Prairie Landing
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
Things you can look down on from my office on the 63rd floor:
Blimps
Marine Force One
News helicopters
Fighter jets practicing for the Chicago Air and Water Show
Things you can look up at from my office:
Clouds, sometimes
Things you can look at directly from my office:
Clouds
The spiders. Someone told me they're a native species that normally lives in cliffs.
You can probably tell, my job's not so hellish this week. Though it's still too busy for me to have actually looked at most of these things myself.
Blimps
Marine Force One
News helicopters
Fighter jets practicing for the Chicago Air and Water Show
Things you can look up at from my office:
Clouds, sometimes
Things you can look at directly from my office:
Clouds
The spiders. Someone told me they're a native species that normally lives in cliffs.
You can probably tell, my job's not so hellish this week. Though it's still too busy for me to have actually looked at most of these things myself.
Monday, August 23, 2004
Another beautiful weekend in Chicago. I think I can finally forgive summer for being in the 70s all the time.
My parents came to visit and thank Wotan the weather was good. They're nice, interesting, independent-spirited and well-traveled -- they belong on the cover of Modern Maturity -- but they're a lot harder to entertain than, say, Colliculus's more sedate 'rents. When they came to visit us in P-viddy it poured and my dad was restless and irritable. When we went to Europe you couldn't suggest anything to my dad without him saying, "Why don't we just walk." My mom and I tried to explain that one could "just walk" to places of interest, or "just walk" while window shopping or even really shopping, but no dice. So this time I said:
My parents came to visit and thank Wotan the weather was good. They're nice, interesting, independent-spirited and well-traveled -- they belong on the cover of Modern Maturity -- but they're a lot harder to entertain than, say, Colliculus's more sedate 'rents. When they came to visit us in P-viddy it poured and my dad was restless and irritable. When we went to Europe you couldn't suggest anything to my dad without him saying, "Why don't we just walk." My mom and I tried to explain that one could "just walk" to places of interest, or "just walk" while window shopping or even really shopping, but no dice. So this time I said:
"How about Mom, Darling Angel and I go shopping on Michigan Avenue and Colliculus and Dad can go for a long walk through the city? Colliculus LOVES to walk."
This turned out to be outstanding for all involved. At least, it was outstanding for me and I didn't ask anyone else too many questions beyond a polite, "Did you have fun? That's great."
Next weekend we're going to P-viddy because Colliculus's colleague needs somebody to fly his pug there. Heh heh . . . "fly his pug" totally sounds like some obscure perversion.
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
Oh and by the way, yes, my day is longer than if I'd taken that job in the suburbs. But I'd still take this any day over that commute.
Deadbeat Blogger
I've been a deadbeat and I don't see much hope of improvement in the situation.
So here's my job: I get there around 8:30. It's already insane because Europe has been at work for hours and the next thing I know, the East Coast has been at work for hours. Then Chicago and I'm like "What the hell happened?" And all my coworkers are saying the same thing. Things are insane, so insane that I don't even think about going out for lunch. I've never even been downstairs for lunch. Except for two times when my boss was like, "You should go out to lunch."
Around 5:30 everyone starts yelling at each other, "You should leave. You're always here late. You should just shut everything right now and go home." I start telling people I'm going to go to the gym tonight, goddammit, and that my gym bag has been here for 2 weeks and I'm not paying $62 a month for that. Around 6:30 Colliculus calls and wants to know when I'm coming home, because I haven't answered his email asking the same question. By 7 I give up, pack up some homework for myself and leave. Somewhere between 20 and 50 percent of my coworkers are still there.
I come home, we cook dinner, I watch the Simpsons and then I do my homework. I say, "It's only going to take an hour" and usually that's true. But by then my eyes hurt so I do the homework with one eye closed, alternating eyes every minute or so, and the last thing I want to do is blog. And when I'm done with the homework it's 12:30 and I'm like, goddamn! I'm going to bed.
But before that, I email whatever the homework was to whomever it was due to. And sometimes that person writes back with comments, which is even scarier. And they tell me it's way too late to be working.
One day I came in at noon and I had 129 new email messages!
Nobody told me the hours would be this bad at my job. All of them say, "It's not always like this. You just got here at a really busy time." I can see how they might be right, because all of the projects I'm working on have a deadline sometime in October. That's a long time, though.
On the plus side, it's never boring. That's what I wanted, right?
Today's my birthday. That's why although I did stay until 7, I did not take any work home with me. So I'm finally blogging.
So here's my job: I get there around 8:30. It's already insane because Europe has been at work for hours and the next thing I know, the East Coast has been at work for hours. Then Chicago and I'm like "What the hell happened?" And all my coworkers are saying the same thing. Things are insane, so insane that I don't even think about going out for lunch. I've never even been downstairs for lunch. Except for two times when my boss was like, "You should go out to lunch."
Around 5:30 everyone starts yelling at each other, "You should leave. You're always here late. You should just shut everything right now and go home." I start telling people I'm going to go to the gym tonight, goddammit, and that my gym bag has been here for 2 weeks and I'm not paying $62 a month for that. Around 6:30 Colliculus calls and wants to know when I'm coming home, because I haven't answered his email asking the same question. By 7 I give up, pack up some homework for myself and leave. Somewhere between 20 and 50 percent of my coworkers are still there.
I come home, we cook dinner, I watch the Simpsons and then I do my homework. I say, "It's only going to take an hour" and usually that's true. But by then my eyes hurt so I do the homework with one eye closed, alternating eyes every minute or so, and the last thing I want to do is blog. And when I'm done with the homework it's 12:30 and I'm like, goddamn! I'm going to bed.
But before that, I email whatever the homework was to whomever it was due to. And sometimes that person writes back with comments, which is even scarier. And they tell me it's way too late to be working.
One day I came in at noon and I had 129 new email messages!
Nobody told me the hours would be this bad at my job. All of them say, "It's not always like this. You just got here at a really busy time." I can see how they might be right, because all of the projects I'm working on have a deadline sometime in October. That's a long time, though.
On the plus side, it's never boring. That's what I wanted, right?
Today's my birthday. That's why although I did stay until 7, I did not take any work home with me. So I'm finally blogging.
Sunday, August 08, 2004
I wish I had a picture of this
Today I went to Market Days, "the Midwest's largest gay and lesbian festival" and "Chicago's largest 2-day festival." I saw this guy with tattoo "sleeves" covering his arms and most of his legs. He was pushing a walker and I was like, "Holy shit! It can't be!" When I passed him, I looked back and sure enough, he was a fossil. He had to've been 80 at least.
There were lots of craft booths and funnel cakes (advertised as "Pennsylvania Dutch-style") and whatnot, and of course lots of tables promoting equal rights and AIDS fundraising and selling feather boas and leather gear. The tourism boards of Melbourne and Manchester were represented, as were a surprising number of local insurance agencies, accountants, SUV dealers and other stodgy types. Someone offered me a rainbow US flag sticker that said "I'm OUT for John Kerry." I put it on my skirt, thinking, "Everyone's Irish on St. Patrick's Day."
There were lots of craft booths and funnel cakes (advertised as "Pennsylvania Dutch-style") and whatnot, and of course lots of tables promoting equal rights and AIDS fundraising and selling feather boas and leather gear. The tourism boards of Melbourne and Manchester were represented, as were a surprising number of local insurance agencies, accountants, SUV dealers and other stodgy types. Someone offered me a rainbow US flag sticker that said "I'm OUT for John Kerry." I put it on my skirt, thinking, "Everyone's Irish on St. Patrick's Day."
Friday, August 06, 2004
Fashion mystery
I think pants are getting longer. They almost drag if you wear them the length they're supposed to be, and today I noticed 2 college-age girls wearing pants that were dragging. (At the Addison L stop, eww!) My tailor always wants to hem my slacks long "in case you wear them with high heels." But I think it looks kind of stupid to wear 4-inch heels and have all but the bottom inch covered by crumply pant leg, which is what all the Wrigleyville blondes do. I once heard somebody refer to that look as "Mrs. Captain Hook." Plus nobody gets to see your shoes.
I was at work reheating a turkey burger and someone asked what it was. I said, "It's a turkey burger. It's this great recipe with wheat germ and onions, and you serve it with a yogurt-sundried tomato sauce." She said, "Oh, are you a vegetarian?"
I said as conversationally as possible, "No, it's real turkey."
I was at work reheating a turkey burger and someone asked what it was. I said, "It's a turkey burger. It's this great recipe with wheat germ and onions, and you serve it with a yogurt-sundried tomato sauce." She said, "Oh, are you a vegetarian?"
I said as conversationally as possible, "No, it's real turkey."
Monday, August 02, 2004
Weekend Roundup
Friday night we tried to go see Harry Potter finally and it was SOLD OUT! I couldn't believe it.
Originally we tried to get my sister to hang out. But she and her roommate* Scott O'Sheffield's are on the South Beach Diet™ and that means no drinking for 2 weeks. I pretty much forgot how to have fun without alcohol so that does it for me.
Saturday our job was to round up Mr. McFoolery's sister Lanassi from New York and -- the greater challenge -- Mr. McF himself, who had no inkling of our plans. At the crack of 3, no less. Luckily he'd gone to bed early the night before and was willing to meet up with us and our "friend from Sacramento," carefully described as female, attractive and cool but from a place that precluded any kind of relationship. When we showed up he was already there. I introduced L. as "my friend Aparna" and he actually held out his hand and started introducing himself before doing a complete double-take.
Saturday night we went out to one of the best parties I've been to. Maybe the best I've been to in Chicago. Pangaea was turning 35, as was the hostess, so it was a '70s themed party complete with disco ball. The apartment was a cavernous raw space in Ukrainian Village with a mirrored dance floor.
And that's about it. The rest of the time I was zonked out on Fioricet. I've taken to spending my headache time running errands (walking or chauffered by Colliculus) so local merchants bore the brunt of it. I cornered a bank teller for 20 or 30 minutes during the "chatty" phase many of you have come to know. I bet he wishes Bank One's "neighborhood banking" referred to somebody else's neighborhood.
*[Edited August 7 after I realized Google was getting too nosy.]
Originally we tried to get my sister to hang out. But she and her roommate* Scott O'Sheffield's are on the South Beach Diet™ and that means no drinking for 2 weeks. I pretty much forgot how to have fun without alcohol so that does it for me.
Saturday our job was to round up Mr. McFoolery's sister Lanassi from New York and -- the greater challenge -- Mr. McF himself, who had no inkling of our plans. At the crack of 3, no less. Luckily he'd gone to bed early the night before and was willing to meet up with us and our "friend from Sacramento," carefully described as female, attractive and cool but from a place that precluded any kind of relationship. When we showed up he was already there. I introduced L. as "my friend Aparna" and he actually held out his hand and started introducing himself before doing a complete double-take.
Saturday night we went out to one of the best parties I've been to. Maybe the best I've been to in Chicago. Pangaea was turning 35, as was the hostess, so it was a '70s themed party complete with disco ball. The apartment was a cavernous raw space in Ukrainian Village with a mirrored dance floor.
And that's about it. The rest of the time I was zonked out on Fioricet. I've taken to spending my headache time running errands (walking or chauffered by Colliculus) so local merchants bore the brunt of it. I cornered a bank teller for 20 or 30 minutes during the "chatty" phase many of you have come to know. I bet he wishes Bank One's "neighborhood banking" referred to somebody else's neighborhood.
*[Edited August 7 after I realized Google was getting too nosy.]
