People will tell you that it’s not interesting to write about what you ate for dinner, but sometimes you just want to confess that you ate Whoppers and Sour Patch Kids for dinner. Especially when you received the Whoppers and Sour Patch Kids in a mysterious package in the mail.
People will also tell you that you shouldn’t take candy from strangers. People are so dumb. I feel just fine, aside from a severe case of acid reflux.
People should just stop telling us what to do.
There are a lot of reasons to love Chicago, and no matter how long you live here, you can always find new ones. Take this weekend, for example. Natasha, Farnsworth and I were at our usual Friday sushi dinner where we have become regular fixtures. Although unlike Cheers, no one actually knows our names there, but they do know who we are. Farnsworth is “Jalapeno Bomb,” (so named for the special dish he always requests), Nat is “Jalapeno Bomb’s girlfriend,” and I am either “That Other Girl,” or preferably, “Allergic to Sesame.”
But back to why I love Chicago. It’s been an annoying week, and Nat and Farnsworth had been listening to me spout my “People are the Worst” tirade for the past four days. As we headed down the street to cap off the evening with a martini, we heard some music and noticed a couple people gathering on the street corner.
We saw what appeared to be puppets and I squealed a little. It was the Chicago Puppet Bike!
I had never seen anything so wonderful in my life, and I was absolutely transfixed. The crowd started to get bigger and bigger, and eventually, there were about 30 adults being completely entertained by dancing kittens and penguins and alligators. At one point, Natasha and I started yelling, “Kittens! Bring back the kittens!” Then another woman chimed in, “Yeah! We want the kitties!”
When the kittens suddenly appeared, the entire crowd cheered and laughed. I dug through my purse for all remaining singles. A man gave the monkey a $20 bill. My face hurt from smiling. I have the song “Ragg Mopp” stuck in my head. I am going to marry the Puppet-biker and have all sorts of puppet babies.
So sometimes when you begin to fantasize of moving away to that cabin in the middle of the wilderness in Wyoming, you find someone in a box attached to a bike playing old-timety music and performing the most glee-inducing puppet show you could ever imagine.
I love Chicago, but I am in love with the Puppet Bike.
I don’t know if it’s the heat + humidity combo or all the anabolic steroids I’ve been taking lately, but I’m feeling more violent than ever these days. Mostly just today I guess.
Here’s what happened:
I was waiting for my iced decaf soy latte at Starbucks when this youngish guy shoves next to me. He was on his cell phone having a really loud conversation that was something like, “Dude! That would be so awesome! No way! That’s so f*cking awesome. Are you serious? Awesome.”
So I snatched the cell phone out of his hand and smashed it on the ground, stomping it with my heel, then I got real close to his face and screamed, “You know what would be awesome?! Do you?! It would be really awesome if you would close your goddamn mouth while you’re chewing that goddamn rice krispie treat like a goddamn cow! And it would be really awesome if you stopped saying awesome, you backwards Cubs hat, flip flop wearing, mouth breathing mofo!”
And then I shoved him hard so he fell backwards into the display, shattering coffee mugs everywhere. I grabbed my iced latte and walked out the door while some people applauded.
A couple of those things happened.
I think I’ve become a character in a Spike Lee movie. It’s just like Do the Right Thing, where it’s the hottest day of the summer and everyone has a hair-trigger temper.
And just now, I slipped on a copy of Bust magazine (the one with Amy Sedaris on the cover) and my bare foot wedged underneath my bedroom door, leaving a big gash on my little toe. I was about to tear up the magazine out of spite, but then I realized that it wasn’t Amy’s fault. I’m the one who left her on the floor.
I guess once I make it to Beijing, all the ‘roid rage will have been worth it.
I lean back to watch the beginning of Ghostbusters on the DVD player in my brother’s minivan. This is at least the fifth time my eight and ten-year old nephews have seen the movie.
Older nephew: “Rick Moranis is such a good actor in this movie.”
Younger nephew: “Rick Moranis is such a good actor in EVERY movie.”
Me: “Are you kidding me? Rick Moranis sucks!”
Older nephew: “What are you talking about?! He’s the best! Didn’t you see Ghostbusters II?”
Younger nephew: “Yeah! Or Honey I Shrunk the Kids? He was awesome in that!”
My brother: “Yeah! Or Little Shop of Horrors?”
Me: “Ohmigod, it’s genetic.”
My nephews – the Siskel and Ebert of a new generation.
Q: Guess where I’m going tomorrow?
A: Way, way up north Wisconsin on a fishing trip with my whole family, because I just can’t get enough of those corn-fed mosquitoes.
Q: Guess who remembered to reserve a boat for this fishing vacation, knowing that on the 4th of July weekend there’s no way you’ll get a boat last minute?
A: None of us did!
Q: Guess who will be fishing from the pier, hoping to catch her weight in crawfish and sticks?
A: I will be!
And thus I must leave you, dear friends, to embark on an exciting journey to the wilderness. Such deep wilderness that I will be without internet access for four days. FOUR ENTIRE DAYS! It’s quite possible that I will craft a crude laptop out of cheese curds and empty Pabst cans just to feel connected to the world. So please don’t take offense if you comment and it doesn’t get approved until my return… just know that you are in my thoughts during this challenging time.
Happy 4th of July! Fireworks are responsible for over 9,000 injuries each year! A vexillologist is an expert on flags! Over 150 million hot dogs will be consumed on the 4th of July! Go USA!
The Assignment:
A couple months ago, my friend Dee-Dee asked if I would take her niece Kelsey’s senior photos. It would be my first official gig as a photographer, and I was excited, but concerned. I don’t really know much about high school, or seniors, or portraits. My own senior portrait still hangs in the hallway at my parents’ house, a bitter reminder of the summer of 1988, when I decided to cross-dress before gender confusion was edgy and hip. I am forever immortalized wearing a thrift store necktie and old man’s cardigan. I’m pretty sure there are horses on my shirt, and I don’t even like horses. That’s all I’m going to say about that. The Homework:
Knowing that I couldn’t rely on my own experience, I started to do some research. I went online and pored over sample shots from portrait studios across the country. I consulted with friends, who were all surprisingly eager to share their opinions on the quintessential senior portrait pose.
“Prayer hands!”
“Holding a rose!”
“Chin on fist!”
“Cat burglar eyes!”
“Riding a horse!”
“Cradling a saxophone!”
One thing was certain, I needed to be careful. I didn’t want my first assignment to turn out like Annie Liebowitz’s controversial Miley Cyrus shoot. I made sure Dee’s sister Cheri was there the entire time to supervise. No one was going to accuse me of exploiting a minor. Not again. The Bloodletting:
Cheri had done her homework and scouted out several different potential locations. The first site took us down a few winding Wisconsin roads and into a clearing. She told us that the narrow path through the woods led to an old stone church.
“Are we going to get eaten up by mosquitoes?” Dee-Dee asked.
“No, once we get to the church there will be a nice breeze so they won’t bother us.”
I’m going to remember that naïve exchange in case I ever find myself in the Amazon and someone asks me, “Are we going to get eaten up by those piranhas?” because my response will be, “No, once all the flesh is ripped from your bones they won’t bother us.”
About five seconds after we stepped into the woods, a wall of fat mosquitoes rose from the tall grasses and swarmed at us with a viciousness and spite I had never before witnessed in insects. The four of us immediately sprinted back to the clearing, but it was no use – the scent of blood was in the air.
“Cheri! Light a cigarette – now!”
She lit a cigarette and blew the smoke at us. It wasn’t working.
“You need to go to town – get us some bug spray now! The poisonous kind – the kind with DEET!”
“Leave your cigarettes!”
Cheri tossed us her cigarettes and sped off to town, leaving the three of us stranded. We couldn’t go back into Dee-Dee’s car because the second we opened the doors, fifty mosquitoes hijacked the vehicle. Instead, we hopped around, wildly swatting at ourselves and each other.
I had been bitten so many times that I started to get light headed, and got a sudden craving for orange juice and Nutter Butters.
“We need more smoke – Kelsey! Get over here and smoke this cigarette!”
“What? I’m not smoking! Smoking kills.”
“That’s the point!”
After what seemed like hours, Cheri finally returned with what turned out to be the last can of Off! in the entire town. She sprayed us all from head to toe with the sweet toxins, and we were free, at least for the moment. The Shoot:
We quickly ran through the path to the church to set up our shots. I knew it was only a matter of time before these mosquitoes mutated to develop a resistance to the bug spray.
“Ahh! I have mosquito bites on my neck!”
“Don’t scratch them!”
“They’re going to look bad in the pictures!”
“I’ll Photoshop them out.”
Cheri and Dee acted as my assistants, helping to set up the shots and lug the step ladder and spray us all down with Off! at regular intervals.
We had only a couple hours to work in five different locations and four wardrobe changes before Kelsey had to get back to her job at the A&W, so time was of the essence. I barked out poses like a drill sergeant.
“Stand by the mausoleum!”
“There’s a tombstone in the background.”
“I’ll Photoshop it out.”
“Smell that daisy!”
“It smells like poo.”
“Okay, just pretend to smell it.”
“Dangle your feet in this murky swamp!”
“There’s a dead carp.”
“I’ll Photoshop it out.”
“Stand precariously on those two wet rocks over by the rushing toxic dam!”
“It’s slippery!”
“Brace yourself on that moss-covered tree.” The Aftermath:
We were all exhausted by the time we reached the final location, and needed to reward ourselves with ice cream. As I looked over the photos the next day, I was sad that I never got the prayer hands pose, and that we couldn’t find a horse or a saxophone, but all in all, I think it was a success. And not once was I accused of trying to manipulate a minor. Except when I forced her to smoke. And made her kick a dead fish. And told her to sit on a grave.
At least I didn’t make her wear a tie and a cardigan. There’s only so much you can do with Photoshop.
Q: Popping in the second DVD of Season 3 of Weeds at 10:21pm on a school night. Good idea or bad idea?
A: I’ll let you know tomorrow morning.
**Update**
Watching the second DVD was a good idea. Starting to watch the third one immediately thereafter, however, was not. So, so tired.
I guess now I know what happened to all the Juicy Fruit in the vending machines at work. Dave, I know you’re behind this. You’ve taken things too far this time. You can hide behind masks all you want, but if you hurt so much as one stick in that Juicy Fruit’s pack… so help me… well, just don’t do it. C’mon, please? I miss my Juicy Fruit! TAKE ME INSTEAD!
As part of my new healthy lifestyle (What? Sometimes I care about my health!), I just finished my third Low Sodium V8 of the day (Now with 70% less sodium than regular V8!). The only thing that would make this better is if it had about 70% more sodium. Oh, and some vodka. Maybe a celery stick. Slim Jim might be nice. Four olives. Nice dill pickle spear. Mmm. I love livin’ healthy!
