The Walnut Room at Macy's
Outside of Macy's
The landmark Marshall Field's Clock
Christkindlmarket: Old-world style German Christmas Market right in the center of Chicago
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Sundays in My City – So This is Christmas
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Category Archives: random
Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!
As in Seinfeld…
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When I landed in the U.S. which turned out to be in the middle of corn field and not in NYC or LA, I was often trapped inside my dorm room and therefore I watched a lot of American TV. That’s probably for the better since I needed polishing on not just the English language but also American pop cultures. Nick at Night turned out to be a great teacher.
But the real Sensei for me, in terms of getting integrated into the American Pop culture, is Seinfeld.
It was a struggle for me at first. The show is full of references and references to references. I felt that I needed a secret decoder to decipher the humor underneath the banters. I knew it was funny; I just didn’t know how or why. More puzzling instead. When I finally was able to laugh at all the appropriate moments, and sometimes even at the more subtle points, I knew that I had “GOT IN” the secret club.
We went to see Jerry Seinfeld last Friday. The show was supposed to start at 7 pm, and yet, at 7:20 pm there were still a lot of people getting into their seats. Many of them were either holding a drink or obviously tipsy already. As late as 7:45 pm, there were stragglers wandering in. And throughout the night, until the show ended a little bit after 8:30 pm, people would get out of their seats to get more drinks and popcorn.
Is it just me? Is this nothing uncommon when it comes to standup comedies even though the venue is Chicago Theatre and now some comedy club in a basement somewhere?
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I really had fun at the show. I laughed so hard, my stomach hurt, and I found it hard to breath quite often. In fact, my husband told me after the show that he was surprised by how loud my laughter could be (or did he use the word “cackle”? Anyway, after 14 years of marriage, I was surprised that he was surprised by anything. Wow.) I had to press on my temples at several particularly hilarious yet insightful observations that he made for fear that my head might burst from the suppressed urge to jump up and down in vehement agreement.
One example: (Paraphrased below as usual… for I have no photographic memory…)
The problem with being a father is that our role is not clear. A kid’s role? Very clear. A father’s role? FUZZY. We have no idea what we are supposed to do. In fact, there are only two things that are clearly what fathers are expected to do. One is to come home every night, drop your bag on the floor, and yell, “Daddy’s home!” and then expect everybody in the house to drop whatever they are doing and come running.
The other one is AVOIDANCE. We practice avoidance so nobody can see us. (I can’t quite remember what exactly he said in the middle here… It’s funny. Just trust me on this one.) “WHERE IS YOUR FATHER?” This question is the most often asked inside the house. (At this line I howled with laughter because it is damn true in my household. At the same time I felt grateful towards Seinfeld because it was damn nice to know I am not alone in dealing with the “Husband in Hiding” issue…) … GOLF stands for GET OUT LEAVE FAMILY…
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Jerry asked the audience to throw questions at him at the end, and it became obvious that many in the audience were flat out drunk. One guy kept on yelling Festivus! Some gal repeated what she had yelled at the beginning of the show, “Jerry I love you you are the best you are the funniest” (and she did not know when to stop). A very blonde and young girl sitting in the first row told Jerry that she has been watching his show since 1995. Jerry said, “Yes, and I have been on TV for the 15 years before that!” Again, this one did not know when to stop either. She went on full gushing mode. “But I think you are the best and the funniest… blah blah blah.”
“If you turn around now,” Jerry had to interrupt her, “you’ll see that there are other people in this room. It is not just you and me here.” He then tried to make the whole situation funnier for the rest of us, “Sometimes people sitting in the front row are so blinded by their power…”
The question of whether he plans to do another TV show was brought up, Jerry said, “To be honest with you: I am old, rich and tired.” He now gets up in the morning sitting at the kitchen counter with his three kids eating cereals while watching Sesame Street. “I would watch Elmo and laugh at his antics, and I’d thought to myself, ‘Yeah. Let him bust his red furry ass…'”
Some guy from the DRUNK section yelled out, “DO YOU THINK YOU ARE FUNNY?”
Awkward silence in the audience. I guess most people were holding their breath at that somewhat rude question.
“I don’t know. It really doesn’t matter what I think. You guys are the ones paying for the tickets!” At that, thunderous applause.
“Incongruity Detected”
“Incongruity Detected” is a term I learned from this laugh-out-funny post from Hyperbole and a Half, the girl with the indomitable spirit who makes hilarious illustrations for her blog posts with MS Paint. That post of hers is titled “Expectations vs. Reality“.
Oh boy, did that post strike a cord within the deepest recess of my being.
Sometimes I think I come off as Unnecessarily Humble because I am an ultimate narcissist: I am so awesome that I can afford to show humility of a pathological degree.
Yeah. That.
You see, inside my head, I live a different life than reality. It’s like I have my own personal Matrix.
I watch people dance on TV or in the movies, I visualize myself doing the exact same graceful movements. I tap my feet. I sway my upper body (’cause I am a Couch Dancer). I’ve got rhythm. I get so swept away by my mental image that I am convinced IF I stand up now I’ll be able to do JUST THAT.
It’s the same with singing. Inside my head, not only could I sing I’ll Always Love you, I could carry that high note to the very end. I stopped believing in that when I actually opened my mouth once and lived with a sore throat (= strained vocal cord muscle) for the next three days. Ok, admittedly I am not Whitney Houston. But I can sing like Eartha Kitt, inside my head. Low. Husky. Raspy. Yes, inside my head I have a low, husky and raspy voice. I mean, if I have trouble hitting the high notes, it has got to be because I have a husky voice, right? There is no other explanation. By the way, since we are going down this road, let me just point out that inside my head, I can also slink across the piano like Eartha Kitt. Oozing seduction.
I can if I just try.
So when Neil over at Citizen of the Month announced the Fifth Annual Blogger Christmalhijrahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert, I thought I’d just go ahead and perform one of my favorite Christmas songs, Santa Baby. I even used the Web Cam… The result?
Incongruity Detected.
Fine. I cannot be sexy and seductive like Eartha Kitt. You know, sometimes inside my head I can sing like Zooey Deschanel. Ok. I thought I’d change the plan and sing one of my favorite winter-themed songs, Baby It’s Cold Outside. Leon Redbone has such a low and resonant voice, next to him, inside my head, I sound absolutely dainty and innocent and adorable.
So if you ever wonder what happened to me: I don’t write. I don’t read your posts. I don’t comment. I don’t visit. I don’t even reply to your comments on my own friggin’ blog. I was consumed in an epic battle between Reality and Fantasy.
I waited every night until the kids were asleep. I sang. Again and again. I tried singing in the bathroom to get the acoustics going. I stole the microphone from Wii to see whether it would make a difference. I used the toy “microphone amplifier” that we got for $1 at Target. I sang standing up. I sang sitting down. I drank hot tea incessantly to calm my overworked throat (yeah, I was not doing it right I know). I needed to pee every five minutes as a result. I did not go to bed until after 3 am for at least three nights in a row.
I ended up recording myself singing the same song on my iPhone 50+ times.
Incongruity Detected. Every single friggin’ time.
Finally after midnight on the day of the submission deadline, I was so exhausted, actually falling asleep when I was listening to the playbacks, I had to make a judgement call and come to grip with reality: Ain’t gonna sound like Zooey Deschanel. Better cut my losses and be done with it.
So here it is, despite the Incongruity Detected (and I figure that you don’t care since you are not inside my head), for your viewing pleasure (oh, yes, I added visual goodies to make my singing bearable. Hint: Think “Cold. Pussy.”): My performance at the Fifth Annual Blogger Christmalhijrahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert.
Why, you ask, do I wish to humiliate myself if I am so devastated by the Incongruity Detected?
Eh. Please see Paragraph 3.
Please do check out the actual concert, especially since Elly @ BugginWord (another girl with the indomitable spirit) performed at the concert too!
My thanks to A Vapid Blonde, 20 Prospect, Tomatoes on the Vine, and Laura @ Hey What’s For Dinner Mom for providing pictures that without a doubt are improving the sales of hot chocolate.
Remember Showgirls? Nomi says you’ve got to put this flag up and see who salutes
Boing! <– warning: NSFW
Whoa, mama!
Now I’ve got your attention. This proves that if put in the right context with the right mood implied, ANYTHING you say can be interpreted with a naughty bend. But first, a warning.
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That being said, like a good strip tease, I am going to start with something wholesome… See? Pink roses and fancy china and proper tea time.
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Big Little Wolf over at Big Little Wolf’s Daily Plate of Crazy passed this award to me… this September… Ugh… I did mention before that I am in a P.A. (Procrastinator Anonymous) program right? Thank you for the award. I really appreciate it!
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Next up is an intriguing award from Wendy at Herding Cats in Hammond River. It is British with a distinct British word and should be savored properly in Queen’s English. Since I do have a British-accent-fetish, I enjoy looking in the mirror and saying, “You are bloody brilliant!” and also “Blimey! It is almost 4 months since you’ve received this award. You are a rotten wanker indeed!” Thank you, Wendy!
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Yeah yeah yeah. You are thinking, “Well, one BLOODY does not NC-17 make. It won’t even get you bleeped!” Be patient my lad. Now here come the awards by Rabbit aka Micael over at The [Long] Journey [to the Middle].
Rabbit said to take one or all. I couldn’t choose so I took all three. I am NOT being greedy just indecisive…
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This one is rated PG…
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This is all a big tease, isn’t it? Not so… Quick! Earmuffs!
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This award is NOT censored on my blog and it is still fucking awesome!
But wait, there is MORE!
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Are you ready for this? I simply HAD to share this award with you because I do like me some good licking and besides, Nomi says so…
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So step right up! All of you. Please. Because a 10-inch dick is simply too fucking awesome to not be passed around!
AND I would like to give this award back to Micael because he totally deserves it — I hope I just succeeded in finding a loophole for a blogger to accept and display an award that they created…
I know what you are thinking. You are going to be coy. You are going to be humble. I understand. I’d behave the same way if suddenly a 10-inch-dick award were to be thrust in front of my face.
How about this: How about if we do this for charity? For anybody that brings Nomi home to their blog, a dollar will go to The Global Fund, and another dollar will go to The Trevor Project.*
Do it for Nomi. Do it for the children. And do it, for goodness sake, for the Great 10-inch Dick!
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* Disclaimer 1: I am NO saint. This is in our annual household budget anyway. I know it is uncouth to talk about one’s own charity giving; on the other hand, I do not want to be disingenuous and pretend that I am doing anything extra.
* Disclaimer of the Disclaimer: In the unlikely event that more than the usual number of people come by my blog (Unlikely because Thanksgiving is over and people have stopped searching for turkey and landing here), there IS a certain cap to the Bring Nomi Home campaign. I hope you understand.
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Linlah @ Corn-Bean brought Nomi home and had a great time with her on the stripper pole. I know you want to do it too!
Micael @ The (Long) Journey (to the Middle), Nomi’s creator, was reunited with Nomi on his side bar (Ok. This sounds disturbing for some reason… But it is really all legit…)
Holly aka Midwestern Mamah @ ARE YOU SERIOUS? (yes, it has got to be all CAPS. That’s how I hear it every time I visit her blog…) has put up Nomi right in her living room. Nothing speaks of holiday cheer than a show girl licking the stripper pole.
Wicked Shawn @ Wicked Girls Think It, Do You? (yes, I do I do!) had some technical difficulty at her house so they ended up doing it on the beach. (By doing it, I meant the PARTY. What?)
“Duff Diddy” @ Dufmanno’s Blog (yeah, I have no idea what Dufmmano means either. Go ask her yourself!) needs a 10-inch dick to complete her fancy tea party and we sent Nomi over to deliver the award. I haven’t heard back from Nomi yet. I guess the tea went long. *wink wink*
The Peach @ Being Peachy is being a peach by setting up Nomi in a gorgeous trailer complete with jacuzzi, heart-shaped bed that vibrates with an overhead mirror. And her own personal bejeweled stripper pole! What’s more: Peach produced TWO 5-inch dicks so they could both have a good time. Nicely done, m’lady. That’s what friends are for…
Faraway, So Close.
I came across an interesting article today in which the author questioned the recent brouhaha / vociferous protest against the security measures enforced by TSA while some other, more serious, offense committed by the US government, such as the wrongful execution of its citizens, did not inspire nearly enough the appropriate amount and degree of outrage. The author posited that it is easier to find compassion for and harder to ignore when things affect people who are more like ourselves, in this case, law-abiding, gainfully employed, relevantly affluent people and their families who can afford to fly.
To first approximation, everyone can empathize with their neighbors or co-workers and people who they see every day. It’s a bit more of a stretch to take the point of view of people in the next town, or those from a different ethnic group or class, or the gay, or the homeless, or those who dwell in radically different social worlds (Afghan tribesmen, say). The liberal humanist imagination at least strives to see the world through the eyes of others; whereas the conservative mind seems to thrive on shutting out foreignness, or reducing it to something known.
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Being cosmopolitan is hard, it takes work. Empathizing with others is also hard — and it’s not even clear what it should mean. Nobody has the time and resources to empathize with everyone, but the modern world puts us in contact with essentially everyone.
— “No Compassion”, 24 November 2010, Omniorthogonal
What the author wrote about the modern world and the access to “essentially everyone” really struck a cord: I pride myself on being an informed global citizen. Compared to the average Americans, I (believe I) know more about histories, geographies, cultures, customs, and happenings in other countries. I listen to NPR religiously and I read Business Week (used to) read The Economist after all!…
Expanding my alter-ego through the Interwebs, I feel connected to parts of the world that I would not have had any connection to otherwise. I am the product of globalization. A citizen of the world. A resident of the World Wide Web. My peeps are all over the world.
This was made evident when someone in Haiti visited and commented on my blog. At the same time I started noticing the crack in my self-congratulatory complacency.
Kathryn at Reinventing the Event Horizon wrote about the recent presidential election in Haiti and the alleged corruption that’s gotten people agitated to say the least. Did I know about Haiti’s presidential election? Yes, kind of. I heard about Wyclef Jean’s failed attempt to register as a candidate there, and I am aware of the potential for election frauds. Reading Kathryn’s posts was my first exposure to what is currently going on in Haiti. My knowledge of Haiti’s present until then was to the extent of what NPR aired and Twitter tweeted that I happened to catch. The same goes for everything that is happening around the world.
Another fissure showed up in my facade of a well-informed global citizen when a blogger in Indonesia that I got to know online (through Twitter and blogging) tweeted me to say Hi.
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Hundreds of people have died since the first volcano eruption at Merapi on October 25. I did not know anything about it until today. But even my self-chastisement sounds hollow and self-indulgent at this moment. In the scheme of things. Nina sent me a link to see for myself how huge a deal this was in her part of the world. The images speak volumes to the massive force of nature. (For the faint of heart, please do NOT go on to Page 2 where horrific images of the victims are included…)
At times the world seems smaller and the people in it closer because we are all connected, for the fortunate amongst us anyway (Think of Kathryn whose connection to those of us outside of Haiti depends on her WiFi connectivity). At times, of course, we seem yet so far away because I was celebrating Thanksgiving and complaining about cooking while Nina and her people were holding their breath, tweeting the latest updates on the volcano eruptions and relief efforts.
Once again, this is one of those posts where I stated a problem without providing any answers and in the process of writing, only got myself even more confused. I lost my point if there was even a point when I first started.
Reaching out.
We reached out to each other. That should count for something, right?
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Reach out.
Would you reach out and touch a young boy’s heart? Trevor is 12 and he will be undergoing a risky heart surgery today. Pray for him please.
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Elly is having her appointment with Dr. Aloysius today. Let your positive thoughts reach her. She is in the general direction of the original Lady Gaga aka Statue of Liberty. Think good thoughts for Elly today. If you play any instrument, play a song for her to keep her company while she waits.
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It is cheesy. Yeah it is true. It is cliche. See if I care. Let there be love, baby. Let there be love.
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NaBloPoMo Final Stretch. More white socks please!
Dear Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, are you sure I really need to add FOUR tablespoons of butter? Isn’t that like, a lot?
Dear vegetarians, I hate to tell you, but Tofurkey does not look nor taste like turkey. Or anything that is benign. If you are going to be a vegetarian, just suck it up and find peace within yourself. What is the point with fake meat anyway? It is like, oh, I can’t kill real people so I will just dismember Barbie dolls. CREEPY.
Dear people who love to make things from scratch, Stove Top stuffings taste better than any home-made stuffings I’ve ever had the good fortune of tasting. If you would like to convince me otherwise, feel free to send me yours.
Dear Parents-in-Law, “You betcha!” ceased to be funny the second time you said it. And I hope watching Sarah Palin’s Alaska and finding her “adorable” and her show “interesting” is not a sign that you consider her a legitimate candidate for anything more serious than a cable show host. Some people find Snooki on Jersey Shore “adorable” and the entire Housewives franchise “interesting”. Just sayin.
Dear Christian Conservatives and Tea Partiers, Ayn Rand (whoever she was) was an avowed atheist and she supported abortion rights. Just thought you should know.
Dear Uber Cool World Record Penny Pyramid, I am very sorry that I read the subject line as “Got Penises? Largest Penis Design Pyramid” and therefore I was not able to fully appreciate your awesomeness when I excitedly clicked on the link.
Dear PayPal, I am very sorry that I replaced the “P” in the last word in your new tagline “The world’s most-loved way to pay and get paid” with an “L” when I first saw it, and therefore for a second thought you finally found a way to optimize your revenue perhaps even with a joint venture with Craig’s List.
Dear semi-cute Starbucks Barista, you really broke my heart when you held my eyes for a long moment and then called me ma’am.
Dear SUV Driver, if you cannot park within the lines, you really should not be allowed to buy a car that big.
Dear Cadillac Escalade owner, please see above. In addition, please stop tailgating me. I am not going to budge because I am a bitch like that. You are not going to intimidate me with your mass. If you were driving a real truck with a gun rack and not some manifestation of conspicuous consumption, I may be scared. Costco will be there waiting for you. There is no hurry. And if you are late for your hair stylist appointment, I am pretty sure they will wait for you since you tip so well on top of the $200 you spend there every time.
Dear Sports Car Owner, you have a very nice car, drive it. It pangs me when you drag your ass below the speed limit: it’s like not having sex when you are sleeping with Megan Fox. (I use her as an example because I assume asshats like you go gaga over empty shells like her. You are welcome.)
Dear Person Whose License Plate says SORDID, I am going to assume that you have a secret identity that is more exciting than your train-taking commuting suit-cladding backpack-wearing self.
Dear Fellow Blackberry Widows, is it just me or do you find typing on Blackberry in the middle of the night in total darkness as annoying as banging on a typewriter while shining a bright light in your eyes?
Dear iPhone lovers, be honest: do you now type less carefully because in case when you make a mistake, it is actually cool to show people what hilarious suggestions Auto Correct come up with? Win-Win, right?
Dear Straight Men, what is it about Jennifer Love Hewitt that makes her so hot to you lot? I am gonna bet that every woman groans when you mention her as one of the hot actresses. We simply can’t see it. Jessica Alba. Yeah, I concur. Megan Fox. I can see why. But Jennifer Love Hewitt? Not so much.
Dear Husband, it is very uncool to quote with glee “It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again.” when I ask you to put lotion on my back. Same goes to saying “Redrum. Redrum.” in a creepy voice after our bedroom was painted, yes, red.
Dear Husband, I am not so sure about the lone item on your wish list: the 10 Disc set of “Romancing the 70s”. I can understand the 80s, and possibly the 90s. But Romancing the 70s? Are you gay? Because if you are, that would explain a lot. On the other hand, if you are, why do I get the one gay guy who is not stylish and does not appreciate shoes? You also do not make a good confidant. Just my luck. Ugh.
Dear Santa, I would like all my files to be transferred from my old computer to the new computer, neatly organized, like magic.
Dear Internet, I am sorry for subjecting you to more White Socks in my Crotch and Tissues inside my Bras to get myself over the finish line for NaBloMoFo. Be well. Stay well.
Thanksgiving is over. We can be snarky again.
F I N A L L Y!
Ok. I am joking. Well, maybe 50%. I am most likely kidding on the square, as is my MO.
I have been thinking about being thankful, for all the right reasons, like everybody else around Thanksgiving time.
When I went to the grocery store across the street for the fourth time in two days yesterday afternoon, I asked the cashier lady what time they would be closing.
“7 pm. Why? You want to come back again?” She laughed.
“No. I was complaining to you about coming here so many times, but then I remembered that you are still working on Thanksgiving Day, so I am kind of embarrassed for being a whiner.”
Somehow I couldn’t get our brief exchange out of my head.
How many times have I complained to a cashier in a store about my day? To the teachers at my kids’ childcare center? To a salesclerk? To the person behind a counter, any counter? To all these other people earning minimum wages (or hopefully higher) and lousy healthcare / retirement benefits (if any) who probably at that moment just wanted to wring my neck but were able to wear a plastic smile because their jobs required them to?
Here are what I am thankful for, for the not so politically correct reasons:
I am thankful that working for me is a choice and not a necessity.
I am thankful that though I work, I do not carry the stress as a sole bread earner.
I am thankful that I am able to treat my work and responsibility as the “second” income and therefore I am not as stressed out as my husband.
I am thankful that my life is comfortable enough that I can afford to be plagued by angst, ennui and neurosis.
I am thankful that my reality affords me to worry about ideology.
I am thankful that I can afford to be generous.
I am thankful for not having to think at all in order to come up with things that I should be thankful for.
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I promised that I’d be snarky in the title so I cannot possibly let you down. Here it is…
I am thankful that Sarah Palin proved yet again that she has no business commenting on political issues or any other serious issues.
“Obviously, we’ve got to stand with our North Korean allies.” — Sarah Palin on Glenn Beck’s radio show
(Yes, I’ll admit: it took me a while to try and work this gem into this post…)
Happy Thanksgiving!
Freak out!
Almost 3 pm the day before Thanksgiving. House. Not cleaned. Laundry. Not done. Thanksgiving dishes. Not planned. Ham. Not picked up from the store yet. Pies. Ditto. Grocery list. Nope. Grocery shopping. Ha!
My parents-in-law are flying in tomorrow arriving at 11 am. Vegetarian brother-in-law. 3 pm.
I am running around not knowing which task to tackle first. Mr. Monk has started the timer for 20 minutes: time to leave me alone so I can regroup and breathe. But he kept on coming over to talk to me so he graciously agreed to add 5 more minutes to the timer.
I am ashamed to admit: This scene happens every Thanksgiving.
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Oh, yeah, I had to come back and ETA (“Edited to add”): Tomorrow is also Mr. Monk’s 8th birthday. Yeah. I forgot. I have been forgetting it every day. I just did, even after he reminded me today:
“Will you at least wish me a happy birthday tomorrow morning?”
So add to the To-Do-List: Buy birthday presents for son. And do not forget his birthday again!
While I go freaking out some more, running around town like a headless chicken turkey, please enjoy this.
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Or this version by The Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain. (Not kidding, Elly! In fact, I won’t be surprised if you have applied for a chair there already…)
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Norman Rockwell can take the turkey and stuff it!
Thanksgiving.
I had an existential crisis last year when my then almost-7-year-old Mr. Monk started talking about a golden turkey. Complete with legs wrapped around in silver tinfoil and tied with red strings.
I honestly had no idea where he got the idea. I still don’t.
But an idea he did have. In fact, he was convinced that on Thanksgiving Day we were all going to sit around the table when, voila, out of the oven, a golden bird would be brought out on a silver platter and everybody would Oooo and Ahhh. And we would live happily ever after.
Ok, the last line was from my sarcastic self.
I hated breaking the news to him. Earth to Mr. Monk. Earth to Mr. Monk.
“Are you going to eat the turkey?”
“Hmmmm. Nope?”
“So you just want to look at the turkey?”
“Hmmmm. Yeah.”
Norman. (Please imagine me saying it the way Jerry Seinfeld says “Newman!”)
“Norman Rockwell can take the turkey and stuff it!” I thought.
That being said, I do like all the parodies made of the now iconic Freedom From Want. The following is a repost of all the Freedom from Want parodies I could find with some exciting new additions.
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This is what I am talking about! Thanks, Elly, for finding this for me!