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May 31, 2003

Goodbye, Poop Stinky.

We finally sold Poop Stinky. Yes, someone actually gave me money for that lovely heap of 1980's german goodness.

I'm sad she's gone, actually - I have fabulous fond memories of tooling around town in that thing.

From the night I first got her - calling a friend up and saying "guess what I just got? One hint - it's a housewarming gift" and squealing to a stop in front of his house to share a vague sense of unreality. We tooled around the north shore until I realized I only had a few bucks in my pocket and had no idea how much it would cost to fill her with fuel - but it was a magical night of "new old car!"

The night I got Poop Stinky, I felt blessed.

When I moved from Andersonville to North Center, I used her spacious three-corpse trunk to help move my things - between poop stinky, my parents' van, and the zillion wonderful people who showed up with their hatchbacks, we got everything moved in 3 trips. I remember expertly parallel-parking her in front of my new $800 two bedroom apartment with the most amazingly deep tub and thinking "I hope no one wrecks her."

The night I insured Poop Stinky, after 3 months without, I felt like I had beat the odds.

I moved again, some 4 months later, into another fabulous North Center apartment after the ceiling fell into the deep tub of the aforementioned two bedroom apartment. I could no longer afford to insure the lovely mercedes and relegated her to the driveway of my parents' house in the suburbs. The drive up Belmont from the city to the 'burbs was wistful - her luxuriously smooth ride, her smooth leather seats, her faint smell of mold (from the gap in the window insulation that let inches of water into the back seat), her plastic glued-on instrument panel labels... I could feel myself missing everything about her as we pulled into the driveway. I knew I was going to sell her - I couldn't ever really afford to insure and park and keep her in the style she deserved.

The night I suburbanized Poop Stinky, I felt like I was leaving my puppy at the pound.

and now, a year after being abandoned in a driveway in the suburbs, "for sale" sign sun-faded in her window, exhaust system a bit wobbly and poop stinkiness all but dissipated, someone has bought her.

just in time for me to need money for my sister's wedding present.

and just in time for my unemployment insurance to run out.

Now that I've sold Poop Stinky, I'm surprised how much I feel.

I feel like she's taken care of me, providing me with income at just the right moment.

providing me with transportation at just the right times, and with the giddiness of ownership at other times.

I feel like I should have kept her - driving a 1990 sable is a huge step down from a 1980 mercedes.

I feel like I shouldn't be so sad after the sale of a car.

I wish I had been able to drive her, one last time, before coming home to find her gone. sold. a stack of cash on my desk with a signed bill of sale where the keys used to be.

ah well, at least I still have the photos. and the memories.

and Mae (my current car, the aforementioned sable with the lacy rust on her underside and a propensity for overheating in the middle of intersections) will grow on me in time, I'm sure. like the mold that used to grow in Poop Stinky's back seats.

I am proud to say I am able to push Mae through those intersections. to give her the much-needed weekly drinks of power steering fluid. to change her tires as they go flat, one by one.

my father, in his infinite car-building-repairing-owning wisdom, tells me that Mae is better for me than Poop Stinky. More reliable. which probably means more reliably frightening. or more reliably requiring some sort of repairs that will provide learning experiences for me, the one with finite car-building-repairing-owning-driving wisdom.

but, pride, learning experiences, and reliability aside, all I'm thinking is,

Dammit, I miss my old Mercedes.

Posted by Heather at 08:53 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

May 29, 2003

another bunch of little things. all mixed up, of corpse.

As it has already been noted, the Chicagobloggers took over El Cid last night.

as Joe, Lisa, Ray, and I determined, the side of the table closest to the doors covered home making topics, the side furthest from the doors seemed to be about rocking the house. you decide the specifics. I am very very glad to chat about quilting and spray cheese, myself, but at the same time, I was glad to be far, far away from the mariachi. La Bamba, indeed.

And, for the record, Kris, the topic of penises seems to always come up when we're at the same gathering. Unless men start talking about their privates as often as my sister's friends talk about their boobs, we (I?) have no way of knowing if penises themselves come up at the same gatherings.

hee.

of corpse, being picturepicture without a cameracamera means I have to wait to see photographs of this lively event. . . impatientimpatient!

so excited about all that linking, I forgot to add the other little things to this entry! Shame on me!

1) found my definitions again - today's word is motch : To eat little, slowly, quietly, and secretly; to consume or waste imperceptibly. Hence, motching, fond of dainties, with the idea of eating in secret. [Also] slow, quiet eating, with the idea of fondness for good living; imperceptible use, with the notion of thriftlessness.

I love that there's a word for that type of eating. motching, indeed. I'm going to motch all the time, now.

2) reading Gibson's newest. it's so good, I keep putting it down for fear of finishing it before I find another good book. seriously, I'm thrilled with every paragraph. it's unhealthy. I relate to Cayce so completely, I feel duped or something. As a middle schooler, I tore all the labels off my clothes, filed the buttons and rivets on my jeans until they were flat, shaving my brows and hair until I was the most label-less, gender-less, blameless....not that Cayce is quite so severe. I just can relate to her branding allergy - and I love how Gibson constructs her, how he reveals her. her thoughts and concerns and actions are all so ... normal, so....well, something I can relate to. Makes me wonder what people see in the bridget jones books of the world.

3) halfway through the BBC's Tipping the Velvet miniseries. I wish I liked it better. I wish I was watching it in a country that didn't find nipples and dildos so threatening to television viewers. but eh, it's better than watching Christopher Lowell or The View when you're stuck in sickbed.

Posted by Heather at 12:35 PM | TrackBack

May 27, 2003

A Whole Bunch of Little Things, All Mixed Up

Too sick to be coherent today - all that running around and getting ready for the wedding and the interview has finally caught up to me. My hands and feet and forehead are freezing cold, I'm clammy and tremble-y and crabby....but, surprisingly, more lovely than ever with the greyish tint to my still-flawless skin...

okay, perhaps the grey is off-putting to some, but I say "Corpse!" on a near-daily basis, just for the fun of it, so ...there.

on to a whole bunch of little things, all mixed up.

1) I was on the bus today, going to meet my sister in suburbia for a day of shopping and catching up and honeymoon-tan-admiring. A woman got on a few stops after me, and proceeded to breast feed her exo-foetus. which was fine - she wasn't hurting anyone, the kid was quiet (as its mouth was full), and I don't think I would have even noticed her if it weren't for the song she was ever-so-quietly humming to herself.

2) the interview last wednesday (thanks for asking about it, Kris!) was a mixed bag. Like most day-long, complicated, committee-driven interviews, there were parts that I think went well, parts I wish I had done better, that sort of thing. I should hear this week, fingers are cramping from being crossed this long. If I get this job, I will be so happy, I'm pretty damned sure I'll be having a party. If I don't get this job, I will be so desperate, I'm pretty damned sure I'll be having a glass of razor blades on ice.

3) just finished reading Stiff : The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach. She's brilliant. the book is brilliant. she is respectful, funny, clever, specific, thorough....I'd give you a "real" review, but I'm sick as a dog and I just want you to find it for yourself and say "corpse!" for me.

4) I also finished Dan Savage's brilliant Skipping Towards Gomorrah (my spell check just tried to change that last word to "gonorrhea." Hee!) and I tell you, he makes me proud to be a liberal american. with all the rights and privileges to sin as I please, supported by the constitution, unsupported by your christian tomes. yes, I've been reading a ton of nonfiction, for some reason. and I'm behind on all the fiction that's come out in the last month...time to remedy that with a trip to the library...

5) going to see This American Life: Live in Chicago this weekend. I was going to see it with the man formerly known as Sour Bob, but, as he has a temporary out-of-town job this week/weekend (yay Bob!), I'm unsure who will join me. despite how much I love TAL, it's kind of a tough sell : "it's a live radio show, on stage! oh, come on - at least it's without puppets or black face or harmonica!" Good thing I have my company as bribery...

okay, back to the bath, then to bed with me. talk to you all tomorrow.

Posted by Heather at 09:38 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

May 21, 2003

The Wedding: or, She's Gorgeous, They're Happy.

The wedding went off without a hitch.

our hair/makup appointments were kept.

not a single blemish marred our faces.

not a single spill spotted our costumes.

the photographer showed up a bit early and was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

The limo showed up exactly on time and was clean and well-stocked (thanks to the maid of honor) with clear liquids, pretzels and fun music, even though I lost my copy of the bride's madonna CD.

we arrived at the country club and the groom's family was high with hilarity, the bride and groom's rooms exactly next door to one another, so they could do the adorable "peeking to almost see each other before the wedding" shot.

the weather was cool and sunny, the judge was old and had a sense of humor.

the groom's eyes nearly popped out of his head when the bride walked down the aisle. and he cried with happiness through the entire ceremony. She trembled when she spoke, but only cried a single delicate tear.

the bride's rack was absolutely stunning.

Groom, to Maid of Honor, during the 'wedding party all-dance' to 'Disco Inferno':

"I should have done this 10 years ago. I'm an idiot. I'm so lucky she said yes"

Maid of Honor:

"yes, you are an idiot. why aren't you dancing with the bride? And who chose this song? Is this the Travolta wedding?"

the liquor was plentiful. the food was delicious.

and then, the horror of the evening: the dancing.

I'm a pretty okay dancer. Not very graceful, but I can take a lead, and am slender and willowy enough to be flipped around at my partner's will. if they flip to a particular rhythm.

The date can't dance. Not a step. he claims to do a sort of 'jr high shuffle' but I never learned that one in jr high. we were busy doing some sort of pogo or slam dance at that point of history.

Did you know that southern men can escape high school without being taught ballroom dancing? Shocking!

Now, I admit, I told him I couldn't really dance. But then again, I told him I couldn't really drive.

"I can't really drive" means: "I can power a motor vehicle, but just not very gracefully."

Therefore, "I can't really dance" means "I can move around a dance floor, but just not very gracefully."

He never told me he couldn't dance, either. Here I was, all worried that I'd be clumsy, and he was trying to lead me through the jr high shuffle on the dance floor in front of the Bride's Side Aistaires and the Groom's Side Rogers.

I am ashamed to say I stormed him off the dance floor for a dance lesson on the veranda. He picked up the box step and ran with it. thank goodness.

and I danced with my father. who is a damned good dancer.

I've learned my lesson. never downplay your skills unless you're playing for money.

speaking of skills, and money, I've got a job interview today. a big one. with hours and hours of meetings, with committee after committee, and an intimidating presentation to give at the end. (check out my webcam if you want to see what I'm wearing - glasses, hair back, so professional) If you're feeling the vibe of good luck, send a little my way, won'tcha?

Posted by Heather at 12:33 AM | Comments (12) | TrackBack

May 16, 2003

seventeen hours to go.

in seventeen hours, give or take a minute or two, I will be the only single McCabe woman.

My baby sister's getting married tomorrow.

today.

this afternoon.

in 17 hours.

that gorgeous rack's gonna be packed into crystal/pearl encrusted satin, swept into a limo for a few hours' drive, and bounced down an aisle towards an absolutely adorable fella - who will take them, to have and to hold, in all their porcelain goodness, till underwire they do part.

amen.

a pretty big day, all in all - and I can't sleep for the excitement of it all.

the excitement of the wedding. of meeting new family members. of seeing my sister off.

I wonder how much longer after that before I stop feeling like there's something I gotta do for the wedding?

Here's to jeffiner and brian. may they look forward to many, many good years of rack-holding goodness.

(I can't get near the bride with my camera, but I look damned good, eh?)

Posted by Heather at 02:43 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

May 15, 2003

Thank You, Morning News! I *AM* a Super Taster!

Those of you who have eaten with me know that I despise fish and vegetables.

I sometimes can handle sushi, at the right time of a hormonal cycle, but for the most part, I can't stand all those foods y'all choke down without so much as a 'gross!" or "man, this is disgusting!"

Yes, I did live with vegetarians all through college and through TWO live-in boyfriends...I coped by eating tons of vinegary salads (vinegar cuts the taste of the lettuce), fruit smoothies, and meat-free pizza.

and steak, when we went out to eat.

I like the idea that it's not just my midwestern upbringing that makes me a meat and potato type of lady, but that it's my tongue.

" 'We live in different taste worlds,' said Linda Bartoshuk, an experimental psychologist at Yale University. Some people have more taste receptors and find strong tastes unpleasantly intense. They shudder at bitter flavors that most of us shrug off and that some of us can't detect at all. These "supertasters" avoid the bitter but healthful flavonoids that abound in broccoli, grapefruit, and other good-for-you food, so they have a greater risk of cancer. On the other hand, supertasters tend to be thinner, with lower risk of cardiovascular disease, because they also avoid very salty, fatty, and sugary foods.
—Cathryn M. Delude, "A matter of taste," The Boston Globe, December 24, 2002"

(as found on TMN)

or maybe not. as I love hot spicy sauces and vinegary tart salads...ah well, I can dare to dream...

Posted by Heather at 11:03 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

May 11, 2003

Gaper's Block

Congrats to Gapers Block for their soft-launch!

Speaking of soft-launches, I thought I was through with the penis talk, here, but alicia suggested I post the lyrics to Napoleon's Penis, the song I sang, quite drunkenly, at that saucy blogger's night out a while back.

it's a little ditty by Pat McCurdy, a singer I liked for his silly, personable style and his oh-so-singable songs.

I botched the lyrics when I sang it (it's been years since I heard the song, to be honest, I think I did a pretty good job remembering it at all!), but I post the full song here. Perhaps when we get together again, y'all can sing along with me!

Napoleon's Penis
He almost conquered half of Europe
'Til he got beat at Waterloo
And on his deathbed this is what
He told his friends to do:

"Put my body in a tomb
Like all the great ones are
Chop off my little sabre
And put it in a jar"

This impish little Emperor
Who inspired a symphony
Said, "I hope you'll name a brandy
Or a pastry after me.

And of course you'll come to Corsica
When from this life I part
Feel free to drink to me
And tear my Bonaparte."

It was Napoleon's penis, Napoleon's penis
There wasn't much between us, just Napoleon's penis
The original French tickler, c'est vrai c'est tres petit
Genitalia on display for all the world to see

So now whenever I'm in Paris
And I'm stuck in some museum
Those boring Mona Lisas, man,
I just don't want to see 'em

There's only one attraction
There's only one I've known
It's the first thing that I tell my friends
The minute I get home

Napoleon's penis, Napoleon's penis
His highness, His sereness, Napoleon's penis
I know it's gonna thrill you, no matter who you are
Napoleon's penis - it's in that little jar

Posted by Heather at 03:03 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

May 08, 2003

Chicago Architecture and History - The Building Geek Squad

You may already know by now that himself and I are unemployed. This means we have fucked up sleep schedules, absofuckinglutely no money for dates....and all the time in the world.

some of this time is spent helping with wedding stuff.

some of this time is spent looking for and applying to jobs. which is easier said than done.

some of this time is spent on shabby little books, but, as some authors can't be forced to meet editor-imposed deadlines, and some editors are so overwhelmed with book orders and book keeping, they can't be inspired to contact other authors to start their books, there is down time between nagging and working that needs to be filled.

and this down time we have chosen to fill with the geekiest of pasttimes.

architecture tours.

Yes, thanks to a small windfall (I'll write about that later) and a newfound interest in chicago history (after having read devil in the white city", purchased under the bad spending influence of naz) Sourbob and I now share a dual membership with the Chicago Architecture Foundation. Which means we get all sorts of free tours and discounts on chicago history books. It also means that we can be found touring office buildings in the middle of the day, learning about the art and architecture of chicago. which almost always seems to relate back to the chicago fire, the columbian exposition, the career of daniel burnham, and the chicago tenure of frank lloyd wright. All three tours we've been on so far have also had the lovely accent flavor of lorado taft's sculptures.

I could use this space to write about how delightfully rich the culture of chicago is, or how thanks to richard nickel and his ilk, we are more dedicated to preservation and restoration than most cities (although not as dedicated as to preserve neighborhoods in the face of condoliths).

I could write about how much fun it is to join a group of retirees and tourists, walking around downtown chicago and finally seeing those secret gems of art and architectural detail I've been hearing about for decades.

But instead, I'm starting a series titled "Docents, while generously giving of their time, are not very good public speakers." Or, perhaps, "don't get crabby at me, old woman - I just happen to have on good authority that the chagall mosaic you just referred to as 'something about chicago ... I don't know' is called Four Seasons, and that the columbian exposition happened in 1893, not 1897."

or perhaps not. I'm just hoping that in the next few weeks, we get at least one tour where the docent doesn't need to read off of her note cards (despite the fact that she's been giving this tour for 15 years), or doesn't have her facts wrong (see above)....heck, I'd be happy if one would at least be able to talk loudly enough so we could hear her without having to crush up against her torso like college students in a phone booth.

in the mean time, I spent money to walk around chicago with someone who wants to learn more about chicago with me. and that's money well spent, I think.

Posted by Heather at 11:37 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

May 05, 2003

Bachelorette Party, Number 2

I swear, all this penis pageantry is so....so....strange.

My sister is getting married to a lovely fella she's known and dated for 10 years.

I'm wondering, "why the penis paraphernalia?" it's not like she'll never see one again....

we had penis-shaped cookies. penis-shaped cake. penis-shaped streamer decorations. penises on the veil she wore all night.

while i'm talking about the veil, y'all should know that chicago men, between the hours of 11 pm and 3 am, will do just about anything you ask, if you are wearing a veil adorned with penises and tell them it's your bachelorette party. I swear, the only thing we didn't get in our store-bought 'bachelorette party scavenger hunt' {read: a list of 'to-do' items that included: asking for a condom and blowing it up; kissing 15 men in 2 minutes, leaving visible lipstick marks; persuading the most attractive man in the room to buy you and your friends a drink...and so on...} I say, the only thing we didn't get was 15 kisses in 2 minutes, 'cause we didn't want her to have to smooch anyone she didn't want to smooch.

but seriously. so many free drinks, for a lady who is off the market. and, for the record, the lady is a super fabulous sport, letting us 'make' her do all that in the name of matron-hood, and she can manage to make a veil with veiny penises on it look chic. seriously. she didn't look tacky at all, and I tried my damndest.

back to the penis question: of course, I could have refused to buy the stuff. but her friends were so gung-ho in the planning stage, how could I disappoint? otherwise, the theme would have been....what? "my sister had a bachelorette party and all she got was this enormous pile of expensive lingerie and sex toys?"

hmm...not a bad theme, at that....

(I promise, this is my final penis post for the month. we now return to our regularly scheduled blog, already in progress.)

Posted by Heather at 02:49 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack