south of the loop

Avoiding the G-Word*

Christmas Eve conversation instigated by my mother:

Do you still think you don’t want kids?

Yeah.

Why?

Well, I don’t really like them.

You seem to like Emmit.

I do. But he’s different.

It’s different when they’re your own, too!

What’s wrong with your grandkitties?

They are cats, Laura. Not grandkitties. Cats.

But they’re like toddlers! They get into everything, they put everything in their mouths…

You can’t leave a toddler at home by himself all day!!!

See? That’s why I would be a terrible mom!

* grandkids

 

 

Holiday Hangover

Prelude to a holiday hangover, really, since there’s still one holiday before the long stretch of winter unfortified by rampant consumerism and gluttony. I still haven’t finished my Christmas cards (you’ll get them, promise), the days don’t seem any longer or brighter than last week, and I’m still working too damn many hours. I am stir crazy and lethargic, ready for the holidays to wind down, not ready for them to end.

Time to channel the crazy into finishing Christmas cards…

* * *

current book: Having plunged no deeper into Moby-Dick during the last month, I am officially relegating it to Bedside Reading and finding a lighter companion for my Metra commute. I just bought Philip Roth’s Goodbye, Columbus and may give it a go.

current music: My dad drove me back to Chicago this morning, so we listened to Calexico and Canasta, since those are two of the only bands I like that he will agree to (and he “tires quickly” of Calexico). We had to listen to Canasta’s “Sympathetic Vibrations” twice in a row.

current socks: Just because Christmas is over doesn’t mean that the parade of Christmas socks is! Today’s are white with a large, bewreathed moose head. The moose’s antlers are a big tangle of Christmas lights.

Overheard in Chicago

On the #6 bus, an appalling refusal to form possessives:

Woman behind me, talking loudly on her cell phone: Everybody got MySpace now. Dave got MySpace, Nikita got MySpace. You just go to the website and click, click, you know? It all connected.

On the Brown Line, contesting The Powers That Be at CWTV:

Girl #1: Yeah, Melrose totally should have won.

Girl #2: If it was based only on talent? She totally would have won. I mean, if they only just showed all the photo shoots, hers were the best.

Girls #1 and 3 agree.

Girl #3: And that last runway walk? God. Caridee was terrible! I mean, that’s me. That’s how I walk.

* * *

Seen in Chicago today: The El’s Holiday Train, which, holy shit, defies my powers of description. All the windows were decorated with frosty icicles (made from the peelable plastic that teachers and college students often use). There were flashing lights spelling out “Season’s Greetings!” and “Happy Holidays” on the outside of the train, along with oversized garland and holly. According to the CTA website, they use “thousands of twinkling lights,” and the inside hand poles are decorated to look like candy canes. Oh, and there’s an open-air flat car in between regular cars, on which stands several of Santa’s elves, all ringing bells and calling out “Merry Christmas!” These pictures look like they were taken on a cellphone camera, but you can at least get an idea for the garish maximalism of Santa’s Express.

Also seen in Chicago today was a small fleet of bicyclists dressed up like Santas. They were taking up both lanes on Randolph Street heading west into the city. One guy was wearing a Grinch mask with his Santa suit, and one guy was dressed up like a giant dreidel.

* * *

I have had a headache for the last week–I’m beginning to wonder if it’s because somebody’s pot smoke has permeated my entire apartment–can that cause headaches?–and I have to go get ready for a holiday party. Sadly, the pot has not mellowed out Captain Destructo and his Mistress of Destruction, who are VERY EXCITED about the various Christmas-related boxes in the apartment. And the Christmas ribbon. I fear they are going to tear my parents’ house–or the tree, at least–apart next weekend.

* * *

current book: I’ve now read, from cover to cover, every recent Atlantic Monthly and Economist I have. It is a clear and pathetic attempt to ignore the 18-lb book that is on my desk, but I’m exceptionally well-informed about world events.

current music: Sleigh bells ring… are ya listenin’?

current socks: Only the best Christmas socks ever! I will take pictures of them as soon as I figure out why my camera is lacking its memory card. They are black with green trees decorated with glittery red ornaments. But the trees aren’t just evergreens–also palm trees and saguaro cacti. Love them.

‘Tis the Season

This is the first Christmas in six years (!!) that I won’t be in McBookstore on Sundays. And… oh well! (As I side note, I do actually miss being in the kids section, not because I long for misbehaving snot-nosed crumbsnatchers, but because I miss reading all the kids books for free.) However, my friend Kelly has brilliantly recapped what it’s like to work retail at Christmas, and oh, how it’s brought back the memories! In honor of the holiday season, a few of my favorite stories of retail chaos.

As Kelly pointed out, McBookstore sadly does not shelf books by the color of the spine. Nor by the texture of their cover.

Customer: I’m looking for this book, it’s about angels.

Me: Okay. Do you know the title?

Customer: Nooo… I saw it in the airport bookstore last week.

Me, thinking that if it’s in an airport bookstore, maybe it’s one of our bestsellers and therefore out on one of the front tables: Let’s take a look on these tables and see if it might be here. Do you remember an author name, a word in the title…?

Customer: It was small and square. And it had an angel on the front cover.

Me: I really need part of a title or name to be able to search for it on the computer.

Customer, barreling on anyways: It was white. Off-white. And it had small squares on the front cover, like it was quilted. And there was a picture of an angel. But the texture was raised, you know? You could feel it.

[sound of my head hitting the information desk]

* * *

As Kelly has also pointed out, customers don’t always know what they’re looking for.

 

Stereotypically bored, rich, suburban housewife enters store and walks straight to the information desk. She leans over the counter with a big, disinterested sigh: I’m looking for Forkner.

Me, bracing myself: Forkner? Um, okay. Do you mean… Faulkner?

Bored housewife: NO! FORKner. It’s Forkner.

[pause]

Bored housewife, looking as pensive as one can with freshly Botoxed brows: Wellll… I dunno. Maybe it was Faulkner. He was on Oprah.

Me: Yes. William Faulkner. He was the last author Oprah chose for her book club. Let me show you where his books are.

[we walk to the "F" in Fiction/Literature, where at least three full shelves have been dedicated to stockpiles of Faulkner, including lots of face-outs and a special Oprah-edition boxed set]

Me: Here you go, ma’am. All his books are right here on these shelves.

Bored housewife looks slowly and carefully over the three shelves: So, can you recommend something? Like, what came out recently?

Me, completely fucking floored: Um. Um. He’s… he’s not exactly a living author, ma’am.

* * *

Working in the kids section is a real treat during the holidays. There’s a part of me that liked it, if only because people are so desperate–and therefore susceptible to recommendations–that they’ll buy just about anything I put in their hands (almost anything). I like to think that maybe I’ve introduced some kids to books they wouldn’t have otherwise picked up. My first question to a customer, after determining the age and gender of the recipient, is, “What other kinds of books is s/he reading?” This is the quickest way of determining whether the kid in question likes fantasy or real-life stories, about what level they’re reading at, and if they have any particular obsessions (dinosaurs, horses, Bob the Builder). Guaranteed that during the month of December, at least 80% of the answers are, “Yeah, I don’t really know.” Really? You have no idea if your 12-year-old nephew likes to read? And you think I’m going to be able to tell you whether he’s ready for the abridged version of The Count of Monte Cristo or if I should show you my favorite Roald Dahl books? Have you seen our fine selection of gift cards at the front of the store, sir?

One Christmas Eve, an especially desperate looking guy came into the kids section. He wanted something for his daughter–something really special, something that ALL the kids wanted this year. He was recently divorced, and he wanted something for his daughter that, he said, would make her say “Wow!” when tore open the wrapping paper. It was December 24th, so I had my doubts, but he seemed so desperate and so sincere that I thought I’d give him the benefit of the doubt. I pointed him to a lovely new special edition hardback of a popular book.

“Do you have it in paperback?”

Sigh. Happy Holidays.

You Know You’re at the U of C When…

A character on a sitcom says to his brother regarding his new, too-young girlfriend, “Don’t bring her around here! This is where fun comes to die!” You respond aloud, “NO! That’s the University of Chicago!”

*     *     *

current book: Alright, who’s gonna suggest something else for me to read? Maybe I’ll move Moby-Dick to my bedside so I can lighten my load and still (slowly) plug through it.

current music: I’m lost in a dream and I don’t know which way to run. Yeah, I’ve had “Straight Up” stuck in my head all damn day.

current socks: Light green with an assortment of Christmasy things on them, like wreaths, holly, snowflakes, and reindeer who wear scarves.

Am I Caught in a Hit and Run?

  • There’s something wonky about using bullets in this particular theme. Click on the subject above to view it without wanting to throw your head through the screen.
  • Torontoist put together a catalogue of “best cover songs.” Go and watch the acoustic version of Paula Abdul’s “Straight Up.” It might just change your life.
  • Watched ANTM: British Invasion tonight, which collapsed an entire cycle into a two-hour special. I was annoyed that it consumed a full 120 minutes of my life, especially because you can’t really get to know the girls when three months become two hours, so it’s almost not worthwhile. Tyra could stand to take a few fashion lessons from British judge Lisa Butcher (who apparently gets replaced after Cycle 1), who did not share Tyra’s vagina arms or her drag queen aspirations. Thank God. Also sparer were the girls’ digs, which consisted of plain bunk beds and… wait for it… wait for it… undecorated walls. That’s right: no monumental Tyras, no garish colors, no bling-themed rooms. Which… really didn’t give me much to make fun of, honestly. The girls, whom I found pretty mediocre (although I’m glad Lucy won!), mostly took themselves fairly seriously, the photo shoots were unimaginatively themed, the challenges unmemorable. No tranny runway divas, no little orange men, no Hair Wars or fake skydiving. All those excesses of stupidity we’ve come to love in ANTM. Or at least come to love to make fun of.
  • If it’s Britain’s Next Top Model, and not UK’s Next Top Model, does that mean that they discriminate against Northern Irelanders, or was it just a matter of what sounded better?
  • I was very sad to hear that Peter Boyle died. He was one of my favorite villains (Bill Church) in Lois & Clark.
  • In other life news, I have yet to start making my Christmas cards, let alone mailing them, so if you’re on my Christmas card list, consider yourself lucky to receive something by New Year’s. But I’ve had A Very Important Project that had to be completed this week, and I couldn’t start with Christmas cards until it was done.
  • When the hell did it become mid-December? I mean, I know I say this every year when the holidays roll around, but honestly. I’m going home for Christmas… next week?
  • Off to bed so I can go for a 6am run tomorrow. When did it get so fucking dark in the mornings? I swear that crept up on me, too.

 

 

 

* * *

current book: Oh, Moby-Dick, if only you weren’t so heavy! I can’t decide whether to move on or give it another go. But my work bag feels so much lighter without it.

current music: Been pretty quiet lately. Listened to Lucinda Williams’ Essence last night.

current socks: Tall, fuzzy, argyles in three shades of blue.

Pet Peeve #128

On some of the 59 buses, the cross street “Prairie” is misspelled on the digital marquee. The funny thing? It’s the second “i” that’s omitted, not the first. Prarie. Chaps my hide every time.

*    *    *

current book: I’ve been reading the lastest issue of The Atlantic Monthly, which claims to have named the 100 Most Influential Americans. A very quick skim shows that all the women seem to have made the list for advancing feminism. No female brain surgeons or explorers. Yet.

current music: Went to see Canasta and The Dears at the Metro last night. Canasta was fantastic–the Metro really suits them well. I’m still waiting(ahem!) to see them cover Kraftwerk’s “The Model” live. Hopefully all y’all Indianapolisians are heading down to Radio Radio tonight.

The Dears have been oft-compared to The Smiths, but I didn’t see it. The Dears are also oft-described as crafting “moody pop.” If The Smiths crafted moody pop, it’s more in the lyrics than the music. There’s a few Dears clips available on 3hive, so feel free to weigh in on this. I started off disliking them, but then they played some songs I liked, and then I just couldn’t decide what I thought of them. But they had a sense of humor: in response to the audience clamoring for a specific song, the lead singer asked, “Do you even know that song?” “Nooooo!” came the drunken response. The lead singer sighed. “Fuckin’ Americans.”

The Dears had two female keyboardists framing the front of the stage; both women were very thin, wearing black, and looked detached from the rest of the action. Very sexy. Very eerie.

current socks: Gray with bright tattoo-style butterflies. Thanks, Kristen! Yesterday I wore polypropylene liners underneath thigh-high navy and green striped wool socks. I was still cold at my desk. Would it be too passive-aggressive to bring a blanket to work?