"April Showers Bring May Flowers"

April 30th. It's here. And there have been many days of sprinkling showers. But, alas, there are already a ton of flowers out and about. It smells like Spring. Lovely.

Unfortunately, the fruit, herb and veggie plants we've got potted outside aren't yet in full bloom. Give them some more time, the saying is about flowers and not food, after all.

Ah! The sheer amount of tulips in this glorious city is enough to make you feel like you're in a botanists heaven.

We'll see tomorrow if more May flowers have arrived, but so far, so good!

"It's as American as apple pie."

Brought to you by me, via my roommate:

"How American is apple pie? Isn't it pretty Dutch?"

Check out this link for more information on distinctly American dishes: HERE 

Airports are the worst

Since 2001 airports have been a major pain in the ass. Really, there's nothing worse than standing in line with a family who has a stroller, a business man who's a loud talker, and a teenage girl wearing Juicy sweatpants and her hair in a sick ponytail as she's smacking her gum. I mean, this is major pet peeve time coming out in full force. I will say the conversations one overhears at the airport are priceless. People are surprisingly shameless about their existence when they're at the airport. It's almost as if they've realized what they've signed on for:

1. Possible death by crash, so free for all conversations are a dime-a-dozen
2. Inappropriate talk brought on by hunger, i.e. Hunger Talk, because they refuse to buy $5 candy bars, and air carriers no longer serve anything of substance. (Thanks a lot all you weak kids with peanut allergies!)

Seriously though, I listened to a 30 minute conversation between two women, one of which is too lazy to use the Wii she bought herself. I got an up close and personal spattering of conversation about the pains of child labor from a woman with elaborate tattoos on the backs of her calves (weird spot, right?). I've overheard people go into severely in depth details with people they've just met as to where they are going on vacation, how long they will be there and what they're planning on doing.

Airports are bizarre. They bring out the worst and best in people. I use the word "best" loosely. I really only mean those kind souls who give up their seat on an overbooked flight so a split up family can all be on the same plane together. Nevermind the fact that those passengers get a free voucher for another flight next time they need to fly. To all those giving a standing ovation, please sit down. What airports are good for is seeing a quick glimpse of how small the world really is. I love when I run into people I know at the airport. Makes me feel less alone, not that I feel terribly alone, but you can when you travel. I can't imagine even being in the sort of business where flying all the time is a necessary function of the job, and I love to travel.

What really irks me about airports is those few moments where I'm barefoot. I have been known to skip around shoeless on a nice day, but what I don't enjoy doing is taking off my sweaty moccasins in the same spot that millions of other dirty mongrels have taken off their footwear. I mean, warts! Gross! The sanitation issues! It's icky. And that, kids, is why airports are the worst.

Don't even get me started on the delays or those times when you get a free ride, with the only stipulation being that the only available flights are at 4:00 AM on Tuesdays.

"If she smokes, she pokes."

Holy God in Heaven, why has no one ever said this to me before? I can't believe this treasure of a rhyme hadn't infiltrated my life until last Monday, April 19th. It was a normal Monday night. I was at The Second City. My last class of the term was due to finish up with about an hour-and-a-half to go. We were having a quick eight minute break. I left the room to stretch my little legs and test out the ladies room. And what do my wondering ears a-hear? "If she smokes, she pokes." That's what they heard, and it made me bowl over in hysterical giggle. I sounded like Tinky Winky from the Wiggles. Then the quick recovery, "At least in high school, she definitely pokes." My instructor dropped this fact casually, as if it was a common observation that just happened to rhyme. The truth of it is that this is so true. It's like those 10th grade females were so far ahead of the game that they not only thought they were 18 and legal to smoke, they thought they were 18 and it wasn't statutory rape. I'm not saying that if you don't smoke you don't poke. Clearly that's not the case with most of America, but it's a pretty good rule if you're between the ages of 14 and 18.

From this cartoon depiction of, ah, yes, "Tonya," her red hair stripe, spaghetti-strapped tank top, piercing green eyes and cigarette, you can just tell. Smokers aren't only jokers, they're pokers.

It's gross to sit on a public toilet seat.

Normally I would say, "Yes, it is gross." Sheila, my mother, taught me well. Rip off three 3-square, 2-ply strips of toilet paper, and place them on the seat accordingly (sort of like a "U"). Hovering is a common option also, but it's always been difficult for me to hover, thanks to the fact that I'm 5 foot nothing and my legs aren't long for shit. That's neither here nor there.

What I will say about sitting on the bare toilet someone has just used perhaps moments before is sometimes, when you see someone you admire (perhaps a certain public figure at your local comedy club) open the stall door after a quick tink, you sort of love the fact that the seat's still warm when it's your turn. Even through the 2-ply sheets, or maybe even barebunned. Yeah, you do, and you're embarrassed about it, but hey, I'm here to say, "No, don't be."

And for all you naysayers out there, I once met a girl who peed in each stall in the Second City's third floor bathroom with the assumed knowledge that Tina Fey had to have used at least one of those at some point. She didn't care that it was most likely over a decade ago. And that, friends, is why sometimes it's ok not to hover or to neglect 2-plying it.

Not wearing a bra is empowering.

Alright, so according to various friends of mine this isn't something anyone has been wondering about or has said is fact or fiction, but I'm trolling for ideas and none of those tools had any. So, here we are, discussing bras: usage and non-usage. I even found this video.



But, really, I have wondered about this. I always thought it was weird that feminism equated bra burning at some degree. That's just ridiculous. For real. Why would burning the one thing that can make those ladies look good scream feminism? I think the idea that looking bad can make you feel empowered doesn't make sense. Wouldn't looking good for you make you feel good? Not wearing a bra just makes for droopiness, even for Cerie's perky cupcakes.

“In order to be irreplaceable one must always be different." - Coco Chanel

This woman knew her shiz. I’m really into biopics, autobiographies and the general idea of leading a compelling life. Coco Chanel did just that. Last fall Audrey Tatau nabbed the lead role of Miss Chanel in the biopic Coco Before Chanel. From seamstress by day to cabaret singer at night, to sought after call-girl to hat maker, and eventually the voice of female fashion and the first ever power suit, Chanel stands on her own.

The funny thing about this mademoiselle is that she used one of the most effeminate things: fashion, as her vehicle for embracing womanhood. Empowering through pants.

It's almost as if Chanel took a lesson from her French contemporary Simone de Beauvoir's All Men are Mortal, and somehow figured a way to crossover into immortality. In the name of pink tweed suiting and puffed stitching on purses, Chanel certainly made her mark as a woman who dressed for herself and not her men, which she had many. To be honest, Chanel was kind of a ho, and that she had to have learned from de Beauvoir (who also wrote The Second Sex, major feminist literature). I mean, a nazi officer, Chan, really? Really. It happened.

But for all her faults, I still want a $2,000 purse, and let's be honest, so do you.







"Insects were scurrying about in the shade cast by the grass, and the lawn was a huge monotonous forest of thousands of little green blades, all equal, all alike, hiding the world from each other. Anguished, she thought, 'I don't want to be just another blade of grass.'" - Simone de Beauvoir, "All Men are Mortal"

"Birds of a Feather Flock Together."

It's the time of year when birds are migrating back up North and soon students will be returning to their respective homes from their months away at school. My youngest brother, Kevin, has been calling me more often now, buttering me up so I won't mind the tedious task of getting him from the airport in three weeks. Arrival Time: 11:50 p.m. CST. You think he wants to get out of Los Angeles fast enough? As my lovely grandmother Celeste would say, "California is the land of fruits and nuts, in more than one way," so I'm sure he's just looking for some good Midwest R&R. She's just so uncannily inappropriate.

The funny thing about birds flocking together is just that. Birds can't mate with other birds unless they're of the same breed. There's no such thing as a hybrid bird, a hybird. But I've found that this saying, which aims to say, "Those of similar taste congregate in groups," has in the past tended to be true. Yet now, less people accept the idea of being (ha) pigeon-holed (ha) into one group. 

Pop Culture Reference: In the relatively new musical comedy television show Glee, Coach Sue Sylvester (played by Jane Lynch) makes the point that the Glee Director, Will Schuester (played by Matthew Morrison), is breaking up the hierarchy of high school politics by blending athletes with theater geeks. "Kids like to know where they stand," she says, and it's true, when you're younger, you do like to know where you fit in, even if it's at the bottom. Even now with a few years to go until my 10 Year Lake Forest High School reunion, I know that the same birds won't be flocking together. We'll have moved on, like people do, and we'll have found knew friends, some with like-minded interests and some who you love because they stir the pot unexpectedly. And maybe that's just a different version of birds of a feather flocking together, but I don't think so.

Justin Bieber: What is up? Not talented.

Maybe it's the fact that I'm of a certain age or maybe it's the fact that Justin Bieber isn't talented. I don't know what it is, but I cannot take this little man/woman. Oh, and the fact that this little shiny haired monster went ahead and ruined beautiful sketches on SNL, really drawing a deep line in the sand on the Island of Good and Evil. It's not "a-ight."
 
Don't get me wrong, Tina Fey was great as the creepy over-the-hill teacher who somehow got a school girl crush on Mr. Bieber, but Justin couldn't reciprocate, not only because he's 12 years old (I don't know, all I know is he was born in the mid-1990s), but because he can't deliver a line. He's probably the worst crap-actor ever. And, hold the phone, dance skills? What's up Bieber, you don't know how to shake a choreographed number? He moves his hands and arms like a robot and hides behind his 30-year-old backup dancers who are just trying to make it. It's bizarre, and I don't get it. Why bring on the new Aaron Carter with Tina Fey as the host? The two draw completely different crowds, yet each can hold their own amongst throngs of fans. Why double it up? It's bizarre, and I don't get it.

And I was like, baby, baby, baby, oh — Bieber mania has got to stop.

JP Morgan Chase Bank Funds Mountaintop Removal

This is one I wish was fiction. It's come to my attention by way of my environmentally conscious roommate that Chase Bank (my bank for nearly a decade now) funds the devastating work of mountaintop removal. In case you are as desperately insufficient in environmental knowledge as I am, mountaintop removal is simply a form of surface mining that involves the mining of the summit of a mountain, also known as the top of the mountain. Essentially they blow up mountains in search of coal. Nevermind the fact that dust is everywhere, toxins are in the air and entire mountain views are destroyed. No big deal, right? Wrong.

Over the last few decades its become common knowledge that mountaintop mining has serious environmental impacts, including gross losses of biodiversity. Along with that there are serious adverse human health impacts resulting from contact with affected streams or exposure to airborne toxins and dust. Decades ago it was common for companies to buy entire towns in exchange for the city's residents to receive homes completely paid for. What wasn't clear is that those people, who unintentionally signed away their lives, essentially could never sue those companies for health problems or sell those houses to other people as they've lost all value. It's sad because those companies knew full well that they were putting people in harms way in the long run.

In the run up to this coming week's Earth Day festivities, I thought it a natural progression to write about this terrible practice. Loyola University Chicago will be hosting an event Tuesday, April 20th (7-9 p.m.) called "Purple Mountains Majesty or Appalachian Tragedy: The True Cost of Mountaintop Removal Coal Mining." It will be held at  Loyola in the 4th floor (Atrium), Information Commons, LSC. 

As far as JP Morgan Chase is concerned (Reuters, Jan., 2010):

JP Morgan Chase has been funding six of the top eight coal mining companies responsible for mountaintop removal coal mining in the United States. Recently, its investment bank underwrote more than $1 billion in new financing to Massey Energy, the largest mountaintop removal coal mining company.

JP Morgan Chase states that its “environmental goal is to make a positive contribution to sustainable business practices by integrating environmental practices into our business model.” Yet, Massey Energy has a deplorable environmental record, having violated the Clean Water Act no fewer than 4,500 times – resulting in a $30 million fine in 2008.

And I will leave you with this tidbit: "Mountain top removal, basically it's like investing in cancer for poor people."

So, thanks Chase. Thanks.

Daddy Like

First of all, have you seen this thing? It's a minivan. Last I checked, no one particularly liked minivans. It's just one of those things you have to have in order to qualify as a somewhat responsible adult with children: A Right of Passage. So, no, daddy does not like. Daddy tolerate.

The Star-Spangled Banner is Legit.

As long as we're on a music roll . . .

Tonight I took my sorry tooshy over to the Second City to audition for one of the Writing 6 shows the theater churns out every few months. To close out the hour's work of improvising, acting and cold reading we were asked to sing on the spot a few lines from a song of our choice.

Brushing aside the urge to sing the Christian rock classic that's oddly always stuck in my head, Martin Smith's, "I Could Sing of Your Love Forever," my head was then empty. Somehow I managed to kick into gear and birthed out: "The Star-Spangled Banner." Everybody knows it (except Days of Our Lives soap actress Nadia Bjorlin who failed at singing the correct lyrics at a Boston Red Sox game in Fenway Park last August). Everybody loves it (accept maybe native Americans and probably all Brits). But, surely I could win this crowd over with my red, white and blue pipes.

It happened, and I was on key (pun intended. If you can guess what I'm referring to you win a prize). Then the walk home happened, and I was second guessing my choice, wishing I had sung Beyoncé's "Single Ladies," and then proceeded to belt a few lines of that at the corner of Sedgwick and North Avenue. Francis Scott Key's ditty popped back into focus.

After some serious Google work, I have found that the poem has been chopped to bits at the beginning of every sporting event in these United States. Literally, chopped: we only sing the first stanza of FSK's "Defence of Fort McHenry." Made to believe the soldier wrote the lyrics for the purpose of penning a song, I felt and still feel wronged. To beat, the intense end of the anthem (i.e. the first stanza of the poem) is actually just a question asking if this is indeed the home of the brave? It isn't until the end of Key's poem that we find out what the answer is (i.e. this is the home of the brave.) Unfortunately, the song fails at filling that part in.

If Mr. Key could only hear it now. Nothing more than a trickled down radio jingle. Pained.

“Diamonds are a girl’s best friend"

[Circa last Wednesday, April 7th]

Speaking from the perspective of a girl who has no plans for marriage any time soon, I wonder at the origination of such a phrase. For most of 2001 I was fascinated with Nicole Kidman’s starring role in the film Moulin Rouge. There’s a moment toward the beginning of the picture when Kidman, as the heroine, sings a supped-up version of “Sparkling Diamonds.” The premise of the Baz Luhrman directed work is one where a high profile call girl gets swept up in love amidst her growing fame, only to face an untimely death.

Kidman, playing Satine, belts the familiar lines as men thrust bedazzled jewels at her diamond-ensconced self. Tiffany’s! Cartier! One 14K Diamond encrusted gold pendant after the other:

“A kiss on the hand may be quite continental, but diamonds are a girls best friend. A kiss may be grand but it won't pay the rent on your humble flat. Well, I hope you feed your, mmm pussy cat. Men grow cold as girls grow old, and we all lose are charms in the end. But square cut or pear shape these rocks don’t lose their shape. Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”

Sort of a get it while you’re hot mentality. I understand that being as I’m on my way to Las Vegas right now. Play the tables while you’re young. I believe it was Tracy Jordan on 30 Rock who coined the life of the stripper so nicely, "You got to think like these strippers. They know the window of opportunity is only open for a moment. You gotta get in while you’re young, get the money, and get out."

But let’s get real here — it's not as if we can just forget what we saw in Blood Diamond.

"Gentlemen prefer blondes"

This 1953 film isn't a classic based on the movie's contents. It's a classic because it's true, men prefer blondes, by and large. *Note: this isn't a post that slams blondes, so if that's what you're waiting for, prepare to wait a long time. Most women experiment with hair color — and sometimes it's the difference that makes their career.

What I think is strange about this American fetish is that the two most iconic blondes in the last century, or so, aren't actually natural blondes. They're brunettes who just knew how to rock it. Think Marilyn Monroe and Pamela Anderson.

As a woman, I love the idea of natural hair color winning out. I'm not a huge fan of dying your locks. But, I suppose I can't knock it 'til I try it, and knock on wood, my red curls won't go gray any time soon. I always thought that what was attractive is what is less common, and blondes are quite common. So, is the theory that "Gentlemen prefer blondes" more true because proportionally there are literally more women out there with dyed or natural blonde hair?

 I almost wonder if what's stranger is the use of the word "gentlemen." Should it be, "Douches prefer blondes?" Does that necessitate that you are a douche if you like blondes or does it mean that you can't not be a douche if you like a blonde? Or, are there just proportionally more douches out there? But all of that is shortsighted and judgmental, no?

 These days, like it seems all the days that have preceded it, mainstream television is soaked with blonde. Oh, well.

Pedicures are way better than manicures. Almost always. And always at the nail place.

The song "T-Shirt Weather" by The Lucksmiths  marked the beginning of Spring for me for three years. In college I hosted a radio show called "The Early Morning Air-Strike" on KRUI 89.7 in Iowa City, and this was my response to sunny weather on a windy day in early April. It's t-shirt weather now, which means it's sandal weather too — and, that, is exciting.

For the lovely ladies it means jazzy toes, speckled with bright shades of pink, red, blue, orange; really, let's just Roy G. Biv this shiz. And for guys it means you get to enjoy that. [Yeah, this post isn't really for you guys after all.]

Pedicure time is the best time. They last longer than manicures. They can sometimes make unattractive feet alright to look at. And, though they might tickle a little, in the end it's worth it.

And, dudes, I think you should try it. I can only speak for me ( . . . at this point . . . ), but you wouldn't be any less of a man if you did. Just sayin'. If you feel weird going to a place, just know that: A. Bernie Mac used to do it all time, and B. If you did it yourself that'd be weirder.

April Fools is an Awesome Tradition

When I was 15 my aunt Celeste April fooled my mom into thinking that she [my aunt] was going to be having twins.

Today my brother put two chew toys and a note that said: April Fools, Love, Duke & Doc in my car.

I feel the quality of April Fools jokes has gone down.

Any takers in this theory?