the ocean

Exciting News

Guess what was on HBO this morning? That's right, Home Alone 2. Apparently HBO felt that late August at 6:30 AM was the perfect time to air this holiday classic. If you aren't familiar with the plot of Home Alone 2, well, you're a terrible person. But let's just say that there are lots of hilarious mishaps in which a young child is nearly murdered by criminals. I hear it was a big favorite around the Ramsay household. You can also approximate Home Alone 2 for yourselves if you take present day Macauley Culkin (who is probably available, actually), subtract an incredibly awkward puberty, and add about a zillion dollars that will eventually be wholly mismanaged by your parents. Anyway, the point is that Home Alone 2 is great. They just don't make crotch mishap gags like they used to.

Chinese Water Torture

Late yesterday afternoon I noticed a big puddle of water in our hallway. This is never a good sign. We don't have a dog or any incontinent relatives, so I used my Miss Marple like powers to deduce that we in fact had a leak. After blanketing the area in beach towels and leak-catching pots, I immediately called the service people listed on the side of the air conditioning unit. Of course they couldn't come out until today, though they did have some exceedingly soothing hold music. I made the appointment and left my sister to deal with it.

Around one today I got a call from her. There was nothing seriously wrong with the air conditioner, she said, we were just morons who left the humidifier on at the same time, causing an overflow. That was the good news. The bad news was that she had locked herself and the maintenance man out at one pm on a Monday. Could I come and let them in?

Before I could even get out the door, I got another call. It was no problem, she said, the air conditioning man had simply jimmied our lock. It only took ten seconds. Somehow this did not make me feel better.

But she'd saved the best news for last. It turned out she hadn't lost her keys after all. They were just in her back pocket.

So now I'm dry but dangerously prone to late night burglars. At least I don't have to worry about them slipping and falling.

Storm of the Century

Thursday night there was a bit of a storm here in Chicago. This led to the following phone call from my sister:

"Oh my God, Jay, I think a tree fell on my car. This tree fell down across the street and I think it's on top of my car. Oh fuck, I have to go out and check. Let me call you back."

When she hadn't called back after 45 minutes, I decided to give her a ring.

"Oh yeah," she said. "My car is fine. It didn't fall on my car. But it was close."

My neighbors' response to the tree crisis was to go out and take pictures of the tree with their camera phones. The city came at 10:30 last night to saw off the limbs and take them away.

Thank God we're so focused on emergency preparedness. I've never felt more safe.

The Hills Are Alive

I guess it's time to come out and admit that I love The Hills.

Laguna Beach never really did it for me, as I found most of the people on it to be shallow and irritating and also, often, very difficult to hear. Plus I though Stephen was pretty much a pint-sized douchebag, and couldn't understand why any girl would want to date him, much less two. Oh, and the aggressive fakeness of it all -- how cameras just happened to be ready to film these dramatic moments from multiple angles in perfectly tv-sized increments -- made me crazy.

But despite the presence of most of these elements in The Hills, I somehow like it. I think mainly I enjoy Whitney, who has good hair and a job and kind of looks like Emma from Degrassi Junior High: The Next Generation (grown up Emma, not the troll-faced kid Emma). I also like Lo, who has a ridiculous name but enjoys Fruity Pebbles and seems to think all of these people are crazy. Beyond that, it's nice that the show actually seems to recognize (even emphasize) the fact that Spencer is not just scuzzy but also possibly a serial killer waiting to happen. Oh, and he's a terrible decorator, let's not forget that. No one was sad to see that mural go.

Anyway, I realize this may change some people's view of me, but I just had to get it off my chest. I can't go on living a lie.

Department of Corrections

In my zest for timely posting (har har), I sometimes fail to get the facts exactly right. Accordingly, I'd like to issue the following corrections:

-- The United States has not been invaded by Madagascar.
-- Christmas is not actually a feeling in your heart.
-- There are not tiny radios in my brain; they are, in fact, tiny CD players.
-- Nicole Kidman is real.
-- Aladdin is not a documentary.
-- Acid washed denim is never coming back in style.
-- Nebraska does actually exist.
-- The George Lopez Show is not "totally bitchin."
-- Being photographed does not result in the theft of your soul.
-- I am not a licensed dermatologist.
-- Oprah did not secretly marry a marlin.
-- No one stole my Lucky Charms.
-- Size does matter.

Thank you for your patience and understanding.

HSM24EVR!

High School Musical 2 debuted on the Disney Channel this weekend, which is why you may have noticed a sudden surfeit of preteens at go kart tracks and food courts near you. I have to admit that I missed out on the first High School Musical bandwagon, but since I like to be down with the kids (but not in a To Catch a Predator way, thank you), I decided to check this one out. There are definitely worse ways to spend a weekend afternoon, especially if you fast forward liberally like I did.

The "story" concerns a group of high schoolers who apparently never drink or have sex, but instead play sports, perform catchy musical numbers, and generally have wholesome fun. They're also exceedingly ethnically diverse, with three black kids, two Hispanics, a fat chick, a girl with glasses, and more (undeclared) gay boys than you can shake a stick at, no pun intended. They all get summer jobs at some rich girl's parents' country club, and then are somehow surprised when this turns out not to be a super fun and great idea. Of course there's a romance, too, and lots of tossed out allegations that people have "changed." Add lots of cute haircuts and clothes you can nag your parents for in the months to come, and you've got a worthy successor to Disney Channel favorites like Model Behavior and Zenon, Girl of the 21st Century.

Rumor has it there's a High School Musical 3 on the way, potentially with a Halloween theme. Could we possibly be so richly blessed?

On Land & Sea

It's Air & Water Show weekend here in Chicago, which means I've felt like I've been living in WWII era London for the past few days. I've never particularly understood the joy of seeing low-flying planes moving at an incredible rate of speed in a densely-populated urban area, but maybe that's just me. It certainly does tend to bring a crowd out every year to park in my neighborhood and strew empties on my lawn, so it's got to be doing something right. But pardon me if I'm a bit cranky.

In case there was any doubt, my work travel never materialized, so Providence will have to wait for another day. Perhaps I'll honeymoon there, who knows?

My couches arrived this morning. They gave me a delivery window of 9:30-11:30 AM and then arrived at 8:45. I answered the door in my boxers just to get even. But the good news is that, despite my utter failure to take any measurements in conjunction with this purchase, the couches in question fit my living room perfectly. Really ideal for the playing of Dr. Mario.

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Last night I decided to grab some Taco Bell for dinner. This is not something I do that often, any more, given my desire to live past 30, but I felt I could indulge myself just a bit. So I hopped in the car to hit the drive through. It was not until I turned into the parking lot that adventure really struck.

"NO Taco Bell! NO Taco Bell!" a woman began screaming at me.

Thinking that perhaps she was a rogue dietitian or animal byproducts activist, I was unsure what exactly I should do. I mean, I wanted a chalupa, but I wasn't ready to have red paint thrown on me or anything to get one. I ventured a simple "what?"

"NO Taco Bell. Nuh-uh. Walk-up only. Parking for the Cubs game only."

"Oh," I said. "Not even the drive through?"

"NO drive through," she screamed. "Cubs game parking only."

About six illegal left turns, a jacknifed truck, and a creative double parking job later, I was successfully in line at Taco Bell. Unfortunately, this location appeared to be staffed in its entirety by America's Most Combative African-American Family, which slowed things down a bit.

"Hard or soft shell taco? Tanisha, quit messin' with that hairnet, or I'll smack you girl."

"Mom, why I always got to work the oven? I told you I wasn't the one that ate them cinnamon crisps."

"Um, soft."

"You got to cause I said you got to. You keepin' an eye on the baby like I said to? You want them chalupas supreme or baha?"

"Supreme is fine."

"Now why can't LaTonya watch her own damn baby, mom? Ain't my fault Curtis ran off, now is it?"

"All right, you hush it now, you hear? $6.45, sir."

Ah, the lengths to which we'll go for a little slice of Mexican pizza.

Fast Times on Wilton Avenue

I had to do a little fast starting last night because I had blood drawn for my annual physical this morning. The fun thing is that, though I'm generally not exactly the Hot Dog Eating Champion of the World Joey Chestnut, whenever someone tells me I can't eat, I start to go crazy. This happens every Lent when I regularly damn myself to an eternity in hell by eating Whoppers with Cheese on Fridays. It happens when I have dental work done and end up biting huge chunks out of my tongue because I simply can't wait until the Novocaine wears off to eat my Hot Pockets. And it happened last night.

Things started off well enough. I ate an entire California Pizza Kitchen home-bake pizza and several Hostess products and steeled myself up for the fast. Then I went out to hear Taylor Dane perform "Tell it to My Heart" at Market Days and thusly take my mind off my growing and insatiable hunger. But still, around 9 PM I was about ready to rip off a stranger's head for a grilled cheese sandwich. I was imagining the fridge talking to me like I was in some long-lost Cathy comic. I had to put myself to bed to avoid my ridiculous urges.

Luckily, the blood came out on schedule this morning, and I have been gorging myself ever since. It's good to be an American.

To Market, To Market

Market Days is this weekend in my neighborhood. Ostensibly, the purpose of this event is to raise funds for the beautification of East Lakeview, but in actuality it is designed, as with all other Chicago summer events, to allow people to get drunk and eat corn dogs in the streets. Oh, and hook up. Summer is the time in Chicago when we manufacture enough regrets to last the whole eight-month winter long.

I have to say that Market Days does have some uniquely hilarious aspects of its own, such as the sale in the street of penis-shaped candles and t-shirts that say "I fuck on the first date." I narrowly steered my sister away from a display for the sale of secondhand gay porn. Plus, the cover bands and this particular event lean more towards covers of Avril Lavigne and Christina Aguilera than Journey and Jimmy Buffet. And there are a whole lot more drag queens than at, say, the Printer's Row Book Fair. Unless you count Ann Coulter, which you should.

Anyway, we had a few drinks and a few laughs. I wore my "My Other Car is Oprah" t-shirt out and quickly realized the downside of wearing such an attention-seeking shirt, which is that you in fact frequently get attention. I also ran into some drunk co-workers, which brought me joy. Nothing like watching your marketing director vomit into a porta-sink.

Traumarama

Today I witnessed an elderly man drying his pubes with one of the hair dryers at my gym. As I am not a Holocaust survivor, it ranks as the most disturbing thing I have ever seen.

Additionally, I have just been informed that I will be travelling to Providence with coworkers next week. What good can possibly come of this? Will one of my coworkers try to kill me with a complimentary shoeshine kit? Does Providence have a pharmacy museum?

And I'm very stressed out about trying to select a new couch right now. As with dating, the most comfortable candidates tend to be ugly, and the expected commitment seems to be unendurably long. My sister actually suggested that we find a couch on craigslist the other day. I explained to her that's only for sex partners.

Outside Looking In

If you're looking for a fun new way to lose weight, may I suggest locking yourself out of your condo when it's approximately 317 degrees outside? That's the plan I put into effect on Sunday when I cheerily stepped out with car keys, sunglasses, a bag full of recyclables, a copy of Losing Battles by Eudora Welty, and a fine selection of audio CDs, but no house key. Standing there on my landing, contemplating the rather unhelpful exterior of my door, I couldn't help but think: man, this would be a good time to have one of those fake rocks you can hide a key in.

I called my sister, but she was on her way back from an out-of-town wedding and needed about four hours to get there. I called Former Roommate Liz, who still maintains a key in case of emergency or random desire to visit, but she didn't answer. I left an incomprehensible voicemail featuring a repeated refrain of "because I'm an idiot," but that actually failed somehow to unlock my door. I decided to go shopping simply for the purpose of enjoying air conditioning. Yet another thing I now have in common with the homeless.

And yes, I could have called a locksmith, but it's not like I exactly have one on speed dial. And my multiple unnecessary phone books were all locked up within. Good planning all around.

Like a Broken Record

At the risk of becoming irritating, I must repeat my affection for my new(ish) record player. Today I spent $7.53 and got Prokofiev, Shostakovich, Debussy, Copland, Sondheim, a Spanish guitar record, and the soundtrack to The Big Chill. Sure, the goodwill store was approximately 183 degrees and smelled like someone had died there, but that was a small price to pay for such quality culture. I can feel my brain swelling from all the smarts I've obtained. Or an aneurysm maybe, it's hard to tell.

I also went to Ravinia tonight to make sure to lock in my cultural superiority. It was an all-Beethoven program (he went deaf, you know) and some really quality stuff. Plus I ate about a pound of cheese. And I got to watch old people pretend to conduct the music or play air violin while they listened. Or maybe they were suffering from tremors, it's hard to tell.

Oh, and I watched Dr. Strangelove for the first time last night. I was surprised how much I enjoyed it, because generally older comedies just remind me that what people find funny changes a lot over the years. But it held my attention the whole time, despite being in black and white and wholly lacking any crotch mishap gags. I am getting so smart now it's going to be hard to know what to do with myself. Or maybe I'm just more in denial, it's hard to tell.

Children Are Our Future

Did I mention that my firm let me teach in a training program this summer? It was totally awesome. I always thought teaching was a lot of hard work, but it turns out you can just talk about yourself for hours on end. And people generally feel like they have to laugh at your jokes, so you can act as stupid as you want. Oh, and there's free food involved. Just sandwiches, but they're the good kind with fun bread and lots of condiments. Mmmm, condiments.

The subject of this program was depositions, so I got to give people helpful feedback like "It might be more effective if you swore less" and "Strangling opposing counsel can be a controversial technique." And there was a lot of saying "I object," which always makes a person feel like Matlock. I also advised them, of course, to get a good breakfast before heading out to the deposition and to make sure to stay off drugs. I think I really changed some lives that day.

In Transit

One of the great thing's about Chicago's public transit system is that it affords you with constant opportunities to make new friends. Last night, for instance, while on my way home in absurd Cubs-related traffic, I had the opportunity to become intimately acquainted with any number of armpits and forearms. My burgeoning relationships weren't just limited to body parts, however, because I was also treated -- along with the entire train -- to the crackerjack dialogue of the fun couple next to me.

It all began when, pink Cubs hat and designer handbag in tow, the female of the pair began trying to force her way into the already completely full train.

"There's definitely room in there," she said, sighing heavily. "If that guy back there would just move in a little bit more, like six more people could get on here."

The guy in question, thoroughly chastised, forced his face further into the bosoms of the enormous woman next to him and thereby created enough space for approximately 1.5 more people. The couple immediately jammed their way in, seemingly all elbows.

"God, I hate crowded trains," she whined. "Where do all these people have to go, anyway?"

"It stinks in here, too," he added. "I told you we should have just taken the Land Rover."

"Yeah, but I hate it when those dirty guys park it," she rejoined. "Do you think the Cubs are going to win today? Aren't they in, like, 50th place?"

"I don't know. I just want to get an Amstel."

"They don't have wine there, do they? Maybe we should just skip it and go straight to the bar."

"Yeah, but aren't we supposed to meet Tiffany?"

"Oh right, yeah, she'd probably like commit suicide or something if we didn't meet her, the psycho."

"She's YOUR friend."

"Not really. I just hang out with her because I feel sorry for her."

"You're too nice, babe. Too nice."

At this point they began making out. The classiness never stops, I tell you. It just never stops.

Harry Potter Spoilers That Weren't

-- The real cause of Harry's parents' death? Secondhand smoke.
-- Three words: hardcore owl sex.
-- Snape gets an awesome new makeover courtesy of Revlon.
-- The new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor? Oprah.
-- Quidditch is replaced with an even more magical sport: foxy boxing.
-- Professor McGonagall wins a hot dog eating contest.
-- Voldemort reforms his evil ways after learning the true meaning of Christmas from the California Raisins.
-- Hermione has a penis.
-- J.K. Rowling sleeps on a big pile of money.