Monday, April 30, 2007

Small World

Well, ya'll knew I just had to do a follow-up post on what I hate about the spring/summer.

-- Phrases like "Get your grill on" or using the term "grill" to describe an event or phenomenon. I MEAN. Cajun Boy had a brilliant post on the same idea as applied to "brunch." What's wrong with "lunch" or "breakfast?" And when did it become okay to show up in public places unshowered? Sorry, I digress.

-- Cubs games, when I am not attending. All of Ashland Ave., and pretty much anything in the vicinityof Clark and Waveland become a total clusterfuck.

-- Drunken, smelly, disgusting Cubs fans going to or from Cubs games.

-- Similar to No. 1, excessive use of terms like "beer garden." This is one of these words that people like to say over and over again to attach some kind of cultural relevance to themselves. They actually succeed in looking like complete tools. See also, "edamame," "guac," "Fat Tire," and of course, "brunch." FUCK OFF.

-- Having to take two showers a day. At this point though, I welcome the heat with open arms.

I can't even believe this, but I actually have a sunburn. Yes, the yellow girl who tans within ten minutes of being near the sun has a sunburn. Well duh, that's what happens when you stand outside in a tank top with no sunblock on in the middle of center field for 90 minutes.

I'm soooo unmotivated to work right now. It's timesheet time, and the same vow to never again wait until the end of the month to do timesheets is going through my mind. Hence, boring you people.

This is unrelated, but not speaking of douchebags, I just have to, HAVE TO get my hands on some of these. Brilliant.

I was hesitant to post this, as I am purportedly an upstanding paper pusher, but I can't stand how unbelievable the coincidence is and I just feel the need to share. Plus, J is pretty much the only person who reads this, and she knows. I found myself in MY OLD APARTMENT on Friday night. Not the same building, people. SAME UNIT. I mean, what are the chances? WHAT ARE THE CHANCES? Thousands of apartments in our great (well) city, and I end up in the one I lived in for two years. That was definitely a first. Completely surreal. My old bathroom, my old living room, my old kitchen. And with J (the other J), which we found totally hysterical and could not stop laughing.

Mature, I know. I said I was regressing!

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Sunday, April 29, 2007

Ah, Summer

Few things are more pleasant and wonderful than the first warm spring/summer weekend. Okay, I guess this was technically the second warm summer weekend here in Chicago, but it was just absolutely perfect. I've lived in this goddamn city my entire life, and each year I forget how the first warm day captures a sense of perfect contentment and can automatically elevate your mood. The entire city exudes a sense of relief and exhilaration -- the general giddiness is nearly palpable, and you forget about the dry skin, the bitter wind, the frozen snot, the spitting snow/rain hideousness, and the constant grey. The following list summarizes the feeling:

-- You feel like you can really, finally take your wretched winter wool coat to the drycleaners.
-- The flip-flops come out.
-- You don't feel a chill when the wind picks up.
-- Everyone walks around with a goofy smile on their face. In fact, people are generally in a better mood.
-- You switch from red wine to white, and it doesn't feel inappropriate to drink rum or tequila-based cocktails.
-- You only end up flicking off one or two retard drivers or pedestrians per day.
-- You start sweating just from walking.
-- You can sit outside and enjoy a meal or a drink. You don't rush through said meal or drink.
-- You stay up later because it is still light at 7:45 at night.
-- You don't need to moisturize every patch of skin on your body.
-- You can start wearing the tank tops with the built-in bras and not worry about flashing everyone on the street with headlights. You can also wear cotton dresses and pull out your cloth purses and open-toe shoes.
-- You can actually smell flowers and other sweet scents among the exhaust fumes.

All right that last bit was a little too cliche. Sorry about that.

Some other things I'm thinking about:

-- I'm now an aunt two times over! Congratulations, Swati. I forgot how cute newborns are. Seeing them still does nothing for my so-called "maternal instinct," but I do admit they are pretty fucking cute. Also, I have to say, it's pretty cool when your friend with whom you used to have dorky sleepovers and go to the mall and buy $5 earrings from Claire's has a child. I saw my friend's breast though, that was kind of weird.

-- Maybe it's the impending summer, but I'm regressing again and acting like a delinquent. It's fun.

-- Avec is by far one of the best restaurants in Chicago. It gives NY restaurants a run for their money, seriously. Interesting to see the similarities between Avec's menu and style and the Momofukus, even given the stark difference in types of cuisine. Both serve high quality, flavorful, cleverly-conceived, well-executed cuisine in casual yet highly stylish settings. By the way, when and where and how did the gourmet pork obsession begin?

-- When the fuck is Gary Sheffield going to get it together?

-- I absolutely hate cable television. I hate, hate, hate both Direct TV and Comcast. Seriously, I'm convinced both have a business model of fucking over their customers as much as possible, knowing that we have few choices, and hoping that instead of fighting their morass of bullshit, we will just give up and suck it up and end up swallowing 18 unfair, ridiculous fees; draconian return policies; and general assfucking. Hence, my 2 hours of wasted time at Circuit City today on the phone with various Direct TV customer service reps. But I do want my high definition TV! Now my beautiful new flat screen hanging on my wall that I just stare at in disbelief that I own such a ridiculously gorgeous piece of consumer excess will be silent for two weeks. Obviously I will live, and yes, I am aware of the hideous yuppery of this paragraph.

-- On a similar note, I have to give props to Circuit City. Their adept manager and employees handled an extremely irate, angry, frustrated customer with professionalism and calm.

-- I'm dreading work.

-- I can't wait to go to the "beach!"

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Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Blathering

Ah well, I knew it. I knew I wasn't going to be posting as often as I'd hoped I would. In my defense, I was legitimately busy paper pushing for a while.

Right now, I'm into Blockhead, Shiny Toy Guns, and Blonde Redhead's new "23." Good stuff, all.

I'll spare you some kind of meta-commentary on the anniversary of the day my mother expelled me from her uterus. It kind of came and went, which is exactly how I wanted it to be. It's funny how no matter how many loved ones recognize it and call you and what not, that day always ends up being a letdown, a disappointment, and a reminder of that which you'd hoped you'd be. I began the day with "Let Down," on my iPod, in fact.

Anyway, I was able to go listen to some excellent music at a new venue (Morseland) and get hammered with my best friends and act like an asshole. You can't ask for more. Patrick Bateman took me to Custom House in honor of the day, which was nice, but unfortunately kind of a let down, too. I had high expectations after Frank Bruni's blog post (if it's good enough for the NYTimes's head food critic, it's gotta be good enough for me!), Phil Vettel's review, and the 2006 James Beard award. I think in situations like that though, it's all about expectations. I thought it was going to blow my brains out, and it was just okay.

The dishes were beautifully plated and came out in a well-paced and timely fashion, and the service was impeccable, so I will give them that. The high points were the fennel martini (fennel infused vodka/candied lemon zest), quail (parsnip/onion beignet/caramel), baby beets (mascarpone/pink peppercorns), duck ravioli, sauteed turnips, and summerfield veal breast (stone ground grits/swiss chard/grilled elf mushrooms). I know, I can't believe I ordered veal. It just looked so damn good. Funny too, that the NYTimes had an article in today's Dining section about how veal is coming back because chefs are choosing it more carefully. I'd like to think Shawn McClain is discriminating about choosing animals that have been treated humanely.

Anyway, we didn't order dessert because we were stuffed and the server picked up on the fact that we (well, Patrick) were less than floored by the food, so she gave me a box of cookies to take home to compensate and took our valet ticket to have the car waiting when we were ready to leave, which I thought was a tremendous touch. The cookies were outstanding and made me wish I'd tried the Custom candy bar, at least.

The rest of the weekend was ruined by the awkward client dinner I had to endure on Sunday night. I guess on one hand, it did make me feel like I was all growed up as a paper pusher, but on the other hand, it's not like progressing in the paper pushing field is something I want for my life. All day long on Sunday I thought way too much about useless shit, like what does one wear to a dinner at Morton's with your boss and clients? [nothing remotely sexy or revealing or attractive, really] Does one order wine for the table? Does one abstain from drinking when the boss does? Does one shake the client's hand or give them a hug? How much does one talk about business? [I seriously made a George Costanza list of topics to talk about, including the recent Olympics bid, Chicago politics, hockey, and how the client got into the business in the first place] How does one get around the uncomfortableness that results from being acutely aware that the male client has the propensity to stare at one's chest?

If I had the energy I'd go on a rah rah Lifetime Television for Women diatribe about how different it is for a woman in this kind of situation than it is for a man, but I'll again spare you. It did help that one of the clients is a woman. I'd have felt much more awkward if I was the only female, which is more often than not the case.

I also don't have the time but I will save for a later date a discussion on the first time I've come out of the Christ closet with a friend from college. It was stressful, but liberating, cathartic, intellectually stimulating, and fun. I do have to say this, and I mean no disrespect, but talking to a religious person is like talking to someone with a mental illness. No amount of logic or rationalizing will change their mind.

Finally, I'm so bummed! Apparently someone, a very talented someone, has taken my Chicago-needs-a-haute-cuisine-gastropub-along-the-lines-of-The Spotted-Pig idea! Now what am I going to do?

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Wednesday, April 04, 2007

Nonspecific Rant

I'm going to try to post more. This will last for about a week and will probably drop off. Sorry about that. I have to complain first off about the weather. Fucking 30 degrees?! Are you kidding me? I'm actually offended. This is offensive.

Things I am loving right now:

-- Air. Specifically, the great Moon Safari, as well as Talkie Walkie.
-- Sushi. I'm currently eating it more often than my usual once a week. Though, I'm beginning to feel a little self-conscious because the host at the place I take out from knows me by sight now. Sad.
-- Spacca Napoli's salsiccia y brocoletti pizza. Mmmmm, rapini.
-- Diane Von Furstenberg's spring dresses. Too bad my football player shoulders prevent me from looking normal in one of these.

Things I can't stand right now:

-- My Starbucks. Why is there always a line 15 people deep? Is it so complicated to, oh I don't know, KNOW WHAT YOU WANT TO ORDER BEFORE YOU GET TO THE FRONT OF THE LINE? Why is this so complicated a concept? Have your $$ out, order your coffee, pay the nice hipster, and get out of the fucking way! It's the same every day! And even if this is your first time in a Starbucks, did you not see the 10 people in front of you step up, order their drink, pay, and move out of the way? Fucking lumbering, idiotic Midwestern masses. Just because you are dead inside and have no reason to hurry doesn't give you the right to annoy the shit out of me. These are the same people who can't seem to comprehend ATMs, despite their ubiquitous presence since about 1992. I'm beginning to walk 1 block out of my way (a huge distance in the Loop) to the Lavazza. Higher quality coffee + lower concentration of dipshits = worthwhile side trip.

-- The CTA. Third fucking largest city in the U.S. and they can't seem to manage a rail system. Way to keep up with New York and L.A., guys. The sight of 4 half-empty buses in a row on LaSalle Street also makes me want to puke.

-- Easter. I'm not sure why, other than its extreme religious significance. That in itself annoys me. I'm all about Easter baskets and spring, but knowing that overzealous religious people are being self-indulgently pensive bugs the shit out of me.

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Monday, April 02, 2007

New Look

Do you like my new look?

I'm emerging from my month of death by insane, dysfunctional, impossible, challenging case from hell. I'm still processing what I've taken from this experience, which are mostly good lessons. But because talking about that is boring and depressing, I will tackle more interesting subjects, such as:

Why I hate Annie Hall.



First and foremost, it's a vehicle for pretension and self-definition. Any cinematic or cultural value the movie has is destroyed by the sheer number of faux-intellectual poseurs and self-defining hipsters who try to use it as a way to tell, rather than show, their interesting intellectualism. Get over yourselves, fuckers. I challenge someone to actually articulate to me why the movie is so great, aside from giving faux-intellectuals the opportunity to wink at each other and out-clamor each other on which little intellectual gem they picked up on as being in on Woody's joke. I mean really, people. Does making sure everyone around you knows that you picked up on the Fellini reference somehow make you smart? You know, you can love movies like Coming to America or American Pie and still be smart. You can also find movies like Annie Hall repellant and still be smart. Just like what you like because you actually like it and not for some other disingenuous reason and be done with it!

As part of my challenge, tell me, what technical cinematic qualities were great? What about it opened up or defined the genre? What was particularly new or telling about the acting or the characters? And no, Annie Hall's cool, iconic, menswear style of dress does not count, because that was all Diane Keaton, and had nothing to do with Woody Allen's direction.

Second, I just could not relate to it on any level. I realize this is a weak point, as a great movie is not defined by the audience's ability to relate to it. But I fully acknowledge the greatness of movies to which I cannot relate at all, or in fact disliked, including The Godfather I and II, Goodfellas, Midnight Cowboy, Raging Bull, and Kill Bill Vol. 1. Truly, I don't know why Alvie and Annie clicked, or why they were so attracted to each other. It seemed more a vehicle for Woody Allen to declare to the world why he is misunderstood and to explain why he really is a catch for intellectual, kooky women. This is in contrast to When Harry Met Sally, which to me is the great defining romantic comedy. You get why Harry and Sally loved each other, and why they worked. There are some similarities between the two movies. The major difference is this one is good.

Third, and perhaps least important due to its total subjectivity (as opposed to the rest of this post), it beat Star Wars for best picture in 1977! The nerve! As far as cultural relevance goes, I find Star Wars to be far more lasting and relevant. Give me a great space opera over a self-defining kooky intellectual comedy any day.
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