. he made my Blizzard, and i searched incredulously through my memories of DQ menus.
i've got to tell my friends back home. they'll be waiting for the stories of pigs flying.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 11/28/2002 01:57:00 PM
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BODY:
gratitude
once upon a time, before i hit the eucalyptus-smelling pillow, i wrote five things that won my gratitude. i think i need to resuscitate that practice. whatever i write below won't be nearly enough, because, though this year has tried my patience and exhausted all my financial resources, i cannot imagine another way to experience a blissful year ... well, maybe if I spent half of it in Mallorca ....
i am thankful for
...my husband, who is sleeping right now at 12:53 p.m. he deserves the extra rest. while i cringe at the worry lines that appeared on his face after coming to the States, i am continually grateful that he and i went through what we did to make our marriage happen. he makes me laugh as no one else ever has, and he teaches me so much about humanity.
...Millennium Perk coffee house and the amazing conversations it has brought me. a year ago, i would never have conceived the struggles and the joys of opening a coffee house in downtown Chicago. i personally would have told you that we weren't going to open our own place for, at least, a couple of years. we took the risk, and my IRAs and savings protest. yet, i champion the call. i can't begin to describe the pleasure of reading reviews about your place, or of receiving a compliment at a networking gig. it's been worth all the arguments with the brother-in-law, whom I am resolving to tolerate and respect a little more.
...my plethora of friends and acquaintances, who have supported me as I left IIT, as I started two businesses (one on my own, one with partners), as I co-coordinate Company of Friends, as i do anything. an amazing group of people have entered my life over the past 30 years. we add many of them to our friends page, but i always find, when i revisit this page, i have missed someone.
...my wonderful doctors, acupuncturists, and other healthcare providers -- and their administrative staff who have to deal with my ramblings! dr. kim hammerberg and his fellows at Orthopaedics & Scoliosis, along with the folks at Rush, saved my life. no hyperbole exists in that statement. dr. henry danko and other technicians at rush, and alan uretz and other acupunks at Midwest College of Oriental Medicine, keep me from self-destructing. they all help me sustain this illusion that i'm "normal." :^)
...Company of Friends. my friend Heath founded this group, and my friend Dan was the coordinator (and still is my captain coordinator!) of the Chicago group when I came to my first meeting in August 2000. that fall, i trudged to a planning meeting on a Saturday. (i still can't imagine myself getting up early enough and making my way down to the place, without a car at the time.) there, i met some of my closest lifelong friends. if i look at all my relationships since I moved to Chicago in 1996, the majority have stemmed from CoF, in direct and convoluted ways. it's a great relationship tree that would deserves a long entry of its own.
...my friends Tess and Heath who hooked me onto blogging and reading blogs. i joke with friends and customers that i have bi-coastal publicists -- Tess is in Anchorage and Heath is in Boston. Tess has been a penfriend since we were teenagers, and I appreciate her candor, faith and virtual hugs every day.
...Joss Whedon, Marti Noxon, and all the people at Mutant Enemy. (you all were wondering when I would mention Buffy, weren't you?) also, i want to thank the Spoiler Slayer for entertaining and informing me the past year.
...the many authors who touch my heart and who challenge my intellect. i can't name them all in one swoop.
...hazelnut lattes and the fact that i still love them now that i've migrated from dairy to soy.
...limewire and my CD burner.
...the fact that i finally ditched the PC and invested in a PowerBook G4. i cannot imagine my former desktop life.
...DSL. i cannot imagine life on dial-up.
...Chris at Digital Logic who has saved my ass over the years, professionally (at IIT and in my business) and personally. he also satisfies my cravings for debate.
...the meds and doctors who have helped me know my mother better.
...my Boblbee backpack. i would not have lost an inch of height in the past 10 years if these things had existed when i went to college.
...my bachelor's degree. it took me long enough to complete it, but i learned so much about myself in the process.
...Artists in Residence, where i have lived for the past 5.5 years . we could never have started these businesses without the reasonable rent, great management, and delivery/FedEx/UPS pick-up! i just wish i had more time to take advantage of the free darkroom.
...my recently painted walls. never will i go white again!
...my friend Peggy at Erickson Design who helps me create works of art with paper, who counsels me, who commisserates with my love of NBC soaps, and who shares in my nuttiness.
...San Francisco and Northern California for always being there when i want to escape.
...Nordstrom's shoe department.
...talented purse designers.
...NetFlix and the fact that i will never pay late fees again.
i'll stop for now, though i have so much more that deserves my attention. happy thanksgiving folks!
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 11/24/2002 01:11:00 AM
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BODY:
malcontent
the sun shone today, and i actually played in the light. lately, i find myself enveloped by my rust-red walls while the TV weatherperson says, "It's a gorgeous day out there."
so, i walked to a coffee house in Rogers Park ... to work. but, hey, i got some Vitamin D, i saw trees, i saw panhandlers, i heard the El, and i shuffled through dead leaves. i laughed in spite of the fact my 141-page book project did not magically complete itself while i read an Anne Rice novel. sad and true and happy all at the same time.
esam watches a Sylvester Stallone movie and i watch my pile of papers littered with proofreader's marks. i should go to sleep and then wake to a new coffee cup, a new can of Red Bull, and a new full day of work. as i age, i keep bad habits such as procrastinating until the final days in a production schedule (love that adrenaline rush from my paper days) and i develop new ones like biting my fingernails and i smirk and laugh through it all most of the time.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 11/22/2002 12:16:00 AM
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BODY:
i lust
over the iPod and so many other things at the Apple Store. if you ask me what i'm giving myself and my business for Christmas, pretty much everything could conceivably trace itself back to this site.
right now, i'm trying to convince my friend Chris to upgrade to a 20gig iPod so that he can "give his wonderful friend Lynne Marie" his 5gig one. (aren't I the considerate friend? he doesn't seem to think so, but i will prevail someday. he's a musician after all. he deserves more than the 5gig. i want more for him because he's my friend and regular Mac-saviour.)
a million sighs. lust is such a complicated thing at times. and I would have to marry someone who isn't an easy mark. i could always logic or argue my way through an expense with my mom or grandparents or old boyfriends. but, no, the husband is not so easily swayed, seduced or debated.
funny thing is that was one of the reasons why i proposed.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 11/19/2002 10:28:00 PM
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BODY:
conserberal
we're watching Donahue interview Andy Rooney. esam is in usual commentary form. "liberal, conservative, what about conserberal? i make a new party -- we'll have a gay president, lesbian governors, no corporations allowed to donate and influence political campaigns ...." he talks about this utopia, and i am not sure what differs this from liberal really. other than that esam wants to create a new word.
i'm trying to work. i'm not doing a great job at it. he says something, i laugh, i start to watch TV, and the hours pass.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 11/17/2002 02:20:00 AM
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BODY:
first snow
as i was turning the final Evanston curve of Sheridan Road, i looked out across the rock wall and the Lake, saw the heavy swells of grey and smokey blue ... and thought, "oh, no, it's going to snow."
sure enough, the husband walks through the door at midnight and the first thing he says to me is "it's snowing."
i rushed down the stairs to verify. there, outside the building's front doors, are car windows dusted with white. not thick yet. sort of lacey. i came back upstairs and took a swig of Heineken, then i slinked into the leather armchair. another winter.
a million sighs. this winter, i'm determined to avoid my usual "i miss the South" stand-up tragedy show. i'm here. i most likely will be here for a few more years. i have to deal with wearing socks and layers.
assortment
the first time i tasted soymilk was on a camping trip in the Ozarks. i swallowed and gagged ... and decided that, though my lungs and stomach didn't like dairy, they would just have to deal. after all, what was more important: enjoying my hazelnut latte or going through a night without wheezing? priorities morph. somehow, my tastes are aligning themselves, which makes this new diet shift so much easier. now, i'm not minding the taste so much, and i am feeling better (and lighter, i've lost 12 pounds so far).
***after dropping the husband at the coffee house, i thought i just had to go to Crate & Barrel. why, i don't know. i had an organization idea. after circling for 20 minutes, looking for an elusive parking spot in the Clybourn Corridor, i was about to realize that i didn't need what i thought i needed, when a slot opened. i satisfied my Type A craving, but i still think it was stupid of me for driving around the area for 20 minutes. especially when i wasn't shopping for anything that required my Golf's luxurious carrying capacity.
***i was sitting in the parking lot of People's Market, finishing my hazelnut latte and listening to Jimmy Eat World. a Lexus SUV pulls up directly in front of me, and a guy lumbers out, dressed all in black -- black turtleneck sweater, black jeans (or maybe casual pants), black shoes all shiny to match his perfectly gelled black hair. wire-framed glasses and a pleasant smile. door closes, guy walks behind the car and starts toward the grocery store. maybe ten steps away from the Lexus. then he abruptly turns and heads back to the rear passenger door. beep and a click. he opens the door and laughs. a few seconds pass. his windows are tinted and i can't see what he's doing. then, he lifts this maybe-six-month-old baby up into the air, above the door window line. the baby giggles and moves his head that's encased in one of those knit joker hats.
***yesterday, i earned about $10 in tips for about four hours of work at the coffee house. i probably had much more, but didn't have anything to carry the change. ok, this little accomplishment might seem miniscule to many people. i had never been in any position before to make tips. so, i was a little jaunty and silly-girl happy for the afternoon. i took the dollar bills and got lunch ... somewhere else because i was so tired of seeing, hearing, wanting to throttle and not being able to do so because of laws and desires to keep the customers sheltered, working with the brother-in-law.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 11/14/2002 10:46:00 PM
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BODY:
happy anniversary
the husband gets pissed at the brother because 10 sandwich orders got messed up. so, the day that was supposed to celebrate four years of wedded bliss turned into a grumpfest. meanwhile, i experience a daylong flashback to my formerly articulate self and i discover that i'm growing fond of soymilk --- which is a good thing since i have to admit i'm lactose intolerant.
happy anniversary.
this passage sounds like a vent. it is a vent of sorts. it's what's on my mind. i'm not thinking about the awesome publicity ideas that came from a conversation with my friends about their book, and i'm not thinking about the meeting tomorrow about the pilot pitch on which I'm helping my friends.
i'm thinking about how i just want a tv-commercial holiday! you know the one where you find a card or a little gift under the pillow. (i don't need a three-diamond anniversary ring.) that magical birthday of mine in 1998, when i went to germany to visit my husband and came back engaged ... well, that beautiful spark of life resounds in my daily memory. i know that the mess-up of 10 orders is a big thing. i know it, and i still don't care.
this household has a strong aversion to holidays. and i have an overjoyful love of them. my childhood family had a similar aversion, and i always hoped that marriage, my second and final family, would revel in the ritualistic revery. guess it just isn't in my lifemap. "everyday is an anniversary," the husband says. and i say that's a great concept, but TODAY is extra special.
five days from now, i'll have a romantic dinner for two and all that happy marriage jazz. i'll forget that it wasn't the fourteenth of november ... until it's the thirteenth of november in 2003. sigh. i'm not perfect.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 11/13/2002 10:18:00 PM
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BODY:
highlights
i'm exhausted and several other participials. this week amazes me. business picked up for me and the coffee house.
what thrills me, though, more than that lies in the encounters -- in the new friends or in the queries or in those three-minute exchanges at the cash register. today, a new client said she thought the person I had been sitting with earlier was a friend from forever; she gasped when i said that sylvia was a regular customer who has become a friend in the past week. sylvia works at a retail store within a block from us, and she's become a little sister. i feel as if i can share most anything.
these moments of intimacy settle my nerves about our finances. we've created a living room in the Loop, someplace where people not only get a great cup of coffee and an excellent sandwich but also discover new friends or some laughs or a much-needed break. today, i overheard strangers talking about their studies, the Spiderman II filming that is happening in the Loop now (of course, I always see the incidental scenes, no famous actors), the books they're reading....
yesterday, kids from an area high school taped a segment for their business-TV-show project. they were interviewing customers, asking me about the signed dollar bills on the espresso machine, wondering aloud about the differences between a latte and a mocha. i was on a high.
my words fail at describing how i think about this part of my life. we're not making any money yet -- just a little for day-to-day things like transportation. bills come, bills wait for the moment when i can write a check, and more bills come in the meanwhile. yet, all the frustrations are so worth it when we serve a sandwich and coke to the guy who cleans the offices in our building. i know it sounds like such a weepy wonderful cliche.
anyways, i'm zonked. good night.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 11/09/2002 08:05:00 PM
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BODY:
stunning
yesterday afternoon, as i worked on my friend's business card design, one of my oldest friends in Chicago called and asked if i wanted to meet today for lunch and a movie. i said yes without hesitation. these past few days have been beautiful; i couldn't stand to spend another day inside working. (i'll work when it rains.)
we went to see Frida. visually rich. candor relayed in flowing poetry rather than in staccato phrases. so many emotions ran through my skin.
most of all, the conviction that one can do amazing things in a life of pain.
i admit that i cringed when they showed her in a body cast lying in bed, or when she was in a wheelchair or in traction. her injuries were much more shattering than mine -- and to happen in the midst of life, whereas i've always expected and lived with scoliosis and all that it has given me. still, if medicine hadn't advanced in the past few decades, those visual images could have been replicated into my life. thanks to technology, my cast was one of plastic bound by velcro, rather than all-encasing plaster. (though, i do remember going through the plaster mold-making sessions.) and the doctors always nagged me to walk ... whereas just a few years earlier, i would have been in plaster and solitude. still, i remember, with an itch and a headache, the two weeks of traction. sigh. how many times have i had bronchitis run into pneumonia. i can be thankful i was born when i was, i guess.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 11/07/2002 12:32:00 AM
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BODY:
bored
here i sit on my crushed gold lame-covered loveseat, which i'm terming "the desk." PowerBook on my lap. Rusted Root playing in iTunes. not enough memory apparently to print but i can download fonts and mp3s without a hitch. i need to work, but my mind is all babble. i'm not sleepy either.
wandering thoughts, like i hope that, when my brother-in-law returns my digital camera tomorrow, i don't find porn on the memory card.
and i am bummed that the protest march isn't coming by the store -- they're moving eastward one block north of us. (i think i'll pass out Millennium Perk fliers on Washington. after all, these people would rather come to us than to Starbuck's, right?)
today turned out to be a great day. one of those unplanned epiphanies. tomorrow will be nutty crazy. and i should be sleeping so i don't do the Lynne Marie dry-mouth-blah in tomorrow's interview.
(i hate this recent habit. my mouth gets dry, my tongue feels weighted, and my mind blanks mid-thought. and i end up momentarily gagging on the thought. damn pharmaceuticals ... which leads me to rant on this Neurontin stuff that throws my body into a blur if i run late on taking my dose. my doctor knows i'm horrible about taking meds in the first place, and he scribes me a drug that requires EXACT timing? is this logical?)
other wandering thought: why is my husband so negative about me getting a holiday job at a store in NorthBridge? i do most of my editing/design work late night anyway. if i could do a "mindless job," as he puts it (which contradicts all that he has told me about retail), during my down hours (noon to 5), isn't that cool? maybe he's getting to like me asking him for cash every day?
yeah wrong.
ok, surely i should stop downloading stuff now and get to the flier assignment I have on my to-do list. the thing is, as soon as i look at the download manager, one item will say "5m" and I'll say, "oh, just five minutes. i can wait." then, eventually, i'll open InDesign and i'll crash my computer and i'll figure i should just go to bed and count the rays of shadows on my bedroom wall.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 11/06/2002 10:14:00 PM
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BODY:
addiction
the older i get, the more addictive my personality turns. can you believe that i gave up caffeine for two years, after I had been diagnosed with TMJ? that was more than 10 years ago, and i cannot imagine how i did it. just one day said, "i'm not going to have any caffeine, even chocolate." and i lived.
then, of course, i visited a cafe in Cincinnati, had a cappucino and the restriction turned to an addiction.
so, on my addictions list: hazelnut lattes (and thus caffeine), Buffy, books, magazines (again, i did a two-year no-buying-magazines stint; tell me where is this girl now?), peer-to-peer sites ...
and now NetFlix. my first red envelope arrived in the mail today, and i giggled. "screw you, Hollywood video and your late fees," i chuckled. (i know, i know, if i were a conscientious renter, i would never incur late fees, but something always comes up that keeps me from watching all the videos within the five-day or the local place's one-day timeframe.)
simple little thing, that envelope. no elaborate packaging -- after all, i should have learned about the movie on the website, right? returnable envelope. thin. fits easily into my small mailbox. slips easily into my backpack along with my PowerBook. ("hee, hee. no more $5 headset fees for the inflight movie.")
a million wonderful sighs. now, i just have to tear myself away from adding movies to my queue.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 11/05/2002 10:52:00 PM
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BODY:
i finally accomplished something
that little rush of joy that tickles up the spine and makes you lift your hair so that you can feel the quiver along the base of the neck. oh, how i love that feeling. besides my election revelry, i had a life-affirming interview with a recruiter, a person who was so honest and open that i wanted to tape record her for esam's benefit. (no, i am not looking for full-time yet, but i need more contract work!) then, i had two leads -- one for my business, one for the coffee house.
but, to add the whipped cream and sprinkles on top, i made one of my friends speechless! to quote, after showing him the visual thesaurus site--which could be as addictive as a hazelnut latte--he wrote the following:
all i can say is...dude. wow. dude. that's...dude. wow. for a thesaurus to leave me speechless, that's a real skill. wow.
lynne went happy dancing all around the living room and i even didn't yell when the kitchen garbage bag that the husband bought ripped as i was lifting it from the wastebasket.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 11/05/2002 10:40:00 PM
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BODY:
it looks like
i will have a democrat governor after all. i'm not that party-prissy, but this year, i did so want to see a change in the leadership in Springfield. from the looks of it, i'm not alone, because other key spots previously Republican-controlled have been turned over to the other side. (which makes me feel all tingly inside since i usually think that no one thinks the way i do.)
meanwhile, it's a dead heat for the Senate and the Republicans are leading the House. and slivers of my fingernails fall to the floor.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 11/05/2002 02:45:00 PM
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BODY:
election day
chicago is rainy today as most Illinoisans ponder the question: After nearly three decades, will we finally have a Democratic governor? election days always seem to be cradled in bad weather, hectic work schedules and crabby moods.
i remember as a little girl i always added "lonely and hungry because of granny being an election judge" to the mood list. my granny and grandaddy always said that you couldn't complain if you didn't vote. these days of the year were held sacred, because who could imagine not engaging in a political debate. granny was always an election judge; she'd be the one that took your paper ballot and put it in the appropriate tank. (we lived in the country, and what i remember our ballot boxes to be were small water tanks.) that morning, she'd pack up her Little Oscar with food for the day, and mom or grandaddy would drive her to the old one-room schoolhouse (or maybe it had been a church) that was our township's polling place. since she was the cook in the family, we all made do at Dairy Queen or Auten's Pizza.
mom would drive people to the polling places, and she would stay at the courthouse until all the race results had been announced. sometimes, i would go, but then i usually fell asleep before that momentous ending. mom and granny would come home and rant or rave. that one Tuesday determined the mood, the outlook, the words of the whole week. one district attorney race ended badly in our family's opinion, and, especially since mom had campaigned so much, there wasn't a smile around the house for weeks. i think i even got to cut class the day after the election.
esam tells me there is a large fine imposed on people who don't vote. i don't know if such drastic measures would increase the voter count; i don't think i would even advocate an extreme. still, the fact that so many Americans do not vote astonishes and chills me. while i'm not as politically involved as i once was (i just now finished researching and determining my list of judges), i just can't imagine not taking the time in my day.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 11/03/2002 04:39:00 PM
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BODY:
i must admit
i had forgotten about the Spice Girls until reports of the Posh kidnapping came about. now, i can't get the tune "spice up your life!" out of my head.
well, at least it supercedes the "It's a small world after all" that my friend Mark in Chattanooga implanted. and i'm sure most of my friends would rather hear the Spice Girls than the Smurfs. (yes, i sing the theme song when i'm thinking through something. and, yes, we all know i'm twisted and weird.)
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 11/02/2002 08:25:00 PM
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BODY:
coping
i'm a little melancholy baby today. new drugs: Neurontin, Advair, Singulair, oh my.
i feel as if i should be on one of those annoying drug commercials. i always laugh when they don't tell you what the drug does. they just assume you would want it because everyone in the commercial is happy and smiling and bouncing babies on their knees and laughing as if the world is so much better because they have this drug. one time i was on the L, and a couple were verbally figuring out what Prilosec, that "purple pill," does. "Well," the girl said, "she has her hands in the air like she's joyful. it must be for depression." i corrected her and noted that it's for gastric reflux. they both gave me this look as if i were speaking in Latin.
normally, i never tell anyone what drugs i'm taking or what ills i'm experiencing. i hate going through these bitter pill parties, but tonight i can't stop myself. i just hate daily three-times-a-day drugs and I ABHORE inhalers.
i'm sure there is the phrase "non-compliant patient" somewhere in every one of my medical charts. my general practitioner prefaces every scrip-writing session with, "I want you to take this and not miss a dose." he gives me samples not only because he wants to save me money but probably also because he wants to eliminate an excuse from my lips. every doctor i've ever had knows that i despise ingesting daily doses of anything and that most of my Ventilin's and Aerobid's and all those other lovely brands usually end up in a Dumpster half-used. ("hmm, why do you have pneumonia, lynne? maybe because you threw your ventilator away and then your asthma got worse and then you got bronchitis and then you end up here ...." i wanted to punch the look out of that ER doc's face, but i could barely breathe enough to do so. plus, she was right.)
it's not that i want to die or i want to be sick. i'm not that self-abusive. i can't aptly explain the logic. i've just survived all my life.
i learned at an early age how to breathe through, think through, almost any pain or injury. (my grandmother had the same ability; when she broke her hip, she figured out how to get up and hobble across the farm to the house.) when i was little, i figured out rhythms, mind games, mantras that would restore my breathing or the movement in my legs. when i'd get weak and overdose on pain medication or cut my legs in anger, i'd rock myself and breathe myself through the fits and pain, and i never went to the hospital.
i wanted to live walking more than anything. even when they told me that the scoliosis would eventually put me in a wheelchair and kill me, i knew that i had to find a way to prove them wrong, and i did.
anyways, i'm rambling incoherently. (the neurontin is supposed to make you dizzy.) i'm trying so hard this time to follow the doctor's orders. a part of me doesn't want to just get through it this time -- a part of me wants to believe that my quality of life will be so much better if i do as they say. then, another part of me just wants to live without dulling all the sensations. if i have to have pain every day, then so be it. it's a part of me, and i keep on going most days. i usually don't hide under the covers, and i live a never-boring life.
a million sighs.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/28/2002 12:00:00 AM
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BODY:
i'm learning
slowly. surely, i'm not for sure. i see websites i like. i want to recreate...quickly, deftly, professionally, all those adverbs. i've judged myself to death; i need to just do at a rapid pace and just learn.
that's the problem with growing up sometimes. i have all these damn comparisons. earlier this fall, i painted the apartment like a kid making mudpies, but, when it comes to expanding my portfolio, i cringe and squirm and manipulate until the pixels virtually wear thin. grr arghh.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/26/2002 10:20:00 PM
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BODY:
winona
i don't think i'm impartial where it comes to winona ryder. how could anyone who has ever watched TV or the movies or the celeb/news sites? so, how was this juror's questionnaire of any use?
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/24/2002 10:39:00 PM
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BODY:
john ashcroft the book reviewer?
as i was catching up on book slut, i found this reference to mr. ashcroft's debut as a critique of juvenile fiction. in reference to Lemony Snicket, here is what "mr. ashcroft" had to say:
I am eager to voice my disdain for this "Lemony Snicket" character, and his smug campaign of misery. His brand of blasphemy is conditioning an entire generation of young readers to find amusement in the pretend suffering of others. I am not amused. I have launched an extensive investigation of Mr. Snicket in an effort to establish evidence that he is, in fact, Daniel Handler, a known supporter of Dianne Feinstein. I have also initiated legislation, hereby known as the "Homer Price Act," that will make the public dissemination of irony among juveniles a criminal offense.
i needed to laugh today.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/23/2002 09:17:00 PM
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BODY:
quoted content
from Pure Content
(entry edited out)
NaNoWriMo Ever thought about writing the Great American Novel? Here's your chance. The National Novel Writing Month begins on November 1st. The goal of it is to write a 175 page (50,000 word) novel by midnight on November 30th. Fron the NaNoWriMo site:
Valuing enthusiasm and perseverance over talent and craft, NaNoWriMo is a novel-writing program for everyone who has thought fleetingly about writing a novel but has been scared away by the time and effort involved. Because of the limited writing window, the ONLY thing that matters in NaNoWriMo is output. It's all about quantity, not quality. The kamikaze approach forces you to lower your expectations, take risks, and write on the fly. Make no mistake: You will be writing a lot of crap. And that's a good thing. By forcing yourself to write so intensely, you are giving yourself permission to make mistakes. To forgo the endless tweaking and editing and just create. To build without tearing down.
I think I'm going to give it a go. Here's a deal: if you write a novel .. or even a part of a novel ... over the month of November, we'll post it here. Well, we'll post it at lookatmorestuff.com, and we'll link to it from here. Thanks to Jennifer for sending us a note about it. Rock on with your bad self. (skinned knees) (deadline power) (divergent > convergent) (10/22/2002 1:31:43 PM)
lynne's note: anyone up for the challenge? i'm going to try to finish one of my six (i think; i've lost count) novels.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/23/2002 09:12:00 PM
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BODY:
migraines or something like it
confusion. perplexed. needles jabbing into the base of my neck. jaws unable to open, unable to close...sort of suspended between actions. eyes the same way. blurry then focused, as if someone is operating my optic system as a manual Nikons lens. nauseous, but can't even cough. actually would love to vomit and can't believe i'm actually feeling this way. the rest of my body feels just fine, as if completely detached from my skull and cervical spine. i want to say something pithy or witty, but all that comes out are words mismatched. i apologize profusely, then feel as if everyone is checking me off their "people who are reliable" list. i drive down Lake Shore Drive in the left lane then realize that i can't move my head, so i pray that there are no cars moving toward me.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/23/2002 12:52:00 AM
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BODY:
content provided by chris
i am quite exhausted today, and i shouldn't be...either than the fact that I probably threw a disc out lugging all my swatchbooks and paper promotions from the Unisource show today. (a friend was severely concerned about my center of gravity, but i refused to get another bag.) still, my friend chris provided me with such great content, better than I could ever conjure this evening.
Imagine a soccer mom in a Ford Excursion (11 mpg city, 15 mpg highway) saying, "I'm building a nuclear bomb for Saddam Hussein."
An intriguing ad campaign that probably would never fly, linking to recent efforts to stop the California legislation calling for more energy-efficient vehicles. Seriously, though, if we are made to believe that Starr Jones tells everyone she knows about the wonderful styles at Payless and that Philip Morris really wants your kids to abhore smoking, then why can't we hear such slogans as "The biggest weapon of mass destruction is parked in your driveway."
help knee deep shag
from mr. chris again: No, kids, it's not a commercial for an Elvis theme park, or some sort of cheap Cinemax movie. Knee Deep Shag is a band that sounds...well, "like a check cashing," to quote them. Rob Cookman, keyboardist for KDS, played piano on the album I produced this summer (some of you may remember me talking about it -- really great player), and the band is something else. According to what I got, it looks like the boys have a shot at some record label lovin' and maybe even cash from a major corporation. All you need to do is vote.
Here's what you do:
1. Go to http://www.jimbeammusic.com/.
2. Tell them how old you are. You don't really have to tell them your
EXACT age, but they do need to know you're over 21.
3. Listen to KDS' song. (This step is optional)
4. Vote for KDS to take it all home!
5. Go to http://www.kneedeepshag.com/ for more on the band. (Also, an
optional step)
lynne's note: i voted and KDS was in the lead! i was much impressed, but then again, i'm always much impressed with whatever chris recommends. i owe so many hours of sanity to him and his Mac finesse and i think i will owe him big time for turning me onto my latest greatest thing: my Boblebee backpack. (i'll rant about this phenomena later when i'm more alert. i'm so loving it, and my back is so thanking me for caring.)
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/21/2002 09:56:00 PM
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BODY:
one of the best uses of my time
i think i mentioned that, this month, i took my friend Alex and worked with my friend Christi on a tour of Chicago's Green Technology Center. the account of our day is up on the Building Green Bridges site. we all have hours, days, months, years when we ask ourselves, "What have I really done?" well, this is what I did this month -- and I had a lovely lunch with a new friend today, and I helped organize a tremendously successful panel workshop on book publishing with Company of Friends and Dearborn Trade, and I got new catering clients for Millennium Perk, and my friend Tess told me I rocketh mucheth because of the Buffy CD I burned for her....
so, i guess i did something this month. sigh. unfortunately, i oftentimes think, if my workdays do not approach 18-hour proportions, i'm not doing that much. i need a paradigm shift...or, as esam says, i need to change the CD in my head.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/21/2002 07:17:00 PM
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BODY:
do i take this personally?
this Doonesbury installment makes me feel all squeamish inside. do i have something worth saying? sometimes, the "meaningless" words, though, lead to the journey or keep me on the path.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/21/2002 05:36:00 PM
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BODY:
i could rant forever about the genius of Mutant Enemy
everyone knows that I am somewhat of an addicted fan to Buffy the Vampire Slayer and any TV show, comic or trade paperbook that involves the universes created by Joss Whedon and his gang at Mutant Enemy.
anyways, i will save the larger part of my ramblings for another day. this morning, i checked out the Leoff wildfeed and drooled over the past-season references, which are anumerous. hee hee. the reason why I hate the character Xander reappears.
"I killed Angel." Buffy silences Xander. "Do you even remember that? I would have given up everything I had to be with... I loved him more than anything I had in this life, and I put a sword through him because I had to."
"And that all worked out ok?" Willow says, trying to break the tension from the couch.
Buffy continues "Do you remember cheering me on? Both of you! Do you remember giving me Willow's message 'kick his ass'?"
"I never said tha...."
"This is different" Xander interrupts.
"it is always different. It is always complicated." Buffy is forceful now, then slowly turns somber.
but it doesn’t seem that buffy catches Willow's moan of protest, which I hope is just a mistake. in the vindictive cell of the petty bone in my body, I would love to see Xander pay for that; in Season 2, a hospital-ridden Willow gave Xander the mission to find Buffy before she went to fight Angelus, to inform her that Willow was going to retry the soul-restoration spell and that Buffy should just stall Angel and the others until he gets his soul back and return to nice, happy, lovestruck vampire. well, Xander found Buffy before she got to the fightscene, but, out of his hate and jealousy came the words, (paraphrased) "go get him." then, buffy rescues Giles, fights Angel, watches Angel open up the gates of hell, sees Angel's soul restored and kisses him goodbye before plunging the sword into his confused self and sending him to hell for a 100 years. (he opened the gates; only he could close them before the whole world got sucked into the netherworld.) for that, i will never like Xander no matter if he did save the world last season.
and, isn’t it interesting that those episodes are playing now on FX? at this moment, i'm watching the interactions between buffy and xander, and it's a complete role reversal five seasons apart. in Season 2, xander accuses buffy of forgetting all the bad things angel has done "because you want your boyfriend back" and buffy reminds everyone that Angel lost his soul through no fault of his own. in Season 7, buffy accuses xander of forgetting that Anya chose twice to be a vengeance demon and deserves to die for the hideous deaths she's effected -- and xander says that it's not Anya's fault because she returned to what she knew after he left her at the altar. the scenes are almost exactly the same, except for names and locales changed.
great cross-marketing. I love joss, marti, drew x 2, rebecca, and all the other amazing writers who maintains an admiring continuity.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/20/2002 10:03:00 AM
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BODY:
conversation starter
there are many ways to start and continue a conversation: mutual employers/clients, mutual friends, alums of the same school, accents, Mac PowerBooks.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/17/2002 12:53:00 AM
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BODY:
the tale of the right shift key continues
so, my friend chris sends me an e-mail saying he can't accompany me on my suburban quest today. he has to fix some Macs and be the savior Mac tech that he is.
"i can wait." i sheepishly say. and i could. i could sit at Coffee Expressions and make phone calls and write and do all sorts of things just to get a passenger to ride with me to the Apple Store in Schaumburg. this is how suburban loathing I am. (of course, my suburban loathing doesn't extend to Oak Park or Evanston because, culture- and attitude-wise, they aren't suburbs to me. but i digress.)
"ok. i should get out at 3:30." which of course means I would hit rush hour, but still, i needed company.
fast forward to me walking through the nearly deserted passageways of Woodfield Mall. "are we there yet?" i kept asking my much taller, much faster friend.
"look, there's an apple up ahead." i felt as if i were in a smurf cartoon. (yes, i still sing the theme song.) we get to that wonderful store, which should be located in the city rather than out here in burbland, and the wonderful Genius Bar-tender replaces my keyboard with a brand, spanking new one.
meanwhile, Chris checks his e-mail and i babble. i ask the guy at the bar how much, and he checks on his computer ...
"$180."
face scrunches up as if i just had had a lemon sour. "but the guy on the phone said it would be between $70 and $120." i admit i was whining. the Apple guy says keyboards are normally that much, but that's what the sticker says.
"but i understand the expense. i can put your old keyboard back on." i must have looked like a broken china doll or maybe like Cracked Connie on Passions. "just a second, let me see if we have another keyboard in the back where I can get the two keys you need."
face lights up. i look at Chris. "see, exactly my idea in the first place!" Apple guy comes back and restores my keyboard to a completeness it has never known since i bought it. then, he fixes another cosmetic defect and charges me only $50!
a happy ending.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/15/2002 02:23:00 PM
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BODY:
well put
i am going through my daily buffy check, and found this comment from writer Drew Greenberg on the Bronze Beta board archive. just so well worded.
Web Warlock: in my experience, people who cite the dead lesbian cliche in reference to Tara do not understand the cliche itself. Presentations of lesbians in film and television have historically presented these women as troubled, twisted and desperate. They were not accepted by society, and the only appropriate ending for them was either to be killed or to commit suicide, thus denying these characters any chance at happiness and, also, providing for the audience a rather clean solution to an embarrassing problem -- how to get rid of the lesbian. In the character of Tara, we carefully constructed a young woman who was vibrant, alive, self-sufficient, funny, sexy, compassionate, strong and learning to stand on her own two feet. We wanted you to love her so that when we took her away, the audience would feel her absence as something painful, just as Willow did, and absolutely NOT as a relief, as the cliche holds. The character was, in my opinion, in stark contrast to and the exact opposite of the old lesbian cliche. In characterizing Tara's death as yet another in the string of cliched lesbian deaths, you indicate that you do not see Tara as anything but a lesbian, you do not see her as the unique character she was, but rather just as a woman who had sex with women, and, in doing so, you reveal your own homophobia, your own prejudice and, more than anything else, your own lack of understanding of what we did with that character. Thanks for the opportunity to say so.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/13/2002 01:07:00 AM
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BODY:
a reason to go home
other than the fact that home is usually 10 degrees warmer than Chicago and that basketball season is upon us, i think i'll head down south to have my chicken mcnuggets served to me with a smile at the new McDonalds with the Diner Inside in Evansville, Indiana. just think of all those times when i had to lean against the condiments station, waiting for my special order double cheeseburger with just pickles. sigh. they come up with all the good ideas after you have passed the fast-food phase. (sarcasm dripping) mom goes to e'ville every week; i'm surprised this phenomena wasn't included in her regular reports on the highs and lows of Illianatucky.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/11/2002 09:25:00 PM
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BODY:
a tale of a right shift key
ok, so my right shift key fell off the other night. I couldn’t put it back on, and, unlike my right options key, I kinda need it. i type too fast and, while i like an uncapitalized world most days, i can't get away with it every moment.
so, I call the apple store in schaumburg on a Wednesday night. it’s like 6 p.m. they should be open. I follow the little phone tree and the automated voice says I’m not calling when all good little boys and girls should in order to get an answer on a repair problem. so, since I can’t seem to get to the main menu, I call again and finally after a few more calls and pushed buttons, I finally get a living human voice.
“um, my right shift key fell off and it’s impairing my typing speed. I’m in the city. is there somewhere in Chicago where I can go and get it fixed?”
“oh, sure. Microcenter is a licensed Apple technician. they’re on Clybourn.”
“are you sure?” because I’m pretty sure that microcenter is on Elston across from Target. “do you have a specific address?”
“no. it’s on Clybourn. good luck.” click. grr arggh.
so, today, I finally get some time to trek out to the Microcenter on ELSTON. I bring my lovely Purvis (my Powerbook) with me, and I go to the service department.
“hi, my right shift key fell off and I can’t affix it back. I’m missing a right options key, too, but that isn’t as important. the Apple store in Schaumburg says you can help me. I just started a contract ....”
“go around the corner to the wooden door and into that room right there.” pointed finger toward a window which looked into a rather boring looking office where nervous-looking men were sitting in rag-tag office chairs.
“ok.” I go around the partition wall, past the new HP photo printers, through the wood door, and sit in another rag-tag office chair. and I wait while a bespectacled gentleman sitting in a suit and in front of an iMac and a PC explains to someone what typing a colon means in DOS and how to delete a printer on a PC and how to do a clean uninstall. I chuckle when the poor, sweat-pouring-down-his-face guy asks, “What is a colon? I don’t know what that looks like.” wait, didn’t the guy say he was trying to use PC Anywhere to connect his home computer with the school where he was working?
so, finally my turn. I take Purvis, show the cosmetic damage to my lovely giver of life and love and job freedom ....
“I don’t handle physical repairs. go to the service counter.”
“but I just went to the service counter and they sent me to you. I just need a right shift key! I can live with the other slight flaws. My computer works wonderfully fine thanks to my Mac tech friends.”
“well, let’s go to the service counter, and we’ll get your computer sent and fixed.” spectacle, hairline receding, sweating-in-a-suit guy walks out the wooden door, past the HP printers and around the partition to the service counter. I follow.
“send?” I whisper.
“this is physical. I don’t do physical problems. help her,” he tells the woman who told me to see him.
“what was your problem again?” she asks me.
I just open up Purvis and point. I’ve been there about 45 minutes.
“well, it will cost $50 to ship it to Apple then $75 minimum for repair. parts will be extra. do you have a warranty?” blank stare.
“ship! it’s one key. I just started a contract. the Apple store said you were licensed technicians; technicians fix things onsite. they don’t send things. don’t you have a box of keys somewhere and a toolcase?”
“no, ma’am. you have to ship it to Apple to get it fixed.”
I shut Purvis up and stormed out. in the car, I called the Apple store. again, I got hung up in the stupid phone tree, but ten minutes later, I had a living voice.
blah, blah, blah. repeat problem. get put on hold.
nice little hold noise. then, “hello, thank you for calling Apple. how can I help you?”
“I just told someone how you’ns could help me. I need a right shift key for my Powerbook and the stupid Microcenter told me I had to ship my laptop to California and I can’t because I have a contract and I’m tired and ....” I just sighed. tears were starting to form.
“ok, ma’am. I can order you a keyboard and get that here by Tuesday. what’s your serial number?”
“a whole keyboard? can’t you just give me a right shift key?”
“no. we don’t have separate keys. I will have to order you a whole keyboard. but we can install here at the store.” which is about an hour away in heavy traffic. grr arrgh. but oh, well, it’s better than California.
“and,” he continued,” my name is Micah and I’ll be here on Monday and Wednesday if you have any problems.” tears start to retract into tear ducts.
still, a whole keyboard for just one key?
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/10/2002 01:08:00 AM
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BODY:
in that moment
at this moment, nearly 1 a.m. on a thursday morning, i'm too pissed off to fall asleep. my back is acting all crabby. i just got into a public argument with my husband at the neighborhood bar --- an occurrence that i'm ashamed to admit. my presentation tomorrow, the one i have been biting my nails over all day because i want and need the business ... well, the other person has an emergency dental appointment and we're rescheduling.
anyways, crabby me, crabby moment. then, i start reading through my favorite blogs and discover the following from Jack, a friend and fellow Company of Friends coordinator:
The latest brain research indicates that we are our synapses -- the connections in the brain. Again, we are only as smart as our relationships are good.
and, no matter how cranky baby i am at this moment, i realize that i have had, and still enjoy, some of the most amazing relationships i could ever hope to have. if i stopped breathing tomorrow, this time for good, i think my last conscious moment would be in gratitude for all the conversations, the interactions, the inspirations that have come my way. all this might sound sappy and mushy, but isn't it so true? i might not be a famous anything, but i think the connections i have made in this life -- short- and long-term -- impacted the world somehow. anyways, i'm going to go back to reading my blogs. good night/morning.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/08/2002 08:37:00 PM
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BODY:
cellphone wasteland
According to industry figures, cellphone use in the United States has surged, to more than 128 million subscribers last year from 340,000 in 1985. Typically, each phone is used for 18 months before being dropped for a newer model ... By 2005, [a report by Inform and the EPA] estimates, 130 million cellphones will be thrown out each year. Counting the phones, batteries and chargers, that comes to 65,000 tons a year, the report said. Although some phones may just stay unused in desk drawers, the report said, most will end up in landfills or being incinerated.
The full article in today's New York Times. Registration might be required.
As I was walking to the coffee house today, I passed The Body Shop on State Street and noticed that the store is collecting used wireless phones with batteries and chargers through November 10. Donated phones are sold, refurbished, or recycled, with net proceeds benefiting the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence (NCADV) and the Wireless Foundation. Double good!
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/07/2002 12:52:00 AM
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BODY:
one year old
my friend Tess celebrates her 31st birthday and her blog's one-year-old birthday today. Tess and i have been penpals (we think it was because of the Slaughter Fan Club) for more than 10 years, and i must admit that, though i still love the happy snail mail, we've become closer this past year through her blog. one of the greatest gifts is that, though she lives in Anchorage and i live in Chicago, i feel as if i know the cast of characters in her life because most of them blog, too. there's a sense of community that wasn't there before. i might never have written to these people or seen their pictures, yet i feel as if we're all woven together in the world of Tess. i'm not just some crazy Illinoisan revolving around her universe. does that make any sense?
on sunday, i spent most of the afternoon surrounded by my friend Jennifer's wonderfully large and joyful family as we all congratulated Sarah Isabella on approaching her first birthday. considering all the noises and faces and other attacks on the senses, Sarah kept up a pretty happy face most of the time. she's had a great year, and the world loves her, and now she's exploring the world more and more each day. (she wasn't too happy with how her party dress impaired her ability to explore, though.) again, i was struck how my friend Jen weaves all her friends into her large Italian family. we know each other by face and name. her mom just chats with me as if i had grown up on the block. i'm part of this family universe that i never knew existed when i was a kid ... if only for three times or so each year.
isn't it interesting how babies and certain projects of the heart blur all these boundaries we establish? until the coffee house esam knew maybe one or two of my friends. with his work, my work, all my networking groups and volunteer work, blah, blah, blah, we just had time enough for us. i've had friends who have known me about as long as I have been married and who just met esam face to face this summer at Millennium Perk. now, he has voices and faces to place with names and stories. i have friends and acquaintances who have become regulars, and esam even has found some new friends among my makeshift family. the communities meld and grow.
once upon a time, i loved all these little categories, all these separate lives: There's my McLeansboro group, my dance group, my IIT group, my Company of Friends, et.al., and never shall any of them meet). as i get older, i find less need for them. that's another surprise lesson of the month.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/06/2002 01:36:00 PM
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BODY:
i hate whiners
i even hate when i find myself whining, which i feel like i'm doing now but then again i think i have more of a rational, angry tone than a petulant one.
anyways, today was supposed to be esam's first day off in seven months. we were going to go to church, then have coffee with our friend Mark, then go to my friend Jen's daughter's first birthday, then meander around Evanston...just have a blissful day together without the coffee shop.
"I can't open and close" was the whine of last night. i wanted to punch my brother-in-law at that moment. after all the times esam has opened and closed, after all the times esam worked at one job for eight hours then stayed another 12 hours working on the coffee house to get it open, after all the times these past two weeks esam has gotten a phone call at 5 a.m. saying "i'm sick and can't open" and esam has rushed to get dressed and get down there....
i seriously wanted to karate chop the twit. of course, i knew at that moment what esam would do. if he would have said, "no, i'm taking the day off," then his brother would have closed up shop at 1 p.m. or so and we would have lost seven hours of business. it was too late to find someone to cover, and esam had said a week ago that he was going to start taking off Sundays on Oct. 6. so my tired baby is working today until 8 p.m. and i'm about to head out to Sarah's first birthday party alone.
grrr arrgh
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/02/2002 09:21:00 PM
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BODY:
i want to cry
or maybe i want to scream. esam just spilled paint on the floor, i think. he told me to stay where i am and not move. i hear a mop scraping wood. did it spread to the couch or the bedroom? what color spilled? what color did i leave in there that wasn't sealed? all these mental pictures. thank god, again, we have hardwood floors.
speaking of Operation Paint Me a New Picture, for once in my life, i feel as if I am "home."
ok, esam just walked by me. his feet are blue. that means, he punctured a brand new gallon of paint. how did that happen?
anyways, i think i'll go look and then cry and then scream and then maybe cry again. talk more later.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/02/2002 09:13:00 PM
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BODY:
great headline
Superman Kills Buffy
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/02/2002 09:11:00 PM
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BODY:
passions
ok, i admit that i watch soaps. a habit that started during rainy summer days on the farm when i'd finished reading everything in sight and no one could take me to a place where i could get a book. anyways, Passions makes me laugh; the writing is so satirical of every soap construct (daytime and primetime) that i can't help but chuckle. now, they have dancing babies, ala Ally McBeal. but, as you can see from below, these babies have an evil plot that will throw the whole town of Harmony in a tailspin ... but, then again, everything that happens in Harmony is the result of evil forces.
Tabitha chases the dancing babies around her house and demands answers from them. Reese is stunned when he glances in Tabitha's window and sees what's going on. Reese drags Jessica over to confront Tabitha, who orders Cracked Connie to hide the destructive babies. Miguel begs Kay not to tell Charity about them sleeping together. Charity is horrified when the escaped dancing baby appears at the foot of her hospital bed. Miguel tries to reassure Charity, who claims the baby is evil. Kay chases after the tiny tot.
sigh.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 10/01/2002 08:17:00 PM
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BODY:
infoRomanticism
my friend Nate just published a piece on "InfoRomanticism on the Internet." Excellent reading, and a much-needed reminder that, as we rush to formulate all of these online experiences--many of which were never an option to us in the print world -- we still need to remember the basics. Nate challenges us experience designers to push the poetics of data -- being mindful of the Internet's possibilities for enhancing voice, encouraging participation, facilitation wayfinding through dense and dynamic information -- and celebrating data as living, evolutionary information.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/29/2002 10:51:00 PM
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BODY:
a reason why i haven't bought a pair of jeans in almost four years
yesterday, i go with a steel determination into a clothing store. i'm going to buy a pair of jeans. i miss jeans. i miss sitting on the floor or ground without worrying about staining; i miss the comfort, the flexible style, the simple moments of just being in a t-shirt and jeans mood.
yet, i judge my whole body concept and self image on my jeans size, which, unless it's a Size 7 or 8, the world will never know.
so, i know i'm not a Size 8 anymore. I know i'm not even the closest i want to be after four years of jeanslessness. i know i'm not even the size i was four years ago when i was in Germany. so, after plucking business shirts and a black jacket and elastic-waist pants, i grabbed something that i thought would be "loose." (after all, i want to give an immediate ego boost, not an immediate letdown.) i hug the pair of low-rider flares to my chest (so no one can see the size) and slide between racks and displays to the dressing room. the dressing room watcher points me toward the room at the end of the hall, which happens to be the largest of the four choices. i first think, "great, i have all this room to throw a tantrum."
door closed. sandals slipped off my newly pedicured feet (another confidence booster). baggy pants shimmied down my less-than-perfect, unshaven (when I'm nervous, i always nick) legs. deep breath. look in the mirror. shake my hair out. another deep breath. maybe, i'll try on that shirt (which I know should fit) first. take off the glasses and current shirt. slip off red and black pinstripe shirt (will look great with my hair) off hanger and onto my torso. yep, looks good. stretch once. stretch again. breathe. shake hair out. put glasses on. look like a modern-day librarian.
"ok, lynne, whatever happens, you are still a good person. you are kind. you are a good friend. you deserve a good life. you are not trailer-trash material just because you aren't a certain jeans size."
speech continues. gets rather self-deprecating and debating. i'm sure the people in the dressing rooms next door were either having a chuckle or a cry.
i grab the jeans and start putting them on. a little tight in the thigh but still gets past. remember, even when you were a Size 8, the thighs were always rather tight. past the hips. looks good. left hand grabs button, right hand grabs loop, pull and....
won't meet. just won't. i suck air in. i try to lie down but the jeans are too stiff. i can't. about a half-inch still separates me from this "loose" prize.
i bite my lip, slip off the pair, try the rest of the clothes (which all fit well, of course) and return myself to the look that accompanied me in the store. click. i'm out of the dressing room. i thrown the pair of jeans on the discard rack, and go to the jeans display. shuffle. shuffle. there is the next size. i sigh and take the pair (and the other clothes) to the cashier. i strike up a couple of conversations. i go to the coffee house. i say to esam, "wait until you see the clothes I got! i love them!"
this morning, i wear the new red shirt and the jeans. we're running late to get esam to the coffee house and me to church. i ease into the passenger seat (new, stiff jeans). esam scratches my jeans leg and slams something on the dash. at first, groggy me thinks he's playing silly then saw a mosquito (remember West Nile). then, i see what he's affixed to the dashboard: a sticker proclaiming to the world and my husband the size of my new pair of jeans. (Damn, how many times do you have to remind a woman?)
alas, the story is not complete. my friend Mark and i are at the Starbuck's in Andersonville (because you can watch the guys on their way to Cheetah Gym, and you don't have the same vantage point from any of the independent coffee houses; maybe Starbucks had that in mind when doing location scouting). i go to the bathroom, and i'll spare you the descriptives and expletives.
i got my period.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/27/2002 11:19:00 AM
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BODY:
quote of the day
from The New York Times Direct service I receive every day:
"There's no doubt his hatred is mainly directed at us. There's no doubt he can't stand us. After all, this is a guy that tried to kill my dad at one time."
PRESIDENT BUSH,speaking of Saddam Hussein.
i think this says a whole bunch! still, have you ever talked with the guy, George?
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/27/2002 09:21:00 AM
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BODY:
operation paint me a new picture
i finished the apartment-painting project last night! granted, i didn't accomplish two things on my original project list, but i actually thinks everything works out pretty well. enough drama for a 650-square-feet apartment. now, i just have to add the little accents and cover the couches. i've quite enjoyed myself with the process. (but then, i normally redecorate in some fashion every three months or so)
my friend asked me what i learned from doing this paint job all by myself (with help a couple days from friends):
a. masking is very important.
b. you have to accept mistakes now and then, or often in my painting-virgin case.
c. a second coat can make all the difference.
d. thank God i have hardwood floors.
e. i'm happier having done it myself than paying my husband's "professional home painter" friend $1,300.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/26/2002 10:34:00 AM
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BODY:
infection
last night, i talked with a friend and compared symptoms for this past week's malaise. considering that i got that bite on my neck (no vampires) a couple weeks ago, and the bite still hasn't healed...i'm wondering if i have West Nile virus. the roller-coaster high/low/no fever and the confusion (oh, god, is there the confusion) and the aches and the neck stiffness. if i had better insurance and more money at the moment, i'd go to the hospital (and claim my 15 minutes of TV fame). no course of therapy exists, and i'm not so sick to warrant ambulatory care.
confusion
i'm sure every spouse/significant other experiences this aura of why. you admire him/her. you love the essence, the values, of this person, and he hangs out with a narcissistic bum.
esam and i have always been thrilled with each other's independence. we've always had separate friends. we each have friends who don't interest the other, and that's cool. my mom shudders at the fact that we don't have very many "couples" friends and thinks i play with fire by going out with my single guy friends, and i laugh because I can't imagine living that life i watched while growing up. giving up my friends because they aren't married or attached (and thus bad influences on a good Christian wife) is not an option.
after last night, though, i thought of invoking an exception to our free-friend-love policies. this guy not once asked anything about my friend who was with us, or about what I was doing or how the coffee house was going. all he talked about was this project or this next great deal of his. i had bit a sore into the lining of my mouth from all the times i wanted to say, "oh, that's great that you want to take a one-way trip to Finland, but what about your little son?" or "oh, you're still living off that person and now you're looking for another sucker; how do you explain that practice to your son?" or a number of other biting comments. i wanted to cut down every little bit of fantasy he injected our conversation with. i wanted to tell him....
if you think your genius or your art separates you from the obligations of normal men, then, damn it, you should be sterilized.
harsh? i admire those people who've made conscious decisions not to have children, either because they know their respective callings take up too much energy or they know they don't have the patience or care or honor a parent needs to have. i respect them. we're not all meant to be parents. the world would be so much better if every individual honored their parental tendencies or lack thereof---and we didn't have a contingency arguing against birth control, but that's a whole other rant.
i firmly believe that you can do whatever you choose with your life, unless you are a parent. or unless children or a child is a big part of your daily life. then, you have to temper your wants, dreams, goals, and/or self-abusive behaviors with the needs of giving your children the best possible start at life. the word "bum" only applies to parents, in my opinion, who have sacrificed their families' safety for addictions, aberrations, or affiliations. i'm not implying a person has to live in a loveless marriage or not follow their bliss; i'm just saying that, whatever choices you make, when you're a parent, you should consider, "Does this jeopardize my child's safety? What am I teaching my child about the roles of women and men, about the way the world should be? What example am I creating?"
if you allow your husband to call you fat and ugly in front of your five-year-old son, then what are you saying to your son? it's ok for men to make rude comments to women, especially to their partners. or if you have an illness you choose to ignore and let it keep you depressed and bed-ridden (and thus causing you to neglect your child), then what's that message?
i can ramble on this forever. it's incendiary. when i hear "well, my ex-wife is rich, so i can be 40-some-old and pursue this singing gig and not work," i scream inside. your sperm, your responsibility. your egg, your responsibility. no matter if the other parent is wealthy or enjoys a good job. even if you're a part of a mutually consentual relationship where you aren't working in order to take care of the children, you have a duty to conduct your life with honor and purpose because your children are watching. parents imbed these little cues into their children, and then their children has the potential of repeating the same patterns.
yes, this rant reflects a personal bitterness. my biological father never worked at a job after my parents' divorce because my mom's family was rich enough to support me and he didn't see why he had to give up his money for my support. so, he lived off his second wife and pursued his music. (i give him this, he did play Notre Dame.) when his second wife died, he lived off the Social Security for his younger kids and didn't allow them to be raised by an aunt who loved and cared for them. (just like he never would sign the adoption papers my grandaddy put before him, because, you know, after all, my grandparents and mother could croak before i turned 18 and wouldn't that be happy) he has no honor in his life.
and i hate that my husband (who is the most honorable man i know) has a friend who resembles my father. i hate it. granted, this guy talks with his son, whereas my father split from my life when i was six. yet, i just don't get how he can go on and on about this children's TV show he's written and is shopping around. he doesn't even support his own child and can't even afford to visit his son very often because he chooses not to work!
ok, that's my rant for the 24 hours. maybe it is unintelligible or incoherent. i just need to get it out of my system and start working.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/23/2002 09:58:00 PM
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BODY:
an invitation
read this evite to war. i hope you all say NO.
thanks to Just One Thing
i hate parking lots
when i was a little girl, Eastland Mall in Evansville, Ind., opened to the great amazement and enjoyment of many in the Tri-State Area (Illianatucky). we always crossed the river to E-ville to do most of our trading and pretty much all our doctoring, so we were there to welcome Snyder's, Lazarus and all the wonderful things a mall brings. i can remember the first time we entered the complex, my mom huffed, "Whoever designed this parking lot was drunk." (she repeated that phrase over the years.)
whoever designed the Millennium Park Garage was on crack.
esam and i just spent 30 minutes looking for our car, which was parked by a friend this morning. the friend says it was parked "just inside the entrance, on the first level." granted, that was sketchy info in the land of "2G" and "5Q" or "Adler 3" and "Field 4."
still, getting to Level 1 from the Randolph Street entrance was an elevator ride down to Level 2 and a long corridor that we had hoped would lead to the elevator that would take us to Level 1. but no, the search for Level 1 was a series of doors and half-empty lots. in fact, we never did get to Level 1.
signs kept telling us that elevators were just ahead. but none were behind the next door. i guess we had reached the south end of the garage when we finally hailed two security guards in a golf cart. "what time did he park the car?" one guard asked. 8 a.m. "Oh, it's on Level 3, then. go take that elevator there." oh, there is the elevator. of course, the elevator was broken, but thankfully, there was a staircase near.
up to Level 3. no VW Golf. so, another 5 minutes of walking through half-empty lots and doors. then, i saw a glimmer of that Chicago Limited Edition logo. sure enough, the car was right next to the exit/entrance. now, navigating the exit traffic was another crappy circumstance. esam finally found the northbound exit and peeled out onto Columbus like he was a 16-year-old kid with his first TransAm.
again, i don't think anyone who designs parking structures has had an information design or user design or any design class whatsoever. bad design leads to bad decisions...and to very cranky people.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/21/2002 10:31:00 PM
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BODY:
cranky baby
i need celebrex. badly. i sound like an old lady. hands all cramped up with Arthur. wincing while i do hand-clenching exercises.
i have travelling arthritis. every time the weather changes, some joint creaks, but it's not always the same joint in consecutive flare-ups. last time, my hips allowed only microscopic steps; this time, my hands; another time, it'll be my knee or my right foot or my neck. my acupunk says that, if i had normal sensation in my back, i would probably feel the pain there.
that concept still boggles me; i can be having arthritic inflammation but not feeling it because of the nerve damage from my spinal reconstruction. last summer, my back suffered second-degree burns, and i was clueless. a friend saw a blister and told me to get to the doctor stat. every day, i'm grateful for the surgery that saved my life, but the little oddities of my physiology can be annoying.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/21/2002 11:44:00 AM
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BODY:
techno polka
I wish i could find a link for this cd someplace. The past few days, Esam has been on a nostalgic kick so we've been listening to his fave dance and techno CDs from his Germany days. This morning, i was lying on the couch (finished the bedroom painting project last night) and suddenly, a voice booms out "This is a journey into the past, the present and the future. Now, close your eyes and enter the trip. It's 6 a.m. in the morning and we find ourselves somewhere in England." I stretch, I smile and say, "OK. Sounds better than Chicago at the moment." Then, after a few bouncing beats, Esam wakes up, enters the room and tickles my feet. I lose my focus and return to the world of errands.
Anyways, there is this one song that is a mix of techno and polka. It is a riot times 10. Because Esam ditched most of his cases to save on luggage space, the dj's name is lost to me. The DJ threads all these polka stereotypes into the mix, and I laugh aloud as I remember old couples dancing the polka at Catholic weddings back home then all those traditional German CDs you see in Lincoln Square with the guys in lederhosen and those funny caps toasting you the consumer with a stein.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/19/2002 10:00:00 AM
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BODY:
:^) today and every day
My friend Chris forwarded me this little reminder. Here's my ;-)
From CNN.com:
"It was 20 years ago today that Scott Fahlman taught the 'Net how to smile."
Show the world a little smile :-) or a wink, if you like. ;-)
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/17/2002 10:09:00 PM
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BODY:
the third week of September
i'm always sick this week. always. each year, at this time, in my hometown, the Kiwanis holds a Fall Festival on the town square. it's the best parade, the best rides, the best corn dogs...the best everything for a little kid and i was always sick. i'd always put up a brave front to get away with riding the Ferris Wheel, Swinger and maybe a few other rides. I'd never press my luck and ride the Bullet or anything that moved too fast or in different directions all at once, i.e. the rides i really loved. i was always depressed.
then, we always thought it had to do with the harvest or something aggravated by farmlife. yet, here i am more than 300 miles away and the phenomena persists. i'm sick and i'm depressed, and here we are in the third week of September. i spent all day watching TV and becoming one with the couch. according to my calendar, i was supposed to be going through an Adobe seminar on InDesign (which I just acquired and used for a project; loved it!) and GoLive today. see, it's the Fall Festival Fiasco.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/16/2002 09:53:00 AM
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BODY:
scaring
most of us have read about three Muslim medical students incident in Florida. recent news that the hospital where they were planning to intern now has cancelled their previous arrangements. this fact horrifies me. first off, the conversation was vague. second, as much as Egyptians like to joke, i can just see a whole wave of similar stories. (they will turn ANYTHING into a joke, no matter if it's tragedy. we might think this is crass, but i kind of admire this tendency. they surround their lives with humor, which means they aren't as stressed out by the little foibles that come our way.)
sometimes, i think i'm losing my argument with esam about the States. last night, he said that, from now on, when we're out in public, we have to speak arabic or german because our conversations might be misconstrued, blah, blah. considering my arabic is poor and my german is fair, i guess i'm going to have some boring dates.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/16/2002 09:24:00 AM
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BODY:
you know there is a societal shift going on
when you visit your fave greasy spoon diner (in this case, Standee's on Granville) and you immediately see an ATM and a credit/debit card machine. in this case, i bit my lip to think of all the time i spent rifling sofa cushions and the piggy bank for enough change to get some pancakes and coffee.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/13/2002 11:32:00 PM
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BODY:
where was jason today?
i slept through my alarm and missed two meetings. the day started off stereotypically but ended rather comfortably. although I didn't accomplish much in terms of painting the apartment or working on my new contract (yay!), i did manage to have some long, insightful talks with my husband and several friends. a different kind of production, one that is probably a bit more important than Midnight Drive rolling onto my kitchen walls.
esam and i talked about the meaning of security today --- he was incredulous when a customer said that security meant having money in the bank, that's it. "what about your belief in God, in yourself, in your friends and family? is this what you are going to teach your children?" of course, that's one more point to add to his "americans, in general, have a fucked-up mentality" book.
i admit that, though the money issue has passed the point of scarcity and my body-shape concept probably will never be healthy, i feel more secure now than i probably ever did in the previous 30 years (with the exception of 1993, which was a very good year). very few of my friends would pass the Esam Standards of Friendship test. i think most of us would feel very uncomfortable with the level of intimacy that those standards demand. i look around my apartment, through my scrapbooks and memories, and i see levels and depths of relationships that I never experienced before. i see value-based connections. i see generosity of spirit and heart.
Maybe, i don't see everyone every week or even every month. maybe, i couldn't move in with most of them should the coffee house go bust and we've lost everything. maybe, not everyone knows everything about my past or present or future. yet, i know they all care in their ways. i pretty much see that concern in my Entourage inbox every day and in the store when I'm there.
esam hasn't found that level of security here in the States as he had in Germany, a fact that saddens him and me. a fact that probably means we'll move back to Frankfurt or some other place in Europe some day.
but as long as i have my PowerBook and a high-speed connection, i should be fine. :^)
shopping in Dominick's
i'm sure someone had a good chuckle over my afternoon quest to Dominick's for a latte and toilet paper. my friend Mark returns my call. there I am leaned back against the shelf of Cottonelle and Northern, sipping a cold coffee drink from the enemy, reading about Sarah Michelle Gellar and Freddie Prinze's Mexico wedding, and talking to Mark about painting my living room walls, getting high on the paint fumes, and celebrating the Buffy season premiere in a week and a half. i was probably there for 15 minutes before I finally picked up my 12-pack of 100% recycled Green Forests toilet paper and went to check out. esam would kill me for talking on the cell phone while checking out. (he once made Al Gore wait for five minutes for some sushi and a drink because then-Vice President Gore was talking on his cell phone. that's a funny story i should blog about some day when i'm a bit more awake.) at least, i finished the article and saved about $3.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/11/2002 09:49:00 AM
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BODY:
ground zero
i woke up this morning at 9 a.m. almost exactly. i slept through the alarm. now, at 9:30, esam has talked with his mom and sister, and he's taking nails from the walls. i'm looking at people's ideas about building on ground zero. very few of the drawings inspire me. some of them are godawful ugly --- nothing that evokes poetry or simple beauty or memory.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/10/2002 11:35:00 PM
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BODY:
wonderland
i always feel as if i've been transported somewhere special when i visit the Music Box Theatre. tonight, i met a friend from the western suburbs to see Merci pour le chocolat. we were sitting in Theatre 2, which I've always called the grape arbor. such a tiny little space with silk/plastic grape vines and leaves hanging above the patrons. i always laugh and remember time spent in the Napa Valley.
the theatre has this divine whimsy that's timeless. so many of these old movie theatres have been boarded up or converted into condos. i can't understand why people would prefer a homogenous multiplex to a playground where stars shine on the ceiling and an organist plays before the show. when the Fine Arts Theatre was still open downtown, my friends and i would sit in the balcony and imagine couples and kids and families and soldiers home from the war huddled in the same seats. watching movies in these spaces connects you to the past, to things innocent and creative and pure. as hard as i try to expand my imagination, i can't foresee my grandchildren walking through a multiplex wondering what dreams and story ideas sparked out from the screens and walls. sigh.
back to the movie. it was lovely. French movies effect this honesty in words that often gets lost in the action shot in an American film. the characters say things that i think we all want to say to strangers, to friends. possibilities are revealed, and people seem to trust each other at first and then have their trust lost by effort rather than fear. i mean, can you imagine a famous pianist just allowing a woman to come into his home and to become his student based on a baby mix-up accident occurring 18 years ago?
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/08/2002 10:26:00 PM
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BODY:
caught between two worlds
life is interesting, that's for sure. i just got home from the taping of Trust Your Instincts at the Perk (more on that later), and we're home listening to CNN. today, esam has been hearing buzz about the Middle East from friends all across the world. and, of course, you hear opinions about the Iraq issue at the coffee house. esam fears that any action against Iraq will result in a civil war in those countries where Christian minorities are present, like Egypt for instance.
"(the Muslim fundamentalists) will go against anything they perceive to be American, and there will be infighting between the Christians and Muslims. you guys will never understand how it works there. Bush and his government will make it worse for everyone." and I know he's thinking of his mom and sister and the majority of his family, as well as several of his friends who are Muslim--and whom he wants to stay his friends. (for those of you unfamiliar with me, my husband is a Coptic Christian whose mother's family is of Jewish descent)
a friend today said that people in Egypt who drive American-brand cars, such as Ford, fear vandalism and other bullying. another friend whose satellite service receives TV stations from the Middle East says that the United States and Britain sent a bombing/warning to Iraq two days ago; another friend heard several commentators say they think that the United States will bomb the Middle East on September 11 as a memorium. another said that we are all going through this because of a son defending the ego and honor of his father; another said it was because the king of Saudi Arabia is dying and that his son, the successor, does not consider the USA a friend--and "you have to get your oil somehow."
funny, how here we sit and listen to all sorts of experts saying that Hussein is planning weapons of mass destruction, and similar families in the Middle East are hearing that we are planning to bomb them on Wednesday. we're all conjecturing. i don't know whose reports are true, but, no matter, they still affect psyches and opinions. i somehow doubt the news statistics that say that most Americans are in favor of aggression; at least, i hope that it's an inflated statistic.
on Wednesday, i'm painting my apartment and doing some other projects around the place. i chose to remember by keeping going, by being with some friends, and by thinking about what i want my future to be.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/07/2002 01:43:00 PM
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BODY:
waking
can you imagine regaining consciousness after seven years? you missed Bush getting elected (which would be a good thing), the Monica Lewinsky scandal, Harry Potter, 9/11, Britney Spears' rise to fame and infamy, the breakout of the Arthur Andersen and Enron catastrophes, the brutal murder of Versace, Rosie O'Donnell's show, Buffy, the birth of iMacs and iPods...you missed a whole chaotic opera of technological and political changes.
change is the only constant. yet, i get all dizzy sometimes from thinking about all the widespread changes that have happened in my lifetime of 30 years. our realities shift so frequently. losing even seven months could greatly distort a worldview and overload the brain with new adaptations.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/06/2002 10:31:00 PM
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BODY:
of quick note
Madonna to publish a book of children's stories.
We will learn why Anya fears bunnies.
What you can get Lynne Marie for Christmas. as if i don't get enough caffeine every day
back i go to downloading and burning and defeating sleep. today, i talked with my friend Todd about the short film he and his crew are filming at Millennium Perk on Sunday. I'll share all the info with you'ns; i'm so psyched. what is my line? "just fucking order something." won't mom be proud? :^)
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/06/2002 02:28:00 AM
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BODY:
when you watch something by yourself
i crawled out of bed but couldn't think of anything i wanted to do. so, i switched on the TV and started flashing screenshots to my already weary (but can't close) eyes. Infomercial. "CHiPs." Lifetime courtroom drama. Priest saying mass. A scene from Bent.
isn't it rather funny what we notice and renotice upon seeing something for the second or third time? isn't it rather funny how we catch that subtle nuance or that word when we're alone, in the dark, with only the floors creaking above to let us know that a living person is nearby? i came into the movie this time as Max and the dancer (like Max, I always forget his name; was it Louis?) in the forest. i don't think i moved once during the remainder of the film. oh, there was a teardrop I don't remember. and, isn't that music more familiar to me somehow? wow, the way Mathias shot the train journey is stunning. it's like the train could be going anywhere but then a sound, a scratch, a shot back to the slits in the sides of the cars and the people huddled on straw as if they were pigs going to market. see how that soldier catches his elbow just a little, how he hesitates before slamming a rifle butt into a prisoner's chest. there was an open grave already there.
there are several films I am grateful for having the chance to see. i put them on my "if I were a social sciences teacher, I'd recommend" list. strip away all those words and images that most people would say are too raw, too explicit for a teenager's senses and psyche. look at the message and realize that all the layers are needed, that anyone who is old enough to feel love (or what they think is love) and fear and anger and rage and gentle kisses from their mothers...anyone who is old enough to feel these things is old enough to watch such powerful films, read such indelible and universal words. as the character Max challenges Horst's outrage at the thought that a guard could be queer, Horst arrives at the knowledge that Max is right and there are (paraphrased) "queer idiots, queer geniuses, queer somebodies, queer nobodies...they're all just people."
we're all just people. we all shit and piss and eat and say things that we shouldn't say in situations we shouldn't enter because we didn't think first. we all have burped and farted and cut ourselves shaving. we all have looked at something with lust, and most of us have acted somehow on those thoughts. we all share, as the director Sean Mathias noted in a Sundance interview, the belief in, the desire for, the potential of love.
so, why did I just see films like this when i moved away from home? i know that, when I first saw "Bent," I was caught up in the history and the experience of seeing it with a group of fairly new friends in my fairly new hometown. i grew up on World War II stories from my grandaddy, accounts of submarines lost in the Atlantic and the clean-up crews at Pearl Harbor. i read accounts of the Nuremberg trials and kamakaze pilots when most girls were playing with Barbies. (the one thing that was right with my childhood was that I was never censored in my reading, though I believe my grandparents would have changed that policy had they actually inspected what I brought back from the bookstores.)
yet, I knew nothing of where pink triangles came from. i always thought that the concetration camps were just for Jews.
i get angry at such things at times. my life is so different from the way it was 12 years ago, and, if i ever want to inflate my ego, i credit myself for making it so. here, in chicago, it might seem incredulous to say that i never had a real conversation with a black person or a Jew until I was 18. i never talked with someone who openly admitted their homosexuality until i was at Mizzou when i was 21. no such opportunities were available until i went to springfield for a government internship, and there on the first day, i talked, really talked with someone who was African American. her name was Karla and we both were in the IGIP group and we both rode the same bus to the Capitol that first day. we had lunch at a pizza place and compared notes on our teenager lives and our goals for this internship and college. i made friends and acquaintances with Jews, Hindus, Protestants who were dating Hindus, a guy who had had a liver transplant, African Americans, people with all different stories. i brought those stories home and was accused of liking coons. my grandparents were like, "as long as you don't date them."
why is it easier to think that we are all disjointed and isolated from each other? why is it easier to ignore, to exclude, stories of pink triangles or Coptic Christians or Iranian Jews or mentally ill people who are not criminally insane? granted, we can never know every line of every story. but can't we trust the human condition enough to let people be educated?
this leads to a plethora questions on why private education is prized over public, why some schools don't have updated textbooks, why committees have to tell us what we should allow our children to see. i guess a simple answer is to just write as thousands of bloggers do, for all of us to keep creating and recording in our daily lives. whether that act is a child, a painting, a poem, a website, a party to watch the premiere of "Six Feet Under," an e-mail to tell all of our unemployed friends that you are not going through this economy alone.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/05/2002 04:57:00 AM
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BODY:
"waste is anything that is not an asset and (is) nothing but lack of imagination"
while this quote does not come from one of my feng shui books, it probably best describes my day. i don't have anything witty to say, don't have anything to write that means a whole lot to anyone. it's 5 a.m. and "Charlie's Angels" has just went off.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/03/2002 04:40:00 PM
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BODY:
invariably
i went to bed early last night, thinking that i was sleepy and, with my lovely husband curled up beside me, i would wonder off to dreamland and forget about all this insomnia nonsense.
yeah, wrong.
after about thirty minutes or so of noting how many louvers are in the closet doors, esam decides that it's too hot for him to sleep and he's going to the living room. i panic. so, i followed him into the living room and grabbed a book.
an hour later, my education on Permission Marketing was over, and i still wasn't sleepy. i snuck back out into the living room and, after bumping into the side of the loveseat, i saw the following scenarios in my mind:
scenario 1: i grab my laptop, and as I'm unhooking the printer USB cable and the power cord, i knock off a pen or hit the desk lamp. esam wakes up and starts talking about having to open and close on tuesday.
scenario 2: i tiptoe across the floor to the bookcase, pick up a book, then slip on a bill that has slipped off the dining room table. esam wakes up.
scenario 3: i de-wire my laptop ok, and decide to grab my Buffy Season 1 DVDs from underneath the TV. with the box set in my hand, i lift myself up and my head tips the golden pothos plant that sits on top of the TV. i become a green, leafy medusa, and esam wakes up.
i looked longingly at my laptop, my bookcases, my TV, then retreated back to louver-counting. sigh. i hate this insomnia; it's so unfair that I, the one who can sleep through a tornado, is the afflicted one and esam, the guy who could hear a pin drop and be awake for hours as a result, is the one who's sleeping the night away.
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AUTHOR: Lynne Marie
DATE: 9/02/2002 03:06:00 PM
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BODY:
To show you why I watch Passions
i can watch this little vid clip for hours. this show is so over the top that it's brilliant. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/30/2002 11:10:00 AM ----- BODY: these next few days i'll be working on Dreams of Borges, which was abandoned this past week for my fall cleaning extravaganza. and i'll be finishing the edits-it-takes-me-too-long-to-do-because-I'm-learning for Millennium Perk. The news section will now be blog-esque, and the pictures will most likely change weekly. no, I'm not raising dust bunnies well, the cleaning extravaganza isn't complete yet. i'd say i'm much more focused than i was at this time this past week, but, as always, when you do clutter-cleaning, you find all this other stuff you've not seen for months. then, the questions ensue: "Will I ever wear this again?" "Do I even like that band anymore?" "Will Esam notice if I take this downstairs to the give-away table?" Aargh. This is why I do clutter-alert every quarter. The longer you wait, the longer it takes. And, heaven help, I started reading through old magazines last night and I think I'm going to just take them all to the coffee shop or the give-away table. It's too depressing. I looked through an issue of Wallpaper and found one of the deans at IIT was honored for her work restoring Mies van der Rohe's S.R. Crown Hall, among other things. I felt like such a schmuck. What other things have I missed in my daily fight to do everything? :^) -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/29/2002 05:12:00 PM ----- BODY: aspirations i admit that The Spoiler Slayer is set in my browser as "home." It's the best source for Buffy news around, and I appreciate how he works hard to confirm or dispell the rumours and always gives credit to the sources (of course, when he can without getting anyone in trouble). As he celebrates his one-year anniversary, he notes that he has about 15,000 unique visitors DAILY with more than 2.5 million visitors this year so far. sigh. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/29/2002 12:10:00 PM ----- BODY: I still want an iPod today's New York Times introduced me to DataPlay . I loved how Michael Marriott led into the story: HERE'S the proposition: The record industry wants you to buy your music on a new kind of disc. Unlike a CD, the format will greatly restrict your ability to make digital copies. It will cost more than a prerecorded CD. And it will require you to invest a few hundred dollars in a new player. After having read an article on U.S. aid to combat poverty, I was a little cynical. We have the iPod; isn't that hassle-free and compact enough? I just bought a CD-RW writer. My year-old Zip drive already seems oblivious. I haven't used a floppy disk in almost eight months. I'm already salivating over TiVo and sending non-watched videotapes to Green Disk for recycling. Do I really need another data distribution device? One thing that did strike me as being smart, however, was the record companies' waking up to the fact that, hey, a lot of us get our music and our entertainment info through the web and peer-to-peer. BMG has said it will "encrypt extra songs, even entire previously released albums, to which consumers could get access after they paid online for a special content key." An online marketing directory at Arista "said DataPlay is part of a larger strategy to recapture consumers who are comfortable getting their music and music information online. Under his direction, Arista is starting a number of subscription-based fan Web sites at $25 a year. The first features Boyz II Men and offers exclusive material, which could include live concert footage, interviews and pictures, all ideally suited for downloading and playback on DataPlay." Still, I want an iPod. (hint: If any of you are upgrading to the 20gig version, and you would like to donate that old outrated 5gig to a wonderful young lady who would promise you free coffee in Chicago forever....) -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/29/2002 12:30:00 AM ----- BODY: revelling driving along Lake Shore Drive (or LSD) is such pure bliss sometimes. especially on a night when the air is a little cool, the sky is fairly clear, very few cars are apparent, and you just feel like a huge wonderful sigh. designing tonight, at the Company of Friends meeting, Nate Burgos from Morningstar gave a rather provocative talk on information design. I think a few people were a bit shocked to hear such statements as "Good design is good will." (Personally, I smiled like a cheshire cat.) Here are his three tiptras (tips + mantras): Don't be content with content. Co-create or evaporate. Conceptualize, conceptualize, conceptualize. Other gem of note: Design of data is more precious than diamonds. Plus, he referenced The Matrix and 'Til Tuesday. You got to love that. Nate has a wonderful design-source website, Design Feast. Check it out. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/28/2002 12:18:00 AM ----- BODY: out of the mouth of husbands i wish esam would write a blog. he amazes me with his commentary as we watch tv at night. tonight, we watched Donahue and i went through post-traumatic stress disorder at seeing Jerry Falwell's visage (my grandaddy loved that man and probably funded a classroom of Liberty University), and here's some of his quips: "you know, the issue isn't whether people should receive free condoms or not, the issue is that this country has a fucked-up sense of education. public education should be more important than private; the rich shouldn't be the only ones to get the information they need to make their choices. a family shouldn't have to break their backs to provide something that is a natural right. believe me, in Egypt, it's a shame to be in private school; it means YOU didn't work hard enough to get or keep the best education, which is free. the easiest way to solve all these 'problems': give free education and free healthcare. " "you think the Egyptian people care whether the United States gives our country money or not. we all know most of it goes to the government anyways." "these guys talk about values and ignorance (they are the vaguest and most uncertain of the lot. a five-year-old kid in Egypt knows more about the Bible than Jerry Falwell.) where is the honor? you talk about kids smoking and how we're going to make sure that you can't smoke in Chicago restaurants or can't smoke on the streets of California. but don't you guys produce and distribute Marlboros all over the world?" and my favorite quote of the night: "george w. bush is just your regular cheap slut." -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/27/2002 11:58:00 PM ----- BODY: a possible new addiction Today's blog entry from John Ellis recounts Ellis' 18-month-old (but still relevant) article on Netflix. Here, he uses personal anecdote and business analysis to convey why it's hot and why it works in a world where the "manic-depressive media" have proclaimed all Internet companies as doomed. For me, the top three points were: In an interactive environment, it understood that branding is interactive. It recognized the difference between word of mouth and buzz. Buzz is the equivalent of push technology. Media tell you what's cool, what's happening. Word of mouth is the equivalent of peer-to-peer technology. People you know tell you what works. Vast amounts of money were spent creating buzz and the net result was, you couldn't discern the signals from the noise. Netflix didn't spend anything on buzz. It only recently hired a public relations firm. It grew by word of mouth. LM: Sounds like my fave Wabash & Lake folk. Netflix understood, as Yahoo and aol and Amazon understand, that most of us live in a 56K-modem world. It didn't offer to stream videos to your disk drive. It built its service to match the capabilities of the existing technology. and of course, I laughed at the accounting of all the late fees incurred at video-rental places (guilty, guilty, guilty). -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/27/2002 06:11:00 PM ----- BODY: my dad used to beat me with his pc from dre labre's amazing-I-aspire-to-this-webdesign-ability site, which I found through the Creative Generalist. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/27/2002 03:43:00 PM ----- BODY: another episode in the saga of Lynne Marie and her coffee addiction ok, I went to jimmy johns for my lunch today and couldn’t find parking (yes, I know, how lame to drive two blocks; my ear is hurting and I’ve been a little dizzy as well as ditzy). anyways, I found parking on Granville and what did I see up in the windows of Viva Java but little pieces of white paper with typed letters saying that “Viva Java is hiring experienced baristas. Please contact vivajava@aol.com or at (address).” He even put one right next to the sign saying that the City of Chicago has closed this business! I about died laughing. I’m going to ask a friend of mine to send him an e-mail just to see what he says, like to the fact that he’s only been open for 5 months of the past year. I know, I’m lame and petty and small-town-minded and all that jazz where this issue is concerned. I’m just incensed that the spot has been closed for so long, while others (including us) would have gladly taken over and brought coffee to our fair hood of Edgewater. Yes, we are pretty strapped for cash right now, but I’m sure we could have found investors. You know, it’s not just that, because I know the guy from the another coffee house in Rogers Park inquired about the place, as well, and got the same answer: "As long as he's paying his rent, we can't do anything about it." We could have had a local coffee house during all this time; I could have had my rituals and my hazelnut lattes someplace where there wasn’t the sound of crashing carts. I’m being a baby, but I think mine is righteous anger. In other coffee news Caffeine has been found to lower the risk of skin cancer in lab mice. From the article at abc 7's website: A study suggests that a skin lotion spiked with caffeine or with another compound found in green tea can reduce by more than half the number of cancer tumors on the skin of hairless mice exposed to brutal levels of ultraviolet radiation, said Dr. Allan Conney, a professor of cancer and leukemia research at Rutgers University in New Brunswick, N.J. Later in the same article: He said the caffeine acts selectively, causing the abnormal cells to die but not affecting the normal cells. While the "hairless mouse" ( a concept that literally grosses me out and makes my recently eaten sub seem like dirt) is not an exemplary model for testing skin cancer treatments for humans, it is the best of bad choices. We can only hope that this new research does apply to human cells. Yes, these are the words of someone who admits to being addicted to caffeine. But I'm also someone who is mostly of Irish and Scottish descent, whose mother just had skin cancer cells removed, and who gets a lecture worthy of a tongue lashing from her doctor every time she gets a sun burn. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/27/2002 11:19:00 AM ----- BODY: my lost calling i've been loving my new CD writer and a few other ahem recent acquisitions. so, i've started creating CDs for the store. however, Esam doesn't recognize my talent. What's wrong with running "Our Love Is Here to Stay" by Louis Armstrong & Ella Fitzgerald then "Mea Culpa" by Enigma? Here are some of my sample playlists, which I think are thematically brilliant, even if my husband doesn't understande my wit. :^) Not a Pretty Girl---Ani DiFranco/Running Away---Hoobastank/Turn The Page---Metallica/Whats My Age Again---Blink 182 He Thinks He'll Keep Her---Mary Chapin Carpenter/Kiss That Frog---Peter Gabriel/Objection (Tango)---Shakira/Crucify---Tori Amos/Downfall---Trust Company/Goodbye to You---Michelle Branch/32 Flavors---Ani Difranco/Principles Of Lust (remix)--- Enigma PAPERCUT---Linkin Park/Solitude---Billie Holiday, Nina Simone, Ella/First Date---Blink 182/See You in Hell---Buffy - The Musical Machinehead---Bush/Desperado---Eagles/Matrix Theme---Enigma/Celtic fiddle---Enya/(forgot title)---Eros Ramazzotti/Andrea Boccelli/Leaving on a Jet Plane---Tori Amos & Bjork/Punk To Funk---Fat Boy Slim/Iris---Goo Goo Dolls/Wink and a Smile--- Harry Connick Jr./Don’t Cry for Me Argentina---Madonna/He Thinks He’ll Keep Her---Mary Chapin Carpenter/50 Ways to Leave Your Lover---Paul Simon/Karma Police---Radiohead/Fever---The Hives/Silent All These Years---Tori Amos/Give Me One Reason---Tracy Chapman/Meet Virginia---Train/Children of the Revolution---Bono, Gavin, etc. Now, I did not include my extensive Kraftwerk and Nine Inch Nails collection. (I got tired of censoring.) I did sneak a Buffy clip in pretty much every CD. Oh, I know. I'll start off the next CD with the Spike/Buffy dialogue from "Dead Things" where she's beating him up as she deals with her feelings. "I could never be your girl." pow pow pow "You don't have a soul." pow pow pow "You are dead inside." pow pow pow ..."You always hurt the one you love." Cry. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/27/2002 10:45:00 AM ----- BODY: this commercial scares me no one should be this perky. can you imagine the audition? the concept guy/gal must be delightfully twisted and clever. is this commercial series enough to save Kmart, tho? -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/26/2002 05:34:00 PM ----- BODY: from gassho, which is a blog from a new friend and Cleveland's CoF coordinator: Recently on a T-shirt: You can't hate someone whose story you know. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/26/2002 12:07:00 PM ----- BODY: What do you get when you cross a Hershey's cow and the Nestle Quik bunny? Just started reading through the Trib and am very disturbed by the possibility of anyone buying out Hershey foods and, thus, potentially combining brands. First off, to the chocolate aficionado, there are distinct, loved-at-times, differences between Nestle's and Hershey's chocolate products, as there is between Hershey's and Ghirardelli's (which we use at the Perk). And I could write an essay on the remarkabilities between American and German chocolate, then go into the loveliness of Belgian and Swiss and all the other European markets... plus there's chocolate from South America.... You get the point. Mother Nature limited the space where cacao can be grown, so, granted, with this economy, that puts added strain on Hershey's and any other chocolatier. Yet, one brand can only go so far at managing multiple experiences of the same product. Eventually, they start to merge, just like Express and Structure. Then, our grandchildren never get to know why you use Hershey's chocolate bars to calm PMS and why you drink Nestle Quik on your "I want to feel like a little kid" days. p.s. for those of you who know me personally, yes, this debate resembles my "Why car design declined because Ford bought out Jaguar" soapbox. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/26/2002 11:42:00 AM ----- BODY: From the in-box: I want to go home One of my signatures for Millennium Perk: a couple things to check out this week: our latest sandwich: avocado, cream cheese, spinach + cucumber. yummy! The Earth From Above exhibit kitty corner to us in Millennium Park. A response from a fellow CoF coordinator in Chattanooga: The sandwich sounds delicious. I think I'll get some "artisan" bread from the local healthy grocery and perhaps add some of those just-about-to-explode-they're-so-darned-ripe tomatoes you can get at roadside stands down here below the Mason-Dixon line. Hmmm... and maybe add some scallions to the cream cheese. (Okay... I'm overdoing it here. I should just try it "as described" first.) I think he's being rather mean to me. I can't wait to visit North Carolina next month, cash willing. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/26/2002 11:34:00 AM ----- BODY: It's 11:20 a.m. and I just woke up This vampirish tendency of mine is rather bothering me, but, last night, I put it to good use. After staring at my wedding picture for nearly an hour, I slipped out of bed and went to the living room couch and a pile of designer mags. Then, I got out paint chips and started doing some fine planning for my apartment re-decoration project. (Earlier in that day, I took off all the pictures from the wall, which bothered Esam. "It looks like we're moving or not really here or something.") I even designed a new entertainment center/buffet/arts and craft table complex. Now, I just have to find someone to build it, and help me with the sofa covers and the drapes. (I kick myself every day for not paying attention to Granny on sewing and other "domestic" matters. Then kick myself again for not just trying to teach myself.) Then, I started working on a brochure-for-fun project for a friend's company. After doing about three conceptual sketches, I went back to bed and stared at my wedding picture until I finally fell asleep. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/25/2002 12:48:00 AM ----- BODY: Why I changed my templates Maybe I've been watching too much Trading Spaces. (Tonight's episodes are among my favorites, especially the apartments in Houston. If only my husband would pay attention.) I'm just in the mood to change a little bit. I've been deconstructing my apartment, also. (I need a network sponsor to give me a $1,000 budget.) It's a very normal Lynne Marie thing to do. You know, like the fact I change my hair's shade of red about three times a year. It's not flightiness; it's just a strong desire to experience as much as possible in a short life span. Plus, this design just made me laugh tonight. As some of you know, I'm not a pink kind of girl. hee hee. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/23/2002 01:03:00 PM ----- BODY: Just read I read John Ellis' blog on a fairly regular basis. Just like his column and work for Fast Company, his blog has a biting edge and provocative wit that I quite enjoy. Yesterday's entry talks about "CNN, Lies and Video Tape," in which he says: A senior CNN producer said the whole flap was "much ado about nothing." And on one level, he's probably right (what's important is the substance of the tapes, not the amount paid to acquire them). But on virtually every other level, he's wrong. One of the things that's killing AOL with investors is the perception that the company's executive suites are filled with liars and greedheads. That perception exists because it is in some measure true. A high profile news story confirming that a division of AOL (CNN) is at least partially managed by liars does not help matters. It leaves the impression that the company doesn't understand the precarious status of the larger enterprise, which is this: it's a junk bond company. That means that confidence in what the company's senior managers say is crucial to the company's survival. This summation of what "integrity" means hit me for some reason. It's such basic, common sense. But my grandaddy always said that, if you don't have common sense, you never have anything except for a few letters added to your resume or name, and, of course, we all know how people make typing mistakes. Along that note My husband's reaction to the tapes of the chemical warfare experiments, especially the ones involving the dogs: "You know, there are policemen in Egypt whose specific duty is to kill dogs because there are too many." -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/23/2002 12:37:00 PM ----- BODY: 10 Things to do in Chicago when you're an insomniac 1. Walk downstairs, peak outside the front door and check on the number of drug dealers standing or sitting on the street. Think about going out to talk with them, get a conversation and relationship going, maybe convert them to Red Bull and coffee. After all, you're keeping the same hours. 2. Try to sleep. Play with the hem of the blanket. Sigh. Realize you're sighing loudly when husband wakes up and drags blanket to the living room. Get up and follow him and argue about who should have the couch. "No, honey, it's my insomnia; I'll stay here." 3. Read through past issues of your friend's blog. Then, go to another friend's blog and read through past issues, hitting all the hyperlinks along the way. 4. Surf through comic sites. Start integrating all the Buffy comics with the Buffy books and the Buffy TV episodes, then go back and incorporate the Buffy movie. 5. Count how many weight-loss infomercials are on cable. Compare people's "before" pictures and talk back to the screen. "You're telling me that you were 150 pounds overweight. No way! You don't look like the Carnie Wilson picture, and you're the same height and build." Start wondering the feasibility of gastric bypass surgery, but then consider the benefits of just taking this Evertrim whatcha-ma-pill thing. 6. Sit and ponder the possibility of Larry Wilcox' and other haircuts on "CHiPs." Start gathering samples of fashion, hair, car and other design weirdness and begin mapping an outline on the design devolution of the late 70s. Maybe you'll write a paper. 7. Wonder if Ponch knew that in 20+ years, he would have a paunch and be selling turkey and telephone services. 8. Be amused by the trends of young male insecurity, which you had never noticed before. You switch back and forth from the "CHiPs" watch commander looking for the "motivation behind an invitation" to go skydiving to "She never loved me! She never loved me! Why should anyone?" to "She fucking hates me!" 9. Learn about French penal colonies in French Guiana and how it all relates to Richard Dreyfuss: Devil's Island: Hell on Earth In French Guiana, we unearth the hellish history of the penal colony Devil's Island, final stop for France's incorrigibles and political prisoners from 1852 to 1945. We interview an 82-year-old former prison secretary; actor Richard Dreyfuss, who claims descent from inmate Alfred Dreyfus; and island authority Alexander Miles. TV PG Rethink your old opinions about "Papillon". Ah, to be young and to believe anything that featured Steve McQueen and Dustin Hoffman. 10. Look thoughtfully at the Vicadins you have left from the last time your back went out. Then, look back to the TV and notice "Ryan's Hope" is on SoapNet. Hmm. Maybe, that will finally put you to sleep. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/22/2002 10:58:00 PM ----- BODY: I finally walked through the door... On my way from the L to the Perk, I pass by Graham Cracker Comics. For about four months now, I've looked longingly through the glass door, at the display cases filled with Matrix action figures and the like, at the people gingerly thumbing through the books, at the aisles and aisles of things I want. The guys who work there come to the coffee house, and I've traded Buffy and other sci fi gossip with one guy. I admitted I used to be a comic book fiend. He always says, "You know, you always can come back." And I've always bit my lip. Today, while it was all gloomy outside, I begged $10 off Esam and walked back to get an issue of Fray and Buffy. I was like a kid discovering chocolate for the first time...touching covers, marvelling at the graphics and titles, mentally calculating what I could afford to get each week. Sigh, I'm happily hooked once again. I came back to the coffee house and showed Esam my new items. "This is where my hard-earned money goes?" he said with a laugh. "Well, a comic book only costs $2.99," I said. The justification begins. :^) All I ever wanted to learn, I learned from Buffy The first rule of slaying: "Don't die." In a May ChicWIT meeting, the speaker reiterated that the main goal of 2002 is survival. I try to remind myself this month; I try to remind everyone I know. The coffee house is maintaining, but a different road communications is unbillable this month. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/22/2002 02:48:00 PM ----- BODY: it's a rainy day in Chi-town and i'm restless, as usual. yesterday, i went to my favorite acupunk and he worked on the whole insomnia thing. (according to Eastern medicine, i have an excess of damp energy; according to Western medicine, i have a low-grade infection. either way, i'm acupunking it and herbing it to death. if i start passing out and throwing up, then I'll cave and go for the expensive antibiotic treatment) i love my acupunk so much, because I can be silly and I always laugh and, you know, after my whole life of every type of doctor there is, i just so enjoy someone who actually loves me and cares about who I am other than a diagnosis. and yes, i'm a bit loopy today. :^) -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/20/2002 11:08:00 PM ----- BODY: One big happy family of vampire slayers To cheer me up, a friend sent me a six degrees game of Buffy to Blade. This almost beat the manicure/pedicure I had this afternoon after spending too much time whining. The entry that I love the most is: One, slightly disturbing, degree: The 1992 movie Buffy The Vampire Slayer featured Paul "Pee-Wee" Reubens. Kris Kristofferson, Abraham Whistler in the 1998 movie Blade, was in 1988's Big Top Pee-Wee. See? The entire world really is run by the 80s. Sign of the times When I started dating my husband more than four years ago, he would always invoke me to "change the tape in my head" when I was cranky, whiny, and overall being doom and gloomy and "I'll never be good at anything." Tonight, he gave me the same old pep talk but demanded that I change the CD in my head. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/20/2002 03:39:00 PM ----- BODY: Waiting Edgewater Flowers should be here any minute, with flowers for me or my husband...or maybe they got it wrong and it's for the girl next door. I am in a cranky mood, of my own fault, and I haven't the desire to do anything other than jaunt over to the local nail salon and get a pedicure/manicure. Pathetic. Quite. Yesterday, I woke up at 8 a.m. and was all excited about an end to my insomnia. Then, today, I went to bed at 3 a.m. and woke up at 1 p.m. all crabby and cranky. At first, I used this nite-owl-to-the-vampire-extreme as a way to work on software skills, read a few books, start fall cleaning. Now, it's getting annoying because my concentration is so whacked, the most literary I can go is my latest Buffy book. Beyond pathetic. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/19/2002 04:45:00 PM ----- BODY: Hmm... Today's STATshot from The Onion listed seven ways that we (Americans) are justifying our behavior: 1. Was raised by celebrities. 2. The president did it. 3. Just following scripture. 4. Tipped well. 5. Wal-Mart is an evil corporate behemoth that will never miss one Van Halen tape. 6. Therapist said it's biochemical. 7. Fighting war on terrorism. In my personal justification list, I would add: Local coffee shop closed down and I have to visit a Dominick's Starbuck for my daily espresso fix. I know, I have to deal. :^) -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/19/2002 11:16:00 AM ----- BODY: Check your ASCAP card at the door I'm a bit confused by the whole Boss, Bon Jovi, Ascap suing a local Pennsylvania bar for playing their music without paying a $2,000+ annual fee to ASCAP. Now, should I start going through all my playlists at the Perk to ensure that there are no ASCAP artists on the docket? I can't afford the fee, though I love Bon Jovi and would love to promote them as being still a viable music option. Alas, this whole coffee house owner deal isn't a bed of roses. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/19/2002 09:14:00 AM ----- BODY: In other news My husband informs me that a Sarah Michelle Gellar doppleganger visited Millennium Perk yesterday. He told her, "Ma'am, you look so much like Buffy. If my wife were here, she would fall in love with you." He said this version of SMG blushed, and her friend admitted she has commented on this likeness more than once. Now, what if it were the real SMG? How bummed I would be. (Though I wouldn't go so far as to say I have a major crush on Buffy in that way. Esam should know better that that: The only female celebrity that could seriously threaten our marriage would be Ani DiFranco.) -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/19/2002 09:10:00 AM ----- BODY: One cup down, fifty to go It's Monday, and I'm up at 8 a.m. Yay! I need more coffee. Yesterday, I went to bed at about 8 a.m. and woke up at 8 p.m. Then, tried to rest at midnight, but spent most of the time twisting the hem of my blanket. I've got to beet this vampirism or else I will never have any billable hours and my books will be still lying on the floor from my unfinished organization project. Don't you love the differing idiosynchrocies among friends? In today's episode of Just Ignore Me, my friend Tess divulges her packrat tendencies. I love her ability to recount all her supplies, their location, and the differentiation between home and work inventories. I'm so opposite; the only things I stash are toilet paper, trash bags, and reams of specialty and used paper (because I just can't print most things, like invoices or flyers, on regular white paper, and I can't waste my special stuff on printing out Mapquest directions). Otherwise, if I haven't looked at it in three months, I take it to the give-away table in the laundry room, where I hope one of my neighbors will find good use. Although some times, I wish my husband would appreciate the fine art of avoiding posting his reminders on top of my art postcards, I'm quite content with the differences among me and him, me and friends, me and the world. With the exception of putting "cafes" in supermarkets and other illogical design happenstances, and then, of course, Bush's views on global warming and energy...ok, maybe, I'm not happy with all the differences. But I'm definitely quite pleased that we all have distinct quirks and you wouldn't mistake any of us for Stepford children. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/18/2002 07:25:00 AM ----- BODY: No, it's not because I watch too much Buffy I've just reread The Goblet of Fire, tried to wake up Esam, thought of catching an hour or so of sleep, checked e-mail and blogs.... I hate this new vampirism of mine. No, I don't explode at the sight of daylight, but, after the multiple reoccurrences of crazy this summer, I am now falling asleep as the sun rises over the lake and waking up mid-day, in time for Days. I can't change the habits, and it's not helping with my search for new business. Oh, the smell of coffee, the sound of shopping carts crashing So, at noonish, I woke up and switched on my lovely Purvis (I felt weird about renaming my G4 after I bought it). Then, got a series of drasted bus errors, for which I called my hero Mac tech. Lucky for me, he had just returned from brunch and had some time to save me. He biked over and spent about two hours figuring out which extension was the nasty culprit (turned out to be Toast). After Purvis went to sleep and rewoke successfully several times (God, I wish I could follow suit), we walked to the only choice for coffee in these here parts. After getting our venti whatevers, he said, "We're going back to your place, right?" I said, "No, let's stay here." We sat down for what I'm labeling a surreal suburban-to-urban experience. Slurping frappuccinos and lattes while shopping carts crash through the pet-door, receipts chirp and chug from the Bank 1 ATMs, people's hands prod and separate the carts from one another, cashiers utter out pages for the price of tuna. What saddened me was that two Viva Java regulars were sitting behind me. Chris says I need to let go of the bitterness, but, tell me, how can people sit and read their morning papers while shopping carts whiz by and stupid fruit flies travel from the produce section to buzz around your latte and your bagel with jam. Is this not the antithesis of what Howard Schultz envisioned by starting a coffee bar culture? -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/17/2002 01:38:00 AM ----- BODY: Scream and Run Away I feel so lame because I had never heard of Lemony Snicket. Today, while I was delighting over my so well-organized PowerBook, I noticed my friend Chris had written on my feedback log, "Please leave me alone you cakesniffers!" "And what is that about?" he queried. "Hmm, I can't figure." I felt stymied, suffocated. He gave me a few guesses, all of which I got wrong. Then, said, "Lemony Snicket," in an exasperated sigh. "Lemony Snicket? huh?" I swear I don't think I've ever seen Chris ever give me such a pre-teen impression of "Oh, my god, YOU don't know who...." He then took me to the Lemony Snicket website, and proceeded to guide me through this new world, like an elder reads a storybook to an infant. It was such little-kid wonder fun, complete with a song that I'm still playing. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/16/2002 05:42:00 PM ----- BODY: A never-won war Last night, I engaged in that ages-old, never-resolved battle: Mac vs. PC. I'm sure the other combatant was annoyed as I was, but, nevertheless, I felt my hair getting redder while I was countering each of these "Macs are so difficult to use" crappy essays of a point not well taken. And, happily, today, my Mac tech was here today so I could commisserate. Chris reminded me of Umberto Eco's likening of Macs to Catholicism and DOS to Protestant. After having experienced both takes on religion, I laughed and said, "No wonder I never felt comfortable with being a Southern Baptist." (But, hey, Southern Baptists assert that they are not Protestants, so what does that make them in the world of OS speak? Linux? That doesn't seem to fit.) Anyways, taking religion out of it, I would venture to say it's a psychological war being optimists and pessimists, open-minded individuals and regressive types. (Oh, God, watch me getting black-balled for that comment.) Just think about it. Mac users look to the top of the screen, and to the center (to the future and the present). We don't have to go to the past (the bottom of the screen) to retrieve what we need and we can definitely work with more than one program at the same time. And, while it takes forever to get out of Windows, because the OS has forgotten a task or operation that it just never ended (even when you told it to eons ago), getting out of a Mac takes like five seconds. I could go on and on about this. But it will just have to wait along with my seminal essay on why the art of car design began decaying when Ford bought Jaguar. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/14/2002 11:57:00 AM ----- BODY: Sports and politics Sometimes, I visit my hometown online to see how out of touch I am. I go there hoping to find marriage or birth announcements, maybe some news on some classmate winning the lottery or somesuch. Of course, as usual, I'm bombarded with the reality: The only things that matter in McLeansboro are sports and politics. After that, the obituaries. I get most of my news from one of my best childhood friends, who happens to be the mayor's son. At least the news I really want I get from Darin; my mom gladly offers all these tidbits about people I don't remember. Is this a common occurrence to people who have moved away from "home," this inability to recall all these townsfolk who my mother swears should be embedded in my memory? I ask about a classmate who is pregnant, and I hear about a granddaughter of someone who, I know for certain, didn't live in Mactown when I was there. Or, it's the son of the man who used to live a mile away from us when I was four, or the great-granddaughter of a cousin whom I might have met at a funeral once. Afterward, I'll call Darin to hear about old friends, wrestling, Fred's Dance Barn (are the pigs still dancing on the roof?), and the latest Dylan bootleg he's added to his collection. When I was a teenager, I never thought I would inquire about Southern Illinois. I thought I would just drive away and never look back, like Lot's wife. Yeah, wrong. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/13/2002 06:34:00 PM ----- BODY: A Mildewy Day Today is a rainy day in Chicago. A day for which I feel no guilt about sleeping until noon. (I was up until 5 a.m. this morning, playing with my new all-in-one hp wonder and my new CD writer.) I've got to design a catering menu and continue with spring cleaning in August...but I think I'll curl up on the couch with my copies of Fast Company, House Beautiful, Conscious Choice, and all the other magazines piled up on my coffee table. Magazines are, have been, always will be an addiction of mine. Today, as I got my hazelnut latte at that Dominick's (and was appalled that there were actually people sitting at tables, reading their Chicago Tribune), I noticed that they have changed their upfront mag display racks. This new arrangement allows more magazine titles, less actual magazines at each aisle. Plus, the racks are taller and in black wire...much more attractive than the squat, white (or was it silver) wire concoctions they had before. And I fell for it and immediately picked up the latest issue of House Beautiful, which promises to help me get better organized in style. When I was in journalism school, my life revolved around newspapers and magazines. I probably read four papers and maybe skimmed at least two mags a day. You could ask me how to spell the name of the latest Columbia alderman, what the Dow closed at the day before, who was in the lead for the American League west and a host of other trivia and newsbits, and I could tell you fairly much whatever you wanted to know, spelled correctly and in some cases annotated with style/reporting inconsistencies among news sources. I was information crazy. When I moved to Chicago, I purposefully did not transfer my subscriptions and did not bring or buy a television. All I did to satisfy my reading passion was go to the library and borrow biographies, sci-fi novels, bestsellers and other tidbit morsels. I dared myself to go a month at a time without buying a magazine. I tried reading The Artist's Waybut never could get past Week Four when you were supposed to go on a media fast. While I had beat the habit of newspapers, magazines and TV news, I just couldn't go a whole week without reading anything. I'd always end up sneaking in a Mercedes Lackey book. While I was on the wagon printwise, I filled my non-working hours with dance concerts, movies, and neighborhood jaunts. For a few of those years, I didn't have a computer at home either, so I wrote more in my journal longhand and played more with drawing, painting and other arts and crafts. I think I drank more coffee and wine during this time...definitely more champagne. And I spent more time alone outside of my apartment. In fact, I didn't have any furniture at my place, just a futon and a small bookcase. Now, I'm a mixture of homebody reader/putterer and social bee. Sigh. I would say that I'm back to a moderately daily dose of data, for now. It's funny how you substitute addictions for addictions, actions for actions. Chicago craziness OK, to add to the list of physiological changes that have happened since I moved to Chicago: Migraine-like headaches whenever the weather shifts, especially when it rains. It's annoying. I can't concentrate when I'm not wincing and feeling dizzy, so I putter, watch TV without sound, etc. I've become my own meteorologist because the headaches and restlessness starts the day before it rains, then, today, in the midst of the torrent, I have a dull ache and a spacey countenance. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/12/2002 05:21:00 PM ----- BODY: What type of shoes do you wear with a man purse? Who ever would have thought that The Container Store was so out there? Yesterday, after the requisite guy-watching at "the enemy" in Andersonville, I took my carless friend Mark for some swivel-TV-stand shopping in Lincoln Park. (another reason to justify having this car in the city) Of course, we left with more than a TV stand. The most interesting item? A man purse. Some of us are organizational obsessives. The Container Store is like the tour of the Jack Daniels distillery to an alcoholic. You think you can just meander and look around, but you secretly know that, when no one is looking, you're going to stuff those latest, greatest pop-up organizer boxes into your shopping cart, along with the Zip-Disk organizers and the erasable file-folder lables. So, when Mark exclaimed about this organizer/small courier bag, I, of course, simultaneously saw a laptop backpack that's just perfect. He crooned about which color to choose, how this compartment would fit his iPaq perfectly, etc. And I mentally measured my G4 PowerBook and compared those measurements to this backpack. Then, I remembered that I have a student loan bill due and put the backpack away for now. I turned to Mark, made a comment on which color I liked best, and then looked closer to this organizational saviour's nature of origin. On the tag, it was labeled "Man Purse." I smiled, laughed and said, "What shoes are you going to wear?" -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/10/2002 01:01:00 AM ----- BODY: Life Imitates the Onion "AOL Acquires Time-Warner in Largest-Ever Expenditure of Pretend Internet Money"--headline, The Onion, Jan. 19, 2000 (third item) "AOL Time Warner confirmed Wednesday that, along with a Securities and Exchange Commission inquiry revealed last week, the company's accounting practices are also the subject of a U.S. Department of Justice probe."--headline, NewsFactor.com, Aug. 1, 2002 -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/09/2002 11:20:00 PM ----- BODY: The meaning of "Yeah wrong" One of my favorite responses to my husband's stories was "Yeah, right." (If you know any Egyptian, then you know that they love telling jokes and other tall-tale stories.) He'd cock his head, and say, "Oh, really. ando matiti baby." Now, ando matiti is not in any dictionaries. I think it's an Upper Egyptian slang. Actually, I would even hazard to say that it's an Esam invention. Loosely translated, it means "Yeah, wrong," or "Dream on" or "Are you sure you want to have just said that?" Am I sure? I've kept journals since I was in the fourth grade. Most every word has been kept, but I don't know if I really wanted to claim every word. Sometimes, you have to see the syllables in print to know if they really are a part of your reality or not. Or to know if you really care. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/09/2002 07:30:00 PM ----- BODY: Driving Up Franklin Street After having a quick web tutorial, my friend Stacey drove me back to the car at my "downtown" residence. We were making our way up Franklin when we simultaneuously noticed this young man walking along with his left hand stuffed up a puppet. From the street, it looked like a Cabbage Patch baby. The guy looked like the stereotypical Gap model, and he was manipulating the "baby" to wave to all us drivers. Quite weird. He was just smiling and the puppet was just waving. And Stacey and I were just laughing. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/09/2002 01:05:00 PM ----- BODY: I've been running late all week. Minutes just slip by me. For the most part, I've been resisting, then I just gave in yesterday afternoon. Such a beautiful Chicago day. After lunch with some friends, I just walked up Michigan Avenue from Madison to Oak (a little over a mile). What a little-girl-memory experience. I remember coming up north from Southern Illinois and always walking that Magnificent Mile and feeling as if I had truly escaped everything wrong in my life. I still am amazed by the mass of humanity that walks down that strip every day. All these stories moving around flowerboxes, windows showing off the latest Ralph Lauren creation, kids playing drums on upside-down buckets. Now that the American Girl Place is open, add hundreds of girls with their dolls to the mix. The strip has changed so much and so little since I was a teenager---new stores but the same stagescenes. Does everyone feel part of something larger than themselves or are they just concentrated on the kitchenware sale at Crate & Barrell? Well, gotta go. I don't want to run late for my next-to-last appointment of the week. :^) -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/08/2002 01:06:00 AM ----- BODY: House of Spice There's a nearby gas station on Clark Street where we sometimes go. Next door is an all-night restaurant of Pakistan, Indian and Mexican cuisine. A strange diversity, linked by being a "house of spice." And they only serve zabiha halal meat. If it were a Pakistani/Mexican joint, you might think it was this romantic tale that led to a joint establishment. Or maybe it's three friends who met while waiting in the long, long, it should be a crime it's that long line at INS. One day, I'll have to drag my friend Anoop in there to see. From the outside, it doesn't look all that inviting, but the concept is so damn interesting. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/06/2002 08:34:00 PM ----- BODY: Passionate eerieness I'm creeped out. Timmy on Passions died yesterday. Or at least that is what we thought. Tabby cried and everything. Then, today, news comes out that the actor who plays Timmy died from a heart condition. Considering that soap operas usually film out two months ahead, the fact that the character and actor would die on the same day--both of their little hearts giving out on them--seems incredulous. Just too weird and sad. I rather enjoyed Timmy. How many times did Mark and I call or IM each other to ensure we were watching Timmy's latest antics? It's like a member of the family died. Sigh. I'm too wasted in trying to catch up with everything. will write more tomorrow.< -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/05/2002 10:50:00 PM ----- BODY: Later tonight.... I met my friend Lauren at Ethiopian Diamond to introduce her to Ethiopian food and the neighborhood. She's moving here in a couple weeks. After a three-hour delightful catch-up, we walk to the Granville L station. I point out the new Jimmy Johns, the car wash that actually does a good and careful job, the old-fashioned meat market.... "Oh, a coffee shop! Cool." she exclaimed. I groaned. "Yeah, that's Viva Java. They're closed." Then, of course, I had to relate my little tale of woe. We walked past and I peeked in the window. Someone has been in there recently. (If the city shuts you down, do you get to go inside and remove/change/hang?) Tables are covered with what looks like invoices or faxes. I'm still so pissed. However, I wouldn't say it is a pissed that ruined what was a wonderful evening of catching up with a dear friend who is going to be my new neighbor. It's more like a "I can never understand this" pissed. Sort of like how I felt at IIT the last year I worked there. Most friends and acquaintances know that I'm a passionate person. They rarely know or think I'm very logical. In fact, most people probably surmise that I am ruled by my emotions. In reality, the quickest way to break my heart and/or drive me to insanity is by messing up my passions/emotions with ill reason. -------- AUTHOR: Lynne Marie DATE: 8/05/2002 04:32:00 PM ----- BODY: A local coffee shop should be placed every four blocks. There should be a city mandate. Starbucks should not be allowed to open stores within a mile, on the same street. Dominicks and Jewel and other places, likes Barnes & Noble, should ensure that they are not the only choices for hazelnut lattes. I seriously would like to sue the owner of Viva Java for getting closed by the City of Chicago and forcing me to visit Starbucks for my daily latte. OK, several people would say that a host of coffee experiences are available to me. I could drink regular brewed coffee, which would be free since we own a coffee house in downtown Chicago. I could have kept my little Krups espresso maker and make my own lattes in the morning. I could use the little Arabic coffee thingey-doodle on the stove and create my own high-caffeine fix. I could drive the 15 or 20 minutes to our coffee house (or take the 30-minute L ride) and get free hazelnut lattes. I could walk over a mile to the nearest local coffee house, and get some exercise in the process. There are so many logical reasons, now that I have had my large hazelnut latte with three shots of espresso. But, at 8 a.m. in the morning, I don't think about these. I think about how I used to walk one block to Viva Java and people who knew me and, upon seeing me walking past on Granville, fixed my latte (or mocha) and had it ready by the time I opened my wallet at the register. Those people disappeared when Viva Java closed the first time in August 2001. Now, Viva Java has been closed since May 8 or so. The first time they closed, I swore that I wouldn't visit there again because their "couple weeks" for remodelling turned into four months. Of course, I broke that oath when they opened because I hated the Starbucks in the local Dominicks even more (another story). I'm trapped and I hate that caught-in-a-snare feeling. Yes, I am addicted to espresso. It's a complicated caffeine addiction. See, my linings of my stomach and esophagus are already thin. So, I'd rather have one heavenly moment with a three-shot latte than muddle around with a few coffees, a few teas, a few Pepsis. I've psychologically trained myself to believing that, as long as I avoid all the other things I'm supposed to avoid, I can still have a hazelnut latte every morning and a glass of wine or beer or Tanqueray Tonic every other night. Sounds right, huh? (I used to drink about three large lattes a day plus copious amounts of regular coffee and tea. So, this is a HUGE accomplishment.) I've called the realtor who manages the building where Viva Java is. He's still paying rent so no one can throw him out so a responsible citizen can provide coffee/espresso to the masses of Edgewater. I've sent a letter complaining to my alderwoman. I've tried to forgive the owner because, after we opened Millennium Perk, I know it's a struggle to run a small business. But I can't. In the past year, he's been closed more than he's been open, he's held onto a space that many small business owners are willing to take over in a minute (and thus, help with the revitalization of this community), and he has thus lost the staff who were like family to me at one point. and, selfishly, I can't forgive him because I have to go to a Starbucks if I want a latte. and, what's worse is that I have to go to THAT Starbucks. -------- |
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