NBC5.com – News – Daley ‘Going After The Landlord’ In Dexter Fire

UM, FYI, according to my own super-secret-special sources?  Daley’s been trying to get this building through eminent domain for a while, and the owner, the daughter of George Diamond, had been challenging him in court.

Me smells another City Hall scandal?  I’m all over this puppy.  What the hell?

And, if the city can try to recoup the costs of fighting the fire, etc., can I try to recoup the costs of trying to get my car not to smell like a FUCKING CHEMICAL FIRE?????

Hey Richie!  You know I love how pretty you’ve made my city, but would you get a freaking grip already????

NBC5.com – News – Altoids Thinks Going Chocolate Is Mint Choice

Bring.  It.   On.

The cabinets are in! The fucked-up wall-ceiling problem has been fixed enough for me to be able to deal with it. Granite has been picked out, slabs have been viewed and 1/2 paid for. We’ve got crown molding to go, appliances to go in, countertop to go in, walls to be painted. With any luck, this damn thing will be done by Thanksgiving. Thank GOD I’m not having Thanksgiving at my house, because I’d be freaking out right now.

There’s my husband, standing in front of the sink. Where the ladder is right now is the space for the fridge.

I’m thinking perhaps that my husband is trying to have unnatural relations with the drawers in which I will be keeping my pots and pans. Yes. There’s something wrong with him.

Here’s a view from standing in the dining room. There will be countertop wrapping around over those lower cabinets, coming out far enough for people to sit on stools and get drunk while I feed them continuously. Because that’s the way I roll.

Another view from the dining room, standing a little further back. Basically, I’d be standing on top of the dining room table taking this picture if the dining room table wasn’t currently on the back porch, covered with crap.

Here, I’m standing basically right in front of the refrigerator, looking into my dining room.

I fully realize this is only exciting to me. And maybe a couple of other people. You can see there, in the lower right hand corner, the phone, and behind it, my vodka tonic. If the counter was there, my phone and my vodka tonic would be sitting on the counter. Okay, so, duh. Obviously. The counter will come out from that cabinet another 16 inches or so, and in the very near future, friends, neighbors, and family will be sitting on a stool at that counter/bar type thing.

I’ve waited so long for this. I’m giddy about it. Giddy, I tell you. I can’t wait to have a fucking party, nor can the friends, neighbors, and family that have been forced to listen to my bitching/squealing/babbling about the progress of my kitchen.

I went to bunco last night. I wasn’t feeling all that great, and truthfully would have rather lolled around in bed reading a good book in sweatpants. But I went, because it’s always fun and always great to see my girlfriends. Plus I haven’t been for a while.

I’m sure glad I did, because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have won the big money! Somehow, the stars aligned and I won both big bunco and little bunco and sorry if you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, but I don’t really feel like explaining the game of bunco, plus each group usually has their own set of rules, but let’s just say that out of 30 rounds, I rolled a set of 3 identical numbers of the number we were rolling for 6 times. It’s unheard of, at least in our group. I don’t know shit about statistics, but it seems highly improbable. Everyone was flabbergasted. Plus, I got the most number of little buncos. Which means, I came home with an extra $200!

So, what do you think I did? I went shopping! Duh. Now, usually when a nice chunk of free change comes my way, I go on the hunt for shoes. But today, I decided I wanted a new bag. At first, I was really looking for a nice black leather purse, big enough for me to stuff my journal, perhaps a large 8×11 notebook for school notes, maybe a folder full of student work in it, perhaps a book or two. First, I went to Nordstrom (of course, I looked at shoes first, just in case something really grabbed me, but nothing did). I found nothing. I nearly got in a catfight with some bitch who snatched a bag I was looking at on the sale table right out from under my hands. I said, “Excuse me, I’m still looking at that.” She said, “You set it down, I thought you were done,” and walked away. She’s dead now, and I’ve buried her body, stuffed into that purse, in the garbage can in the Ladies’ Lounge.

I didn’t find anything else I liked there, so I decided to go over to Field’s, which is now Macy’s, but I’ll be calling it Field’s well beyond the time when my daughter gets embarrassed by the fact that I still call it Field’s and starts yelling at me when she takes me on a nice day out from the home, hollering things like, “For Christ’s sake, Mother. It hasn’t been Field’s for fifty years! Get over it!”

ANYWAY, apparently the bitches in the nice handbag department at Field’s work on some kind of insane commission. I imagine if they don’t sell a certain number of or $$ worth of handbags per day, they must get electric shock treatments or have parts of their anatomy removed without anesthesia, because the woman who was “helping” me nearly earned herself a spot in the morgue. She would not leave me alone. She kept bringing me things that had nothing to do with what I wanted, which was to be left alone to look at fucking purses! For Christ’s sake! I finally said to her, “You know what? This hard sell thing is getting annoying, and I am NOT going to buy a bag from you specifically because you’ve been annoying me so much. Now, excuse me while I go over to the Coach department.”

In the Coach department, I wandered around with no clear idea of what I wanted, yet knowing full well that there wouldn’t be a black bag large enough for what I wanted that I could get for $200 in the Coach department. So, I broadened my horizons and thought, you know? I’ll just see what catches my eye.

What caught my eye was this:

Isn’t she pretty? She was the only one there, and, she was on the sale rack. I’ve been considering a tweedy bag for a while, and looking for the right one. This one has a lovely color pallette and it’s a nice size and has some nice, easily accessible pockets and fits perfectly under my arm. I was giving it a good once over, and then decided to take a look at the price tag. It was on the sale shelf, mind you.

The tag said $98. $98.97 to be exact. I thought for sure it must be some kind of mistake, and looked up to see the saleswoman (a different one than the previous) smiling at me. “Ahh, that’s a beautiful bag, no?” she said in an Asian accent. I nodded. “It’s pretty,” I said. “But I wasn’t really in the market for a bag like this.” So she says, “Who’s not in the market for a bag that is on sale for $100?” I shrugged. Really.  Who isn’t?  Then she said, “A bag that was originally $398.”

I pretty much handed her the money right then. Because if anything gets me, it’s the thought that I just saved $300. Granted, I would never in a million years even consider buying a purse for $400. No fucking way. That’s just ridiculous. $200? Maybe. Okay, maybe even a little more. But $400? That’s crossing the line into ostentatious and just plain stupid. Anyway, I got myself a $400 purse that is probably really only worth $50 for $100. I saved $300!

And, I have $100 left over for a pair of shoes. Or two. We’ll see.

I love my new purse! And, I love Bunco and all my girls who seem to enjoy giving me their money. Okay, so they don’t enjoy it. Okay, so they want to rip my head off. Okay, so they want to change the rules so that if you win Big Bunco, you can’t win Little Bunco too, even though I think that’s just pathetic. If you win, you win, right? This isn’t some stupid soccer team for 5 year olds where no one supposedly keeps score and there’s an emphasis on the positive. It’s Bunco, for Christ’s sake.

Okay, well, that’s enough for now. I’m going to go to the store, just so I can walk around with this purse under my arm.

And, of course, when I got home I had to look up on the internet to see if the bitch was lying about the $398. She wasn’t, but you can get this bag on eBay and other assorted sites for $279. So, I still saved nearly $200. Yeah me!

Crazy Fire Totally Ruins Viki’s Day, and makes her car smell

I had an unbelievable day yesterday. It began with seeing a couple of my cabinets go into my kitchen. Which was nice, and I left for my tutoring session and class happy, thinking I would come home in a few hours to my cabinets up and my kitchen taking shape.

Then, all hell broke loose. I can’t even tell you about the first part of the hell, but let’s just say security was called. That’ll give you something to think about. I may be able to write about it sometime in the future, but for now, just trust that a good chunk of my morning was a bit of an emotional rollercoaster.

I survived, however, partly due to the help and support of my friend Richard, who listened to me babble on about it, so utterly baffled that the only way to make sense of it was to talk about it, and also to other friends present at the time and some faculty members who jumped in right away and helped me take care of the situation.

Anyway, after that, I went to class. Around 2:30 p.m., I noticed that there seemed to be an unusual amount of smoke rising from a building across the way. We decided it was just coming from a chimney and ignored it. By break time, there was a helicopter hovering above and several fire engines and police cars arriving, so a few of us took a little walk around the block to see what was happening. It was a damn building on fire! The old George Diamond Steakhouse and the Louis Sullivan landmark building that housed it (currently empty) was on fire, and we watched for a few minutes as firefighters broke in windows and entered.

I have pictures, but my damn phone won’t send them to my email, which is PISSING ME OFF. When I get them, I’ll squeeze them into this post.

Anyway, throughout the second half of class, we watched as the smoke grew more intense. Flames were visible coming from windows of the building, and chunks of burning debris were flying out and landing on the roof of the building next door. This building is, for your information, just a couple doors down from the dirtiest, grubbiest, most inexpensive and slightly dangerous yet totally fantastic hole-in-the-wall bar on the planet, George’s. There were a few of us in the room a little worried it might catch on fire. Because if George’s goes, where will I get a $5 Ketel One and tonic, made extra strong by Nick? And, most certainly, there aren’t many places in the city that feature signs that read “This is a SMOKING ESTABLISHMENT.” Fortunately, George’s did not burn.  The irony is not lost on me.  Thanks to the firefighters who prevented George’s from becoming a REALLY SMOKING establishment.
There were times when the wind shifted that the smoke blew directly to our window, completely obscuring our view. It was crazy. The building we were in was about a block from the fire, as the crow flies, so we had a pretty good view. Sam decided to let us go a little early, as we all began to wonder about the danger of breathing the smoke. The elevators smelled like smoke, which was a little creepy.

Of course, my car was parked in a parking garage practically across the street from the fire. Which meant I could not get my car. What to do? I went to a bar. Not George’s. I don’t think they were letting anyone in there last night, but down to Kitty O’Shea’s in the Hilton, where we watched news coverage of the fire.

I tried to get my car again around 7:30. No go. Back to the bar for another cocktail. I went to try again around 8:00, and ended up having a very nice, hour-long conversation with a police officer. He’s going to retire soon, and has just purchased some land in North Carolina on which he will live out his days. He helped me engineer getting my car out of the parking garage. The attendant had to drive my car up on the sidewalk, dodge between two parking meters and over a curb, but I did get my car.

And now it smells like chemical smoke. I don’t know what to do about it, but being in it gives me a headache. My husband has the brilliant idea to put a couple of bowls of vinegar in the car, but I don’t know what that’ll get me besides a car that smells like a burnt chemical salad with a vinegar-and-oil dressing, especially after I forget I’ve put bowls of vinegar in my car and start driving.

Anyone have any suggestions?

This story will be way more interesting when I supply pictures. Damn phone.

September 11:  What We Saw

Pretty devastating-to-watch home video taken by people very near the World Trade Center buildings immediately after the first plane hit.

One thing I found most enlightening was a woman in the background, saying as the cameraperson was filming people trying to run away, “This happens every day in the Middle East.”

Another interesting thing was that they seemed to have either missed or deleted direct footage of the second plane coming in.  One woman in the background calls it a military plane, which I found odd.  But in response to a question about it, the woman doing the filming says, “You can watch it on here” (which led me to believe they had chosen to edit out the plane).  The conspiracy theorists will certainly find that “military plane” reference quite fascinating.

At any rate, it was devastating to watch, and to listen to the reactions of the people in this apartment.  Certainly a perspective not seen on television clips.  And I don’t think I’ve ever seen the WTC fall quite so dramatically in any footage I’ve seen before. Maybe that’s because the news cameramen were running for their lives.

I really really loved the look of that brown thing with the pretty flowers.  But there was a lot wrong with it.  I’d noticed that, in addition to my 100 things page being wonky, some of my posts were also wonky, meaning that some of the post didn’t appear, which annoys me and might possibly annoy you.  I didn’t like the way photos showed up if there were many of them, all kind of crammed together.

And besides.  I missed the nipple.

Eventually, I’ll really take the time to make a theme/template/whatever that truly suits me.  Or I’ll pay someone else to do it.  Also, every time I pick a new template from the thousands of really amazing free ones available for users of WordPress, it ends up being ridiculously popular, and I start seeing it all over, and then I feel unoriginal, and I hate that.  I do see this one around, but it has enormous personalizing capabilities, not that I’ve truly taken advantage of any of them.  Aside from the choice of the nipple over something that looks like coffee rings on paper.

Anyway, I’m crazy busy right now.  I’m busier than I’m actually capable of realizing.  Rather, I’m blocking out how truly busy I am, so that I don’t get too stressed out.  I’ll write about some of the awesome things I’m doing soon.

Among the awesome things are:

1.  Teaching a class full of teenagers from around Chicago on Saturday mornings.  This past Saturday, we took a trip down to West Pullman in Chicago, to the park district building there, to visit the savannah they put in.  We met with some of the people who have worked on the savannah, and we heard some pretty amazing stories about how it came to be, how the neighborhood feels about it, etc.  It’ll make for a great post when I have some time.

2.  Teaching a class of 23 bilingual 5th graders.  I just started on Friday, and they may have just been on their best behavior because it was a new thing for them, but so far I can honestly say they are the best, most attentive and well-behaved bunch of 5th graders I’ve had the privilege to teach.  I just wish I’d stuck with my Spanish classes.  One of the students doesn’t understand or speak a word of English.  The rest of them possess English skills of varying degrees. I’m sure I’ll be writing (and/or bitching) about it in the weeks to come.

I hope everyone is healthy and happy, or at least good at pretending to be!

You heard me. I am officially published. Nevermind that it’s a 250 word blurb in the college’s online magazine. I got PAID for it. A whole $25. At least I will, when they pay me.

Actually, this is the second article. I kind of spaced out on the first one.

Reservoir Magazine

You may have to scroll down a little to find my little blurb.  From the looks of things, if you scroll down a little more, you’ll find my first blurb.  That’s $50!  My husband is giddy with the thought of the mounds of cash I’m bringing in to the household!

Because then, it would be against the rules for the Duke of Earle to tag me with a meme. (And, in a weird way, there’s something oddly appealing about children under the age of 18 being required to stand in straight lines, with a minimum of 5 feet between them (so that if they fall, they won’t bump into and injure each other), with their arms at their sides, staring straight ahead, speaking only in low, “inside” voices, wearing long pants and sleeves and flat shoes. And maybe being encased in bubble wrap.)
I don’t really mind, though, because I like to write about books. Here goes:

1) One book that changed your life:

Oh, for God’s sake. Books in general, their existence, has changed my life. A few, though, that have changed my life, in general, are: The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood (go read it. It made me afraid to get an ATM card when they first came out, and now every time I use my debit card at the grocery store, I have a moment of fear that it’s not going to work, and I’m going to walk out of the store all pissed off and prepared to call the bank, without the food I had been planning to buy, and there’s going to be a lot of military helicopters flying above, and I’m never going to see my home or my children or my husband ever again). Actually, any book or story collection or essay collection by Margaret Atwood. Cat’s Eye is pretty fantastic. Vladimir Nabokov rocks my world for his schnazzy and bold use of parenthesis and parenthetical expression and long sentences and fucking spot-on descriptions of places and facial expressions and characters and jeez. Nabokov is my idol. Also, Tom Robbins. My copy of Skinny Legs and All, which really, if I bothered to narrow this in on one book, this would be it, is held together by rubber bands, because I destroyed the spine by reading it so many times. Anyone who can make believable characters that include a spoon and a can of beans traveling across the country deserves my respect. He expanded my idea of not only character, but of subject matter. Somehow managing to talk about the middle east conflicts in the context of a contentious relationship? Genius.

This is probably going to be a long post. Just to warn you. I haven’t even read ahead what the questions are, so I’m probably just going to be babbling about books and writers for, like, forever.

You know what? Blindness by Jose Saramago. That book changed my life. Damn.

2) One book that you’d read more than once:

Sorry. I can’t keep that at one. Obviously, Skinny Legs and All by Tom Robbins. A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving. Native Son by Richard Wright (frequently and wisely assigned in school), The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov (I loaned my copy to someone, and never got it back, and had to buy another one, and read that one several times, and saw a play based on it at Steppenwolf. If you haven’t discovered it, you should. Right now. Go on. Amazon awaits you.)

I’ll stop. Honestly. There’s too many.

3) One book you’d want on a deserted island:

That’s just not a fair question. Readers who know me VERY WELL will laugh at this, but I’d have to say, desert me with the damn Bible, for Christ’s sake. That puppy is so chock full of story! I could be inspired by it forever.

4) One book that made you laugh:

Anything by David Sedaris makes my family look at me like they might be considering calling the men with the lovely white, wrap-around jacket. I laugh out loud every other sentence, even when he’s making me cry. The dog thing? Euthanasia or Youth in Asia? Something like that. If you’ve ever loved a dog, you’ll cry your eyes out. If you’ve ever had parents? You’ll laugh your ass off. So you’ll be sitting there, on your couch, with a cocktail and your feet up, reading and crying and laughing, and you’ll be too lazy when the men with the white, wrap-around jacket come knocking, and they’ll go away, and you’ll be saved from a stint in the looney-bin.

5) One book that made you cry:

I cry at a lot of books. I cry because I wish I could make someone cry the way any writer who made me cry made me cry (read it out loud. That sentence MAKES SENSE.). I cry because I’ve come to love the characters and I’m sad for them, even if they never existed. One book, though, if I have to list one, that really wrenched me, was Dorothy Allison’s Bastard out of Carolina. That is a brilliant book. It may have started a whole trend of sad abuse stories, and I avoided reading it for a while because of that, but I’ve read it several times since (and she was our visiting writer at Columbia in the spring, and a fantastic human, she is), and I cry every time.

I did, last year, cry during a workshop when I was trying to read back what I had written. It was the last scene of my novel, and I’d never written it (and I have a lot to write to get to it). I cried because it was the last scene, and it made me all crazy emotional to have found, in a magical moment, the last scene, and to know that was really and truly the last moment, and that it was going to be sad and oddly hopeful for the reader. I also cried because it was sad, and I know this character better than I know myself and also in the same way we don’t know ourselves but other people know us, and I saw her from this weird distance, and my heart broke for her and all in one insane, scary moment, I found a piece of myself that I’d been either ignoring or not noticing or hadn’t found yet. And I cried. And then I was embarrassed to be crying over my own work. So I said “Excuse me,” and went to the bathroom and looked hard at myself in the mirror. It was a little strange.

I hope that I get that book written, and that people read that last scene and cry. That may sound weird, but if you are a reader, and you get emotional over books, you’ll understand.

6) One book you wish you’d written:

I wish I’d written already the book I’m trying to work on, rewriting it from third person into first, after having rewritten it from first person into third. I wish it was over and done, and I was in the process of sending it off to agents.

I also wish I’d written it really well.

7) One book you wish had never been written:

That James Frey thing. He pisses me off. I may have to thank him one day for messing with the line between fiction and non-fiction, but right now? He pisses me off.
One book you’re currently reading:

Right now, I’m reading, or rather I just finished, In Cold Blood by Truman Capote, for a class. I’ve read it before, but it is a masterpiece of Creative Non-Fiction. I’m reading a collection of essays about writing by Ray Bradbury called…shit. I don’t know what it’s called, but the word ZEN is in the title. I’m too lazy to get up and get it out of my bag. It’s a goodie. I love Ray Bradbury.

9) One book you’ve been meaning to read:

Obviously, you’ve never been in my living room. The books I’m meaning to read are shoved in piles on the bookshelves in front of the books I have read, and also in piles on the floor, and I recently asked the guy who’s commandeering the remodeling of my kitchen and basement if he could find a way to build bookshelves on the walls next to my fireplace, and in the corner, and pretty much anywhere there is space for bookshelves. I have a problem. And books are my problem. Okay, honestly? I have a lot of problems. Books are one of them.

One book I’ve been meaning to read? Out of many? I’d like to read Night by Elie Wiesel. I haven’t yet, and I actually have two copies. I just haven’t made the time, which is silly. It’s not a long book. But I have a feeling it will take up a lot of emotional energy.

10) Tag five people:

Oh, thank god I’m at the end. This was torture.

Hmmm.

Definitely Megan. That way, I can kill two birds with one stone by giving her something to post about.

The Queen? For sure, although I have a feeling she may have done this before.

Somebody’s Son. Because I’d like him to show me he does something more than play football, kick asses, and drink. And love his fiance.

Allison, because she’s basically closed down her blog for whatever reason, and maybe this will get her to come out of retirement, even if it’s for only one post. Although, I’ll understand completely if she tells me to fuck off.

Ummm. Oh! Kunstemaeker. Only ‘cuz I’ve just recently discovered him, and I like him, and I think he’ll give me some more books to read.

Only, here’s the thing. I’m not going to email or visit these people to tell them they’ve been tagged. I could claim that it’s because I think they visit my blog on such a regular basis, they’ll discover it quickly on their own, but really it’s because I’m a lazy person.

And, when they discover they’ve been tagged, I’m adding on to this meme that they must come back to this post and comment and tell me they’ve posted their response, with a link to it. That’s fair, no? No. It’s not fair. You just go on and visit those people and see if they’ve responded to this meme, okay. I have to go to bed now.

UPDATE:

A couple of people I tagged have responded!

Somebody’s Son

Megan Stielstra

And as more do it, I’ll update with a link to their post.  Because, presumably, that’s really what this whole meme thing is about.

And while I am, most certainly, awesome, you all should go read this. Apologies in advance to my friend from Texas. However, this will make it very easy for you to say, sooner than you might have planned, “I’ve retired in Mexico.”

I must say, however, that while I love Florida, if Florida is kicked out of the Union, I’ll be able to say that I regularly visit other countries.

And, no apologies to anyone from Wisconsin. I live in Chicago for Pete’s sake. Cheeseheads do suck. Go Bears.

This link looks weird. I can’t help that, because I’m lazy. Just click on it for a little laugh. Go ahead. You’re bored and/or depressed and you need a chuckle. I know you.
United States of Awesomness