I'll Show You Mine, If You Show Me Yours

Everyone has web sites they visit on a regular basis.  I've found that these are as varied as the individuals who use them regularly.  Now I know that many people are reluctant to post, but sharing your favorite (or even not so favorite) web sites can really  introduce others to things they may not have been previously aware.  So come on, don't be shy (or lazy) post your favorites (or not favorites).

Here is a list of 5 web sites, in alphabetical order, I visit on a daily basis:

Del.icio.us - A social bookmarks manager

Digg - A place for people to discover and share content from anywhere on the web.

Last.fm - The Social Music Revolution

Lifehacker - Tips and Downloads for Getting Things Done

Television Without Pity - Television Shows, Episodes and Re-Caps

I had to add one more for good measure: 

Newsvine - Open Source Community News Service

Go Green!

 

 

Here is a web site dedicated to helping people go green.  Check it out and do your part for the planet:

Tree Hugger

Sweet Home, Chicago

 

 

I was born and raised in the city.  My city.  I love the way the city looks, feels and yes, even smells.

I think having been raised there has given me an extra edge.  I can seemingly not look at someone, yet take them in completely.  I can walk at an unreasonable pace without having anywhere important to go.  I have waited at bus stops, in 10 below temperatures, wearing a skirt believing this was normal behavior.  I have gone to beaches littered with trash and dead ale-wives.  I have inhaled car and bus exhaust on 90 degree days.  I cannot fall asleep without noise in my bedroom.

I grew up in four flat. When I was a child, I could lean out of my bedroom window and if I stretched a bit, I could touch the building next door.  Luckily we were friends with the people on the bedroom side of the building. 

My universe did not extend much beyond our block.  We played baseball in the empty lot in the middle of the block.  We had three bases in that lot which was about 35 feet wide.  We played hockey in the alley and tag football in the street.  The only basketball hoop was at a park 5 blocks away. The four corners of the south end of the block consisted of three taverns and a Catholic school.  I never thought this odd.  Still don't.

People were on the move all the time.  There was a certain rhythm:  cars doors opening and closing at all hours, engines back firing, people shouting.  The street lights were bright, gave off an orange glow and when they turned on at dusk were our signal that it was time to go home, or be embarrassed by your mom shouting your name out the window. 

On summer evenings adults got together on the front porch at one end of the block or the other depending on, I'm not sure what.  They talked, smoked and drank beer (for the men) and rum & coke (for the ladies).  Everyone got up early and went to work the next day and sat out again the next night, all summer long.  You knew it was really hot when somebody opened the fire hydrant and 50 adults and children ran through the geyser, until the fire department came and shut it off.  Didn't everyone cool off this way?

I grew up, got married and introduced my suburban husband to the ways of city life.  Then something happened.  We wanted to buy a house.  We made the big step and bought a bungalow in the suburbs.  Then we had a baby and then another.  We bought a bigger house in a bigger suburb close to my husband's job and even farther from the city. 

My children have never waited at a bus stop,  they have never been to a dirty beach or sweltered on public transportation.  At night their rooms are dark and deadly quiet.  We don't have an alley and they don't play in the street.  I'm not sure they know what a tavern looks like and they most certainly have never seen an open, spewing fire hydrant.

They don't know what they've missed.  I do and it makes me sad.

 

White Sale, Anyone?

I woke up yesterday and my hair was too long.  It looked just fine two days ago; in fact three days ago I thought it looked just perfect.  Now it has no style and I have to get it cut.  How does that happen?

Like an adolescent who goes to bed and wakes up 2 inches taller, I must be growing in my sleep.  Unfortunately my growth is not horizontal, but vertical.  Today, my underwear didn't fit.  Odd, I know, but true.  Of course, being raised to think that suffering can be an enhancement to life, I left them on.  I reasoned that the tight band around my mid-section might lead me away from overindulging or even indulging.  I must have a high pain tolerance.

I wish I could blame sleep eating.  A cousin to sleep walking, sleep eating isn't as openly discussed as it's better known relative.  I never find crumbs in my bed or half-eaten sweets on the kitchen counter in the morning.  My problem is simply, eating.  I do it too often with too much gusto.

Since the calendar still reads January, I promise henceforth to pay attention to how much I eat.  I promise to eat healthy food in moderate portions.  Maybe by June I will have shed a few pounds and then my undergarments will slide right into place. 

Isn't June the month for white sales?  Or is that May?

 

 

50 Simple Tips From A Year of Green Living

Here is an intersting article to start the New Year and reduce some waste. Chicago Tribune's Home & Garden tips for real people who want to do better for the environment.

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Teenage Wasteland

I am the parent of a teenager.  Words that chill the heart of anyone who has parented, educated or interacted with the under 20 but over 12 set.

What happened to the child who giggled at my every joke and funny face?  What happened to the stocky toddler with the wispy curls who ran so fast; his little legs, churning out of control, until he fell head long onto the ground?  I remember what seems like yesterday the sight of him, hugging Winnie the Pooh, smiling in his sleep and dreaming blissful dreams.

This child of mine has grown into an adolescent, sometimes sullen and often silent.  The little boy has become almost a man with his own interior life: a party of one to which I'm no longer invited. 

As he grows into his bigger self, images of his former life as a happy go lucky boy flash through at times:  the funny joke at the expense of his father or the request to sleep on the floor of his brother's room after a particularly scary television show.  Sometimes I see him smiling at a joke I've just made, when he thinks I don't notice.

I know he is spreading his wings and finding the real him.  I'm glad to say I've met the real him and love him very much. In fact, I think I saw him last night, hugging Winnie the Pooh, smiling in his sleep and dreaming blissful dreams.

Rogue Beer. MM Good

 

 

 

"Rogue Ales was founded in 1988 by Jack Joyce, Rob Strasser and Bob Woodell, three corporate types who wanted to go into the food/beverage industry. Rogue’s first brewpub was located in Ashland, Oregon. Rogue opened a second brewpub, in May 1989 located in Newport, Oregon. Rogue closed its Ashland operation in 1997, after the great flood destroyed the place. In 1991, the 15bbl system, named Howard after John Maier’s former boss, from the Newport brewpub was transferred across the bay to the current brewery. "  Rogue.com, 2008

This beer is crazy delicious.  It can be found at many local liquor stores and on-tap in Chicago at the Edgewater Lounge.  Check it out:

Rogue Brews

D'you Want Fries with That?

I am so tired today.  I'm sure everyone at this point is wondering why.  It was my first day back at work after a two week Christmas vacation.  O.K., I can hear the collective awww, and feel your pity.  I know that no one feels badly that I had two weeks off and am seemingly complaining.  So let me describe my job.

I work in a middle size private high school.  That's not so bad, you think.  Let me be more specific.  I work in the kitchen of a middle size private high school.  When I want to sound classy, I call it the cafe.  To be blunt: I'm a lunch lady. 

Let me describe for you my day.  Upon arrival very early in the morning I can expect to do a variety of interesting tasks.  These may include making several hundred hamburgers, defrosting frozen chili or baking cookies.  I then might move on to the delicious tasks of making tuna salad (something everyone should experience at least once in their life--at 8:00am.), egg salad or soup.  If things are going my way I might get to reload the soda and candy machines or restock condiments and ice cream. 

On the days, like today, when lady luck is smiling down on me I get to drain, clean and re-fill the fryers.  I then have the privilege of making french fries in those same clean fryers.  For three hours.  Three hours of "droppin' fries", as it's known in the industry.  There is a certain Zen to lowering the four baskets of frozen fries into oil, which is heated to just the right temperature so that in precisely three minutes and 42 seconds they are ready to be removed, a perfect golden brown work of vegetable art. 

Certainly, I must say that our teenaged customers enjoy these deep fried delicacies and are ever so polite in expressing their appreciation.  They are at times so overwhelmed that their praise is sometimes misinterpreted as sarcasm.  Our boss has assured us that a crinkled nose and a sneer is just another way of saying thank you.  I'm not sold on that.

Upon finishing the last lunch period, on a sweet day like today, I dismantle the nacho cheese machines and clean them.  Also, so as to complete the fryer theme, I shut them off, strain the oil, wipe them down and close them up.  Then I joyfully join my comrades in washing, drying and putting away pots, pans, dishes and trays. 

Of course not all days are like today.  Tomorrow I'll get to make and serve numerous bowls of pasta (with white or red sauce; diner's choice).  Afterward, I'll enjoy draining and cleaning the steam table before joining my comrades in washing, drying and putting away pots, pans, dishes and trays.   At least some things can be counted on to stay the same day after day.

 

Gaze Upon Thy...

I suppose that it isn't too early in the year to engage in some useless navel gazing (upon finding the navel that is).  I do this often in the relative obscurity of my own head.  I'd like to believe that many of us do the same, but based on the way people behave, I'm not so sure.

Now, I'm not saying that beating yourself up with an excess of existential angst is good for everyone.  It apparently doesn't work all that well for me, and I do it early and often.  What I am saying is that maybe we all could benefit from a somewhat self critical review from time to time.

Take me for example, I'm always lamenting that my real wage earner and I are under paid.  And we are.  We don't buy new clothes, we don't drive fancy cars or go on exotic vacations.  Or any vacations.  My kids have gotten used to hearing, "That'll have to wait until payday".  One benefit of this is that I think they've stopped asking, unless I've really learned to tune them out.  Another benefit is that perhaps they've begun to think that they'd better learn to manage their money. Now (so we don't take it).

Here is the navel gazing part:  I really can't complain.  Sure, lots of people have more money than we do.  It will always be this way.  Even when we win the lottery and take over the world.  But honestly, we have so much.  We have, all of us, been blessed with good health thus far.  My husband and I are still married (to each other) and I'd venture to say that we even like each other most of the time. (He might say something different, but I'd tell him to re-read the second paragraph, above). The kids go to private schools, get new shoes when needed and even manage to look fashionable at times.  And somehow I find a way to get those nerdy new gadgets (thank heaven the iPhone 2.0 will be out soon, and better than ever).

We don't eat out much, but we do talk about things at dinner and we don't go out much, but we do have game night on Fridays.  So all in all it's not a bad place to be.

Keeping this in mind will make me less apt to complain to myself when I see someone's beautiful new home.  I don't think I'll be as upset when another thing breaks on my car and it'll have to be repaired with a lick and a promise. 

What I do I know for certain is that I'll still be my snarky self and continue to give people a hard time with my stellar verbal skills.  If years of therapy and medication haven't made a difference, certainly navel gazing won't change that either.

 

Holy Caucus Batman!

 

AP

 

Something very interesting occurred yesterday in Iowa. The caucus there brought forward two candidates for the U.S. Presidency.  There are three issues I wish to address regarding this (somewhat) important event. 

First, can someone with the name Huckabee really be considered as a serious contender for the job as leader of the free world?  Honestly, President Huckabee just doesn't sound serious enough.   I simply cannot picture Mr. Putin (now there's a name) calling out to one of his aides, "Get me President Huckabee on the phone, right now, we have world problems to solve!"  Perhaps, "Get me President Huckabee on the phone when he's available, I'd like to talk about this problem I'm having with my carburetor."  Also, he is currently the Governor of Arkansas.  Remember the last time a Governor from Arkansas gained national prominence?

Second, can someone with the name Obama really be considered as a serious contender for the job as leader of the free world?  For those of us who reside in Illinois, we know all too well the track records of our publicly elected officials.  Three of our former Governors since the 1950's have done time in the pokey.  Can Senators be all that different? Am I sounding redundant?  I don't mean too, but perhaps the winning candidates are a little, how shall I say it? Redundant.  Perhaps their respective parties should take time to reflect.  Which leads me to my third issue:

I wonder how much of the lemming effect is in action after these events are trumped up to a near hysterical level?  Much has been written in recent weeks about how Iowa and New Hampshire can make or break a campaign.  I wonder if after results from those two States are publicized, people in other States simply fall inline; a kind of peer pressure.  I worry that people in other States feel that the decision has already been made as to their party's candidate and simply go with the flow or even don't go at all. 

What would I do differently?  Mix it up.  Perhaps have a different State begin the "(s)election season", as it were.  Is it really true that as goes Iowa (or New Hampshire) so goes the Nation?  Let's find out.  Four years from now let's have another State kick things off.  Yes, I know it might require some State Constitutional amendments, but we're talking about a Presidential election here:  the next leader of the free world.  Do you think though, next time the two parties might try to find leaders with names like Smith and  Rice?

 

Fighting A Running Battle

Some people enjoy running.  There are people who arise each morning, lace up their shoes and pound the pavement or trail, enjoying all that nature has to offer. 

I hate running.  Perhaps it's the shoes.  Women's running shoes seem to come in only white and blue, blue and white, white or blue. 

I received a pair of new running shoes for Christmas.  They are white and blue.  Not a romantic dark blue or trendy arctic blue, but rather a gray-blue. A white and gray-blue shoe that reminds you that you will be doing battle, which you will, as soon as you put them on.  I might feel better prepared if they were red and yellow.

Of course, there are also the clothes one wears to run.  During winter you wear tights to stay warm.  Form hugging, fat defining tights.  Summer isn't much better because in order so as not to over heat, you wear shorts.  Really, really short shorts.  Very thin, very short, very fat revealing, thigh rubbing shorts.

So why do I put on those horrible clothes and lace up my battle ready shoes and beat myself up at least three (but hopefully five) times a week?  I'd like to think that I'm getting healthy, losing weight and stemming the slow decline to old age.  But really I suppose I do it just to prove to myself that I can.  I really did move my short, fat frame around the park, impervious to my neighbors glances, ignorant of my heavy breathing and blind to my pain ravaged face. All so that I can say,  "I did it."

Tomorrow I'll be dreading the wind, the cold, the tights and the shoes but I'll go out and when I return I'll be glad I won't have to do it again. At least not for another 24 hours, anyway.

A Year of Books Worth Curling Up With

New York Times Editors pick books for 2007.

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Back to Bed on January 1st

Well ,this being the 1st day of a New Year when my horoscope says I should look forward to a productive year, I'll begin by putting down my often mundane thoughts.  I should get a jump on things since there may be forty thousand other Scorpios beginning blogs today too.

 

At the end of everyday I always think I have something important to say.  Staring at a blank page, no matter how pretty the background, is daunting.  I'm thinking my life is not the tortured hell I'd always believed.  Now I'll have to prove that it is;  I will attempt to heed the unsolicited advice from a friend to get over myself . 

 

The circumstances surrounding that advice were as such:  I was apologizing to my "advice giving" friend, for losing my temper with  a third friend during a circuitous conversation which took place the previous evening at a bar.  And not just any bar, but at a Bennigan's Bar located in the suburbs. The topic of the conversation was forgettable, but  I was so incensed that I stormed out of the Bennigan's (a life saving maneuver in some cultures ,I'm sure) and had to call someone for a ride home.  I'm not sure if  I was more upset about the disagreement or to having been at a Bennigan's bar. 

 

The next morning when my rage had dissipated, I called the recipient of my diatribe to offer my apologies  and being an upstanding gal she readily accepted them.  Next, feeling that perhaps I had also ruined  the evening for the third participant, I called to offer my apologies to her. 

 

She told me to get over myself. 

 

I will spend the year chronicling my efforts.  An assured step in the right direction: never, ever go to a Bennigan's bar located in the suburbs.

 

 

 

 

Two Truths From F. Scott Fitzgerald

 

 

 

"Writers aren't people exactly. Or, if they're any good, they're a whole lot of people trying so hard to be one person."  F. Scott Fitzgerald

"The rich are different than you and me."  F. Scott Fitzgerald

If You Love Me, You Can Delicious

Well, even if you like me or hate me you can del.ico.us me.

Add me to your del.icio.us network