Seven dirty words you can't say on television:
Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker and Tits.
Godspeed George Carlin.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
My Kind of Town
We ran a story about 5-star restaurants in Chicago.
One of my new Domino magazines featured a story on adorable shops in different neighborhoods of Chicago.
Our IT guy is on vacation this week. In Chicago.
Last night at the gym, the TV was on ESPN, which was showing the Cubs home game. In Chicago.
I think the universe is trying to tell me something.
It was a year ago that I declared Chicago dead to me. I had just returned from a trip there to visit an old friend that turned out to be less than I expected (the trip and the friend). It actually didn't hit me until after I got back and was telling people about it, trying to play it up because even as I was describing it, it dawned on me how incredibly lame it was. I didn't see any sites. I didn't shop. I certainly didn't have any 5-star cuisine.
So I declared Chicago dead to me. And it has taken me a while to realize that it wasn't Chicago's fault. The city put its best foot forward. The weather was great. It should have been the perfect summer weekend. It wasn't Chicago's fault that it didn't turn out that way.
It's not Chicago's fault that even though I was asked what I liked to eat for breakfast (a bagel or an English muffin, I'm not picky), I had to root around a cupboard for an old box of crackers to sustain me until we got to a great sports bar in Wisconsin.
It's not Chicago's fault that I can't watch Groundhog Day anymore, because my tour of the town where it was filmed turned into a tour of every bar in town. And everyone who worked at every bar knew my host by name. He said it was like he was the mayor. Well, if Otis Campbell was the mayor then sure, why not. And, by coincidence, the Cubs were on the road in Atlanta, where I was living at the time. So the game was on the TVs in every bar. He took great pleasure in announcing to anyone who would listen what a huge Braves fan I was (I don't even like baseball). Because nothing makes a guest feel comfortable like riling up the home team.
It's not Chicago's fault I didn't go on a tour of Wrigley Field. I mean, why would I want to tour one of the most historic ball parks in the world when we could go sit at "world famous" Cubby Bear's across the street. Because bars in Wrigleyville on a Sunday afternoon when the Cubs are out of town are just an experience not to be missed! But, I guess as long as it serves Old Style, it counts as a tourist attraction.
It's not Chicago's fault that I didn't go to the top of the John Hancock Building. Why would I want to do that on a clear summer day, when we could search for a bar so world famous that five people he stopped in the street had no clue what he was talking about. I don't even remember the name of it.
But I do remember that right then, in the middle of the sidewalk on that beautiful summer day, was when my resentment started to grow. I suggested to my host that it might be possible that he had a drinking problem. I wasn't even half kidding, but he laughed it off and dragged me off toward a waitress mailing a letter, which led us to—you guessed it—the bar where she worked.
BUT, it's not Chicago's fault that he develops oddly personal relationships with anyone standing behind a bar.
By the time we left Chicago to drive back to his house, I was so ready to go home, I would have asked him to swing by the airport and drop me off if some of my favorite things weren't at his house, and some new things bought just for the trip. Although I was wearing my Keens at the time. Love those shoes. Yep, in my suitcase, up on a table, so hopefully the cats wouldn't pee on my stuff.
By the time I got home to Atlanta and described my trip to friends, I realized that I had taken time off work and gone out of town just to keep someone company on a two state pub crawl. That was apparently the whole plan, but I didn't find out until I had gotten there. All of the fun got sucked out in a haze of beer. If I had known, I would have stayed home. I could have done a pub crawl in Atlanta. At least then I could have slept in my own bed instead of one in a room that smelled like cat box.
But that isn't Chicago's fault. It was partly my fault. I had expectations of having a great time with someone I've known since Kindergarten. But, when I came home, I realized that I don't think that friend even exists anymore. He's been replaced by someone I call Drunky McFratboy, living life like every day is Spring Break and he just turned 21. Or maybe he's always been that person. When you only see someone once every two years, and talk sporadically on the phone, do you really know them? I am here to say no, probably not. We're two different people on two separate paths.
I guess I have Chicago to thank for figuring that out.
One of my new Domino magazines featured a story on adorable shops in different neighborhoods of Chicago.
Our IT guy is on vacation this week. In Chicago.
Last night at the gym, the TV was on ESPN, which was showing the Cubs home game. In Chicago.
I think the universe is trying to tell me something.
It was a year ago that I declared Chicago dead to me. I had just returned from a trip there to visit an old friend that turned out to be less than I expected (the trip and the friend). It actually didn't hit me until after I got back and was telling people about it, trying to play it up because even as I was describing it, it dawned on me how incredibly lame it was. I didn't see any sites. I didn't shop. I certainly didn't have any 5-star cuisine.
So I declared Chicago dead to me. And it has taken me a while to realize that it wasn't Chicago's fault. The city put its best foot forward. The weather was great. It should have been the perfect summer weekend. It wasn't Chicago's fault that it didn't turn out that way.
It's not Chicago's fault that even though I was asked what I liked to eat for breakfast (a bagel or an English muffin, I'm not picky), I had to root around a cupboard for an old box of crackers to sustain me until we got to a great sports bar in Wisconsin.
It's not Chicago's fault that I can't watch Groundhog Day anymore, because my tour of the town where it was filmed turned into a tour of every bar in town. And everyone who worked at every bar knew my host by name. He said it was like he was the mayor. Well, if Otis Campbell was the mayor then sure, why not. And, by coincidence, the Cubs were on the road in Atlanta, where I was living at the time. So the game was on the TVs in every bar. He took great pleasure in announcing to anyone who would listen what a huge Braves fan I was (I don't even like baseball). Because nothing makes a guest feel comfortable like riling up the home team.
It's not Chicago's fault I didn't go on a tour of Wrigley Field. I mean, why would I want to tour one of the most historic ball parks in the world when we could go sit at "world famous" Cubby Bear's across the street. Because bars in Wrigleyville on a Sunday afternoon when the Cubs are out of town are just an experience not to be missed! But, I guess as long as it serves Old Style, it counts as a tourist attraction.
It's not Chicago's fault that I didn't go to the top of the John Hancock Building. Why would I want to do that on a clear summer day, when we could search for a bar so world famous that five people he stopped in the street had no clue what he was talking about. I don't even remember the name of it.
But I do remember that right then, in the middle of the sidewalk on that beautiful summer day, was when my resentment started to grow. I suggested to my host that it might be possible that he had a drinking problem. I wasn't even half kidding, but he laughed it off and dragged me off toward a waitress mailing a letter, which led us to—you guessed it—the bar where she worked.
BUT, it's not Chicago's fault that he develops oddly personal relationships with anyone standing behind a bar.
By the time we left Chicago to drive back to his house, I was so ready to go home, I would have asked him to swing by the airport and drop me off if some of my favorite things weren't at his house, and some new things bought just for the trip. Although I was wearing my Keens at the time. Love those shoes. Yep, in my suitcase, up on a table, so hopefully the cats wouldn't pee on my stuff.
By the time I got home to Atlanta and described my trip to friends, I realized that I had taken time off work and gone out of town just to keep someone company on a two state pub crawl. That was apparently the whole plan, but I didn't find out until I had gotten there. All of the fun got sucked out in a haze of beer. If I had known, I would have stayed home. I could have done a pub crawl in Atlanta. At least then I could have slept in my own bed instead of one in a room that smelled like cat box.
But that isn't Chicago's fault. It was partly my fault. I had expectations of having a great time with someone I've known since Kindergarten. But, when I came home, I realized that I don't think that friend even exists anymore. He's been replaced by someone I call Drunky McFratboy, living life like every day is Spring Break and he just turned 21. Or maybe he's always been that person. When you only see someone once every two years, and talk sporadically on the phone, do you really know them? I am here to say no, probably not. We're two different people on two separate paths.
I guess I have Chicago to thank for figuring that out.
Monday, June 16, 2008
MAIL CALL
It was a good mail day today. I got my latest (and last, I need to renew) issue of InStyle AND my new Obama bumper sticker and button!
The button is going right on my work bag, and the sticker is going right in the back window of my car.
GO OBAMA!!!!
Sunday, June 15, 2008
I speak for my trees!
So here is the other side of the picture I posted on Mother's Day, this time with my mom cropped out. Because today is all about my dad. (But aren't I still adorable?)
You can't tell from this picture, but that skinny little guy is quite the outdoors man. He likes to hunt and fish and just watch nature in all its glory. Until it infringes on his space.
They are up at the lake for the summer, and my dad has planted his little garden with I am sure tomatoes, zucchini, green beans and maybe cucumbers. He also has a something called a flower patch, where he has tossed wild flower seeds around to bloom. He spends his time tending his garden, mowing, fishing and generally driving my mom crazy because he can't sit still. The joys of retirement. All is well in Dickie's world, again, until nature infringes on his space. I called him last week, and he was particularly chatty, and then something caught his eye...
OH there’s a ... Hold on a minute....
(Silence.)
There was a little bunny that just hopped across my yard!
And you had to go watch it?
Well, I had to make sure it wasn’t another creature heading to my garden. It’s planted all nice and neat.
Like what? A rat?
I don’t know. But it hopped, so I knew it wasn’t a beaver.
I thought you had the beaver removed. (He did. It involved cages and game control.)
That was three years ago. I think another one has come in its place. I don’t want it eating my trees!
Well, that’s what beavers do.
I am looking out my window right now at millions of trees. Why does he eat mine?
Maybe you have tasty trees.
No, he eats the one that is right by the water, so he can have a nibble and then take a little swim while leisurely chewing on a branch.
That’s what beavers do. It’s just doing its beaver thing.
If it comes back again, I’m going to shoot it.
I really don’t think you are allowed to do that...
Well if I miss it and it turns me in, then I’ll worry about it.
I am quite sure that if you go out and shoot at a beaver, someone will call the police and say Dick Havich is out with a shot gun shooting at shit.
I wouldn’t use a shot gun.
(pause)
I would use a rifle.
Yes, well, whatever, I am sure there is some sort of rule about shooting things in non-designated hunting areas.
I put chicken wire around the bottoms of my trees. Hopefully that will deter him. I don’t want him eating my trees.
And that turned into a story about a thrush that has made a nest on the ground and a robin that made a nest on top of his step ladder while he was at Home Depot. He moved the nest back to his woodpile, and they rebuilt it up on a beam. He is concerned for the safety of all birds involved, as there have been cats around.
While I am, of course, touched by his concern for baby birds, the only thing running through my head is "He's going to shoot at a beaver and end up in jail."
My mom assured me she would not let this happen (the shooting part), and Jenny said not to worry, he'll be out there with pie plates and empty butter tubs to rig up something to protect the birds. He's "clever" that way.
It's Dickie v. Nature, and I think Nature is winning. At least it's succeeding in keeping him occupied, and the rest of us entertained.
Happy Father's Day, Dad!
I LOVE YOU!
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Let's Hear it for the Girls
Like countless other women, this weekend I saw Sex and the City. I was lucky enough to be invited to a special screening on Friday night, complete with cosmos and nibbles and gift bags!
I can sum it up in one word—Champagne!
From the moment the glittering title flashed on the screen until the last cosmo was downed, it was a delicious bubbly glass of great Champagne. (If you don't want to know anymore about what happens, stop reading.)
It stayed true to the characters we have come to know like they were are own best girlfriends. There were even moments when I broke out of my SATC excitement to say "What the fuck is she wearing?" about some of Carrie's outfits, just like when I watched the show. I will say, more winners than losers on her fashion dance card this time around.
There were some sad moments. In true Mr. Big style, he was a cowardly dick at the worst possible moment. When Carrie beat him with her bouquet, she was doing it for all of us. There was loud cheering in my theater as lilies and roses exploded on his stupid head.
And, of course, she had her girlfriends to rally around her; to pick her up and help her realize that it would get better. And it did. To the screaming delight of every girl in the theater (and the bawling hysterics of some drunk girl at the end of our row. At least I hope she was drunk....)
I really hope I look as good as Samantha when I am 50 (You rock, Kim!) Stamford and Anthony??? Woo hoo! That was a fun shock! And I totally felt for Charlotte. When I was in Mexico, I kept my mouth shut tight in the shower for just that reason. Her confrontation with Big was hilarious. Although my big line would have been a bit different than her "I curse the day you were born." My line would go along the lines of "Fuck you, you fuckity fuck." But Charlotte is a lady, and I am not.
The only part that I didn't really like was the whole Miranda/Steve thing. I don't like Steve anyway. He's a weird, twitchy dork. I didn't like how the series ended for Miranda. She wasn't herself anymore, the Miranda we'd known through the course of the show. She had changed her whole personality and moved to Brooklyn for him. So in the movie, Steve admitting he slept with someone else kind of came out of left field.
And it was a little long, at more than two hours, but it felt like every scene was needed to move the plot along. Nothing had me thinking "why are we watching this happen."
All in all, it was a wonderful way to say a final good-bye to our favorite fictional girlfriends, and a way to make us appreciate the girlfriends we really have (and in my case, to miss them terribly, but Kara and I dished on Saturday after she saw it, so that felt better.) I loved the delicious Champagne that was this movie. I might have to go back for another glass!
I can sum it up in one word—Champagne!
From the moment the glittering title flashed on the screen until the last cosmo was downed, it was a delicious bubbly glass of great Champagne. (If you don't want to know anymore about what happens, stop reading.)
It stayed true to the characters we have come to know like they were are own best girlfriends. There were even moments when I broke out of my SATC excitement to say "What the fuck is she wearing?" about some of Carrie's outfits, just like when I watched the show. I will say, more winners than losers on her fashion dance card this time around.
There were some sad moments. In true Mr. Big style, he was a cowardly dick at the worst possible moment. When Carrie beat him with her bouquet, she was doing it for all of us. There was loud cheering in my theater as lilies and roses exploded on his stupid head.
And, of course, she had her girlfriends to rally around her; to pick her up and help her realize that it would get better. And it did. To the screaming delight of every girl in the theater (and the bawling hysterics of some drunk girl at the end of our row. At least I hope she was drunk....)
I really hope I look as good as Samantha when I am 50 (You rock, Kim!) Stamford and Anthony??? Woo hoo! That was a fun shock! And I totally felt for Charlotte. When I was in Mexico, I kept my mouth shut tight in the shower for just that reason. Her confrontation with Big was hilarious. Although my big line would have been a bit different than her "I curse the day you were born." My line would go along the lines of "Fuck you, you fuckity fuck." But Charlotte is a lady, and I am not.
The only part that I didn't really like was the whole Miranda/Steve thing. I don't like Steve anyway. He's a weird, twitchy dork. I didn't like how the series ended for Miranda. She wasn't herself anymore, the Miranda we'd known through the course of the show. She had changed her whole personality and moved to Brooklyn for him. So in the movie, Steve admitting he slept with someone else kind of came out of left field.
And it was a little long, at more than two hours, but it felt like every scene was needed to move the plot along. Nothing had me thinking "why are we watching this happen."
All in all, it was a wonderful way to say a final good-bye to our favorite fictional girlfriends, and a way to make us appreciate the girlfriends we really have (and in my case, to miss them terribly, but Kara and I dished on Saturday after she saw it, so that felt better.) I loved the delicious Champagne that was this movie. I might have to go back for another glass!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)