As I left my apartment this morning, I turned around to lock my door.
That’s when I got paint all over myself.
Effing management painted early in the morning, and didn’t have signs up the night before, so I had no idea that my DOOR would be covered in PAINT.
On the upside, my day got better and better from there. I didn’t fall into a hole, or have a bus splash water up on me.
Back when Millennium Park was just being built, I met up with [censored] to hang out. We’d been having trouble acting normal around each other, which is natural when you’ve both separately broken each other’s hearts.
We walked through the park and up to the Pritzker Pavilion, then in pieces. The shapes that make up the pavilion are jutting curves of metal, and in the moonlight of this particular evening, the shapes made the whole place look like a robot dinosaur graveyard. Soft yellow light cast down from street lamps, and traffic from Lake Shore Drive made a swooshing noise in the background. It was a cool night, so there were many shivers of delight and breeze.
We walked among the curves of metal, navigating the construction site. We’d walk together, then walk apart, and come upon each other turning a corner. The night, atmosphere, and setting were enough to make one weak in the knees, and I thought that maybe a night so ephemeral and beautiful might finally be the salve for the scars of a breakup. All together it was nearly a dream.
I know we were both thinking of a song called My Favourite Chords by the Weakerthans. The whole night still feels mildly tragic, but the most awe came from knowing we were thinking about the same song.
The reason I thought of this was that I was wearing a skirt a lot like the skirt I’m wearing today.
I was banned from reading for a month, because I hid behind Aaron Horman (a big kid) and read Enyclopedia Brown books during math and science. That was in the fifth grade, and I’ve never forgiven Mrs. Kintzel.
Oh, I seemed to have mentioned this before.
Hey – anybody out there feeling a little bit guilty? Did you maybe do something this weekend you’re feeling a bit abashed about? Do you feel that all you need to do is maybe just do something positive and selfless, and you’ll be back on karmatrack?
If that’s the case; or if you have some change in a jar that you could cash in, but it’s like bonus money and if you gave it away it wouldn’t affect you; or if you have bills laying about that you want to get rid of …
My friend Angela has signed up to do the Avon walk in Chicago, and is raising money for breast cancer research. And training to walk really really far. And she needs to raise some money to do it. It’s an admirable undertaking, and a tax writeoff.
Post a comment with your name (or an easily recognizable nom de plume) if you’re down.
Click here to access the online donation, and see a picture of Angela and her cute grandma. Post a comment if you don’t do onliney money stuff.
I am having one of those little freakouts that happens when something involving technology and finances goes wrong.
It’s not that I don’t know my PIN, it’s just that it’s a natural reaction when I see a keypad, to press the correct four digits. Somehow, over this weekend, I tried too hard to remember it, and now I’ve totally screwed everything up in my brain and I can’t remember what it is, and I don’t have any cash, and I’m generally grouchy about it, since it’s my fault. Rar.
My sister googled me, and happened across this article written in Single Again Magazine about the death of her brother, and likens how we treat this generation of children to the ‘stolen generation’ of Aborignal children from Australia.
My brother is alive, but that only begins to explain the creepiness.
Creeeeeeeeepy.
There’s just something about a fully knitted Batman costume that just makes me a little creeped out.
I’ll point out for non-knitter the irony of an $8, 000 Aquaman knitted suit, because it cost more than you think for the yarn. I’d frog it and make an afghan though.
You know when you have a sex dream about someone who is in your daily life (as opposed to a celebrity sex dream) and then you wake up and think about how it’s going to be weird when you see them next, and when you do see them it’s all weird, but only you know it, and you feel like you should tell them even though you really shouldn’t because there really isn’t a “special bond” – it’s all just in your head, but you can’t help it?
Yeah. I don’t really know what else to say, but I guess each and every one of you reading this (who know me) can assume what you’d like. Giggedy giggedy. All right.
One of the sites I keep my eye on is Drawn.ca. They feature artists with examples of their work. It sounds simple and arty, but it tends to lean on the side of comic books and contemporary PoMo.
And that’s how I learned about Little India, the book written by Pixar Studio animator Sanjay Patel. The book is a children’s guide to Hindu mythology, but ubercute. I mean, uber. It’s cuter than Hello Kitty. 
It’s self published, and I immediately wanted it. It’s a under-the-radar, cool, useful children’s book. What’s better than that?
Did I mention that I already have a fairly substantial children’s book collection? Going to grad school for kids lit is the only reason that isn’t a wee bit creepy. I’m a lucky duck.
I bought a PDA this weekend. I was going to hide that fact for a while, since they’re not really that hip, and I kind of look like a dork when I whip it out and start jabbing at it while it makes little annoying click noises.
I named it the 6:1, after that particular domino that is the best domino to have in your hand. It’s referred to as “the pet”, so it’s an appropriate title, and since I’m affectionate to my things, it’s an appropriately named gizmo.
I’ve already put a ton of lists on it, which is way better than my last datakeeper, which was small pieces of paper that ended up in the washer and becoming lint.
So here’s my first critique. I would like the ‘tasks’ application to offer an option to throw said tasks (such as “making energy bars”) into the calendar. That way, I’m reminded to get stuff done.
