Westward, ho! (note the comma)

I never thought anything could beat the internet and YouTube for time suckage, but Facebook seems to have been designed for ultimate time warp. Unbelievable! I keep getting quizzes from everyone, and I am such a sucker for a quiz I keep taking them. I just spent the last 5 minutes looking for the “What Drink Are You?” quiz. What is happening to me? I guess it beats doing the Myers-Briggs Personality Test for the umpteenth time. It’s like they conducted a series of tests to see what makes people intrigued:

1. Finding out more about yourself
2. Comparing yourself to friends
3. Taking quizzes to do either 1 or 2 or combined

Actually, that sounds a lot like the pillars of Scientology. . . duh duh duh!

Okay, so now that I’ve time sucked (that’s right I’m going to see how many times I can say “suck” in this post) an hour of my life away with the David Lynch quiz and being sure that all of my favorite films are listed, it’s almost time to go home. Hurray!

What else? Well, it looks like we are probably going to move to Portland, OR! DG was offered a permanent post as a staff writer/managing editor for the website he’s been freelancing with (for?), so look out Pacific Northwest! We are going to try to take a trip out there in early March to see what we can see. I just can’t even imagine having so many great bookstores, cool restaurants and green living right in my backyard. Wow. And, of course, the ocean. I hear the hipsters are uber-annoying, but the hipsters here suck (snuck that one in) too, so I think we are well prepared. All I need to do is drop the “I’m from Detroit” bomb and that usually ups my hipster cred, whether deservedly or not. And, of course, Daryl has the whole British thing in his favor, so we should be untouchable.

Not only have we recruited my fabulous cousin Alicia (last name available upon request and background check only) to make the pioneer-trek with us, but possibly our very interesting writer neighbor. I really feel quite manifest destiny about all this, and as long as it doesn’t end like “There Will Be Blood” or The Donner Party tragedy, we should be good. Anyone know where we can get a good wagon train?

Tales from the Mall

I cracked and went shopping today. I had no real specifics in mind, more of a vague notion for a need for interesting tops, perhaps a pair of jeans that fit correctly, a skirt (color undecided), and boots and shoes.

I started out at Macy’s which was, as usual, annoying. Somehow Macy’s is the cockroach-esque survivor of the department store apocalypse. In that, it has survived and devoured (I’m not sure cockroaches devour, but it’s the closest metaphor I have at hand) all of the regional department store chains in the United States. I wish it could have been Bloomingdale's or somewhere less over-priced JC Penney's feeling. It’s unfortunate because they have poor floor planning, over-priced products which are made less appealing by being shoved into poorly lit corners--$250 Calvin Klein wrap dress that I have to untangle from a jumble of other dresses (all made of some synthetic fabric)--I don’t think so. If I knew it was going to be that kind of party, I just would have cut to the chase and went straight to Forever 21. But, Forever 21 does not sell shoes, nor do they sell Origins products, so I had to visit at the altar of the department store.

It paid off-- nearly all of the shoes were 50% off—so I got these beauties in a really interesting shade of brown. The picture doesn’t do the color justice—it’s like an almost metallic deep taupe more than brown. And, they are real leather (sorry vegetarians). And, they fit over the dreaded skinny jean. Actually, dread is too strong a word—let’s say “difficult to work with footwear” skinny jean.

Anyway, any woman worth her salt has struggled to find the perfect boot—I dare say it is nearly as disappointing as the search for a perfect bathing suit. However, I do not believe that a perfect bathing suit exists, whereas a perfect boot is out there, you just have to find it. Here were some of my criteria:

1. Casual, yet capable of being slightly dressed up.
2. No pointy-toe (nearly impossible to find at my price point)
3. Must be of a believable shade of leather.
4. Preferably non-synthetic material
5. A snug fit around the calf and ankle, but allowing room to be worn over jeans
6. Stacked heel (aggressively flat makes me look like a pirate)

I also made out like a bandit(a)_at Nine West—shoes on sale, plus 30% off the second pair. Which made it a little less stressful to buy a pair of grey ankle boots I'm going out on a limb, but I think I can make it work. I am afraid the boots and oversized sweater/tops that are everywhere are going to push me into leggings territory, but I’ve opted for thick black tights when in a pinch. I just can’t do the leggings. The flats are just flats, but pretty cute and actually have a real sole so I will not be flat-footed by season’s end.

Then, I made my way to Forever 21 and let me just say it was Mod-tastic. It was as if the Red Sea had parted to see the “Real Housewives of Orange County” halter shirts with bedazzled center herded to the clearance rack. There were still some Destiny’s Child-video ensembles floating around, but for the most part the clothes erred on the side of “The Hills” sack dresses which only look good on the tall, the tan and the thin. However, I found a very interesting moss green cardigan with Balenciaga-esque sleeves. Even as I picked it up I heard Meryl Streep’s speech about the fashion trickle down in regard to the tragic cerulean blue sweater from “Devil Wears Prada.” But I bought it anyway, because $22.80 fits quite nicely into my budget for balloon sleeves this season.

Now, the most interesting discovery on my trip to F21—other than the bizarre nautical theme vis-à-vis a Godard film, or the warm and fuzzy feeling I got seeing young girls fighting each other for fun swingy mod clothes instead of having stupid sayings stamped on their asses, is that nearly everything I picked up said “Made in USA”! I’m assuming its that loophole definition of “virtually all of the product” being made in the USA, but still, shocking all the same. I assume most of Forever21 sprang from places I would rather not think about.

I did have some issues with not seeing a decent skirt anywhere, but I did get a very cool dark teal green shirtdress from Express, so that made up for the sans skirt issue. So, all in all, not a bad shopping spree, even if it did take place in a mall.

Going Postal

I don't expect much from the post office, mostly because "U.S." is part of its official acronym. After my ridiculous experience yesterday, which was akin to an SNL skit mixed in with my most embarassing awkward junior high years, I actually kind of admire the deftness and skill involved with working behind the humiliaton counter.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I will tell you that I chose this particular post office because one of the ladies who works their once told me that my driver's license picture was so nice it "looked like a glamour shot." I think (though now I'm doubting it a little bit) she meant it as a compliment, and it indeed gave me a certain bounce to my step that day. Sadly, each consecutive trip to said post office was slightly less fairy tale. Like the time I forgot how to add correctly and the entire line of people behind me snickered. Or, the rather sad lady who gummed up the line shipping off purchases she looked in no shape to afford (like the electric guitar for her grand-niece in Alabama) and got thwacked in the head by said package while her Rainman-esque son rocked back in forth next to her staring into space.

I should have known the tide turned when they removed the whimsical pens with flower-tops from the faux pots and replaced them with pens on chains. But I ignored this, hoping the round lady with the boxy haircut would tell me I was pretty again. Alas, she was busy . Instead, I got the Nurse Ratchet of the USPS system. I had 5 envelopes to send out and I only could muster up the courage to send 2 because I was scared of getting yelled at. Yes, it was that bad.

Postal Carrier Ratchet: Next!

Me: Hi. I'd like to send these Express Mail with delivery confirmation.

PCR (eternal sigh): You can't get delivery confirmation with Express Mail.

Me: Oh, okay

PCR: It already has it.

Me: Great!

PCR whips out two forms from the ether: You need to fill these out, right here. I'll be waiting. You got a pen?

I reach for pen on the nearest chain

PCR (perturbed): Not that one. Here!

She rolls a pen with a chain dangling like a dismembered limb.

I frantically start to fill out the forms

(45 seconds pass)

PCR: Done?

Me: Um, I've got one just about filled out. ..

PCR: Well, give me SOMETHING. I can't just STAND HERE.

PCR sighs loudly and disappears behind the half-wall. I am now the only person being served while the other 10 people behind me start to shuffly nervously. I start to sweat and contemplate running out the door. She returns with rolls of coins and slowly unrolls them, clinking them one by one into the register. And then, another roll.

I decide to fill out my check while I wait. Unfortunately, the crippled pen has disappeared to her side of the counter and she seems so joyful to be holding everyone with baited breath while she arranges the nickels just so, I decide not to disturb her. I move to the next nearest chain-pen, still within her counter space and begin to fill in the check.

PCR: What are you doing OVER THERE??

Me: Oh. I'm just filling out a check with this pen

PCR: I've got a pen RIGHT HERE.

She rolls old gimpy pen back to me. She then picks up my finished form, holding it like a urine sample in her rubber-gloved hand and starts punching keys violently

PCR: You need an envelope.

I make my way past the crowd and grab two Express Mail envelopes. Before I turn around she shouts "Those aren't going to fit. The other ones. Behind it."

I don't know the last time you have had a stranger inflict control over you--for me it was probably my junor high basketball coach who reeked of Polo cologne and violence-- but all I could think was "Which other envelope? I can't see it! OH GOD she's going to yell at me again." I looked to my fellow customers for support. Nothing. Silenece. Shuffled feet and lots of blank stares.

PCR: The BIG WHITE ONES behind the other ones.

Then I see them. Beautiful white and tyvek. I return to the counter where she scribbles furiously on the forms. All of the other tellers have mysteriously disappeared and I fear that perhaps they know something we customers don't, like animals before earthquakes that seek shelter. This is it. This is how people "go postal." First, they complete your transaction and then they stab you with an unchained pen.

PCR: Thirty-six fifty-two. How are you paying?

Me: Check.

I furiously scribble out the amount and push over my driver's license.

She pushes it back at me. No comment on the photo. At this point, I hope she doesn't remember my face.

PCR: I just need your phone number on this. . . Okay, so here's your receipt and this number (she underscores it delicately with her rubber-gloved hand) that's the number you call if you need to track it. (softly) Okay?

Me: Okay

PCR: Do you need any stamps or anything else?

Me: No, thank you.

PCR (smiling!): Okay honey, have a good day.

Everything that's Old is New Again

Some lessons learned this past week:

1. Don't attempt unsupervised yoga when you have a recurring back problem which may cause you to pull a muscle and nearly miss your long-awaited hair salon visit for fear of not being able to get out of the chair.

2. Do not assume that, just because your hairdresser is gay, that he will automatically know the difference between a "Gwen Stefani-esque bob" and a BobKat bob.

3. Learn to embrace your inner Katie Holmes and fight like the dickens to wrestle your hair into the Carrie Bradshaw Season 5 hairstyle:



Coinicidentally, the expression she is sharing with Mr. Winkie the dog was pretty much my expression last night at the bitter end of a party we attended last night.It was kind of like when Darth Vader took his mask off--as in, we were having a really nice night, good vibes, good food, and then all of the sudden--politics reared its ugly head. Here are some important take-away points


*Leave all Red State parties before 2am when you do not have prior knowledge of the majority of attendess political leanings.

*Do not expect that high-fiving your friends and excitedly discussing your "ShObama the Love" sleepover fundraiser will please and amuse the NeoCons attending said party. Further, do not ask "So, who are you thinking of voting for?" while sitting around a bonfire in the former capital of the confederacy. I think proximity to fire brings out some ancient propensity to crazy talk and big stick waving.

*Leave any and all social gatherings, parties or conversations when a guest says, repeatedly, "What we really need is a poll tax."


In brighter news, I watched the first season of "Mary Tyler Moore." It was great and left me craving short dresses and boots. I love Rhoda--Mary is a little too flibberty jibberty. I think they need to bring back the old syndicated shows to offset the writer's strike ennui. Me, I'm going to return to television's golden era-coincidentally, the time when I first became conscious of sitcoms--and re-visit the classics: Mary Tyler Moore, Rhoda, Mash, One Day at a Time, Good Times and Maude.

Who's with me?

Smells like new times

I am feeling a distinct lack of glamour in my life. Coincidentally, I blame "Sex and the City." I know it's a little late to blame a show that exists only in re-runs, but I blame it all the same. Specically the final season where everyone is dressed to the hilt and somehow it is plausible that Mikhail Barishnikov is sexy. I could see it in MB circa 1970s/80s, but now, not so much. More specifically, the episodes with Carrie in Paris made me long for a trip somewhere where you can feel fabulous by proximity to beautiful things. I tried to rally for a pre-arts walk soiree we had last night, but the most exciting thing that happened was me catching my scarf on fire and everyone asking "Is somebody's hair on fire?"

I think I may just stop watching shows where the characters have lives I would actually like to live. I'll just stay on a steady diet of "King of Queens" and "Curb Your Enthusiasm" and that should give me a semi-normal approximation of my neurotic reality.

So, did anyone happen to watch the Iowa Caucus speeches? Specifically the Mike Huckabee speech? If you missed it, then you missed this bizarre Team America-esque picture of Hollywood support:



To use an over-used expression, "It was completely surreal." On CNN the entire frame was Huckabee betwixt Chuck Norris and (I think) Bo Derek. They did not even show Huckabee's wife! I would think for a man standing on such a family values platform seeing his wife next to him during victory would be much more appropriate than making it seem he is puppet-mastered by two aging (gracefully with Botox) actors from teh '80s? I guess there is this whole "Chuckabee" thing happening where perhaps people think they are voting Chuck Norris for president as opposed to the far saggier hopeful. Weird.

In other news, I have decided to adopt a more positive attitude toward 2008. Instead of railing to the gods about work-related issues, I'm going to rail less and enact change more. Maybe I should read "The Secret" for more insight into finding success. Ha!

Absurd and Perturbed

Though I am far from happy at work, I am happy to be back at work just to get used to the insane atmosphere. Staying away from it allows me too much time to dream of an escape. How can one small non-profit be so crazy? Today, I described my aversion to sharing persoanl information with crazy bird-like co-worker as akin to speaking to the secret police. The combination of terrible open space environment (we are literally in the hallway of a house), speaker-phone obsessed fake unpaid boss who bellows everything as if the rest of the staff were part of the steno pool and emotionally autistic (but not in the manner of a savant) mental case of a development director has made me feel as if we are part of some Theater of the Absurd production of "Waiting for Godot." In this case, we are waiting for a real, paid, executive director to save us from the insanity. Feeding into the absurdity I decided we needed to have a Christmas party. When I asked Crazy Bird Lady what she would like to bring, her response was this: "Do you want sweet or meat?" For some reason it sounded rather lewd. I think I'm going to make a t-shirt that says "Sweet" on one side and "Meat" on the other in honor of her.

But enought about that. We saw "Juno" while we were in Detroit. I liked it and rated it a high B. DG felt it was in the A category. Being that "Fargo," "The Godfather" and "Crimes and Misdemeanors" live in my "A" category I could not see the worthiness of "Juno" among such neighbors. The first half-hour of dialogue was so unbelievable and overly-written to prove cleverness that it automatically dropped to a lesser grade movie in my opinion. It definitely redeemed itself, though I'm still a little irked by the complete cop-out Juno allows her impregnator. I cannot for an instant believe that any 16-year-old girl (or 20, or 30 or 40-year old woman) of the intelligence of this character could just float through 9 months of high school preganant and still be all casual and "I'll handle it, we'll just take some time off" with her baby daddy. Where is the feminism in that, I ask? Otherwise, pretty good stuff. Jason Bateman was really good as was Jennifer Garner. As opposed to just painting them as one-dimensional yuppies, the film actually allows them to be human. I just wish that good little movies could just be that--good little movies. I think with the box office on steroids returns on "Little Miss Sunshine," Hollywood is milking everything independent as if it automatically deserves an Oscar for not starring Julia Roberts or Matt Damon.

On that note--can the writer's strike end please? It's killing me. I was forced to watch "Keeping up with the Kardashians." Forced. It's not like I willingly watched over an hour of the worst eye-lined crap on television since a Poison video. Nope, it's the fault of the writer's strike. I guess I should take this time to catch up on shows I meant to watch and never did, like "The Wire."

Look Out 2008!

Happy New Year! I already like 2008 because of the roundness of the numbers involved.
Christmas was Christmas. Michigan was overcast and strangely lacking in snow. I will not bore you with the devastating details of the slow sink of the automotive industry and all of the houses and people it is taking with it. I will, however, regale you with tales of rough and tumble Detroit and a Gawker-esque ranking of some of our adventures:

1. Trip to the Comet Bar.
Located on poorly lit street with mud parking lot -5
Mix of hipsters and Vietnam vets: +5
Diehard karaoke participation: +3
Cash only: -10
Dogs allowed: +2
Dog food on floor: -2
Man in tank top singing Beyonce's "Irreplaceable": +25
Old Christmas decorations: -4

2. Insane Christmas Shopping Spree to Fairlane Green mega-strip mall:
Located in close proximity to parent's house: +10
Old Navy, Target and TJ Max in one place: +5
Shoppers who looked like a mix of 8 Mile extras and Irish thugs: -15
Pleasant (and empty) Barnes & Noble: +8
Customers rifling through heaps of clothes at Old Navy as if it were loot from a
shipwreck: -10

3. Trip to the newly renovated, expanded, improved Detroit Institute of Arts
Full of people: +100
A collection that rivals any major city: +50
Informative signage and explanations of work: +20
Friendly security guard and staff: +10
Closed cafe: -5
Eating sugar out of packets to maintain normal glucose levels: -10
Standing thisclose to a Rodin sculpture: +80

Christmas itself was a split between neurotic family outbreaks (I will not bore you with the details of my mother's "pita breakdown" on Christmas eve) and a relatively stress-free experience. DG has given me the strength and guidance with how to deal with my parents' stubborn refusal to enjoy life outside the home like normal people. Though we could not actually get my mother to join us at the DIA, she did get online and research the entire museum in order to talk herself out of joining us. Sadly, that is progress.

Avoid karaoke bars with a clientele 50% hipsters and 50% Vietnam vets.