Category Archives: a picture is worth a thousand words

“Mid American” by Ed Paschke in 1969. Strangely resonating…

This painting was by Ed Paschke in 1969. 40 years ago. It is on exhibit at the new modern wing of the Art Institute of Chicago. For some unknown reason, I found it sad and strangely resonating when I saw it for the first time. And till this day, I am haunted by it.

“The inscription on his shorts, Our Cover—like the tattoo on his chest, the mask on his face, the baseball mitts that float next to him, and his athletic attire—suggests the social markings used to conceal, protect, and layer a middleclass, middle-American identity.” (From the Art Institute of Chicago website)

I am pretty damn sure that the artist didn’t have someone like me in mind when he created this piece. I am as far away from “Mid American” as possible. Perhaps it is the longing to belong that sometimes creeps into my subconsciousness? The exhaustion from wanting to appear normal? Blend in. Quiet the noises. No need to be so goddamn vigilant all the time.

Fall in Chicago. It is back!

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Fall arrived in our neck of the woods towards the end of September. That was when I realized our maple tree was the first one on the block to start turning red.

Living in Chicago for over a decade has taught us to appreciate a sunny mild day with a blue sky dotted with big fluffy clouds when we are blessed enough to witness it. The day is always treated as The Perfect Day.

We have learned to treat the weekends with 50-degree temperature during the long winter with reverence. All of the sudden the neighborhood comes back alive, people venture outside without their jackets as if it were summer already.

Carpe diem. We are the experts here.

The first week of October, despite the ominous clouds at the edge of the dome, we decided to go on our annual Pumpkin Farm trip because my husband would soon be away for a 3-week business trip. It paid off because the temperature immediately dropped down to the unseasonably cold and stayed this way until this weekend.

Maybe the Corn Angels the kids made that day brought Fall back to us…

Corn Angels

Apple picking may still be in the stars for us.

What I learned from using a Neti pot: Waterboarding IS torture!

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For the new diagnosis of my hacking cough, the good doctor not only put me on steroid and on codeine, he also recommended the use of Neti pot. Up till this day, I have never even heard of such a thing. He showed me a sample.
neti_pot

How adorable! It’s a mini teapot!

It was adorable until he demonstrated how to use it…

(I seriously was surprised by how many pictures of Neti Pot in action are online. People never ever disappoint.)

Yew!

I will of course spare you the details since I am nice and classy like that. The point of this post is to share with you the light bulb that went up when I was administering Neti Pot to myself:

I was scared when water went into my nose. My first reaction was fight, and then flight. And that was a very small amount of water. And I did it to myself. The sensation of water coming in was frightening even at that. Imagine Waterboarding.

No. I cannot imagine it, not even remotely.

I will admit to ANYTHING if it were done to me. Just the mere thought of it. ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING.

I would have been a lousy spy. I’d better start carrying a piece of cyanide hidden inside my tooth.

p.s. IF you ever need to use Neti Pot, be warned, water will drip out of your nose without warning at any given moment, several hours after the use. I have no idea where that water was, but it gushed out of my nose. More than once. Imagine my surprise when I went to pick up the fundraiser goods from the PTA moms this afternoon… Yeah.

The silver lining is, they’ll probably never ever ask me again to join the PTA.

Tis almost Halloween. Do you know where your costume is? Let Zoltar inspire you…

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Remember Zoltar? From the movie Big? Well, here is to help you remember…

How many of us have thought about seeking the exact Zoltar out, not to make a wish, but just to say, “I have seen it. THE Zoltar in the movie with Tom Hanks!” Well, this post is not about that Zoltar. But it is cooler. Meet Zoltar, in real life…

This dude built a Zoltar on Segway. Ingenious, isn’t it? He won the first place at this year’s Coney Island Mermaid Parade.

This is my favorite picture of all:

Marge Simpson, the next Playboy girl? Magazine editors amaze me too…

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Marge Playboy girl

This is all over the news lately. Or at least, on the Interweb. Here is the part that made me laugh out loud:

New CEO Scott Flanders says the idea is to attract readers in their 20s to a magazine where the average reader’s age is 35…

So, let me get this straight: the 20-something male would 1) prefer to see a cartoon character naked 2) they would want to see a middle-aged cartoon character naked 3) they have otherwise NO options to see a cartoon character naked.

Seriously?

I googled by typing in “Manga girls” and I was inundated with tons of images I don’t want my boys to see. Care to imagine if I had used more specific key words?

manga girl

And say what you may, Jessica Rabbit is still the sexist female character, EVA. (Where’s Kanye West when you need him?!)

Herald to Halloween? Walnut that looks like Jack Skellington

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Originally uploaded by The Absence of Alternatives.

My youngest went tramping in the woods with daddy this weekend and came upon this great looking walnut. He was very excited since, at least to him and all of us in the family actually, it looks like Jack Skellington in Tim Burton’s The Nightmare before Christmas…

The Nightmare Before Christmas was my 6year-old boy’s favorite movie when he was even younger. We used to have to let him watch it almost every day. For someone who is reserved and wary of startling, action-packed scenes, our youngest child’s love of Jack Skellington has always baffled us…

Dear God, it’s me, not Margaret, but before I die, may I please go to Bora Bora?

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Seriously, I have promised myself that I will finish this white paper I am working on before I do anything else. Except breathe. And drink a lot of water which is good for you. And then of course, pee. And I have been working really hard, until I had to search for a research paper online and I came across this picture, completely by accident, of Le Meridien Bora Bora…

It, how did you say it, oh yeah,

Simply. Took. My. Breath. Away.

I couldn’t go back to do whatever I was doing until I spent some time daydreaming about it…

I love hotels. I think my love for travelling, my Wanderlust, stemmed from my very basic fascination with hotels from a very young age. (Ok, the clean, fancy kind. Or at least, the not spooky gross-out kind. Not the ones looking like they are from the movie Barton Fink, oh no…) My mom worked as a hotel maid and she sneaked me into the hotel when she couldn’t find or afford a babysitter. Sometimes, after I begged her to smuggle me in. Literally. Many times I rode on the bottom of the service cart, camouflaged by a bed linen. I was always excited. Hotels to me are where dreams are made of. Clean, fluffy linens and pillows. Nicely made beds.

(Of course I understand the hard work put in by the hotel cleaning staff. Until this day, I clean up after myself as much as I can whenever I stay in a hotel…)

I don’t even care about Bora Bora. No offence to people who are Bora Bora-nese? Bora Bora-en? I am sure it is a gorgeous tropical paradise, Kodak moment everywhere you turn. What I am trying to say is: I just want to go there so I can stay in one of these bungalows, over the lagoon, before I die.

That’s all I’ve got to say.

Edited to add, now that I have 5 minutes to regroup from my initial shock: Preferably without kids. Thank you.

How come others got a long letter from a Nigeria princess and I, this?

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MY spammer / con-man is NOT even trying…

We found a “weed” in our backyard that’s almost 17 feet tall!

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We found a “weed” in our backyard that’s almost 7 feet tall!, originally uploaded by The Absence of Alternatives.

CORRECTION: The weed measured almost 17 feet tall. Not 7. Duh.

The boys marched around the house with the weed and its “branch”, (Seriously. If a weed has a branch, doesn’t that negate the definition of a weed and hence it is no longer a weed?!), singing,

“The Weed! The Weed! It’s a very tall weed!”

At that moment, two things popped in my head:

1. Michael Phelps

2. 420