Fiendish Plot

SAJ — Mon, 14 Jan 2008 20:48:00 +0000

I've participated in two podcasts for the CWSource, and already, people hate me. Wheee! Obviously, I must be doing something right.

Ariel has requested RSS feeds. I'm working on it. But you must remember, Ariel, that I'm much more a word person than a tech person, so it might take a while. (Unless anyone has advice for how to implement a feed on blogger?)

We're now entering the gray expanse of winter here in Chicago -- cold gray skies, bare gray trees, everything leeched of life and color. What's worse, you learn to fear bright days here -- usually, when the sun is shining in January of February, it means it's too cold for there to be any humidity in the atmosphere, so you're looking at the sort of weather that freezes your eyelashes together if you blink too much. Good times.

So far we've been lucky -- nothing arctic -- but it's only a matter of time.

In other news, jury service has been postponed -- I'll be leaving town soon after I'd be called, so I've got a three-month extension. We'll see what happens.

SAJ — Sun, 13 Jan 2008 20:44:00 +0000

My downstairs neighbors got Rock Band over the holidays. God help me. They seem to favor Should I Stay or Should I Go and Say It Ain't So -- or maybe those are just the ones with bass lines that I really pick up on. I don't tend to hear much of the singing, but bass and drums carry. Someone (Wendy? Jane? Dean?) suggested I go down there, knock on the door and fling my bra at whoever is performing when it gets too loud, if only to make their heads explode. So far it hasn't been that bad (and bras are expensive, yo), but I'll keep that in mind.

I am also quietly obsessing over Linked In -- something the rest of the internet world has known about forever, but I'm just getting into. It's proved the most effective means of tracking down people I used to work with in Hong Kong, which makes it worthwhile right there. If I can actually use it to get jobs or sources, so much the better.

SAJ — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 18:27:00 +0000

I am woman, hear me podcast -- well, hear me participate in a CWSource podcast about Gossip Girl. Yes, now I can actually listen to the sound of my own voice! Ah, the navel -- let me gaze upon it.

In other news, the kids I tutor were appalled to realize that I am, in fact, an adult. They asked me what I got for Christmas, and I told them: Window blinds. They were horrified for me -- worse than socks! -- and even more horrified when i revealed that no, I asked for blinds. This is what I wanted. I'm sure my street cred is shot.

SAJ — Tue, 08 Jan 2008 21:48:00 +0000

Suddenly, without warning, I reappear! Bwah hah hah hah!

Yeah, I'm back, and blogging at least sporadically. I've been having a blast doing TV blogging for The CWSource and Zap2It, but occasionally I want to talk about subjects other than The Biggest Loser or the various ways the CW is screwing things up.

How often will I post? No clue. I'm all about keeping people guessing.

Right now the things that have moved me to comment include:

The birth of my new niece, for whom I have not yet determined an adjective. "Enchanting" is in the running, but I'm not sure... it has to be something with the same emotional and connotative weight as "adorable," so "cutest" is too light, and "beautiful" is too heavy, you know? I'm taking suggestions...

My very first jury summons. Yep, I just got notice that I'm a "standby juror." No clue whether that means they'll actually need me, and if they do, whether a lawyer would want me on a jury. There's a weird part of me that actually thinks jury duty might be cool. I'm sure I'll get over that real quick.

The fact that a weasel apparently got into my right ovary and is currently trying to gnaw its way out of my abdomen. Most likely, this is an aftereffect of having a 5-year-old nephew hurling himself at my stomach for several days on end as we wrestled. He's juuuuust about getting too big for that -- or I'm getting too old.

Politics -- and the fact that, as a registered independent, I'm thinking of voting in the Republican primary. None of the Democrats move me much one way or the other, but there are damn sure a few Republicans (I'm looking at you, Mike "evolution, schmevolution" Huckaby, Rudy "911" Guliani, and Mitt "Ignore Massachusetts -- I swear I'm a hard-core conservative!" Romney) that I would hate to have in office. Is it better to help a Republican I don't hate (McCain, most likely) get the nomination, or try to parse out which of the Democrats -- who I will probably end up voting for in the election -- I want?

The WGA strike, and the massive stupidity on the part of the producers. It's your fault I'll be covering Paradise Hotel @ as of February!

SAJ — Wed, 07 Feb 2007 18:03:00 +0000

OK, you know what? I'm apparently on hiatus from the blog. I started this as something to ensure I was writing every day, and it's not working for that any more. I need to reevaluate and figure out what I want to do with this thing.

See, what's happening is, I'm spending a lot of time writing for/commenting on the CWSource blog, which, you know, pays me. If you want confirmation that i'm still alive, check there -- stuff I write tends to get posted three or four times a week. It's all fluffy stuff about CW TV shows, so don't expect deep thoughts.

I'm also spending an inordinate amount of time onthe Television Without Pity boards. My user name is Jerslix, so you can find me there.

Lest you worry that I've turned into a TV-watching hermit (well, more so than usual), fear not -- I do actually get out of the house on a semi-regular basis. Chicagoans have actually seen me emerge from my apartment. Seriously. I'm alive and well. Just not blogging particularly.

SAJ — Mon, 08 Jan 2007 20:49:00 +0000

Also, to set the record straight:

1) I totally kicked Jeremy's ass at Kill Dr. Lucky, and Becky, Matthew and Cristina* were witnesses. I also kicked his ass at Kahuna many years ago, and he's still crying like a baby over it. I will admit that Jeremy won at Ticket to Ride, but as that game puts cities in the wrong states, I'm not too bothered by that.

2) Aunt Elaine sent the following e-mail:

If Sarah is at your house tell her to get on with blogging. I'm tired of reading about the Wisc.dells (sic.) (dalles).

OK, here's the thing. According to Webster's New World dictionary,

Dalles: The rapids of a river between the steep, rocky walls of a narrow canyon.

According to the history section of Dells.com

One of the oldest sites to appear on maps of the western Great Lakes region is the "Dalles" of the Wisconsin River. It was identified as a convenient reference point by French explorers in the 1700's.

The name stuck after the French explorers left Wisconsin, with the spelling and pronunciation Anglicized as the "dells".

So sure, if I wanted to be pretentious, I could call it the Wisconsin Dalles. But pretentious -- moi? Quelle horreur! I think not.

Besides, the only evidence I had of there being a river, much less rapids on said river in a narrow canyon, was the view of some running water out the window near the hot tub in our hotel suite -- and that might have been the wave pool. We weren't there for the majesty of nature; we were there for the water parks and troughs of mashed potatoes and bounteous tequila. We were very much visiting the Wisconsin Dells.

3) Amy, I really want to know if you put TWMAN up to this: When I was taking care of said Nephew, and I said no to something, he said "Titi Amy is my favorite aunt. I like you 20; I like Titi Amy 100."

If so, that backfired on you, because it meant I could tell him to go play with his favorite auntie instead of me when he was getting overhyper at Christmas. If you didn't, and he came up on this on his own -- wow, the kid's turning into a manipulative little twerp. I have to respect that.

* Edited because Jerm tells me Cristina doesn't spell her name with an h. I'm willing to make corrections, and admit when I'm wrong. Unlike some people, who continue to insist, against all evidence, that they were not utterly crushed at Kill Dr. Lucky and Kahuna. Twerp.

SAJ — Mon, 08 Jan 2007 17:45:00 +0000

Note to previous commenters (Jeremy) -- I am considering drawing up a will just so I can write you all out of it. Can't a girl take a break from blogging without her alleged friends dividing up her stuff? No books for you, Noz.

In other news, my life lately has been like this:

... but substitute a bowling ball of a cat with her head in a cone for the squat little troll, and replace the diaphanous gown with Kermit-the-frog pajamas. I took the cone off today, so hopefully (1) we'll both get more sleep, and (2) she's stopped chewing on her leg, so I don't have to go to the vet and continue the conehead misery for both of us.

Edit:

subversified: although it does make one wonder about your state of depression.....
sjerslix: Heh. No, just the cat literally sitting on my chest
sjerslix: while I try to sleep
sjerslix: Looming over me with that damn cone
subversified: well, you say your _life_ has been like that. not your sleep.

It's my sleep. Not my depression. I was trying to be funny.

SAJ — Sat, 11 Nov 2006 00:38:00 +0000

Wisconsin Dells. Cheese, both metaphorical and foodstuff. Condo for the weekend. Five of us, with two to three more joining tomorrow. Guitar Hero, mullet rock on the iPod, hot tubs and water parks and joy and squee and happiness. Life is good.

We're here for Dawn's b-day. there will be much rejoicing and drunkenness and the occasional reptile park. there's snow. It's going to be a very, very good weekend.

Don't rob me -- and I'm too busy doing other things things to come up with threats, but come on, I left nasty traps there. So don't rob me.

SAJ — Tue, 07 Nov 2006 23:58:00 +0000

OK, so I talk to myself. I live and work alone, no big deal.

I have, however, realized I have started talking to myself about talking to myself.

I'm trying to figure out at what point I should be concerned. When I answer myself about talking to myself? When I have a conversation with multiple points of view with myself? When I have violent, occasionally physical arguments with myself?

Or did the point of concern pass long ago, and I'm just slow in catching up to that fact?

SAJ — Tue, 07 Nov 2006 19:07:00 +0000

Has everyone who is eligible in the US gone out and done their civic duty? Have you swallowed your distaste and hatred for the political dumbfuckery that goes on before an election, made up your mind to vote for the least objectionable candidate, and read through the seemingly endless referenda at the end of your ballot? Have you punched/punched/toggled/drawn lines to your candidate of choice? Are you doing everything in your power not to despair?

Yeah, me too.

I don't live in any of the hotly contested districts here in Illinois -- although that hasn't stopped me from suffering through the commercials -- so there wasn't much hoopla around my voting location. No Duckworth/Roskum, no Bean/McSweeney. The Governor's race here has been distinguished by asshattery on the part of both major candidates, so there's no real way for me to feel good about my vote. My stab at voting the bums out on the Cook County Board is probably doomed, because the machine still rules. A disturbing number of the state and county races had the incumbents running unopposed. And seriously, what's the point of having a referendum question about withdrawing from Iraq on the ballot? That's pure political theater, and won't change federal policy.

I know enough about myself to know I'm not the sort of person who should be running for office -- I'm not much of a people person, and all the jockeying for power leaves me somewhat ill. When I'm flush, I give money to groups I hope can help on issues I'm passionate about, and I try to be involved in the community through tutoring. But -- and thanks so much, Quaker education! -- I never feel like it's enough.

SAJ — Sun, 05 Nov 2006 16:04:00 +0000

Why haven't I been blogging? Because my time has been spent pondering the ineffable conundrums of our time, such as:

Why is Fido a common dog's name? Where did it come from?*

What do narcissists do in therapy -- spend the hour forced to talk about other people?

How on earth did the wedding industry become so bloated and horrific that stores can charge $300 to $500 for a tiny little decorated hair comb?

Ah, great thoughts. And if anyone knows the answers to those eternal questions, let me know.

The horror movie party was a triumph, as usual, despite LL and JV's own personal horror movie in their digestive systems. Within six hours of my arrival (because it's all about me), LL took to her bed and bathroom, and I didn't really see her vertical for more than 24 hours. I did visit the sickroom a couple of times, but stayed as far away as polite conversation would allow, and washed my hands obsessively every 5 to 10 minutes. Apparently those precautions worked, as I remained plague-free. JV wasn't so lucky, but his case of plague was much less severe -- LOL had to go to the urgent care clinic to get a couple of liters of fluids pumped into her because she was so dehydrated, but JV managed to escape relatively unscathed. We feared for the party, but LL was singing power ballads at the top of her lungs Sunday morning, so it was on. Huzzah!

For the films, we basked in the brilliance that was Joan Crawford in the inexplicably hyphenated Strait-Jacket, and Melissa Sue Anderson in Happy Birthday to Me. Both made very little sense.

Strait-Jacket included horrific elements like an elderly Joan pretending to be a lusty young woman, an elderly Joan pretending to be acting as if she were elderly, an elderly Joan decked up like a lusty young woman and hitting on her daughter's fiance, the world's most annoying charm bracelets, tremendously bad parenting, really horrible childing, sculpture, wigs, axe-wielding silhouettes, stock characters just begging to be axed, and a shocking! twist! ending! that I called in the first 15 minutes. Go me.

Happy Birthday to Me shared some elements with Strait-Jacket, like actors playing way outside of their age range, and had a remarkably similar shocking! twist! ending! that I did not call this time, because it made no sense and came out of nowhere. Weird-ass movie.

As an added extra-special bonus, Shannon was in LA and managed to show up for the party, which was awesome -- I got to talk with her for a while, and she got to see the madness that is horror movie central. Joy!

I saw Amy and David briefly upon my return to this fair city, and we had dinner and went shopping. Amy, I'm sorry, I told mom and dad about the Oaxaca band -- it was just too funny not to. You may beat me about the head and shoulders when next we meet.

*I just talked to my dad, who told me that Fido is Latin for faithful, so it's been a dog's name since Roman times. Who knew? Well, besides my dad, who knows all sorts of obscure things. I inherited that talent from him.

Also, my dad would like me to post this immortal gem, one of his favorite jokes: Did you hear about the agnostic dyslexic insomniac? He was up all night wondering about the existence of dog.

SAJ — Fri, 27 Oct 2006 01:10:00 +0000

I'm off for a sojourn with my West Coast peeps, staying with LL and JV for the always=fabulous horror movie party. No, I don't actually like horror movies, but this party is too damn fun to miss.

So, standard robbery disclaimer: Mutant ninja kittens, necrotizing faciitis, roaming bands of scalpel-weilding Zuni fetish dolls, reanimated garden gnomes, incorporeal beasties, little yappy dogs... OF DOOM!, tiger traps, trapped tigers, trapped Tiggers, evil aliens, and sentient hungry plants. Don't rob me.

SAJ — Sat, 21 Oct 2006 15:59:00 +0000

No, I have not been overcome by necrotizing fasciitis, nor have I perished from writers cramp. I'm just lazy.

I had dinner on Monday with a friend who'd been bugging me to apply to Amazing Race with him, despite my distaste for worldwide humiliation. I was working on three or four hours of sleep and trying to function, and it wasn't pretty -- I was weaving and walking into things and I had no filter. The upside: He no longer thinks I'd be a good reality-TV partner. So at least that's taken care of.

Met Dawn, Angie and others for dinner at Cafe BaBaReba on Wednesday, and oh my god the short ribs are phenomenal. Seriously. Everything else was great, too (except the croquettas, which, eh) but those short ribs were nirvana. Also, whoever decided to wrap dates in bacon and put them on a stick (ok, toothpick) is my new personal hero. We decided that just about everything can be made more perfect with an application of bacon. Think about it: Fruit? Try melon and prosciutto. Vegetables? Bring on the crumbled bacon. Cheese? Oh, hell yeah. Hell, I'm starting to think my perfect man would be wrapped in bacon and served on a stick. Yummy.

(Upon reflection, that sounds even more disgusting than I intended it to. However, the sentiment stands.)

Last night, Vigils at the Goodman, which I liked but didn't knock my socks off. The final image was gorgeous, but it took a while to get there. Tonight: Crashing Dawn's corporate outing at Dave and Busters, so we'll be shooting zombies and playing skee-ball. Life is good.

SAJ — Mon, 16 Oct 2006 10:42:00 +0000

5:36 a.m. Medical writing is hard, and I'm way to old for this shit.

SAJ — Sat, 14 Oct 2006 22:50:00 +0000

Coming up for air in mid-medical-writing frenzy -- 1 project down (and hopefully not sucky) 3000 words to go. By tomorrow. I tried to take a break and call folks to decompress, but I got hung up on by small children twie at TWMAN&N's house -- neither of whom actually live there, as far as I could tell. I forgot Ana's birthday party is today.

So: Brain hurting, transcribing to go, haven't been out of my apartment in two days, still wearing my Kermit-print pj pants, hope to emerge tomorrow. Should be interesting.

It's actually probaly a good thing I'm doing production monkey work at the Trib Tower next week, as that will ensure I actually get my act together instead of sleeping for three days straight. SERENITY MONKEYS NOW, MOTHERFUCKERS!

Well, that made Angie laugh.

SAJ — Thu, 12 Oct 2006 21:07:00 +0000

The medical conference is over, so no more necrotic flesh for me. The highlight of today's session was seeing a ruptured pancreas and bowels and intestines that swelled up to the point where the doctors couldn't close the abdomen.

Fun, huh?

Now to more pleasant things. Prompted by Jane, I took the Pizza Sign quiz, and came up with the following:

Chicago Classic
You're tried and true, dude. You are a true original and a born leader. You can make it on your own because you have all the tools you need -- innovation, enthusiasm and ambition. You are compatible with these Pizzanalities: Prima Pepperoni and BBQ Chicken.

While I'm happy with my Pizza Sign, I have to protest about the compatibilities -- BBQ Chicken pizza? I'm sorry, chicken doesn't belong on pizza.

They also neglected the most important part: Pizza should be cut like a frickin' pie, not in these little crappy squares so, half the pieces are adrift without crust to hold onto. What the hell is wrong with people here? It's maddening.

Most pizza trivia: The Pizza Hut in Hong Kong served some of the most horrific-looking pizza in the world -- toppings included entire fish, eyes and all, and it went downhill from there. Plus, they had a weird obsession with corn.

But at least they knew how to cut the pizza like a goddamn pie.

SAJ — Wed, 11 Oct 2006 17:00:00 +0000

Not to be outdone, my Aunt Elaine, who was a public health nurse for a gazillion years, sent me the following:

How about a man with bowel cancer so advanced that he vomited copious amounts of feces?

There are times when I seriously wonder about my family. Why tell me this? WHY?

(As for why I share it... well, you already know I'm a horrible person. So there.)

SAJ — Tue, 10 Oct 2006 18:21:00 +0000

Yeah, so in that last post, where I predicted I'd be back to complaining about my job in approximately a week? I'm ahead of schedule.

The head-kicking line forms to the right.

I picked up some last-minute conference coverage when one of this publication's regular reporters got sick. They pay well, and if I do a good job on this I may be able to get more conference coverage gigs, which would be awesome because it's a quick-hit sort of job -- three days at the conference, three days to turn around stories, and then I never need to worry about this stuff again. So I'll be working my ass off until Sunday, but then I can go back to my regularly scheduled sloth, which is the way I like it.

But here's the thing: I'm covering The American College of Surgeons meeting, and apparently they decided to throw me in at the deep end. I've been doing radiology coverage, which really isn't that bad because it's all pretty (and to me, indistinct) pictures of the insides of people, often in attractive computer-generated colors that have nothing to do with actual organ systems. It's easy to ignore the fact that you are, in fact, looking at a malignant liver.

But this one? Here's what I've come away with so far:

Oh my god, medicine is disgusting! There are so many things that can turn your insides to goo, necessitating a surgeon to bring said insides outside, and gah! I had no idea how many things could kill me if I just got a bruise! We're all DOOOOOOOOOMED!

A slightly more coherent take: The sessions I'm covering are on septic wounds and necrotizing soft tissue infections. That stuff ain't pretty. So basically, my first session is at 8 a.m. (which, you have got to be kidding me), and I'm barely conscious when I'm confronted by slides of people's groins rotting off, or their one thigh at twice the size of its counterpart and oozing viscous fluid, and pictures of someone who's basically been flayed so they could dig out all the rotting flesh, a someone with his entire fistshoved into a persons fat layer, showing how far an infection has spread. And that's before we got to the amputated limbs!

Seriously, folks, it's disgusting in here.

On the upside, it's given me more impetus to lose weight (first because who could eat after that, and second because obesity is one of the risk factors for flesh-eating bacteria that totally could kill you -- if you're lucky! -- or make you beg for the sweet release of death.. Granted, they're talking serious morbid obesity, like 500 pounds, but still. Diabetes is another high risk factors, and that's also something weight loss can ward off. Oh, also? Intravenous drug users are at an enormous risk of this shit, and it is seriously horrible. If I'd ever even considered sticking a needle in my vein, this has turned me off that for life. Jesus, it's terrifying.

So now, I'm incredibly paranoid about every bump and bruise I've ever gotten, and that thing that looks like a zit on my shoulder could be necrotizing flesh, and maybe my sore thigh isn't from pulling a muscle running but from some rabid bacteria releasing spores in my leg and liquefying me!

It's possible that this is the wrong job for me to take.

Oh well, too late now. And I'll need to paycheck to cover my multiple hospital visits to check out every suspicious bump, and the opprobrium chamber I may have to install in my apartment.

But other than necrotizing flesh, things are fine. I actually turned into one of those crazy exercise people yesterday when I registered for the conference. It was one of those possibly last perfect autumn days, with the sun shining and the leaves falling and the temps hovering around the mid to high sixties, and I had been planning n going to the gym but I actually changed into my workout gear here at the conference center so I could go quasi-running around the lake. I went from McCormick up to the planetarium and around Northerly island and back, and just the combination of the sun and the water and the wind and the views and the sensation of moving under my own power had me grinning like an idiot even as my legs hurt (of course, that's probably the necrotizing bacteria that's necrotizing me as we speak. Necrotic necrotization! Gah!)

This afternoon, I get to cover Advances in Critical Care for Surgeons, including Management of Septic Shock. Pray for me.

Addendum: I called my mom to findo ut how long she was a hospital nurse, and to let her know that medicine is foul, and that I was looking at pictures of necrotic wounds. She said "Yeah, well, wait till you see a street person come in and they have maggots falling off them." Thanks, mom, I appreciate that.

SAJ — Fri, 06 Oct 2006 04:06:00 +0000

Next time I complain about freelancing (which should be in about one week), kick me in the head and remind me of this post.

Tonight, I got to charge money for looking up comic-book factoids on the web and writing snarky comments about them. Then, then, I got to watch Supernatural twice in rapid succession -- and let me tell you, it's damn good television -- and again, I'm getting paid for it. And on Tuesdays? I do the same thing for Veronica Mars.

I have the best job in the world.

Granted those bits of my job don't pay much, which is why I'll be spending next week looking at large blown-up pictures of septic wounds at a medical conference I'm covering, and I don't plan to sleep much if at all until the 15th, because I've got a couple of major medical projects coming due at the same time. But still -- what I'm doing? Absolutely rocks.

Now I just need to figure out some way to have people pay me to watch my other TV obsessions, and hey, I really need to get that b-movie snark gig I suggested a while back.

SAJ — Fri, 29 Sep 2006 18:08:00 +0000

I think I've mentioned my general disdain and creeped-outedness about competition-based reality television like Survivor and American Idol, as well as slice-of-life reality TV like the Real World. I just get really uncomfortable with the ritual humiliation of my fellow citizens, and can't help having a "there but for the grace of god go I" moment when contemplating it. The whole point of these shows seems to be "point a camera at any group of people for long enough and they're bound to do something horrible -- or something that we can edit to look horrible." I just don't like it.

(Note: Yes, I do watch Project Runway, which is somehow different because... well, because it's usually more about the contestants' design and tailoring skills than their personalities. And, um, it's different because I watch it, and therefore it must be different. So there.)

But I do get sucked into what are sort of service-based reality TV -- you know, Design on a Dime, What Not to Wear, things like that. Makeover shows -- but not the makeovers that say "You're a horrible ugly person, now get plastic surgery and we might acknowledge your existence" like The Swan. Those are horrible. No, What Not To Wear mocks a person's clothing, but the main message is no matter what your body type, no matter how you think you look, there's a really gorgeous person down there that you can let out by learning the tricks of the fashion trade. (I tend to like the British version better, because they will actually have fat or old women and men as their makeover subjects, whereas all the US WNTW folks tend to fall into the early-20s to late-30s, size 2 to 10 mold.) Plus, these anonymous nobodies get $5,0000 to spend on a new wardrobe, or have a team of designers come make over their house, or something like that. It's a feel-good thing, and everybody wins. (And no, I don't include trading Spaces in this category -- that show is more about what the designers want to do than what the people who actually live in the houses want to live with. That show sucks.)

Which is my defensive way of explaining why I got so excited when I discovered Design on a Dime had introduced a Chicago-based team. I'd be more than willing to go on TV if it meant someone would make over my crowded, poorly-laid-out office. That would be awesome!

But, alas, it is not to be. DoaD rejected me, saying

After careful consideration and discussion with our design staff, we regret to inform you that we will not be able to include your home in our production schedule for the upcoming season. While we find your project both interesting and challenging, we currently
have similar projects already in production for this season.

Phooey. No TV -- and more importantly, no new furniture -- for me. I guess it's back to trying to make more money so I can buy a corner desk myself. Rats.

SAJ — Thu, 28 Sep 2006 20:46:00 +0000

So I suppose I shouldn't post about how the cat may be finally ready to do me in and then not post for several days. The cat is out of the cone and seems to be leaving her leg alone, so all is well.

The big news, besides the lack of catriciede -- wait, that would be killing a cat, and I meant her failing to kill me -- feline homicide? -- ok. Let me start over.

The big news is that my sister Amy has gotten engaged. Congratulations, Amy and David. I've only met David once, but I liked him from the start. Plus, he continued being interested in Amy even after she let TWMAN&N run rampant around his apartment while she was babysitting them one night, so he's obviously not faint of heart. He's survived dinner with my parents and sisters, and even a couple of travel experiences with Amy, and if that didn't scare him off, nothing will. The one confusing thing -- he's this brilliant Wharton professor with brain cells that are positively fizzing with intelligence, and yet he's decided to marry into our lot anyway. Go figure.

I kid, of course -- David, I'm thrilled you'll be joining us, and Amy, I'm so happy for you. I'm even happier that you're acknowledging the inherent superiority of Chicago when you abandon your precious little Philly for a real city to go wedding shopping. Take that, little miss "I hate Chicago, and Philly's so great, and everyone should move here, and by the way I need to use your guest room for a week two or three times a year so I can go to all the cool boutiques and stuff they just don't have in Philly." Nyah.

Congratulations also to Pamela and Fred for their new twins, who, in keeping with the extreme-sports New Zealand lifestyle of their parents, decided to make an entrance:

They were scheduled for eviction on the 20th, but the boys decided that a middle of the night, high-speed ambulance ride to the hospital 2 hours away would be much more fun than an elective C-section.

Good luck, Pamela, and, as my mother says to everyone I know who has twins, "Tell her I'm sorry."

Other news: My quasi-running is on hold for the moment as I seem to have strained my groin. Does this lead to tales of wild debauchery and all-night escapades? Hah -- I wish. I pulled it running, and not even after Legolas or Johnny Depp or the guys from Supernatural. Most disappointing. It even hurts a bit when I walk, so the whole power-walking thing is out for now.

I've tried to substitute biking and swimming, so we'll see how that goes. I rode my bike to a doctor's appointment downtown, which I haven't done for a while. I'd forgotten how much of a difference wind resistance makes. It took me about 50 minutes to get 10 miles (although there were traffic lights and other annoyances in there) and I was pretty worn out when I got to the office. I took the lakeshore path home -- a longer ride, but damn, it's pretty. It's been at least five years since I rode along that path, and it's such a stunningly beautiful feature of the city. It helps that I was riding home at 3 p.m., so I missed most of the post-work heaving mass of people. It was a gorgeous breezy 70-degree day, and people were taking what was probably their last chance to lay out on the beach or run around in shorts. I even saw a swimmer in the lake, probably someone practicing for a triathalon. I took more time than I needed going home, just because it was so overwhelmingly pleasant to be out there in the sun, by the lake, the trees rustling and the waves shushing up against the shore, or pounding against the limestone blocks that line parts of the shore. I love this city. Even when the weather gets downright biblical, we have these things to hold onto -- the promise of the lake in the sun, the breeze on the path, riding along through the cherry blossoms or the falling leaves. There's nothing like it.

SAJ — Sat, 23 Sep 2006 15:35:00 +0000

The joys of pet ownership, part gazillion:

Last week I noticed Bug worrying away at a spot on her leg, to the extent that she had a sore there. Which came first, the sore or the gnawing? I don't know. So we went off to the vet, who did some poking and prodding, gave me some ointment (and ear drops, because I noticed her scratching her ears more than usual) and warned me that I'd need to apply said ointment until the sore healed. In order for the sore to heal, Bug needed to stop chewing at it. And that, well, that means I had to break out the dreaded Elizabethan Collar. Yes, my cat is now a conehead.

She is, of course, miserable. And at first, I felt very sorry for her -- I mean, it can't be fun to wander around with an inverted lampshade around your neck. She looked utterly despondent. Then, of course, she decided that if she was miserable, I damn well better be miserable too. She spent half the night headbutting me with the cone, meaning I kept being woken up by an assault with tupperware. Harumph.

She's settled down a bit, but she keeps looking at me as if weighing the best ways to smother me in my sleep. If you don't hear from me for a while, she may have figured it out.

SAJ — Thu, 21 Sep 2006 16:32:00 +0000

And all of a sudden, three or four people are calling me for potential work things. Where were you people in July, huh? Why do you have to make things so difficult?

SAJ — Fri, 15 Sep 2006 04:58:00 +0000

I have a couple of crappy movies to review (and hopefully a third tomorrow), but I just got back from the Goodman's King Lear and need to sort of get that out of my system first.

It was a really good production, but I can't say I "liked" the play. In the post-show discussion, the director and literary manager etc. were saying Lear was one of Shakespeare's least popular plays for a while, because it's "kind of" bleak and nihilistic. "Kind of"? Dude, only three named characters are left alive at the end, and one of them is saying he expects and/or hopes to die soon. The whole world falls apart, and there's no Fortinbras at the end to swoop in and say "Wow, that sucks, but at least I'm here now to rule the country." "Bleak" ain't the half of it.

This production is set in modern times, in eastern Europe or the Balkans or a former Soviet republic. Reagan and Gonereil look and act like Russian Mafia princesses, and Reagan's husband is a shaved-head thug with hopped-up followers. The guards patrol with Kalishnikovs and pistols, and the fighting is done with guns, not swords. Lear is like Tito, a charismatic leader and the father of not only his daughters but his people. At his party at the beginning, the guests all sing a song that lauds him as "Papa, papa, papa." And Lear's so used to this adoration that he doesn't stop to think it's been bought, or forced, and is not immutable.

I didn't have any trouble buying the modern setting, but the language took some getting used to for me in the first act. It's so formalized while the actions and settings are so familiar or real. I don't read or see enough Shakespeare that it's not weird for me to see folks in modern dress speaking in iambic pentameter and ending soliloquies with couplets. Like I said, it just took some getting used to. Iambic pentameter = doublets and hose, not slinky cocktail dresses and trenchcoats. But I'd rather have the modern setting and the initial discomfort than have it set in Shakespearean times, or "the past" or something not as real.

Because this is a very real play. The modern setting took it from "Wow, this is a tragic play" to "Holy crap, this stuff is happening now." Glouchester's blinding took place in a stainless-steel kitchen while Cornwall's henchmen fried up some post-thuggery vittels. Lear ended up wandering not a desolate heath, but the garbage-strewn streets of a bombed-out city. And that's something I could see -- I can imagine a deposed leader (if he managed not to be executed like Ceacescu) wandering the streets homeless. That kind of madness rings much more true and immediate than someone rending his robes and howling at the sky. I know I've seen (and crossed the street or studiously read my book on the El to avoid) those kind of walking wounded in every city I've ever lived in. Suddenly, it's not "This man has been cursed by the gods, this is high tragedy that has nothing to do with mere mortals like me," but it becomes something real and immediate and raw and conceivable.

Probably because the setting made it so much more immediate, the play depressed the hell out of me. I have no idea how the actors have avoided slitting their wrists thus far. This shit is happening in Darfur and Iraq and Lebanon and the Balkans and countless other places in the world, and this is a play that doesn't give you any hope for a solution. By the end, society has fallen apart, the strong prey on the weak, and it looks like it's only going to get worse. There is no upside.

A lot of the action that happens seems depressingly relevant. Thrash an awful lot of sexual assault in this production, which I think just adds to the depressing realness of it all. This isn't just high-falutin' language and noble sentiments -- Cordelia sure looks like she's been raped and tortured at the end. Soldiers humiliate their adversaries by ripping down their pants and mounting them. That sort of sexual humiliation brings Abu Grahib and the mass rapes of Bosnian women to mind, and makes it harder to escape the reality that this is happening now. One scene involves people dragging wrapped corpses across the stage and dumping them in a mass grave. That seems far to real and relevant today to even pretend to have the remove of "Oh, it's drama, it's a night out, it's entertainment."

So I recommend the production, I think it's a great staging, but it's not something that I can recommend for light entertainment. I've been spending so much time on my popcorn movies and TV shows and such that I'd managed to forget that art isn't always escapism, it's something that makes you confront the things you'd rather not see. Which is good, but after a long summer of mindlessness, it's a bit of a shock to the system. By winter, I'll probably have adapted. Right now, it's still startling to me.

Anyway. Those are my initial thoughts. Maybe I'll have more when I have time to process it. Go see it, but don't expect anything perky. (And I know how ridiculous that sounds: It's LEAR. It's TRAGEDY. But for some reason, I can watch Greek tragedy or Shakespeare set in a different time at a bit of a remove, which I didn't have with this. That probably points to it being one hell of an effective show.)

SAJ — Sun, 10 Sep 2006 16:18:00 +0000

LL and OTay's play is getting great reviews. Go see it if you're in LA. Plus, it sounds like there's some interest in extending the run, and maybe even sending it on the road. I'm so thrilled for you guys.

In other "my friends rock" news, Pastor Tripp's installation ceremony at his church is taking place today. I have no idea what it takes to install a pastor, but Dawn and Dean suspected it may involve a service tech scheduled to show up at some point between 8 a.m. and 2 p.m. but actually arriving at about 4 p.m. three days later, several phone calls to the main office, and the discovery that the church has incompatible wiring for Tripp and they need to wait for an adaptor, which is being sent from an office in New Mexico by armadillo and should reach Wilmette in approximately eight weeks, unless it doesn't.