Requisite Top Albums of 2010 Post

This year has been a downright clusterfuck of emotions.  Luckily, as I am constantly searching for the soundtrack to my life, I had a good playlist. Listen to some of these.  They may change your life.  Bear in mind that I am by no means a music writer, so I don't know how to describe these albums other than trying to relaying what I picture myself doing as they play in the background (these are [mostly] hypothetical).

#10. Arcade Fire - The Suburbs :  Makes me think of my childhood (even though I grew up in Wicker Park)

Soundtrack moment:  Watching 2 cute little girls play in the surf in Hilton Head while wondering where my innocence went.

#9. Cee Lo Green - The Lady Killer : 2 words. Fuck You!  And some other great tracks.  Makes me want to jump on my bed and shimmy like a Motown goddess.

Soundtrack moment:  Pulling on a tight dress, pouting my lips in the mirror, and heading out on the town with my few girlfriends.

#8. Belle & Sebastian - Belle & Sebastian Write About Love : Slightly romantic (perfect for nights spent alone waiting for someone, anyone to sign onto Facebook chat and talk to me)

Soundtrack moment: Looking at old "couples" photos in my pajamas with a glass of wine that is salty with tears.

#7. Cut Copy - Zonoscope : Although this gem won't be released until 2011, I already know it'll be a favorite of mine.  Cut Copy also wins the award for best concert I attended in 2010.

Soundtrack moment:  Making out with a random at a concert, crowd surfing, and losing a shoe.

#6. Deerhunter - Halcyon Digest : Kinda dark, kinda trippy, totally up my alley.

Soundtrack moment:  Fighting with my sister about something trivial and wishing I had the balls to stick up for myself.

#5. Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeroes - From Below : The happiest goddamn music in the entire world.

Soundtrack moment:  Watching the part in Toy Story 3 when Andy plays with his toys for the last time.

#4. The Drums - The Drums : Beachy keen with an 80s infusion.  Get out your neon surfboard and put some blue zinc oxide on your nose.

Soundtrack moment:  Riding bikes on the beach with my new friends, wind whipping my hair back.

#3. Hey Champ - Star : A shameless plug for my favorite Chicago band. I would listen to these guys even if I didn't include them among my friends.

Soundtrack moment:  Checking out the Modern Wing with Joan Pinnell.

#2. Frightened Rabbit - The Winter of Mixed Drinks : Folksy, awesome, easy to listen to.

Soundtrack moment: Eating Thanksgiving dinner, playing Celebrity, and cracking up all the while with my hilarious family.

#1. The National - High Violet : Try not to slit your wrists in the most beautiful, poetic way possible.

Soundtrack moment: Throwing dirt on a departed loved one's casket, turning, and walking away in the rain.

All in a Good Day's Hobby (or There's Actually Shit to do on Mars)

While on a recent trip, I heard what is most likely the most astounding revelation about the fundamental difference between men and women I have ever heard.  Like, ever.  Like most Eureka! moments, I realized that this explanation was simple, elementary, yet oft overlooked, like money on the ground (which my sister always manages to find. In fact, the one time I found a $10 in a puddle at Lakeshore Athletic Club, I naively bought dinner for my family instead of miser-ing it for myself. This explains why I am always broke - but that's another blog post entirely).
Ok - and I need to be clear here that this statement was by no means conceptualized by me, although I am a heavy endorser of it.  I didn't think of it myself, although I wish I did.  Those of you who know me know that I am pretty much the anti-feminist - which is to say that although I believe in gender equality, which I heartily do, I think that the words feminine and masculine still have their place in my personal dictionary, and I like getting flowers and having doors held open for me and being able to dress slutty on Halloween and shaving my legs and wearing makeup and doing "girly" shit.  Real equality comes when we can all be ourselves and only be judged on our abilities and performance, not the genitals in our pants (OR skirts).
Now that I'm done disclaiming, and you're all at the edges of your proverbial seats, biting your proverbial nails, I'll fucking get to it already:

MEN HAVE HOBBIES.

WOMEN HAVE 1 HOBBY: MEN.

Think about it.  Don't burn me at the stake for reversing Women's Suffrage.  Just let it sink in.  When you get together with all your girlfriends, open a couple bottles of Pinot Grigio, and turn on Real Housewives of Wherever, what the fuck do you talk about?  I'm not judging you from any sort of Ivory Tower, because I am guilty of it, too.

Seriously. What. Do. You. Talk. About?

If the answer is "men", then you're correct.  It's all we talk about.  We're girls.  Sure, other subjects might creep in every now and then, very sporadically, but the crux of every conversation that women have with each other is men.  It's why I have male friends - not separating myself from the pack at all, but when I feel like talking about books or music or football, I seek out something with a dick.  It usually works.

Don't get me wrong. I love being a woman.  We smell better.  We get to hold childbirth over men's heads.  Generally speaking, we're more intelligent. But we waste all that intelligence on men.  So, ladies. Come over to my house and play Jeopardy! with me, or let's go fishing, or go to the Garfield Park Conservatory with our cameras (they are useful for other things besides group shots at the bar, you know).  I love you all.  But shut the fuck up about men for once (this includes me).

XO

Chew on THIS: A (whenever I feel like it) special addition to ICPH.

In this inaugural edition, I return to a Chicago favorite: honky-tonk, no frills taco joint Big Star.  I am feeling lazy (and full) so this post was actually written awhile ago, but with this addendum:

Their Milkshake Brings EVERYONE to the Star:
And yes, it's waaay better than yours.
Dulce. de. Leche. Milkshake.  (My version had the added kick of a shot of Old Granddad Whiskey mixed in - my idea, but Bev. Dir - and confidante - Michael Rubel assured me that I wasn't the first one to grown-up-ize my shake.)  For those of you who aren't as well-versed in cusine-jargon as I, Dulce de Leche, literally "sweet of the milk" in Spanish, is just a fancy term for creamy, gooey, mouthwatering caramel.  And the geniuses at Big Star have captured the soul of that caramelly goodness in a milkshake.  It's not too sweet, so you won't go into sugar shock, and it's not too thick, so your straw doesn't get constantly clogged up (as a former employee of Anthony's Italian Ice in Lincoln Park, I KNOW how hard it is to achieve the perfect milkshake consistency - it is truly an expert task), and the shake is whipped just so there is a light, frothy, caramel foam resting at the top.  And, because whiskey makes EVERYTHING taste better, I stirred in a $3 shot of Old Granddad, which really heightened the caramel finish of the shake and gave it an overall kind of sharper taste (but in a good way); plus, how fucking cool would you feel drinking a milkshake with whiskey in it???

Ok, now to the rest of the grub:

Big Star - Not Just For Fat Kids

As a confirmed Fat Kid, I love places that cater to my tastes. This includes pork, beer, pork fat, and tasty accoutrements to the aforementioned. Big Star, I felt like I was coming home.

I went with 5 friends on a Wednesday evening at about 7:45pm. The place was wall-to-wall packed, and tables (there are only 6 of them) were in high demand. There were people eating EVERYWHERE, even perched atop the waiter's station. I remember the inside of Pontiac being a lot bigger - perhaps there needs to be some logistical re-tooling of Big Star's interior - the square bar that takes up a good 5/8 of the space is massive - the bartenders have more room to navigate than the patrons do, which doesn't really seem fair; we're the ones who came to eat [and pay].

We found 2 stools and immediately staked our claim, plunking down and rolling up our sleeves to tuck in to the tacos we had all been hearing about. I began with a paloma - which tasted nearly exactly like a well-crafted margarita, as in, I could taste the tequila, which I consider to be a very good thing (sour mix-heavy cocktails need not apply here); at $7 a good value, although the beer list has more bang for your buck - (7oz Schlitz for $1, High-Life, Tecate, and Lone Star for $3, plus assorted microbrews all topping out at about $5). My friend ordered a michelada - a tasty concoction of Tecate, Lime Juice, and salsa (I'll get to the salsa shortly) with a salt rim. I'd replace my Sunday morning Bloody with a michelada anytime - it was tart and spicy and refreshing all at once. There is also an impressive array of sodas available, even BIRCH BEER (a childhood favorite), for a cool $3 a pop (pun - get it?).

We took full advantage of managing to flag down our [often absent and slightly disorganized - we ordered guacamole twice before it actually went through, and she seemed to favor the other side of the bar to ours] waitress and ordered a variety of the tacos and tostadas. They were out of the braised goat taco, which was disappointing, but I live about 100 feet from here and will definitely be back to try it. The menu, although small, has a decent variety of fillings from which to choose, as well as a few side dishes and apps. The guacamole is delicious; topped with crunchy slivers of fresh radish and redolent of lime juice, the only improvement to be made is the portion size. The chips are clearly freshly fried - we seized the opportunity of having [many] leftover chips from our guac to sample the 3 salsas available in squeeze bottles atop the bar: Green top: Salsa verde, very lime-y, not too spicy, and very tasty; Yellow top: My personal favorite, a sticky, garlicky salsa roja with a slightly sweet finish - literally, I could drink this stuff; Red top: Probably chipotle based, the spiciest of the three, with a delicious smoky flavor.

After a considerable wait [but hey, the place was packed, and newly opened, so I will give them some leeway on this], our tacos arrived. I had spoken to at least 6 independent sources prior to dining at Big Star, and all had said that the tacos, although small, were mightily delicious. Would they measure up to the hype? The answer is... YES! Amazingly so. I'll give a rundown of each that we ordered:

-Taco al pastor: Braised pork shoulder with sweet chunks of sticky pineapple - savory and sugary, definitely delicious, although the pork, in my opinion, was just a *touch* on the dry side.

-Taco al panza: Fatty, sweet, melt-in-your-mouth pork belly goodness, topped with a flurry of cotija cheese - heads above even the roasted duck breast and corn salsa taco from de cero - I left in a pork belly coma, and am still dreaming about this taco the next day; my mouth is literally watering for one even as I write this. At $3, I could scarf these all night; I'd suffer the slings and arrows of congestive heart failure, high cholesterol, and any other ailment overconsumption of pork belly could lead to. Top 10 best things I've ever put in my mouth (get your heads out of the gutter)

-Tacos de rajas de poblano: Always conscious of the vegetarians, this taco is surprisingly delicious; sweet and smoky strips of poblano peppers topped with a grilled slab of charry-melty cheese. The poblano was grilled in such a fashion that it almost took on a meaty quality.

-Tostadas al pescado: Creamy and crunchy and refreshing, this tostada comes with a generous hunk of smooth avocado atop the fish, sliced radishes, crispy lettuce, and poblano cream; I was worried that the tostada shell would be soggy, but it remained perfectly crispy and delicious. Can't wait for the patio to open in the summer because this tostada will be perfect for warm weather refreshment.

-Tostadas al pollo: During round 2 of taco consumption, I decided to give the chicken a chance. Normally, I steer away from ordering chicken in restaurants because I don't feel it is special enough, but something told me I wouldn't be disappointed. Perhaps it was the description: braised chicken thighs, black beans, and crunchy chayote (a close prima to summer squash, melon, and cucumber). Although the pork belly holds the numero uno spot in my heart, the chicken tostada came through to take a close second place finish - the combination of the tender chicken and beans really warmed me up from the inside out; definitely a winter-perfect little dish.

The best part of the evening was when the bill came: $85 for 6 people, 4 of whom had alcohol and all of whom ate their fill (especially me). Another perk is that tax is included in the tab total, so there's no messy splitting of the bill - just pay and tip.

Word to the wise: A late night take out window is in the works, so if you ever need to know where to find me at 2am on a Friday or Saturday evening, just look in the undoubtedly long line at the 1531 N. Damen pick up window - I'll be there!

Tune in NEXT week (or whenever I have time - I'm a busy gal these days), when I will regale you with tales of what I chewed on in Washington, D.C.! TTFN (let's bring that back)

Griefcoaster - To Flash Pass or Not to Flash Pass?

So my therapist told me that the grieving process, like most things that are supposed to be methodical, is in fact not  a linear process.  Wikipedia describes the steps of grief, also known as the Kubler-Ross model, as follows:

The progression of states is:^[2]

1. Denial – "I feel fine."; "This can't be happening, not to me."
   Denial is usually only a temporary defense for the individual. This feeling is generally replaced with heightened awareness of positions and individuals that will be left behind after death.
2. Anger – "Why me? It's not fair!"; "How can this happen to me?"; "Who is to blame?"
   Once in the second stage, the individual recognizes that denial cannot continue. Because of anger, the person is very difficult to care for due to misplaced feelings of rage and envy. Any individual that symbolizes life or energy is subject to projected resentment and jealousy.
3. Bargaining – "Just let me live to see my children graduate."; "I'll do anything for a few more years."; "I will give my life savings if..."
   The third stage involves the hope that the individual can somehow postpone or delay death. Usually, the negotiation for an extended life is made with a higher power in exchange for a reformed lifestyle. Psychologically, the individual is saying, "I understand I will die, but if I could just have more time..."
4. Depression – "I'm so sad, why bother with anything?"; "I'm going to die... What's the point?"; "I miss my loved one, why go on?"
   During the fourth stage, the dying person begins to understand the certainty of death. Because of this, the individual may become silent, refuse visitors and spend much of the time crying and grieving. This process allows the dying person to disconnect oneself from things of love and affection. It is not recommended to attempt to cheer up an individual who is in this stage. It is an important time for grieving that must be processed.
5. Acceptance – "It's going to be okay."; "I can't fight it, I may as well prepare for it."
   In this last stage, the individual begins to come to terms with his mortality or that of his loved one. 
It seems to be a one-step-forward, two-steps-back process.  Sometimes you're fine and sometimes you're not fine and in between you're numb and it sucks.  Which is why I would like to add a few steps.
6. Sheer Bliss - "I'm on cloud 9." ; "I had the best sex of my life last night." ; "Ohmygod, today I had a total blast and didn't even think about ________."  In this stage, the griever may have had a positive encounter with a new friend and/or gone an entire hour/minute/day without reciting the grievee's phone number (which he/she knows by heart, of course).
7. Drunk-Dialy-ness - "Heyyyyy, it's me. I really, really miss you. I am going to die alone."  This occurs when inebriated and should be avoided at all costs.  Other symptoms include unsolicited booty calls to otherwise unsuspecting male acquaintances.
8. Apathy - "I would totally not care if he showed up with another prettier, skinnier girl on his arm." ; "I don't care if I never see him again." HA. HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAH. Who are you kidding?
9. High-and-Mightiness  - "I can do way better." ; "I can't believe I ever even associated with that person." ; "I'm so much hotter/smarter/decidedly not going to die alone."  In this stage, you have ingested too much cocaine and/or self-indulgent therapy.  Check into rehab/get a new therapist.
10. Move-on-ness - "This didn't work out, but I'll be fine, and find someone who is right for me."  Not to be confused with acceptance, this stage applies uniquely to relationships in which one person was ready to bolt and the other wasn't.  It certainly won't happen overnight, as move-on-ness takes time, patience, and becoming reacquainted with yourself.  Lord knows I'd like to get there. 

Updated: What I've Learned

This certainly has been an educational summer.  Since I am ::very:: into the overshare, I'll drop some knowledge all over the place. (Well, actually, just on this blog entry, which approximately 8 people read, so I guess my knowledge-droppings are less toilet-snakes and more dingleberries. I digress.)

1. Begin a vacation with relative strangers.  End a vacation with dear new friends.

My Hilton Head Crew - LOVE YOU GUYS!

2. Read RollingStone.com album reviews. Download said albums using Mediafire, Bit Torrent, or Megaupload. See God. (Current obsessions include The Drums, Surfer Blood, Junip, and the latest from The Arcade Fire and LCD Soundsystem.)
3. Break-ups are hard.  But every thundercloud does indeed have a shiny silver lining, and when one door (that you attempted to bash in with a speaker) is slammed in your face, a window opens somewhere.  Raise the blinds and step out into the sunlight, baby.
4. Truly great friends and family are worth their weight in gold, or cheese (and I'm JEWISH and saying this... I'd take the FRIENDS over the GOLD)
5. Spend as many hours as you can on the beach and in the water.  Not only is it enjoyable just for snicks, but everyone looks better with a tan.
6. Being a girl who can cook is apparently unique.  I did not know that before.
7. Do nice things for people; they'll like you better for it.
8. Don't do TOO many nice things for one person.  It places unnecessary pressure on him to reciprocate and he will eventually grow to resent you for it.
9. The gender choice of pronoun in #8 is intentional.
10. Love yourself, even when you're not at your most lovable.  You'll love yourself more for being able to look past your un-lovable-ness and love yourself in spite of and because of it.

And finally, I'd like to take it to the streets.  If anyone reads this, please, please, please, post a comment and tell me some things you've learned this summer.  I like learning.

Why The Wonder Years is the greatest television show ever made

I scoff in the face of Lost-o-philes, True Blood-ies, SATC fanatics, and all other tv fans.  Nielsen ratings are a total sham.  Let me tell you about the greatest show of all.  It's a little show, about a little suburb, and it's called The Wonder Years.

TWY (so I don't have to keep typing it) helped us all grow [up], because we got to watch Kevin Arnold and the gang make every mistake we were destined to make, but he made it first. And he made it better. And the [excellent] voice of [Daniel Stern] said exactly what we wanted to say but couldn't articulate.  We wanted to be taller than Kirk McCray, we wanted to sock Kevin in the stomach a la Becky Slater, and we knew that we'd know someday what it's like to love someone and realize you have to let them go like Kevin let Winnie go.

Almost every episode makes me cry, and whether they're tears of joy or sorrow, they're always genuine. Because I know what Kevin or Paul or Carla or Winnie or Norma or Jack, or even Wayne, was feeling every time.  We all know the chicken dance we played with the phone the first time we wanted to call our crush.  We may not know the pain of losing a sibling like Winnie lost Brian Cooper, but we know sadness, and we know it better because TWY prepared us for it.

Another great aspect of my favorite show is the soundtrack.  Oh, the soundtrack.  So many golden oldies it's ridiculous.  Who doesn't hear "Turn, Turn, Turn" and think of Kevin and Winnie frolicking in Harper's Woods?

And then there's the best part about The Wonder Years:  I WAS ON IT!  Season 3 Episode 14. The Valentine's Day Massacre. I play young Carla.  Do my tired ego a favor and watch it.

Because Someone Else Said It First... and Better Than I Could Have

It happens all the time.  Someone notable articulates your seemingly in-articulate-able thoughts for you, and BAM! A favorite quote is born.  Here are a few words that describe me and my views better than I ever could.

"I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best." 
— Marilyn Monroe

Do not take life too seriously.  You will never get out of it alive.  ~Elbert Hubbard


Broadly speaking, the short words are the best, and the old words best of all.
Winston Churchill 

THE POOL PLAYERS. 
                   SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.



We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

-Gwendolyn Brooks

Just a few unoriginal thoughts from my mind to yours.

Etiquette by Emily Post Break-Up

alternately titled: Don't Leave Me This Way

Having been recently dumped (again), I am feeling compelled to share some tips I learned over the course of my first break-up. Also, now that it has been over one and a half years, I am (surprisingly) feeling "over" it enough to finally talk. So here goes.

1. Don't fake a pregnancy. This should go without saying, but you will only establish yourself as a psychotic liar.
2. Give yourself time to grieve. The cute guy who checks out your ass at the bar your brave girlfriends drag you to (making them regret your assent to their obligatory "It'll be good for you to get out of the house" while watching you ask the bartender for the 12th time "How much for just the whole bottle of Jameson?") was not imagining that the flirty smile you gave him meant you wanted to sob hysterically - big, black-mascara alligator tears - on his *favorite T-shirt-clad* shoulder "You're nice, Brian. Not like that asshole who dumped me. I'm pretty, right?! Right?!"
3. Your friends aren't always right. Speaking of well-meaning-but-misguided friends, ignore remarks like these:
"Don't you think a sauvignon blanc-only diet is a little unhealthy?"
"You need to eat something."
No. You. Don't. How else will you meet someone new unless you drop the 9 lbs. you gained
while you were happy?

4. Don't sleep with your new ex's best friend to "make him notice you" or "hurt him like he hurt you." See #1 for explanation. (Also, in all seriousness, as I really did do something like this after my first real break-up: You, whoever you are - although I'm pretty sure all 3 od my readers are headed for the altar instead of a J-Date.com membership - are better than using sex as a weapon; unless, of course, you're the title character of the movie "Teeth": in that case, your fanged vagina is a weapon.

5. "Grand Gestures" don't work on guys in the same way they do on girls. Can you really picture your ex having Mary Stuart Masterson's reaction in "Bed of Roses" when Christian Slater fills her apartment with expensive flowers. (Hint: if your answer is yes, you got dumped for another guy. Maybe Christian Slater is still the whoriest flori[e]st around.)

a. Don't waste your time OR your money. He didn't on you.

b. Straight. To. The. Asylum. With. You. (In his mind - in your mind, you were just "showing him how much you care".)

6. Ok. Time for some real tips:

a. Remember yourself? No? Didn't think so. I didn't, either. But I got reacquainted with how fabulous I can be when I'm single. You should, too.

b. See a Friday-night movie all alone. You can do it.

c. Lean on your friends because you would let them lean on you. Lean on your family because they have to be there for you.

d. Do the things he would never do with you. Did you always yearn to leave the house but were stuck in a relationship with an agoraphobic? Now's your chance to get out there. The world is your oyster, baby.

e. Don't screw the first guy who pays attention to you. Yeah, you got rejected. Yeah. It sucks. But waking up in Quasimodo's bed naked while he glances "meaningfully" from his morning wood to your delicate lady parts won't make you feel any better.

f. Finally, remember how awful you felt after your first break-up? And how amazing you felt when you met someone new? You didn't die at first like you thought you would, did you? And, trust me, you won't this time.

Besides, if you really are knocked up, he HAS to take you back... Just sayin'.

The Boy Who Cried Like

Disclaimer: This is not about me, nor is it about my current relationship. You're one of the good ones!

Once upon a time, in a land called Now, there lived a smart, pretty, interesting, intelligent girl with decent taste in music who only occasionally watched Gossip Girl and even then it was only with friends and she had been to the B96 Summer Bash once but it was back in high school and her name was Pick a Single Girl You Know. Pick a Single Girl You Know was excited because yesterday at the gym (she worked out at least 3 times a week), she had been approached by a boy named Michigan State Basketball Shorts Guy with whom she had been making somewhat flirty eye contact for about 2 weeks and he asked for her number and actually called, not texted, earlier today and they were going out tonight for "drinks and apps" and it was a Thursday night so if Pick a Single Girl You Know wasn't feeling it, work was an easy excuse and she put on her great-butt jeans and her favorite black top and a pair of flat-but-still-cute sandals and the requisite amount of "I'm not really wearing any makeup because I'm super low maintenance" makeup and headed out the door to meet Michigan State Basketball Shorts Guy at a semi-trendy lounge-y bar/restaurant with a nice patio, interesting beer list, and at least 3 small-plates menu items containing various cuts of pork (pork is in right now).

She texted Michigan State Basketball Shorts Guy when she was walking up to the bar/restaurant and he had already put their names on the list for a table on the immensely packed and generally "jumpin'" patio so they headed to the bar to have a beer (his: Ommegang Abbey; hers: Three Floyds' Gumballhead) and wait for his name to be called by the hostess, and Pick a Single Girl You Know noticed how he didn't even check out the attractive hostess or chat too long about the beer list with the semi-attractive bartender and how many questions he asked her about herself and how he leaned in and squeezed her knee when he said,

"It's so awesome to finally be out with you; I've been trying to gather up the courage to ask you out for weeks but I was scared you would say no and did I mention you look really pretty tonight?"

and he said it in such an endearing way that she let his hand rest on her knee and they were talking and laughing and barely noticed when the hostess called his name for the 2nd time, and his hand was nestled protectively in the small of her back as he guided her through the throng to their table and he pulled out her chair and then they were deciding what to order and he commented that he loved girls who liked to eat and they should definitely get 2 orders of the bacon-wrapped whatever.

It was even more of a perfect date when Michigan State Basketball Shorts Guy started talking about summer plans and said things like,

"My buddy Michigan State Baseball Cap has a boat - we always take it to Michigan City for Memorial Day Weekend and stay at his place and you should totally come,"

and then,

"You're definitely playing on our beach volleyball team,"

and even,

"We should go fishing sometime. I can't believe you've never been fishing. But don't worry; I'm an excellent teacher,"

and Pick a Single Girl You Know floated away on a cloud of future plans and "we" and then Michigan State Basketball Shorts Guy was walking her home and holding her hand and offering her his zip-up hoodie and planting one incredibly perfect kiss on her upturned lips and by the time she got in her door and changed into pajamas he had already friended her on Facebook and sent her 2 text messages (actually just 1 long one) and it said,

"I had a really awesome time tonight and I'm so glad I asked you out and that you said yes and I really like you. We'll def hang this weekend - how about a movie on Saturday afternoon and then we can meet up with my friends after the Cubs game? Let me know. Goodnight!"

And they DID hang out that weekend and his friends were really cool and pulled her aside and said that Michigan State Basketball Shorts Guy really liked her and they were happy for him and she slept at his apartment but they just made out and cuddled and then he took her to brunch on Sunday morning and gazed at her lovingly over mimosas and blueberry ricotta pancakes and he wrote some not unfunny inside joke from the weekend on her Facebook wall so that the whole world would know that he liked her.

Then nothing for three days. Pick a Single Girl You Know wondered what she had done wrong. She wondered if she had played it cool enough, she lamented to her friends, she went over every single instant of their time together in agonizing detail, she looked in the mirror and declared herself fat.

Pick a Single Girl You Know texted Michigan State Basketball Shorts Guy,

"Hey what are you up to tonight?"

that Thursday at precisely 6:19, after deciding with her friends that 6:00 on the dot would look too obvious, and that Thursday was better than Friday, and that Saturday would be too late, and her horoscope for the day was a 7 so she was optimistic until he waffled on his response, saying,

"Staying in. Let's catch up this weekend,"

and Pick a Single Girl You Know hoped he meant it, because, after all, who makes such long-term plans and is so up-front about how they are feeling if they don't mean it, and Pick a Single Girl You Know never heard from him again. They are still friends on Facebook. He is still listed as "Single".

Boys who cry "Like" cheapen every word and every action of every boy that comes after them.

Feed My Ego

http://www.zinio.com/browse/publications/index.jsp?productId=500328607&sch=true

Look "inside"

Go to page 64. Check me out! Shout out to Daran Puffer and his amazing condo, and to Nate Selvig for building the beautiful yard!

I Give Up!

Like the title character in Life of Pi, I too enjoy a little religious dabbling every now and then. Faith is a fascinating concept; the proverbial jump into the abyss, the unknowingness of it all, the idea of a higher power that guides us all; it's central to the human condition. Arguably, Faith is what sets us apart from any other animal; are lions, tigers, or bears capable of grasping such intangible concepts? Perhaps I'm waxing a little too philosophic. Time to get down to the nitty-gritty.

Lent's traditional purpose, as described by Wikipedia, is to prepare "the believer for the annual commemoration during Holy Week of the Death and Resurrection of Jesus, which recalls events linked to the Passion of Christ and culminates in Easter, the celebration of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ."

As Lent is a period in which piety is revered, many Christians give up a vice of theirs as a means of fasting, or add something which will bring them closer to God, usually some charitable form of almsgiving. Although I am Jewish, and damn proud of it, I pay my respects to Lent by participating in this custom.

This year I have opted to give up junk food. Pretty standard, run of the mill Lenten sacrifice, but the significance of giving up something of self-administered value is not lost on me. In my humble opinion, one of the core tenets of Christianity is the emphasis of eschewing earthly delights and temptations as a vehicle for reaching a more Christlike societal position. I disagree with this stance, hence why I am not a Christian. Although I respect Jesus for what he gave up, I do not feel that instilling the ideas of guilt and original sin is the most effective way to garner Faith (note my capitalization of Faith).

Therefore, loyal readers, I encourage you this Lenten season to instead find your Faith and your godliness by practicing more on the almsgiving side of penance. Pay it forward the best way you know how; whether you try to do a good deed for a stranger every day (be it something as small as giving up your seat on the bus), volunteer at a soup kitchen, make an anonymous donation to a worthy cause - shout out to the Polar Plungers - I salute you; basically, do something nice. I volunteer weekly at Common Threads, and although one might posture that the joy and self-satisfaction I feel MAY negate the selflessness of my actions, I am unquestionably doing a charitable act, therefore exercising my right to Faith.

Happy Lenting!

S.S. Ineptitude

The waves thrashed around the Kanan cruise ship, pelting the stern with water in an even staccato. The sky was ominously green, the water dark and inky.

A shivering circle of terrified CUI employees huddled together on the Lido deck and waited for the lifeboats to be lowered, the call for "Women and Children" that they knew would be coming.

Instead, a unmistakable German? voice crackled to life on the loudspeaker above, and, like the piercing, lisping whine of an Off Eddy power ballad, announced: "CUI senior staff, Chef Concierges, and Jason Whitcomb first. Coloreds, Jews, and employees under the age of 35 will remain aboard until EVERYONE else has been loaded into the lifeboats - and please surrender your life jackets to upper management."

COO Mr. [Michael] Ehlert darted to and fro with a feather duster, polishing ashtrays and delegating tasks to no one in particular. "Please do advise should you need any assistance surrendering your life vest to senior staff. Please do fax the Kanan Cruise ship terms and conditions and hold harmless agreements to HQ and CC bookkeeping."

IT guy Mr. [Derrick] Kyles fiddled with the ship's controls in a last-ditch effort to save the pitching ship. He quickly confiscated a non-CUI blackberry whose browser was open to gmail - an employee composing a last-minute will to her family and friends: "Fear not; I am going to a better place, for the burning depths of hell would be a welcome respite from the slings and arrows of Concierge Unlimited. Please give Megan my slutty skirts and non-neutral colored tights - I'm sure there's a stringent dress code in hell."

HR Director Mr. [Matthew] Tafoya was waiting in the wings with a final FINAL Communication to File.

This communication is the final final warning for Emily Levant, who was seen using a non-CUI approved personal mobile device at a Concierge Event, from which she was previously banned, to warn her immediate family and friends of her imminent death.

This communication marks the subsequent immediate termination from Concierge Unlimited International (hereinafter CUI). Because she illegally attended said event, a private CUI-only dinner cruise aboard a Kanan Cruise Ship, CUI assumes no responsibility for the violent and untimely death of this dirty, sneaky little Jewess.

Acknowledged by:

"I'm absolutely not signing this bullshit. Fire me if you must."

CUI Receptionist/Office Manager/CSR Float/Jane of All Trades Leah Urbom came forth, having Researched, located, and procured a harpoon from the ship's hold. Like a seasoned pro, she Coordinated and Secured her target squarely in the crosshairs, a bobbing blonde-gray head being fanned furiously by a palm leaf by COO Mr. [Michael] Ehlert, and before the heaving sea {lake?} overtook the Kanan cruise ship in one final gurgling gulp, CUI Receptionist/Office Manager/CSR Float/Jane of All Trades Leah Urbom released the trigger on the crossbow, nearly decapitating her prey.

". . . from hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee." (ASIDE: What's it from)

A few hours later, all that remained of the doomed CUI/Kanan cruise ship was an opalescent film of oil spread over the placid waters. It was like neither had ever existed. The sun shone brightly over the city, and all was at peace once again.

This is dedicated to the brave men and women who sacrificed their own lives to save the world from the fate of Olga S. Pierce and her sinister band of inept minions.