Monday, December 28, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
babies
And on the first night of Hanukkah, something amazing happened. Yes, the menorah was lit and would continue to burn for 8 crazy nights. But more importantly -- I got a job! Yes! Yes! Miracle of miracles, someone decided to trust me over a long period of time with their small child! None of us thought this day would ever come! I owe it to the miracle of Hanukkah!
*Note: By giving a shout-out to Hanukkah, I hope that all readers of this blog again recognize the open-mindedness of the writers. Yes, we love and appreciate Hanukkah. Yes, despite the opinions of some, we love and appreciate the neighborhood of Pilsen. Previous entries reveal our love for things like commercials about America, lesbian relationships (see: L word), Oprah Winfrey, art, Matt Thomas our neighbor who is half Indian, Russian women, socially conscious rappers, Nick Krafft, etc, etc. We don't shy away from provocative topics. And we don't plan to change our ways. Just wanted to clarify that point -- and we hope you will continue to join us in supporting the innumerable people and communities that our lives cross -- with a deep respect.
Okay, but seriously, I have now fulfilled the prophecy I spoke of myself, late one night when I was slightly/very/probably the most in my life intoxicated and left a voicemail for Margaret Graber. Basically, the message ended by me yelling "I AIN'T A MOM, I'M JUST A WHITE GIRL NANNY!" True, I was referring to moms at a park mistaking me for another mom, despite the fact that I was wearing cut-off jean shorts, a leather jacket, black tights, ankle boots, and basically looked like the poor hobo that I am. Aka not a mom. But alas, the words have now proved to be truer than ever. I am a white girl nanny.
So for the first time in a long time, I have dreams. I will have an income. I am excited about 2010. My best years are even numbered, discounting the year I was born, which was a good year. Though I was conceived in an even-numbered year, so maybe that should be considered.
I did want to talk a little bit about babies and how much I love them. Babies have become my life. I have three main babies that I baby-sit for, at least I will once I start my part-time nanny job. Let me introduce you to my children:
- Aurora. Aurora is the best baby EVER. We share the same birthday (cinco de mayo), the same hobbies (dancing, singing, reading), the same favorite foods (cheese), the same level of motha-effing adorabliness (well, fine, she beats me at that damn game every day), and the same ability to shake her hips like it is nobody's business -- on command. In the three months I have babysat Aurora, I think she has cried for a collective 10 minutes. Because she is a happy, happy child. She's starting to learn a lot of words, but she mostly just uses like five: "HI HI HI," "more"(always said forcibly), and "GOBO." Okay, that was three. But seriously, kid is obsessed with Fraggle Rock and dipping everything in plain yogurt.
- Cooper. Cooper is going to be the child whose development I nurture and foster as a nanny. I don't know him very well but he seems to like climbing and Wiggleworms. He seems cool. I am honestly more scared about the family dog. Babies? Sure. I used to be one. I never used to be a dog. I don't know what they want. I've never owned a dog. I'm a cat person. A cat and baby person. And apparently, when the dog poops, I have to pick it up with my hands covered by a plastic bag. That is sick. Poop is fertilizer. No one picks up fricking bird poop, or wolf poop. If a human poops outside, no one picks it up. They leave it. So why do I have to pick up the dog poop? Why? Why?
Okay now everyone knows about my life. I'm going to go make some guacamole, which is weird since I was just talking about dog poop.
*Note: By giving a shout-out to Hanukkah, I hope that all readers of this blog again recognize the open-mindedness of the writers. Yes, we love and appreciate Hanukkah. Yes, despite the opinions of some, we love and appreciate the neighborhood of Pilsen. Previous entries reveal our love for things like commercials about America, lesbian relationships (see: L word), Oprah Winfrey, art, Matt Thomas our neighbor who is half Indian, Russian women, socially conscious rappers, Nick Krafft, etc, etc. We don't shy away from provocative topics. And we don't plan to change our ways. Just wanted to clarify that point -- and we hope you will continue to join us in supporting the innumerable people and communities that our lives cross -- with a deep respect.
Okay, but seriously, I have now fulfilled the prophecy I spoke of myself, late one night when I was slightly/very/probably the most in my life intoxicated and left a voicemail for Margaret Graber. Basically, the message ended by me yelling "I AIN'T A MOM, I'M JUST A WHITE GIRL NANNY!" True, I was referring to moms at a park mistaking me for another mom, despite the fact that I was wearing cut-off jean shorts, a leather jacket, black tights, ankle boots, and basically looked like the poor hobo that I am. Aka not a mom. But alas, the words have now proved to be truer than ever. I am a white girl nanny.
So for the first time in a long time, I have dreams. I will have an income. I am excited about 2010. My best years are even numbered, discounting the year I was born, which was a good year. Though I was conceived in an even-numbered year, so maybe that should be considered.
I did want to talk a little bit about babies and how much I love them. Babies have become my life. I have three main babies that I baby-sit for, at least I will once I start my part-time nanny job. Let me introduce you to my children:
- Aurora. Aurora is the best baby EVER. We share the same birthday (cinco de mayo), the same hobbies (dancing, singing, reading), the same favorite foods (cheese), the same level of motha-effing adorabliness (well, fine, she beats me at that damn game every day), and the same ability to shake her hips like it is nobody's business -- on command. In the three months I have babysat Aurora, I think she has cried for a collective 10 minutes. Because she is a happy, happy child. She's starting to learn a lot of words, but she mostly just uses like five: "HI HI HI," "more"(always said forcibly), and "GOBO." Okay, that was three. But seriously, kid is obsessed with Fraggle Rock and dipping everything in plain yogurt.
- Cooper. Cooper is going to be the child whose development I nurture and foster as a nanny. I don't know him very well but he seems to like climbing and Wiggleworms. He seems cool. I am honestly more scared about the family dog. Babies? Sure. I used to be one. I never used to be a dog. I don't know what they want. I've never owned a dog. I'm a cat person. A cat and baby person. And apparently, when the dog poops, I have to pick it up with my hands covered by a plastic bag. That is sick. Poop is fertilizer. No one picks up fricking bird poop, or wolf poop. If a human poops outside, no one picks it up. They leave it. So why do I have to pick up the dog poop? Why? Why?
Okay now everyone knows about my life. I'm going to go make some guacamole, which is weird since I was just talking about dog poop.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Passage to Pilsen
First of all, I think our readers are owed an explanation for the last couple of posts. In a fit of pride and anger, I lashed at our Nick Krafft for his constructive criticism about this blog. Nick, who is like the circle to my square (BECAUSE HE LIVES IN LOGAN CIRCLE, WASHINGTON DC AND I LIVE IN LOGAN SQUARE, CHICAGO ILLINOIS), said, and I quote, that my latest blog entry, "sucked." And that I felt an immediate need to defend myself. But you know what? I was embarrassed and lying to myself. In truth, the blog entry about the L word and my Thanksgiving poem was a piece of experimental writing and yes, it did kind of suck. Ahh. That hurts to write. THE TRUTH HURTS. I had wanted to try to document Chicago events in real time instead of writing sensational narratives about past events. It was an experiment, like when someone lights a decorative gourd on fire. And it failed. Before Nick's comment, I had let myself believe that the experiment was overwhelmingly positive. Now, I can admit, that: it. was. NOT.
ANYWAY LET'S GET BACK TO ADVENTURE STORIES!
The title of this latest blog entry is called "Passage to Pilsen," an allusion to the book I read in senior year IB English called "Passage to India." Passage to India is basically about some white chick who goes to colonial India and is all like "I WANT TO DISCOVER THE REAL INDIA!" instead of living colonial-British-person-in-India life. So she befriends some "natives," and tries to go on safaris and really find "INDIA." In the end, something happens, I think she gets murdered or something, but the moral was something like 'one can never find the 'REAL' India, because such a place does not exist!' I think that this sentiment can be applied to my latest foray into Pilsen.
What is Pilsen? Pilsen is one of Chicago's many ethnically diverse neighborhoods. According to Wikipedia, Pilsen began as a refuge for Czech, Slovene, and other Eastern European immigrants. I only know Pilsen as the place where all the Spanish classes in high school would go for their yearly field trips, and since I took fricking FRENCH, I never got to go. And everyone would go and come back and be like "blah blah blah ISN'T PILSEN JUST THE BEST! I just love using my high school spanish skills among the native speakers in Pilsen! I love the tiny Mexican bakeries and signs written in Spanish! I love the bread! blah blah blah I'm so glad I didn't take French!" So, I spent a few days each year in high school being totally jealous of these people.
But then, last weekend, my friend Nick Simonson (aka Tribal Warrior) came to town. And since TW/Nicky/Niko studied Spanish at a language institute in Guatemala, I decided that it was time for me to discover Pilsen, with a translator by my side. I mean, Nick was excited too.
But how do you "find" Pilsen? I didn't know if the "center" of Pilsen really existed, but I wanted to find it. Unfortunately, if you type in "heart of Pilsen" into google, it just talks about bedrooms for sale. And when I wikipedia-ed Pilsen, it gave me three different subway stops that would take me there. So Nick and I decided to just kind of choose one, and try to find our way to the magnificent bakeries and eateries.
So we get off the (green? orange? some color?) line train, and... we are like on a highway. So we walk. We look down a few streets that we cross, but they are all creepy dead-end alleys that lead to no where except stacks of metal. We continue walking and see some signs with Chinese writing. Note: I have been to Chinatown. This was not it. So don't start saying, oh Lisa, you were in Chinatown. NO. I was not.
We stop in one rando store, pretty much the only thing for half a mile, and ask the guy about Pilsen. He speaks limited English but totally knows what we're talking about: "PILSEN! Ahhh yes... restaurants, stores, many of the Mexican people!" Yeah man. He knows what's up. And when I ask him where the heart of Pilsen is, he gives us a street name, and then tells us we are a few miles away.
So we walk some more. We walk down an abandoned road with overgrown weeds and no sidewalks and cars going by us at 50mph. We pass abandoned industrial factories, wood factories, and numerous landfills. This is: SOUTH CHICAGO. We pass a creepy bar in the middle of nowhere with cans of PBR for $1.50, all day every day. We do not go in. Soon, I see cop cars and churches in the distance, so I figure we must be getting close. AND I WAS RIGHT.
SOMEHOW WE MAKE IT TO PILSEN! I think it took about 2 hours. By the time we arrive, it is getting dark, so we duck into some restaurant that doesn't really look too promising... it's not crappy enough to be a hole-in-the-wall, but it also doesn't have any distinguishing factors (neat colors, weird paintings, radios). Well, I take that back, there was some intense soap opera action on the TV. Anyway, I just want some Mexican hot chocolate, so we order that and coffee. Nick also gets some guacamole, because, hey. Why not.
THIS TURNED OUT TO BE THE BEST THING THAT HAPPENED TO ME ALL WEEK.
Literally. The best. Hot chocolate. And guacamole. Of. My. LIFE. SO MUCH WIN. AND THEN.
This guy named... Barry? Came in and talked to Nick in Spanish about the revolution and school children and didn't realize that I couldn't speak Spanish for about 20 minutes. Then he played 5 traditional mariachi songs for us, and all of the workers in the restaurant demonstrated their favorite dances for us. So that's why everyone loves Pilsen, I guess.
Later in the week, I returned to Pilsen. Only this time, it was to party in a house with steel doors.
Other exciting things that have happened:
1. I've started babysitting for a guy who is on the hot seat of Who Wants to be a Millionaire, airing December 13-14!
2. I got lost on the way to their house and ended up on a scary underpass in the middle of the night!
3. I went to "the Chicago bar scene"(whaaaat there is a distract?) and fell into a dance off with some chicks and bros and schooled them so hard. And... I was wearing snow boots. BOOM.
4. I ordered a sandwich at a bar and they never brought it to me. I wasn't all that hungry, so I didn't mind. When I went up and asked where my dinner was, the bartender become excessively apologetic and gave me a free meal. This is the best experience I have had in Wrigleyville to date. This is also the night where I went with some people to a "$10 drink anything you want from 8-10pm" and the bar never made us pay the $10. This is also the night where I tried to befriend a Romanian cab driver by asking him if I should visit his country and he, in a voice like a pissed off Romanian Napoleon Dynamite, scoffed "YEAH WHY WOULDN'T YOU UGHH!" This is the best experience I have had in a cab to date. No, that's a lie. This was all a good night.
So, I'm looking forward to 2010, when hopefully I will have a steady job of some sort and the freedom to unearth my hopes, dreams, and vocation. This is the only way to end this post.
ANYWAY LET'S GET BACK TO ADVENTURE STORIES!
The title of this latest blog entry is called "Passage to Pilsen," an allusion to the book I read in senior year IB English called "Passage to India." Passage to India is basically about some white chick who goes to colonial India and is all like "I WANT TO DISCOVER THE REAL INDIA!" instead of living colonial-British-person-in-India life. So she befriends some "natives," and tries to go on safaris and really find "INDIA." In the end, something happens, I think she gets murdered or something, but the moral was something like 'one can never find the 'REAL' India, because such a place does not exist!' I think that this sentiment can be applied to my latest foray into Pilsen.
What is Pilsen? Pilsen is one of Chicago's many ethnically diverse neighborhoods. According to Wikipedia, Pilsen began as a refuge for Czech, Slovene, and other Eastern European immigrants. I only know Pilsen as the place where all the Spanish classes in high school would go for their yearly field trips, and since I took fricking FRENCH, I never got to go. And everyone would go and come back and be like "blah blah blah ISN'T PILSEN JUST THE BEST! I just love using my high school spanish skills among the native speakers in Pilsen! I love the tiny Mexican bakeries and signs written in Spanish! I love the bread! blah blah blah I'm so glad I didn't take French!" So, I spent a few days each year in high school being totally jealous of these people.
But then, last weekend, my friend Nick Simonson (aka Tribal Warrior) came to town. And since TW/Nicky/Niko studied Spanish at a language institute in Guatemala, I decided that it was time for me to discover Pilsen, with a translator by my side. I mean, Nick was excited too.
But how do you "find" Pilsen? I didn't know if the "center" of Pilsen really existed, but I wanted to find it. Unfortunately, if you type in "heart of Pilsen" into google, it just talks about bedrooms for sale. And when I wikipedia-ed Pilsen, it gave me three different subway stops that would take me there. So Nick and I decided to just kind of choose one, and try to find our way to the magnificent bakeries and eateries.
So we get off the (green? orange? some color?) line train, and... we are like on a highway. So we walk. We look down a few streets that we cross, but they are all creepy dead-end alleys that lead to no where except stacks of metal. We continue walking and see some signs with Chinese writing. Note: I have been to Chinatown. This was not it. So don't start saying, oh Lisa, you were in Chinatown. NO. I was not.
We stop in one rando store, pretty much the only thing for half a mile, and ask the guy about Pilsen. He speaks limited English but totally knows what we're talking about: "PILSEN! Ahhh yes... restaurants, stores, many of the Mexican people!" Yeah man. He knows what's up. And when I ask him where the heart of Pilsen is, he gives us a street name, and then tells us we are a few miles away.
So we walk some more. We walk down an abandoned road with overgrown weeds and no sidewalks and cars going by us at 50mph. We pass abandoned industrial factories, wood factories, and numerous landfills. This is: SOUTH CHICAGO. We pass a creepy bar in the middle of nowhere with cans of PBR for $1.50, all day every day. We do not go in. Soon, I see cop cars and churches in the distance, so I figure we must be getting close. AND I WAS RIGHT.
SOMEHOW WE MAKE IT TO PILSEN! I think it took about 2 hours. By the time we arrive, it is getting dark, so we duck into some restaurant that doesn't really look too promising... it's not crappy enough to be a hole-in-the-wall, but it also doesn't have any distinguishing factors (neat colors, weird paintings, radios). Well, I take that back, there was some intense soap opera action on the TV. Anyway, I just want some Mexican hot chocolate, so we order that and coffee. Nick also gets some guacamole, because, hey. Why not.
THIS TURNED OUT TO BE THE BEST THING THAT HAPPENED TO ME ALL WEEK.
Literally. The best. Hot chocolate. And guacamole. Of. My. LIFE. SO MUCH WIN. AND THEN.
This guy named... Barry? Came in and talked to Nick in Spanish about the revolution and school children and didn't realize that I couldn't speak Spanish for about 20 minutes. Then he played 5 traditional mariachi songs for us, and all of the workers in the restaurant demonstrated their favorite dances for us. So that's why everyone loves Pilsen, I guess.
Later in the week, I returned to Pilsen. Only this time, it was to party in a house with steel doors.
Other exciting things that have happened:
1. I've started babysitting for a guy who is on the hot seat of Who Wants to be a Millionaire, airing December 13-14!
2. I got lost on the way to their house and ended up on a scary underpass in the middle of the night!
3. I went to "the Chicago bar scene"(whaaaat there is a distract?) and fell into a dance off with some chicks and bros and schooled them so hard. And... I was wearing snow boots. BOOM.
4. I ordered a sandwich at a bar and they never brought it to me. I wasn't all that hungry, so I didn't mind. When I went up and asked where my dinner was, the bartender become excessively apologetic and gave me a free meal. This is the best experience I have had in Wrigleyville to date. This is also the night where I went with some people to a "$10 drink anything you want from 8-10pm" and the bar never made us pay the $10. This is also the night where I tried to befriend a Romanian cab driver by asking him if I should visit his country and he, in a voice like a pissed off Romanian Napoleon Dynamite, scoffed "YEAH WHY WOULDN'T YOU UGHH!" This is the best experience I have had in a cab to date. No, that's a lie. This was all a good night.
So, I'm looking forward to 2010, when hopefully I will have a steady job of some sort and the freedom to unearth my hopes, dreams, and vocation. This is the only way to end this post.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
To Nick Krafft and all the other hatas
I'm sorry my life is not interesting enough right now to satisfy your obsession with my blog! I'm sorry! I'm sorry that absolutely nothing is happening other than me watching the L word! I'M SORRY THAT CITY LIFE HAS BECOME SO BORING. I. AM. SORRY.
NICK KRAFFT.
I AM SORRY THAT YOU ARE A HATER.
I am just so sorry for all of these things.
Coming soon: a review of the Girls album.
NICK KRAFFT.
I AM SORRY THAT YOU ARE A HATER.
I am just so sorry for all of these things.
Coming soon: a review of the Girls album.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
A Thanksgiving Miracle
Right now, I am sitting watching "The L Word" with Brandy, which is a show we started watching over Christmas break a few years ago. Yeah, it's pretty much a serial show about lesbian relationships in L.A., but the characters are REAL. Actually, the show has gotten progressively worse with each season, but this is the last season, so we figured we might as well just finish. For example, there is this character named Jenny, and everyone hates her. This season opened with her death. WHICH WAS AWESOME. But now the rest of the season is happening in flashbacks, and personally, I want to see how Jenny dies. Because that would just bring me a lot of television closure to see.
Anyway, right now I'm watching the L word and I'm making a popping noise with my mouth at the cat. I wanted the readers of this blog to really know what life is like in our apartment. So in the words of Michael Jackson, this is it.
But we've also been doing fun things! Like hosting holiday gatherings, such as our gathering last night!
Twas the night after Thanksgiving, and all through the States,
All the creatures were shopping and redeeming rebates.
But up in Chicago, down in Logan Square
Friends gathered with crayons and ole dishes to share.
We ate meat white and dark and feasted on pies galore
Played board games of fun and heard Neil Young music of yore
So thanks for the cupcakes, the potatoes, the beer
And when we gather in December, we hope you're all here!
Yeah, entertaining is fun. It's especially fun when your friends and family are so generous that they bring way too much food to a potluck and you just end up eating for weeks. What?!?!?!
Okay, Brandy is done watching L word, so I think I'm going to do some cardioke. This is my first weekend off in a few months! Woo! Except for two weekends ago when I had the (not the swine) flu. That sucked. In other news, I'm trying to become a part-time nanny, so if you have young unprotected children, holla back.
Also, L word has the worst theme song/opening credits... EVER.
See here
ALSO THANKS FOR EVERYONE WHO VOTED ON OUR LAST POLL, WE WILL NOW BE ANSWERING ANONYMOUS SURVEYS AS "FLARKER"
Anyway, right now I'm watching the L word and I'm making a popping noise with my mouth at the cat. I wanted the readers of this blog to really know what life is like in our apartment. So in the words of Michael Jackson, this is it.
But we've also been doing fun things! Like hosting holiday gatherings, such as our gathering last night!
Twas the night after Thanksgiving, and all through the States,
All the creatures were shopping and redeeming rebates.
But up in Chicago, down in Logan Square
Friends gathered with crayons and ole dishes to share.
We ate meat white and dark and feasted on pies galore
Played board games of fun and heard Neil Young music of yore
So thanks for the cupcakes, the potatoes, the beer
And when we gather in December, we hope you're all here!
Yeah, entertaining is fun. It's especially fun when your friends and family are so generous that they bring way too much food to a potluck and you just end up eating for weeks. What?!?!?!
Okay, Brandy is done watching L word, so I think I'm going to do some cardioke. This is my first weekend off in a few months! Woo! Except for two weekends ago when I had the (not the swine) flu. That sucked. In other news, I'm trying to become a part-time nanny, so if you have young unprotected children, holla back.
Also, L word has the worst theme song/opening credits... EVER.
See here
ALSO THANKS FOR EVERYONE WHO VOTED ON OUR LAST POLL, WE WILL NOW BE ANSWERING ANONYMOUS SURVEYS AS "FLARKER"
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Brandy's guide to getting a job
All of these things Lisa has written about in my absence are true. There really is a wolf on my new debit card. We really were the only ones who showed up for a party at a piano bar called Howl At The Moon, and I really did ask the waitress to add more alcohol to my $1 drink. Lisa really did subsequently win a free party for 100 of her friends, and really does not know anyone Jewish. I really do have a job.
Also true-- I have, in the past three weeks, watched over 20 hours of Russian women cleaning their homes at said job. I know that Russian women use a Comet to clean everything. I know they sometimes use laundry detergent powder to clean their bathtubs and floors. I know they put a rag over a broom and call it a mop. This and MUCH MORE-- I am a wealth of knowledge.
Before I explain what this job is, I would first like to say, for those of you out there still looking for a source of income, I'm sorry to say I have no advice for you. My getting a job guide would look like this: 1. Apply to as few jobs as possible 2. Interview and get told you have a job at a fine foods market, but get a strange feeling it was too easy and something must be wrong, so fail to follow through 3. Spent a few weeks perfecting a daytime television schedule and become a domestic goddess. 4. Throw a housewarming party and wait for a stranger to offer you a full time temporary position in your field of study.
This is how it happened: Our roommate Sasha invited one of her co-workers to our housewarming party, and when she found out I was unemployed, she told me to send in my resume for a position as a temporary data logger. Sasha works for a market research firm, which is basically a bunch of psychologists and anthropologists who find out what people want or need from products. I watch their interview videos and transcribe what people say, their expressions, what they're doing, etc. Researchers use these logs to find patterns and put together a presentation for the company that hired them.
I don't know if that makes sense. Moving on.
So far I've witnessed several birthday parties, a woman break the news to her husband that she can't get pregnant, an old woman getting kicked out of a party outlet store for bringing in the camera, and yes, over 20 hours of Russian women cleaning their homes. But today I started with a new country-- Brazil! Where women pour buckets of water on the floor to clean. Every day is an adventure. Who will I watch clean tomorrow?
I think when you're feeling uncertain about your future it's good to cultivate a sense of adventure.
I also thinks it's good to set attainable goals for yourself. Which is why I've resolved to cut back on my most common typing mistakes.
Brandy's top typing errors:
1. BEcause
2. equiptment
3. ahve
4. spongue
I will try to decrease or elimnate these errors by next week.
Pioneers! O Pioneers!
Also true-- I have, in the past three weeks, watched over 20 hours of Russian women cleaning their homes at said job. I know that Russian women use a Comet to clean everything. I know they sometimes use laundry detergent powder to clean their bathtubs and floors. I know they put a rag over a broom and call it a mop. This and MUCH MORE-- I am a wealth of knowledge.
Before I explain what this job is, I would first like to say, for those of you out there still looking for a source of income, I'm sorry to say I have no advice for you. My getting a job guide would look like this: 1. Apply to as few jobs as possible 2. Interview and get told you have a job at a fine foods market, but get a strange feeling it was too easy and something must be wrong, so fail to follow through 3. Spent a few weeks perfecting a daytime television schedule and become a domestic goddess. 4. Throw a housewarming party and wait for a stranger to offer you a full time temporary position in your field of study.
This is how it happened: Our roommate Sasha invited one of her co-workers to our housewarming party, and when she found out I was unemployed, she told me to send in my resume for a position as a temporary data logger. Sasha works for a market research firm, which is basically a bunch of psychologists and anthropologists who find out what people want or need from products. I watch their interview videos and transcribe what people say, their expressions, what they're doing, etc. Researchers use these logs to find patterns and put together a presentation for the company that hired them.
I don't know if that makes sense. Moving on.
So far I've witnessed several birthday parties, a woman break the news to her husband that she can't get pregnant, an old woman getting kicked out of a party outlet store for bringing in the camera, and yes, over 20 hours of Russian women cleaning their homes. But today I started with a new country-- Brazil! Where women pour buckets of water on the floor to clean. Every day is an adventure. Who will I watch clean tomorrow?
I think when you're feeling uncertain about your future it's good to cultivate a sense of adventure.
I also thinks it's good to set attainable goals for yourself. Which is why I've resolved to cut back on my most common typing mistakes.
Brandy's top typing errors:
1. BEcause
2. equiptment
3. ahve
4. spongue
I will try to decrease or elimnate these errors by next week.
Pioneers! O Pioneers!
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
How To: Start the Party
Favorite Halloween Costumes Seen in Chicago:
1. Elliot and ET (aka Kevin Wilson)
2. Alan and baby Carlos from The Hangover
3. Guy wearing a throw rug on his shoulders while taking pictures of us who gave me a can of beer on the Red Line/ was he on crack?
4. 60s alien with cone head voice (aka Mallory Laurel)
5. The cast of Candyland
6. Jamaican bobsled team
7. Soot-covered, umbrella-wielding Mary Poppins
8. Anorexic Lindsay Lohan (aka Maggie Graber)
9. Girl dressed up as a rabbit with an inflatable "magician's hat" around her waist
10. A gold digger. Oh wait, that was the worst costume I saw. Girl wearing a gold mini dress carrying a shovel. I saw the shovel and was like... could that be... a hoe? Is she trying to be a hoe? Is she trying to be ironic? Oh, no. It's a shovel.
Some people might look at our Halloween from their lives of glitz and glamour and say, "THEY HAD A LAME HALLOWEEN." They might think this for a number of reasons. True, we conspired to have a giant fiesta birthday party for MATT THOMAS! but then forgot to invite anyone other than Mallory and Sean. We also forgot to buy anything necessary for a party, but that's okay, because we forgot to invite people too. Matt Thomas's birthday party had originally held lofty expectations. We were thinking bobbing for apples, a little Billy Blanks Jr. kardioke, color your own Matt Thomas or pin the beard on Matt Thomas, various holiday treats and activities... but yeah, when Friday night rolled around, all we had was four bottles of beer and an ever-dwindling bucket of pumpkin seeds (ONCE YOU POP THAT PUMPKIN YOU CAN'T STOP!). We did have two nice pumpkins, carved on Thursday night. Brandy made an "oh my god!" pumpkin, aptly named because it looks like the pumpkin just said that. I made a sexy clown pumpkin. It looks like a clown and says the word "SEXY" on the back. It was a cool idea until I realized that our Korean neighbors and their two small children would only see the word "SEXY" illuminated in fire if we put the pumpkins on the front porch.
So since our party had nothing, I decided to bake a birthday cake for Matt Thomas. But then Matt Thomas decided he wanted to be Radiohead so he had band practice and we just all ate his cake. And when I say we ate his cake, I mean that I ate his cake, and Mallory helped.
But no, we did not spend our entire pre-Halloween night watching Scream 3 on MTV and eating birthday cake without the birthday boy. That only accounted for most of the night. When Billy Mays, a French man, and Sookie from True Blood showed up, we decided to confront Logan Square's hippest establishment: The Whistler. The Whistler is this super super super trendy bar around the corner. People come from near and far to stand around in its dark small spaces and look cool and drink PBR and expensive drinks. Sometimes bands come and do super hip shows that "say" things and "mean" something. Each time I have been to the Whistler, I am very bored, except the time that Mallory snuck in pizza that some guy had given her for free on her way in.
Tonight was the Whistler's "funk and soul" night, so we decided to give it a chance, even though the damn bar usually lets us down. And sure enough, we walk in and funk music is pulsating through the joint and no one is dancing. So Mallory turns to the bouncer and asks if it's okay to dance. I respect the fact that she asked this. We had to be sure that we weren't violating some sort of actual written code in the Whistler's rules, such as "Thou shalt not dance ever" or "Thou shalt not have fun." But according to the bouncer, dancing was actually allowed, so WE DID IT. And to our excitement, a few souls popped out of their darkened corners and joined us. It was like those 10 people had been waiting their whole lives for a dance party to break out at the Whistler. They actually did thank us for giving them the opportunity. People would walk into the Whistler and be totally caught off-guard, like "WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO MY FAVORITE BAR AND WHY AREN'T THE PEOPLE MOPEY?" But then they would put on their judgement faces and go into the corner. The thing about a judgment face is that it's actually the same as a jealousy face. WHAM!
We also had the opportunity to assist in starting a party on Monday night. On Monday night... Brandy, Mallory, and I did something very exciting. WE WENT TO AN ISRAELI HIP HOP SHOW! I am continuously excited by my increasing experiences with Jewish culture. Before moving to Chicago, I think I had known two Jewish people. That's discounting the random guy who let me and Mike stay with him in New York City a few years ago and the lady in the dressing room next to me at Saks Fifth Avenue. But now! Suddenly! In Chicago! The number of Jewish friends I have has increased exponentially! In the Chicago Children's Theatre office alone, I know three Jewish people. And one of them took me to an Isreali hip hop night!
Yeah but it was really fun. I don't really know any "Jewish" dances. I don't really know if such a thing as a "Jewish" dance exists. So I was constantly wondering if I was giving away the fact that I was not Jewish or if I was acting like a paranoid ignoramus. Probably somewhere in between. I must have done something right to blend in, because after the opening act, I was given a very special opportunity. The opening act was named MC Zulu, and he was tight yo. When he finished his act, some dude next to me put his hand around my waist and whispered in my ear, "Come on girl. We gonna go meet Zulu." And then he whisked me away and forced me to meet MC Zulu. I'm pretty sure that I was being majorly used, as a woman, for this super fan to get closer to his hero. And I didn't even know what to say to MC Zulu, so I just shook his hand and said thank you. That was cool. That was how I met MC Zulu. And then we all danced to SOULICO, the end.
Note: Today I found like three entries that Brandy has started and never finished. She has promised to post them tonight. We'll see if that happens. And if it doesn't, I will emotionally abuse her until it does. Y'all are free to help. BYE!
1. Elliot and ET (aka Kevin Wilson)
2. Alan and baby Carlos from The Hangover
3. Guy wearing a throw rug on his shoulders while taking pictures of us who gave me a can of beer on the Red Line/ was he on crack?
4. 60s alien with cone head voice (aka Mallory Laurel)
5. The cast of Candyland
6. Jamaican bobsled team
7. Soot-covered, umbrella-wielding Mary Poppins
8. Anorexic Lindsay Lohan (aka Maggie Graber)
9. Girl dressed up as a rabbit with an inflatable "magician's hat" around her waist
10. A gold digger. Oh wait, that was the worst costume I saw. Girl wearing a gold mini dress carrying a shovel. I saw the shovel and was like... could that be... a hoe? Is she trying to be a hoe? Is she trying to be ironic? Oh, no. It's a shovel.
Some people might look at our Halloween from their lives of glitz and glamour and say, "THEY HAD A LAME HALLOWEEN." They might think this for a number of reasons. True, we conspired to have a giant fiesta birthday party for MATT THOMAS! but then forgot to invite anyone other than Mallory and Sean. We also forgot to buy anything necessary for a party, but that's okay, because we forgot to invite people too. Matt Thomas's birthday party had originally held lofty expectations. We were thinking bobbing for apples, a little Billy Blanks Jr. kardioke, color your own Matt Thomas or pin the beard on Matt Thomas, various holiday treats and activities... but yeah, when Friday night rolled around, all we had was four bottles of beer and an ever-dwindling bucket of pumpkin seeds (ONCE YOU POP THAT PUMPKIN YOU CAN'T STOP!). We did have two nice pumpkins, carved on Thursday night. Brandy made an "oh my god!" pumpkin, aptly named because it looks like the pumpkin just said that. I made a sexy clown pumpkin. It looks like a clown and says the word "SEXY" on the back. It was a cool idea until I realized that our Korean neighbors and their two small children would only see the word "SEXY" illuminated in fire if we put the pumpkins on the front porch.
So since our party had nothing, I decided to bake a birthday cake for Matt Thomas. But then Matt Thomas decided he wanted to be Radiohead so he had band practice and we just all ate his cake. And when I say we ate his cake, I mean that I ate his cake, and Mallory helped.
But no, we did not spend our entire pre-Halloween night watching Scream 3 on MTV and eating birthday cake without the birthday boy. That only accounted for most of the night. When Billy Mays, a French man, and Sookie from True Blood showed up, we decided to confront Logan Square's hippest establishment: The Whistler. The Whistler is this super super super trendy bar around the corner. People come from near and far to stand around in its dark small spaces and look cool and drink PBR and expensive drinks. Sometimes bands come and do super hip shows that "say" things and "mean" something. Each time I have been to the Whistler, I am very bored, except the time that Mallory snuck in pizza that some guy had given her for free on her way in.
Tonight was the Whistler's "funk and soul" night, so we decided to give it a chance, even though the damn bar usually lets us down. And sure enough, we walk in and funk music is pulsating through the joint and no one is dancing. So Mallory turns to the bouncer and asks if it's okay to dance. I respect the fact that she asked this. We had to be sure that we weren't violating some sort of actual written code in the Whistler's rules, such as "Thou shalt not dance ever" or "Thou shalt not have fun." But according to the bouncer, dancing was actually allowed, so WE DID IT. And to our excitement, a few souls popped out of their darkened corners and joined us. It was like those 10 people had been waiting their whole lives for a dance party to break out at the Whistler. They actually did thank us for giving them the opportunity. People would walk into the Whistler and be totally caught off-guard, like "WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO MY FAVORITE BAR AND WHY AREN'T THE PEOPLE MOPEY?" But then they would put on their judgement faces and go into the corner. The thing about a judgment face is that it's actually the same as a jealousy face. WHAM!
We also had the opportunity to assist in starting a party on Monday night. On Monday night... Brandy, Mallory, and I did something very exciting. WE WENT TO AN ISRAELI HIP HOP SHOW! I am continuously excited by my increasing experiences with Jewish culture. Before moving to Chicago, I think I had known two Jewish people. That's discounting the random guy who let me and Mike stay with him in New York City a few years ago and the lady in the dressing room next to me at Saks Fifth Avenue. But now! Suddenly! In Chicago! The number of Jewish friends I have has increased exponentially! In the Chicago Children's Theatre office alone, I know three Jewish people. And one of them took me to an Isreali hip hop night!
Yeah but it was really fun. I don't really know any "Jewish" dances. I don't really know if such a thing as a "Jewish" dance exists. So I was constantly wondering if I was giving away the fact that I was not Jewish or if I was acting like a paranoid ignoramus. Probably somewhere in between. I must have done something right to blend in, because after the opening act, I was given a very special opportunity. The opening act was named MC Zulu, and he was tight yo. When he finished his act, some dude next to me put his hand around my waist and whispered in my ear, "Come on girl. We gonna go meet Zulu." And then he whisked me away and forced me to meet MC Zulu. I'm pretty sure that I was being majorly used, as a woman, for this super fan to get closer to his hero. And I didn't even know what to say to MC Zulu, so I just shook his hand and said thank you. That was cool. That was how I met MC Zulu. And then we all danced to SOULICO, the end.
Note: Today I found like three entries that Brandy has started and never finished. She has promised to post them tonight. We'll see if that happens. And if it doesn't, I will emotionally abuse her until it does. Y'all are free to help. BYE!
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