Wednesday, November 26, 2003
Still Bagging.
Okay. So I'm still bagging groceries today. I'm pocketing ones, fives, and a business card. Yes, a business card.
I was hoping for a doctor from Powell, but instead I got a banker going to Steubenville. I helped him carry his meat to the car. (He had four different kinds!)
Oops. I hear it: All cashiers and carryouts to the front.
Gotta run. Happy Thanksgiving. This year I'm introducing my family to alcohol. It's about time.
Okay. So I'm still bagging groceries today. I'm pocketing ones, fives, and a business card. Yes, a business card.
I was hoping for a doctor from Powell, but instead I got a banker going to Steubenville. I helped him carry his meat to the car. (He had four different kinds!)
Oops. I hear it: All cashiers and carryouts to the front.
Gotta run. Happy Thanksgiving. This year I'm introducing my family to alcohol. It's about time.
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
Turkey Breasts.
I'm bagging groceries today. I wore this Banana Republic silk black v-neck sweater set. Which means that I get tips. Because the women think I'm cold and the men…well…
"Who's your date, Jill?" they ask at the holiday party.
"This is Henry. He's a doctor and lives in Powell," I say.
"Nice to meet you, Henry. How did you two meet?" they ask.
"Jill carried my turkey to the car," Henry says. We embrace, giggle and look lovingly into one another's eyes.
Okay. I have to get back out there. You never know when you're missing the chance to bag Henry.
I'm bagging groceries today. I wore this Banana Republic silk black v-neck sweater set. Which means that I get tips. Because the women think I'm cold and the men…well…
"Who's your date, Jill?" they ask at the holiday party.
"This is Henry. He's a doctor and lives in Powell," I say.
"Nice to meet you, Henry. How did you two meet?" they ask.
"Jill carried my turkey to the car," Henry says. We embrace, giggle and look lovingly into one another's eyes.
Okay. I have to get back out there. You never know when you're missing the chance to bag Henry.
Monday, November 24, 2003
Mind The Gap.
Although I lived in London during the summer, my weather association with the city is that of winter. Cool, grey and rainy. Much like today, in Columbus, Ohio. Minus the snow. My frugal travelling habits find me visiting the Mother Country in the winter months, as the airfare is much lower.
Last night, I went to see Love Actually by myself. An empowering thing it is, watching a film alone. I used to do it when I lived alone in Chicago. After working late on a Thursday evening, I would walk up Michigan Avenue to the film house on the north end. Decorated and deserted, I enjoyed the shopping haven much more when the stores were closed and the tourists and suburbanites were safely in their hotels and homes. After the film, I would catch a cab back down south, not wanting to walk the mile twice in the December air.
I'm glad that I initially saw Love Actually by myself, because I was blubbering the entire way through the film. Views of greetings at Heathrow Airport sandwiched this London-based holiday tale featuring Hugh Grant and a soundtrack anyone could appreciate. Scenes of Soho, Covent Garden and the burbs made me bawl. Throw in some love triangles, a child and some all-too-familiar romantic situations, and I was two sniffles away from a full-blown sob. I missed London. And movies never show what happens three weeks after the couple finally gets together.
I went home and told Sarah that if she wants to see it, I'll see it again.
"Tonight?" she asked.
"What?"
"Will you see it with me tonight?"
Two hours later, I was at the same theatre, this time with a medium coke, crying and laughing in the same spots. I guess I recommend the movie.
Although I lived in London during the summer, my weather association with the city is that of winter. Cool, grey and rainy. Much like today, in Columbus, Ohio. Minus the snow. My frugal travelling habits find me visiting the Mother Country in the winter months, as the airfare is much lower.
Last night, I went to see Love Actually by myself. An empowering thing it is, watching a film alone. I used to do it when I lived alone in Chicago. After working late on a Thursday evening, I would walk up Michigan Avenue to the film house on the north end. Decorated and deserted, I enjoyed the shopping haven much more when the stores were closed and the tourists and suburbanites were safely in their hotels and homes. After the film, I would catch a cab back down south, not wanting to walk the mile twice in the December air.
I'm glad that I initially saw Love Actually by myself, because I was blubbering the entire way through the film. Views of greetings at Heathrow Airport sandwiched this London-based holiday tale featuring Hugh Grant and a soundtrack anyone could appreciate. Scenes of Soho, Covent Garden and the burbs made me bawl. Throw in some love triangles, a child and some all-too-familiar romantic situations, and I was two sniffles away from a full-blown sob. I missed London. And movies never show what happens three weeks after the couple finally gets together.
I went home and told Sarah that if she wants to see it, I'll see it again.
"Tonight?" she asked.
"What?"
"Will you see it with me tonight?"
Two hours later, I was at the same theatre, this time with a medium coke, crying and laughing in the same spots. I guess I recommend the movie.
Friday, November 21, 2003
Uniquely Classy.
There are two types of classy women out there. One is the classic kind. This is the woman that will drink martinis, shower before work, send thank you notes and not ever wake up and think, "what in the world was I thinking last night?" Think Carrie Bradshaw meets Martha Stewart.
A few of my girlfriends and I fall into the second kind of class: Uniquely Classy. We listen to NPR, know the difference between champagne and sparkling wine and turn off our cell phones at performances. We also have alter egos that may get us into trouble under the influence of The Drink, have been known to urinate in public, use profanities and are not above picking up men in bars. But we tip cab drivers and attend dinner parties.
I'm meeting some of my Uniquely Classy for friends tonight at Barcelona, my second favorite restaurant in Columbus. Known for tapas and ambience, this restaurant houses many memories for me. The most poignant memory was the evening that I was proposed to on the patio there. Though I guarantee that said gentleman will deny it to this day.
He was drunk and I was underage, drinking wine that I will never be able to afford. I was wearing a purple strappy dress from American Eagle. We were with his business associates. "You're beautiful," he slurred, grabbing my leg as I prayed that the others did not notice this, "Let's get married. Tomorrow." I blushed. This was not what I had in mind when I imagined marriage proposals. (Note: I've never really imagined myself being involved in marriage proposals.) "You're drunk," I whispered, and moved his wandering hand from my thigh.
At that point in my life, I did not consider myself classy, and definitely not Uniquely Classy. In retrospect, the Jill today would have said, "Fucking hell, you're drunk. Let's get dessert." And I probably would have let the hand continue to wander. You only live once.
Tonight, there will be no marriage proposals. There will, however, be Boggle. Uniquely Classy women bring Boggle to Barcelona.
There are two types of classy women out there. One is the classic kind. This is the woman that will drink martinis, shower before work, send thank you notes and not ever wake up and think, "what in the world was I thinking last night?" Think Carrie Bradshaw meets Martha Stewart.
A few of my girlfriends and I fall into the second kind of class: Uniquely Classy. We listen to NPR, know the difference between champagne and sparkling wine and turn off our cell phones at performances. We also have alter egos that may get us into trouble under the influence of The Drink, have been known to urinate in public, use profanities and are not above picking up men in bars. But we tip cab drivers and attend dinner parties.
I'm meeting some of my Uniquely Classy for friends tonight at Barcelona, my second favorite restaurant in Columbus. Known for tapas and ambience, this restaurant houses many memories for me. The most poignant memory was the evening that I was proposed to on the patio there. Though I guarantee that said gentleman will deny it to this day.
He was drunk and I was underage, drinking wine that I will never be able to afford. I was wearing a purple strappy dress from American Eagle. We were with his business associates. "You're beautiful," he slurred, grabbing my leg as I prayed that the others did not notice this, "Let's get married. Tomorrow." I blushed. This was not what I had in mind when I imagined marriage proposals. (Note: I've never really imagined myself being involved in marriage proposals.) "You're drunk," I whispered, and moved his wandering hand from my thigh.
At that point in my life, I did not consider myself classy, and definitely not Uniquely Classy. In retrospect, the Jill today would have said, "Fucking hell, you're drunk. Let's get dessert." And I probably would have let the hand continue to wander. You only live once.
Tonight, there will be no marriage proposals. There will, however, be Boggle. Uniquely Classy women bring Boggle to Barcelona.
Thursday, November 20, 2003
Survey Says: You Should Come.
So. Sarah and I are having our Holiday Party on Saturday, December 20th. If you are in or near Columbus at that time, you are expected to attend.
Here are some of the things that are unique to our party:
o Putting jingle bells on the cats.
o Live Family Feud
o Cookie decorating contest (borrowed from Maya and Matt)
o We're going to vacuum and buy toilet paper
o Egg nog, Apple Cider with Rum and conventional alcohol (bring some of your own, too)
o Hors d'oeuvres
o Possible appearances by Santa and/or Moses
o Jazzy holiday music
o No children
o Cinnamon smell in the house
On the topic of Family Feud, we're collecting responses to questions that will be asked. If you are not attending the party and could help collect responses (e-mailing co-workers, etc.) please e-mail me, and I'll send over a list of questions. They're going to be fun ones like, "What do women want?" and "What's the best thing about Jesus?"
(Post a message, if you don't have my e-mail address.)
Thought of the day: A shot of Jagermeister on a Wednesday night can really mess up your whole week.
So. Sarah and I are having our Holiday Party on Saturday, December 20th. If you are in or near Columbus at that time, you are expected to attend.
Here are some of the things that are unique to our party:
o Putting jingle bells on the cats.
o Live Family Feud
o Cookie decorating contest (borrowed from Maya and Matt)
o We're going to vacuum and buy toilet paper
o Egg nog, Apple Cider with Rum and conventional alcohol (bring some of your own, too)
o Hors d'oeuvres
o Possible appearances by Santa and/or Moses
o Jazzy holiday music
o No children
o Cinnamon smell in the house
On the topic of Family Feud, we're collecting responses to questions that will be asked. If you are not attending the party and could help collect responses (e-mailing co-workers, etc.) please e-mail me, and I'll send over a list of questions. They're going to be fun ones like, "What do women want?" and "What's the best thing about Jesus?"
(Post a message, if you don't have my e-mail address.)
Thought of the day: A shot of Jagermeister on a Wednesday night can really mess up your whole week.
Wednesday, November 19, 2003
House Guests.
My back door was unlocked last night. And the night before. We don't use the back door; we always keep it locked. I first noticed when I went to throw out the pan of brownie water that had been sitting in our sink. We don't have a garbage disposal, and our plumbing is finicky. So I tend to dump food/water mixtures into the weeds next to our back stoop. Ghetto, sure. Efficient, absolutely.
I called the landlord. "If you're coming over, will you let us know? And will you please lock the door when you leave?" Our landlord is one of those Good Ones, the kind that actually fix things, weed your garden and plans to replace the windows and add central air. He also shows up, or sends his people without warning. I got a call from Sarah about a week ago. She was stranded in the shower because a plumber came to fix a pipe in the basement.
I get a call this morning. It's the landlord. He hasn't been in our place, and hasn't sent anyone over. Which means, for two days in a row, someone - who isn't our landlord - has been in our apartment and left through the back door, without locking it.
This is very comforting.
My back door was unlocked last night. And the night before. We don't use the back door; we always keep it locked. I first noticed when I went to throw out the pan of brownie water that had been sitting in our sink. We don't have a garbage disposal, and our plumbing is finicky. So I tend to dump food/water mixtures into the weeds next to our back stoop. Ghetto, sure. Efficient, absolutely.
I called the landlord. "If you're coming over, will you let us know? And will you please lock the door when you leave?" Our landlord is one of those Good Ones, the kind that actually fix things, weed your garden and plans to replace the windows and add central air. He also shows up, or sends his people without warning. I got a call from Sarah about a week ago. She was stranded in the shower because a plumber came to fix a pipe in the basement.
I get a call this morning. It's the landlord. He hasn't been in our place, and hasn't sent anyone over. Which means, for two days in a row, someone - who isn't our landlord - has been in our apartment and left through the back door, without locking it.
This is very comforting.
Tuesday, November 18, 2003
Lights, Camera, Cheese.
So I took two of our "chefs" to the NBC studios this afternoon, so they could teach the city of Columbus how to make a turkey. I love this part of PR. You almost don't even need a news angle to get a spot on the daytime programs.
Today, we were sharing the stage with some women from Estee Lauder. But the studio liked us better. Food trumps eye shadow every time. The last time I was there, I brought in two farmers from Iowa, who were in town to do a demo on their free-range pork. It was summer, and they had never been on television before. We were in the waiting room, ready to go on, when my farmers got accosted by two sixty year old women in sequins and tutu's. They were cloggers. My Iowa pig farmers had never heard of clogging before. These women were apparently world champions.
The best part of today was when the daytime weatherman, Bob Nunnelly, pretended to eat the turkey in the weather forecast.
It was so funny.
So I took two of our "chefs" to the NBC studios this afternoon, so they could teach the city of Columbus how to make a turkey. I love this part of PR. You almost don't even need a news angle to get a spot on the daytime programs.
Today, we were sharing the stage with some women from Estee Lauder. But the studio liked us better. Food trumps eye shadow every time. The last time I was there, I brought in two farmers from Iowa, who were in town to do a demo on their free-range pork. It was summer, and they had never been on television before. We were in the waiting room, ready to go on, when my farmers got accosted by two sixty year old women in sequins and tutu's. They were cloggers. My Iowa pig farmers had never heard of clogging before. These women were apparently world champions.
The best part of today was when the daytime weatherman, Bob Nunnelly, pretended to eat the turkey in the weather forecast.
It was so funny.
Monday, November 17, 2003
Still Coughing.
So. The board meeting went well. I don't think that they noticed that I was speaking quickly, perspiring and mumbling nonsense. They laughed when appropriate and asked questions and seemed to enjoy the overall lack of information that I presented to them on Friday.
I've taken a day away from the office, so that I can get more work done. So far, I've accomplished the following:
a) Lunch at Chipotle -- I had the free range pork, of course
b) Power Nap -- I needed it. Last night I accidentally took the DayQuil before sleeping instead of the NyQuil. So I was awake all night, thinking about turkeys and jingle bells.
c) Trip to Barnes & Noble -- To find the new Azure Ray cd. This, of course, was a ridiculous idea, because everyone knows that B&N doesn't have anything my little sister hasn't heard of -- and ended up buying Nada Surf and a Billy Bragg/Wilco concoction.
d) Library -- To check e-mail. And to cough on the computers so that everyone in Grandview will get sick, so that the next time I take a day to 'work at home', there won't be so much traffic when I'm trying to get lunch, buy cd's, etc.
Okay. Back to work. Seriously. I have a feeling the new cd's will help me accomplish my tasks a lot more efficiently.
So. The board meeting went well. I don't think that they noticed that I was speaking quickly, perspiring and mumbling nonsense. They laughed when appropriate and asked questions and seemed to enjoy the overall lack of information that I presented to them on Friday.
I've taken a day away from the office, so that I can get more work done. So far, I've accomplished the following:
a) Lunch at Chipotle -- I had the free range pork, of course
b) Power Nap -- I needed it. Last night I accidentally took the DayQuil before sleeping instead of the NyQuil. So I was awake all night, thinking about turkeys and jingle bells.
c) Trip to Barnes & Noble -- To find the new Azure Ray cd. This, of course, was a ridiculous idea, because everyone knows that B&N doesn't have anything my little sister hasn't heard of -- and ended up buying Nada Surf and a Billy Bragg/Wilco concoction.
d) Library -- To check e-mail. And to cough on the computers so that everyone in Grandview will get sick, so that the next time I take a day to 'work at home', there won't be so much traffic when I'm trying to get lunch, buy cd's, etc.
Okay. Back to work. Seriously. I have a feeling the new cd's will help me accomplish my tasks a lot more efficiently.
Friday, November 14, 2003
Be Calm.
The board meeting for work is going on as I type. In a few minutes, I will be expected to give my marketing presentation, presumably something I've planned for the last two months.
I have no presentation. Instead, I'm going to make them listen to radio advertising, show them a few videos and make fun of myself.
I put together a book entitled "Jill's Vacation Photos: The West Coast In The Eyes of a Grocery Store Marketer". Inside are not photos of Highway 1, San Francisco, Portland or Seattle. Nor are there photos of Maya and I getting drunk in Vancouver (though I was tempted...) Instead, there are images of grocery stores and the meat packing plant that I dragged Maya to in Oakland.
My point? Ever since I started working for you, Board of Directors, I've turned into a big dork.
Hearst Castle? I'd rather visit a cheese shop.
Wish me luck.
The board meeting for work is going on as I type. In a few minutes, I will be expected to give my marketing presentation, presumably something I've planned for the last two months.
I have no presentation. Instead, I'm going to make them listen to radio advertising, show them a few videos and make fun of myself.
I put together a book entitled "Jill's Vacation Photos: The West Coast In The Eyes of a Grocery Store Marketer". Inside are not photos of Highway 1, San Francisco, Portland or Seattle. Nor are there photos of Maya and I getting drunk in Vancouver (though I was tempted...) Instead, there are images of grocery stores and the meat packing plant that I dragged Maya to in Oakland.
My point? Ever since I started working for you, Board of Directors, I've turned into a big dork.
Hearst Castle? I'd rather visit a cheese shop.
Wish me luck.
Thursday, November 13, 2003
Pharmaceutical Samples.
I was a vegetable yesterday, lifting my head only to make fun of the local news, force myself to smoke two cigarettes, blow my nose and pop more NyQuil. Sarah came home from writing a paper, and I remember having a complete conversation with her. The details of this conversation are fuzzy, but I know it ended with my saying, "I can't feel anything. I kind of like this."
When you're on NyQuil, the only skills you need are those that allow you to breathe, swallow and count to four. As in, "I took the last dosage at 5.00 p.m. It is now 6.00 p.m. I cannot take more NyQuil until 9.00 p.m."
Nurse Practitioner Kay had the stethoscope on my back, "Now, Jill, I want you to take deep breaths." I cough. "Okay now. Jill, I want you to cough." I cough again.
"We're going to give you some antibiotics," she determines, "you have a bronchial infection."
My stepsister Christina had bronchitis throughout most of our childhood. Mainly when we were supposed to do something fun, like go to the theme park, or hang out with the cousins. It was then that I began to hate it. And to tell the truth, I wasn't a big fan of her, either. But that's a different story.
I remember she always had a vaporizer in her room. And chicken soup. And a warm wet cloth on her chest. I don't have any of these things. But I do have a bag of free pills.
I was a vegetable yesterday, lifting my head only to make fun of the local news, force myself to smoke two cigarettes, blow my nose and pop more NyQuil. Sarah came home from writing a paper, and I remember having a complete conversation with her. The details of this conversation are fuzzy, but I know it ended with my saying, "I can't feel anything. I kind of like this."
When you're on NyQuil, the only skills you need are those that allow you to breathe, swallow and count to four. As in, "I took the last dosage at 5.00 p.m. It is now 6.00 p.m. I cannot take more NyQuil until 9.00 p.m."
Nurse Practitioner Kay had the stethoscope on my back, "Now, Jill, I want you to take deep breaths." I cough. "Okay now. Jill, I want you to cough." I cough again.
"We're going to give you some antibiotics," she determines, "you have a bronchial infection."
My stepsister Christina had bronchitis throughout most of our childhood. Mainly when we were supposed to do something fun, like go to the theme park, or hang out with the cousins. It was then that I began to hate it. And to tell the truth, I wasn't a big fan of her, either. But that's a different story.
I remember she always had a vaporizer in her room. And chicken soup. And a warm wet cloth on her chest. I don't have any of these things. But I do have a bag of free pills.
Wednesday, November 12, 2003
1. Healthcare.
I drove to the "Urgent Care" center at Riverside hospital at 7.30 this morning to get some much-needed drugs for this cold that's been lingering in me for the last two weeks. I'm never, ever up that early, so it's obvious that I was desperate.
"We don't have an urgent care center here," says the woman in the ER, "We do have doctors that can treat you, though, but they're not here until 10."
I couldn't really be mad at them. The fault goes to the people at Directory Assistance, who apparently don't know the different between an urgent care center and an emergency room. Hey guys, one is like a doctor's office that's open 24/7. The other is a television show. Figure it out.
2. Date.
Okay. So Sarah brings up a good idea in the comments of yesterday's post. I should have and e-bay auction to get a date for the company holiday party. (Who am I kidding? It's a Christmas party. I'm the most Jewish of anyone there.)
If that works, I can also do an auction to find my date for the wedding I'm attending on January 3rd. I have a little bit longer to figure out what he wants to eat (chicken, shellfish or vegetarian), but this one is a little more important to me. The bride is a friend from high school, a girl I've always admired for her sophistication and intellect. (Laura would never be tossed onto her boss's shoulders during an office party). She's marrying the personal assistant to the governor of Ohio. This is going to be a nice, Republican, Catholic wedding with fabulous food and the presence of Mr. Taft, my role model. The theme is Southern. She's from Charleston, South Carolina.
I have to represent my liberal self well. I wonder if I can put "must own a suit and cufflinks" in my e-bay requirements?
3. Top Ten Albums.
It's been requested, and here it is. In alphabetical order by artist. (I don't know if that breaks the "High Fidelity" rule or not.)
The Beatles, Rubber Soul
Crooked Fingers, Bring on the Snakes
Tim Easton, Break Your Mother's Heart
Magnetic Fields, 69 Love Songs, vol. 3
Neutral Milk Hotel, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea
The Postal Service, Give Up
Tin Hat Trio, Memory is an Elephant
Tom Waits, Closing Time
Tom Waits, The Heart of Saturday Night
The Whitlams, Love This City
Runners Up:
The Decemberists, Castaways and Cutouts
Death Cab for Cutie, Transatlanicism
Yo La Tengo, And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out
I drove to the "Urgent Care" center at Riverside hospital at 7.30 this morning to get some much-needed drugs for this cold that's been lingering in me for the last two weeks. I'm never, ever up that early, so it's obvious that I was desperate.
"We don't have an urgent care center here," says the woman in the ER, "We do have doctors that can treat you, though, but they're not here until 10."
I couldn't really be mad at them. The fault goes to the people at Directory Assistance, who apparently don't know the different between an urgent care center and an emergency room. Hey guys, one is like a doctor's office that's open 24/7. The other is a television show. Figure it out.
2. Date.
Okay. So Sarah brings up a good idea in the comments of yesterday's post. I should have and e-bay auction to get a date for the company holiday party. (Who am I kidding? It's a Christmas party. I'm the most Jewish of anyone there.)
If that works, I can also do an auction to find my date for the wedding I'm attending on January 3rd. I have a little bit longer to figure out what he wants to eat (chicken, shellfish or vegetarian), but this one is a little more important to me. The bride is a friend from high school, a girl I've always admired for her sophistication and intellect. (Laura would never be tossed onto her boss's shoulders during an office party). She's marrying the personal assistant to the governor of Ohio. This is going to be a nice, Republican, Catholic wedding with fabulous food and the presence of Mr. Taft, my role model. The theme is Southern. She's from Charleston, South Carolina.
I have to represent my liberal self well. I wonder if I can put "must own a suit and cufflinks" in my e-bay requirements?
3. Top Ten Albums.
It's been requested, and here it is. In alphabetical order by artist. (I don't know if that breaks the "High Fidelity" rule or not.)
The Beatles, Rubber Soul
Crooked Fingers, Bring on the Snakes
Tim Easton, Break Your Mother's Heart
Magnetic Fields, 69 Love Songs, vol. 3
Neutral Milk Hotel, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea
The Postal Service, Give Up
Tin Hat Trio, Memory is an Elephant
Tom Waits, Closing Time
Tom Waits, The Heart of Saturday Night
The Whitlams, Love This City
Runners Up:
The Decemberists, Castaways and Cutouts
Death Cab for Cutie, Transatlanicism
Yo La Tengo, And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out
Tuesday, November 11, 2003
I Need A Date.
I've been challenged to give my list of top ten records. I'm afraid that this will take some time. Meanwhile, it's company work party time again. I need to know what my "date" wants to eat by November 21st. That gives me ten days to find someone who actually wants to be around my co-workers for an evening.
The pay? A satisfactory entree (chicken, beef or vegetarian) at The Worthington Hills Country Club and all the alcohol you can drink. Also, there's a possibility that the lucky guy will be able to see my perched atop the Vice President's shoulders, with the front of my dress covering his face like an Muslim Woman (pre-United States Operation Freedom of Women Occupation).
I begged my ex-boyfriend, a quiet, contemplative type, to accompany me to the event last year, and after the VP threw my legs around his neck in the middle of the country club, my new platonic friend decided that he'd rather just be a plain ol' ex, and never talked to me again.
Yes, there are pictures.
Who wants to go?
I've been challenged to give my list of top ten records. I'm afraid that this will take some time. Meanwhile, it's company work party time again. I need to know what my "date" wants to eat by November 21st. That gives me ten days to find someone who actually wants to be around my co-workers for an evening.
The pay? A satisfactory entree (chicken, beef or vegetarian) at The Worthington Hills Country Club and all the alcohol you can drink. Also, there's a possibility that the lucky guy will be able to see my perched atop the Vice President's shoulders, with the front of my dress covering his face like an Muslim Woman (pre-United States Operation Freedom of Women Occupation).
I begged my ex-boyfriend, a quiet, contemplative type, to accompany me to the event last year, and after the VP threw my legs around his neck in the middle of the country club, my new platonic friend decided that he'd rather just be a plain ol' ex, and never talked to me again.
Yes, there are pictures.
Who wants to go?
Monday, November 10, 2003
Road Trip.
One of the good things about living in Columbus is that when it comes to music, if you're willing to drive, you're in a central place. I've driven seven hours to Toronto to see a solo show by the lead singer of The Whitlams, a band that rarely crosses that Canadian border to discover the rest of North America, while on tour. I've driven to Cincinnati and Dayton to see shows ranging from Rush (I was in drumline in high school - it was a rite of passage) to local Columbus band, Tom Foolery and the Mistakes. I'm in close proximity to Toledo, Detroit, Indianapolis, Pittsburgh and even Chicago, depending on my love of the band.
Last night, Kyle and I drove to Cleveland, a mere 2.5 hour journey, to see Crooked Fingers, a band that we've previously travelled to Dennison to see. The show was amazing. They did a combined performance with Azure Ray, a girl band from North Carolina. They made love to the music, moving in the way that my keyboard instructor, Ian Flores wanted us to move while pounding out the music to Gettysburg my senior year of high school. I was exhausted, but experiencing this performance was well worth the drive and the lost energy.
And then we went home. Singing and talking nonsense for 2.5 hours, we tried to keep one another awake. But Kyle's version of "awake" was mumbling with his eyes closed. I got to bed at 5 a.m.
"I used to be able to do this. I used to drive six hours to see a band and be fine," Kyle said.
"We're getting older," was my reply.
But you're never too old to miss a night's sleep to see music that you love. I'm a piece of crap today at work, but I would do it again tomorrow. (Guided by Voices is playing at the same place at the same time next Sunday…anyone want to come?)
One of the good things about living in Columbus is that when it comes to music, if you're willing to drive, you're in a central place. I've driven seven hours to Toronto to see a solo show by the lead singer of The Whitlams, a band that rarely crosses that Canadian border to discover the rest of North America, while on tour. I've driven to Cincinnati and Dayton to see shows ranging from Rush (I was in drumline in high school - it was a rite of passage) to local Columbus band, Tom Foolery and the Mistakes. I'm in close proximity to Toledo, Detroit, Indianapolis, Pittsburgh and even Chicago, depending on my love of the band.
Last night, Kyle and I drove to Cleveland, a mere 2.5 hour journey, to see Crooked Fingers, a band that we've previously travelled to Dennison to see. The show was amazing. They did a combined performance with Azure Ray, a girl band from North Carolina. They made love to the music, moving in the way that my keyboard instructor, Ian Flores wanted us to move while pounding out the music to Gettysburg my senior year of high school. I was exhausted, but experiencing this performance was well worth the drive and the lost energy.
And then we went home. Singing and talking nonsense for 2.5 hours, we tried to keep one another awake. But Kyle's version of "awake" was mumbling with his eyes closed. I got to bed at 5 a.m.
"I used to be able to do this. I used to drive six hours to see a band and be fine," Kyle said.
"We're getting older," was my reply.
But you're never too old to miss a night's sleep to see music that you love. I'm a piece of crap today at work, but I would do it again tomorrow. (Guided by Voices is playing at the same place at the same time next Sunday…anyone want to come?)
Friday, November 07, 2003
I Love You This Much.
Oh my. I am a terrible blogger, I'm afraid. It's just that, well, The Holidays Are Here. Which means that I have to get all of this stuff out. But don't you worry. The Holidays Will Be Over on Monday. Though on Wednesday I'll probably have to start working on Valentine's Day.
What are you getting YOUR Valentine?
Me, too.
Oh my. I am a terrible blogger, I'm afraid. It's just that, well, The Holidays Are Here. Which means that I have to get all of this stuff out. But don't you worry. The Holidays Will Be Over on Monday. Though on Wednesday I'll probably have to start working on Valentine's Day.
What are you getting YOUR Valentine?
Me, too.
Thursday, November 06, 2003
Smoker Thing.
So. I was catering an awards ceremony at Battelle last night. Battelle (which may very well be spelled incorrectly) is this place in Columbus that Does Things. I'm thinking bio-chemical-tech stuff. At any rate, the head of the James (which is spelled perfectly) was speaking. The James is the cancer treatment and research center in Columbus. I guess it's very good.
I listened to his keynote speech while filling water glasses, removing dessert plates and trying not to make any noise or cough on anyone. This event was held about six blocks from my apartment, in the same neighborhood as my dear crystal meth lab.
In about ten years, according to this Very Smart Man, the good people of Columbus, Ohio will put a machine on the market that will decrease the negative effects of smoking on the lungs. (It will only affect the lungs, not the way you smell or the amount of money in your wallet.) "What do smokers do best?" he asked.
"They inhale." Basically, smokers will be able to inhale stuff from this machine twice daily (while still continuing to smoke) and Not Ever Get Cancer.
Isn't that neat. So, you no longer have to feel bad about standing outside of an elementary school playground and giving small children cigarettes. By the time they're old enough to buy smokes on their own, they can get one of these nifty machines.
Thank you, Battelle.
P.S. Please tip well. I worked my ass off for you.
So. I was catering an awards ceremony at Battelle last night. Battelle (which may very well be spelled incorrectly) is this place in Columbus that Does Things. I'm thinking bio-chemical-tech stuff. At any rate, the head of the James (which is spelled perfectly) was speaking. The James is the cancer treatment and research center in Columbus. I guess it's very good.
I listened to his keynote speech while filling water glasses, removing dessert plates and trying not to make any noise or cough on anyone. This event was held about six blocks from my apartment, in the same neighborhood as my dear crystal meth lab.
In about ten years, according to this Very Smart Man, the good people of Columbus, Ohio will put a machine on the market that will decrease the negative effects of smoking on the lungs. (It will only affect the lungs, not the way you smell or the amount of money in your wallet.) "What do smokers do best?" he asked.
"They inhale." Basically, smokers will be able to inhale stuff from this machine twice daily (while still continuing to smoke) and Not Ever Get Cancer.
Isn't that neat. So, you no longer have to feel bad about standing outside of an elementary school playground and giving small children cigarettes. By the time they're old enough to buy smokes on their own, they can get one of these nifty machines.
Thank you, Battelle.
P.S. Please tip well. I worked my ass off for you.
Wednesday, November 05, 2003
Merry Whatever.
The thing about doing marketing for The Holidays in a predominantly white neighborhood is that you still have to call it The Holidays. Last year I made the chef put Potato Latke's on the Holiday Menu. Hey, I've got a lot of Jewish friends. And while they still might eat cheeseburgers during Passover, I thought, why not add a traditional Jewish food to our Holiday Menu? Well, the only person who ordered them was my boss. And he's not only a Christian, but he's a Creationist. He doesn't believe in science. Or liberal arts colleges.
How many ways can you say Happy Holidays, without being repetitive and/or offending anyone?
The thing about doing marketing for The Holidays in a predominantly white neighborhood is that you still have to call it The Holidays. Last year I made the chef put Potato Latke's on the Holiday Menu. Hey, I've got a lot of Jewish friends. And while they still might eat cheeseburgers during Passover, I thought, why not add a traditional Jewish food to our Holiday Menu? Well, the only person who ordered them was my boss. And he's not only a Christian, but he's a Creationist. He doesn't believe in science. Or liberal arts colleges.
How many ways can you say Happy Holidays, without being repetitive and/or offending anyone?
Tuesday, November 04, 2003
Things That I Learned Last Night On NewsChannel 4.
That it will be warm today.
That an explosion in a crystal meth lab caused the fire across the street from my house.
How to give my dog or cat CPR.
That it will be warm today.
That an explosion in a crystal meth lab caused the fire across the street from my house.
How to give my dog or cat CPR.
Monday, November 03, 2003
What's Going On?
I heard this phrase at least twice this morning. The first time was from Sarah at about 1.30, the second was from the mustached man sitting in his car reading *USA Today* in the car next to mine in the parking lot as I was going to work.
He was referring to the police car and the NBC truck stationed in front of an apartment across the street. Groggily, I said, "Nothing. There was a fire there last night."
"Oh. I thought that something was going to happen. I had a half an hour to kill, so I stopped to watch," he said before he drove away.
Sarah and I joined about fifteen of our neighbors in the foggy morning hours watching about four fire trucks, two ambulances and eight or nine police cars take over our intersection. It was the first time I had seen many of my closer neighbors without a Silver Bullet in their hands. We stared on, in our sleeping apparel, as police officers banged on apartment doors, calling out residents. We looked for flames or smoke, as the firefighters carried a hose into the building. We had received first row tickets for the most exciting news event in Columbus, Ohio at 2.00 a.m.
For a moment, I was tempted to grab my camera. This was spot news. In my photojournalism days, a photograph of an event like this warranted much needed extra credit in Marcy Nighswander's class. But I had no film. And I was wearing little boy shorts (the latest craze at Victoria's Secret.) And I wasn't wearing a bra. So. I resigned myself to the fact that I am no longer a photojournalist. I was only a civilian bystander in my underwear rubbernecking with neighbors whose names I have yet to retain, making small talk in the early hours of the morning.
Sarah and I returned inside and promised one another to replace the battery in our smoke detector very soon.
I heard this phrase at least twice this morning. The first time was from Sarah at about 1.30, the second was from the mustached man sitting in his car reading *USA Today* in the car next to mine in the parking lot as I was going to work.
He was referring to the police car and the NBC truck stationed in front of an apartment across the street. Groggily, I said, "Nothing. There was a fire there last night."
"Oh. I thought that something was going to happen. I had a half an hour to kill, so I stopped to watch," he said before he drove away.
Sarah and I joined about fifteen of our neighbors in the foggy morning hours watching about four fire trucks, two ambulances and eight or nine police cars take over our intersection. It was the first time I had seen many of my closer neighbors without a Silver Bullet in their hands. We stared on, in our sleeping apparel, as police officers banged on apartment doors, calling out residents. We looked for flames or smoke, as the firefighters carried a hose into the building. We had received first row tickets for the most exciting news event in Columbus, Ohio at 2.00 a.m.
For a moment, I was tempted to grab my camera. This was spot news. In my photojournalism days, a photograph of an event like this warranted much needed extra credit in Marcy Nighswander's class. But I had no film. And I was wearing little boy shorts (the latest craze at Victoria's Secret.) And I wasn't wearing a bra. So. I resigned myself to the fact that I am no longer a photojournalist. I was only a civilian bystander in my underwear rubbernecking with neighbors whose names I have yet to retain, making small talk in the early hours of the morning.
Sarah and I returned inside and promised one another to replace the battery in our smoke detector very soon.
