Quodlibets

Commuting, Day Two

Not so good.  Rain + Idiots = BAAAAD commute.

But it didn't feel soul-crushing, and I've been making nice lunches for myself, to boot.  (Nothing better than a tomato sandwich on sourdough.  I looove the Green Market.  Next week, I'm buying carrots.  There is a variety called "sweet snack" and that sounds just about right for lunches.  And I'll keep buying tomatoes, of course.  And when there is sweet corn at the market, we're going to try that too.)

Regardless, I've come to realize that I'll need A LOT more audiobooks if I'm going to keep driving 45 minutes each way (and I feel okay about that right now, actually, because it seems like a pretty good compromise.  If I have to commute to live in the city, I'll deal with it.) and that means one of two things:  a) buy more audiobook mp3's or b) learn to love the Chicago Public Library.  I assume it'll be a combo of the two.

I promise, I will get more interesting at some point, but right now I'm so consumed by commuting and moving that I'm not quite all here yet.

I did see something interesting this morning right down the block from the apartment, on the way to work.  A woman with three pugs.  Two walking, one riding in a jogging stroller that she was pushing.  Eccentric, no?

I'm totally buying these

S sent me the link to these wonderful toys earlier.  I can't really explaint them, but suffice it to say that even if you think they're disgusting, they're probably good for a laugh.

1st Commuting Day

Thumbs up, so far.  (Except for the snarl on Lower Wacker. I could have made it home in 35 minutes.)

In Which S and I have the worst luck

Today, contrary to our normal inability to get things done, S and I accomplished oodles of things.  Except that per my title, we have bad luck.  Bad, bad luck.

We bought some shower organizer thingys at the Container Store, the kind that suction to the wall and then lock into place.  We bought them for the corners of the shower, to stow our massive collection of shampoos and various other items (razors, shaving cream, S's facial wash, my two big tubs o' Philosophy), along with a soap dish and a hook, for the foot file and the loofah.  I decided that the sticking of these things would be easy enough for me to handle, so I thought I must be really stupid when the corner caddies would NOT work.  But no, S couldn't get them to work either. 

I think it was then that I realized that we were going to have to make ANOTHER trip to the Container Store to return the caddies and pick up some more conventional ones.  Ones that didn't hang in corners.

So we did that (and stopped at WF for some Greek Yogurt, which as you know, I cannot live without), and came home, and S decided to build his new CD shelf, which matches the old one perfectly.  I unpacked the "Important" box while he was doing that, stowing our papers and random crap in the bins we'd bought earlier.  It was a productive hour or so, and at the end of it, S stood up and said, "Well, this is defective.  It's missing a shelf and it has two bases."  The options seem to be a) take it apart and return it, b) return it all put together (because it utilizes glue), c) take the extra base back to the store and ask for the right piece or d) just live with it.  I'm not sure which option I really favor, but S seems intent on either living with it, or demanding the top shelf in exchange for the base.  Whatever.  At least it sort of matches the old one.

I only hope that our bad luck doesn't hold out, because the only Tivo wireless adapter for sale at the Best Buy we went to was an open item, which means someone returned it.  If it's defective, I swear to god, I'm never shopping at Best Buy EVER again.  (I also hope our bad luck turns good and we can somehow figure out the blinds in our room--we replaced some of the slats, which were provided for us upon move in, but the slats are turned, and S cannnot get them turned in the direction of all the old slats.  Which means we cannot open or turn our blinds.  They're stuck as they are.)

I think we're going to go for a walk now, because we've been sitting for a while now, and I've been jonesing for a nice dusky walk around Lincoln Park.  I swear we won't be getting ice cream, either, even though I can hear it calling my name.  Just a walk.

9/11 as a catalyst for the plot

I've just finished Julia Glass's book, The Whole World Over.  I enjoyed it very much; probably more than I enjoyed her first book, Three Junes, which was massively critically acclaimed, and which I didn't much see the point of.  It felt like kind of pointless literary fiction, and I don't much like that sort of book.  But this book, the new one, felt different.  It was more compulsively readable and I felt as if it moved faster.  And the characters were food people, which probably made it more likeable for me. 

However.  However.  At the end of the book, 9/11 happens.  And to be quite honest, this is the first book I've read since then that mentioned the attacks (okay, the first work of fiction), and I wasn't sure how that would play for me.  And I'm still not sure, after reading the book.  (If you plan on reading it, please quit reading now, as I might start giving away major plot points and spoil the book for you.  If not, read on.  And if you're on the fence, I have to tell you that I would absolutely recommend reading it, despite what I'm about to say.  Please don't read this and then decide that you want to read it, because after reading this, it might be pointless.)  Anyway, 9/11 sort of made a choppy appearance in the end, choppy because I got confused as to timelines the way the narrative moved.  First 9/11 happened, then it hadn't, and then it had again.  And though it's clearly a non-fiction event, in the book it was simply a catalyst for each of the main characters to experience the change of heart or mind they needed to keep living.  Or it was the thing that happened that made them come to the big realization that would change their life.

And maybe, just maybe 9/11 was that for so many people (and in a book set half in New York, I suspect that it rings true), but I also felt like 9/11 SOLVED the problems of the people in this book.  I'm not 100% sure how this is bad, but I felt slightly uneasy at the end of the book, like 9/11 was being cheapened, or brought down.  Except that I'm all for literature presenting ordinary human beings reactions to said event, so I can't fathom why the end bothered me so much.  Regardless, I was bothered, even though I enjoyed the book very much.  I suppose it'll be interesting to read more literature dealing with 9/11, though I certainly won't be searching out those books.

Sitting on the couch

Resting my weary, weary feet.  After two days of the craziness of moving, we decided to go to the Taste tonight, early to miss the crowds (and how!  It was perfectly pleasant.) and get some tasty food.  But between the being on my feet for hours yesterday, moving in and unpacking, and the same today, and the walk to the el and around the Taste and then back from the el (a loooooong walk), phew.  My feet are killing me.  And realistically there's still a good lot of things to do around here.  We have probably three loads of laundry to do, just to get things back to normal--maybe four.  The kitchen isn't nearly done yet, and S still has piles of CDs around that demand a shelving unit that we don't own.  I'd also really like a dining room table, since we now have room for a small one.  Also, and this is more of a peripheral thing, but my mom and I saw a really kick-ass laundry helper/hamper in the laundry room today, and I want one.  It was a nice rolling cart with three separate compartments in it, perfect for the way we'll be doing laundry from now on.

None of our pictures are hung, though that's something that can wait.  The Tivobot isn't hooked up, but I'm hoping that will happen within the next few days.  S doesn't have a job, technically, though he's assured of one at one store (far away!) and is working on two other stores.  Grrr.  He does need a job.  We need to fix the lighting situation, and there's a sad lack of phone jacks in the apartment.  There's also some comfusion about whether we'll be able to buzz people up into the apartment.  We're not sure, which means people will have to call us to get up.  Kind of a PITA, to be honest.  But we don't have a typical phone, which you need to buzz people in.  Not good, and not necessarily something we can remedy, because our phone service through the cable company includes free long distance, something we've wanted for two years.

I'm still having moments where I'm looking around thinking, "what the fuck, I live here?" or "Oh my god, this is the biggest mistake we've ever made." or "There are so many problems with this apartment, what have we gotten ourselves into?"  But that's probably just me being dramaculous, but I can't help it.  I'm that kind of girl.  It's pretty comforting to think that I don't have to go to work again until Monday, though after being off for two days, it very much feels like a Sunday.

Still.  We're over the biggest obstacles and hurdles, with very few problems.  (Remember the last move?  When our big screen TV was demolish by the movers, and then badly fixed?  I'm not sure I was blogging then, but that was a disaster.  This time, both our TVs survived, but the dresser from our bedroom bit the dust.  And at least two drawers of clothes were probably all over the ground outside our apartment, and those drawers held underthings (my bras were on the ground!  Ew.) and socks, and PJs, which means that we had to wash all those things.  A minor problem, really, since the dresser is usable, but one that made me cry, nonetheless.  From exhaustion, and frustration, and sheer unhappiness at the knowledge that my clothes WERE ON THE STREET.

Anyway.  Moved.  Tired.

Commence the Screaming

Because we're moving tomorrow, and I couldn't be more nervous and terrified and this is just sucky, because I am stupid.

S is perfectly calm.  Because even if S were not perfectly calm, he would never show that he wasn't, whereas I'm instantly readable, because I my face shows it all, and then I'm liable to bark at you, or bitch at you, or moan and groan about how nervous I am.

Any bets that my mom will hate me by the end of the next few days?

I am a maaaad teeth clencher

I was doing some light blog reading, and came across an entry at Fluid Pudding that might just change my life.

I have, as I've probably mentioned, migraine problems.  And I've long known that if I'm not careful, I wake up with strongly clenched teeth, and headaches.  Normally, I try to fall asleep with my tongue pressed to the roof of my mouth and my front teeth.  It can prevent the hard clenching.  But it's not foolproof, and I'm wondering if I might want one of those little teeth guard things.  It might help me be pain-free.  (My jaw is in a LOT of pain today, and honestly, I thought (before I read FP) it was because I woke up with severely clenched teeth.

I mean, I don't know for sure.  This is all self-diagnosis.  But I really think it might be right.  I'm tense right now, and I'm ending up clenching more at night than usual.  (The fact that I'm aware of making a conscious effort to stop clenching at night is just a clue.  That and I wake up with an awareness that my teeth were JAMMED together at the point of wake-up.  Like this morning.)  Anyway, I maybe will ask the dentist when I go next time.  I wonder if he would be able to tell.

I forgot

In the stress and fuss of the move, I completely forgot that two of my FAVORITIST authors in the whole wide world both had books released this weekend.

The situation is now remedied, but I'm sitting on my couch trying to make the decision of which one to read first.

Kim Harrison v. Julia Quinn.

Right now, Harrison is edging out Quinn, but I wouldn't make any bets just yet.

Update:  I actually read the Quinn first (I'm done now), and for good measure, purchased her two "2nd Epilogues" as e-books and have just read those.  So now I'll move on to the Harrison.  If you want to know, I read the Quinn first because I knew that I wanted to savor the Harrison, and that if I read it first, I'd be reading it quickly to get to the Quinn.  As it was, I ripped through the Quinn to get to the Harrison.  But the Quinn didn't disappoint.  She's a marvelous writer.

Who can I be if I can't be me?

I'm reading Nation of Rebels: Why Counterculture Became Consumer Culture, and it really has me thinking a lot about my teenage years.  I feel as if I grew up right on the edge of the luxury-consumer age, at least in my town--no one had cell phones or iPods, which didn't exist, even.  I don't remember purses being a status thing, like they definitely are now.  I can't imagine finding one girl in my affluent hometown who didn't know what a Kate Spade was, or the "status" such a purse carried.  I certainly can't imagine carrying a Kate Spade in high school, but then again, I didn't even carry a purse.  Just a beat-up backpack.  Anyway, the point is, I definitely did not feel the consumer pressures that I feel now, or that my high school age brother must have felt (or if he did not, many of his girlfriends probably did) to consume, and to consume luxury goods.

However, in thinking about counterculture, rebellion, and conformity, I'm faced with the startling truth that I've been fed two VERY different messages since my teenage years:  a) don't be conformist: (e.g. you don't need those Doc Marten's just because everyone else has them) and b) don't TRY to be different (e.g. you're just getting your nose pierced to be different).  So which is it?  No choice is ever without elements of one or the other.  The options with the nose piercing were: conform to look like everyone else and not have the piercing, or rebel against the beauty standards that society sets forth.  According to the above dichotomy, neither choice is correct, yet there's no middle ground.  You can't get half a nose piercing. 

I'm not certain how much this has affected me, to be honest.  How can I evaluate that?  I'm in a place now where (and I'm talking philosophically, abstractly, in thoughts) nothing seems authentic--no choice, no desire, no feeling--so if I have a slightly rebellious bent, who's to say where it came from?  That rebellion, as the book so punishingly points out, isn't authentic, and it's not really rebellion.  Rebellion = mass culture.  I'm just another unoriginally rebellious person who thinks they're all radical and shit, and in the meantime, I'm buying things, buying things, buying things.  Pretty convoluted, in the end. 

The book, really, has only convinced me further that authenticity doesn't exist anymore.  Might never again.  I'm not necessarily saying that's bad, but I'm saying that's how it is.  And any persona you cobble together these days is only the inauthentic pieces of what you've found around you.  I am who I am, but I'm not organically this way.  Does that make sense?