Aug 16, 2011
Aug 14, 2011
Aug 9, 2011
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 23, 2011
A Wayward Peppercorn
There was no time to find my tools* so, using just my index finger and the kind of quick thinking and ingenuity human beings find themselves capable of while under intense pressure, I moved the out of place peppercorn back into what was deemed 'that awkward blank space'. That is, with nerves of steel, love and an unflinching eye for the composition of things like peppercorns, I was able to place a single green wayward peppercorn rightfully back amongst its peppercorn-neighbors, once and for all.
That was Thursday. It was now Friday and the peppercorns were camera-ready. Looking as though they had been casually, hurriedly, perhaps even accidentally strewn across a cutting board, the peppercorns added a welcome nod to reality in what otherwise appeared to be a pristine, state-of-the-art kitchen (but what was really a hot, muggy, dusty studio). No, I don't think I could have been any happier. I mean, if someone has to style the peppercorns--and you know, somebody does have to and, let's face it, I have that down--why shouldn't it be me?
Of course, I still don't know how long this project is expected to last. I'm afraid to ask anyone for fear that pinning down such information will somehow put a crack in this latest of employment related magic spells. Thus, it is wisely and rationally that I've decided to ignore the issue of deadlines altogether and instead simply keep showing up. I'll simply keep showing up and they'll simply keep paying me. It's so reasonable I can't believe I never thought of it before.
I already miss it, though. This job. I miss it and I even envy the situation as though I'm somewhat outside my own body and all the glamor of peppercorn staging were actually happening to someone else. It's as though my brain has found a new hack wherein I circumvent the terrible experience of being laid off by jumping directly to the part where I'm standing in the unemployment line:
Seriously. I really do.
*paperclip
That was Thursday. It was now Friday and the peppercorns were camera-ready. Looking as though they had been casually, hurriedly, perhaps even accidentally strewn across a cutting board, the peppercorns added a welcome nod to reality in what otherwise appeared to be a pristine, state-of-the-art kitchen (but what was really a hot, muggy, dusty studio). No, I don't think I could have been any happier. I mean, if someone has to style the peppercorns--and you know, somebody does have to and, let's face it, I have that down--why shouldn't it be me?
Of course, I still don't know how long this project is expected to last. I'm afraid to ask anyone for fear that pinning down such information will somehow put a crack in this latest of employment related magic spells. Thus, it is wisely and rationally that I've decided to ignore the issue of deadlines altogether and instead simply keep showing up. I'll simply keep showing up and they'll simply keep paying me. It's so reasonable I can't believe I never thought of it before.
I already miss it, though. This job. I miss it and I even envy the situation as though I'm somewhat outside my own body and all the glamor of peppercorn staging were actually happening to someone else. It's as though my brain has found a new hack wherein I circumvent the terrible experience of being laid off by jumping directly to the part where I'm standing in the unemployment line:
I really miss this, my new job!
Seriously. I really do.
*paperclip
Jun 26, 2011
Jun 11, 2011
Saturday
Oscar sat in the kitchen window watching his Aunt cook breakfast. With his long arms out-stretched in a yawn, the window panes situated just so and the morning sun behind him, an oddly convincing crucifix shaped shadow fell on the narrow space on the floor between him and where his Aunt stood at the stove. He laughed at how unplanned it was. He knew better, though, than to point this sort of thing out to his Aunt, who at that moment was searching for something in a dark cabinet. She mouthed something incredulously to herself regarding her missing spices. Oscar leaned forward adjusting his shadow into various poses, inadvertently half-mooning the alley in the process. A truck honked its horn. The clanking sounds of the kitchen reached a crescendo: It was time to eat. The odor of sausage, onions and peppers mixed with the cloy of dryer sheets and a near-by bucket of hot water and Pine Sol punctuated the cramped, clean quarters. Oscars' Aunt put the bread and the milk on the table and shook her head at her laughing nephew, "Could you please put a shirt on?".
Mar 8, 2011
A Used Wire Whisk
We walked around a cramped resale shop for about half an hour. All the proceeds go to a no-kill shelter and I did notice a few kittens roaming around. I could tell that they felt right at home and couldn't shake the notion that this resale shop was "starring" these kittens today. It made sense in my head at the time.
They were cute, too. All mewing and found sleeping in displays of Easter baskets or beneath the hoods of old Hi-Fi consoles. It was hard to resist the pull of the kittens. This is why Tom is the one who goes to this shop and not me, normally. It was Tom, in fact, who had gotten our coffee maker there last summer. A really old, very office-y coffee maker that reminds me of a station wagon for some reason.
This time around, however, with me in tow, we found only a wire whisk. And it's ironic because our wire whisk had actually broken down very recently. It was the last thing in the world I expected to happen. I mean, how many wire whisks does a person go though in a life time? It turns out that if it rusts, at least one.
Still, I put it back. Back in the bin with hundreds of cantaloupe scoops that nobody ever wanted. Then we stopped at the little grocery store down the street. I looked and looked but couldn't find any sliced turkey in the refrigerated section. So we had them slice some turkey for us at the deli counter, instead.
And there you have it.
They were cute, too. All mewing and found sleeping in displays of Easter baskets or beneath the hoods of old Hi-Fi consoles. It was hard to resist the pull of the kittens. This is why Tom is the one who goes to this shop and not me, normally. It was Tom, in fact, who had gotten our coffee maker there last summer. A really old, very office-y coffee maker that reminds me of a station wagon for some reason.
This time around, however, with me in tow, we found only a wire whisk. And it's ironic because our wire whisk had actually broken down very recently. It was the last thing in the world I expected to happen. I mean, how many wire whisks does a person go though in a life time? It turns out that if it rusts, at least one.
Still, I put it back. Back in the bin with hundreds of cantaloupe scoops that nobody ever wanted. Then we stopped at the little grocery store down the street. I looked and looked but couldn't find any sliced turkey in the refrigerated section. So we had them slice some turkey for us at the deli counter, instead.
And there you have it.
Dec 30, 2010
Love Is All Around
I wake to the sound of something weird happening. Again, I don't think, wow, maybe it's an earthquake, because I never wake up thinking that maybe it's an earthquake. And I say again, because this very thing happened, here, in Chicago, just a couple years ago - and the whole thing was lost on me that time, too. And, really, when did we start regularly having earthquakes in Chicago--because it's becoming a thing.
No. I think that my neighbors are very rude with all of their noise at the crack of dawn. And that my cats, who are certainly party to this noise (as they are milling around inconsolably mewing - as though something were amiss) are spoiled rotten, and, when you get right down to it, do not give a damn about me or my sleep.
That it's all about the cat chow and the petting of them and the cooing at them. The never ending gifts of toys and me sneaking them pieces of cheese and liverwurst. And never the other way around.
I think a lot of things that puts blame on my cats and other people "out there". And, seriously, I'm so tired of all of the people "out there". That is, people I both don't know very well but also live quite near-by. Then, a few hours later I am informed that there was an earthquake. Again.
Will I ever learn to enjoy these earthquakes we now have in Chicago as they are happening? In real-time? And, probably more importantly, will I ever see that people around me are not that bad? I feel so righteous in my hatred in such times, too. I am right. They are wrong. It feels good at least to have identified all parties involved as being right or wrong. With me being right.
Lesson learned. You'd think. But not seven and one quarter hours later I hear my (admittedly) overflowing bin of recycling making a lot of racket in the wind. This, the recycling that hasn't quite made it to the recycling receptacle. No problem. Except that the thing has gotten full to the point where - on this sort of unusually warm, windy, earthquake-y late December day - a few (beer) cans are now rolling around the concrete landing of what is my back stoop, where the bin of recycling is situated.
Not the prettiest sound in the world, I agree. And certainly not acceptable in these parts. No, the hollow, sad beer can rolling around sound, NOT okay, especially right in the middle of the holidays. And, honestly, it took me nearly an hour to realize that I was the culprit. Suffice it to day that I'm certainly not invited to be part of their book clubs, now.
Then, I hear a someone putting these very cans (my cans) from my back stoop into a bag - to dispose of them "properly" once and for all, because someone had to do it. I could imagine all the calls back and forth. The snide, bitchy jokes. I even felt okay with it - at least they have someone to laugh at - why not me? And, really, what do I care? They have nothing else.
Then I see it. Really see it. Squarely, for the first time. Oh, how they have had to "deal" with me. It must have been the biggest pain, dealing with me. And then, of course, I become incredulous. Crazy bitches. You can't just come over here and "help" me, like that. My god.
So, I go through the gamut of snark. Then, suddenly tough as nails, I go outside to confront this helpful person. And her army, Oh, yeah? You're going to help me? Okay: Help me to my face, then, lady, lets go.
This is that part where it would be so funny and explained so many things if it had just been my mother, who lives thirty feet away, who was doing this. But it was actually a cat scrounging around this bin, the putting everything into a plastic bag sound - an actual plastic bag in the bin that this cat was dealing with in her search for food. So, I gave her some food. That's when I realized that this cat was actually a wolf or a raccoon or something. That's when I went back inside.
No. I think that my neighbors are very rude with all of their noise at the crack of dawn. And that my cats, who are certainly party to this noise (as they are milling around inconsolably mewing - as though something were amiss) are spoiled rotten, and, when you get right down to it, do not give a damn about me or my sleep.
That it's all about the cat chow and the petting of them and the cooing at them. The never ending gifts of toys and me sneaking them pieces of cheese and liverwurst. And never the other way around.
I think a lot of things that puts blame on my cats and other people "out there". And, seriously, I'm so tired of all of the people "out there". That is, people I both don't know very well but also live quite near-by. Then, a few hours later I am informed that there was an earthquake. Again.
Will I ever learn to enjoy these earthquakes we now have in Chicago as they are happening? In real-time? And, probably more importantly, will I ever see that people around me are not that bad? I feel so righteous in my hatred in such times, too. I am right. They are wrong. It feels good at least to have identified all parties involved as being right or wrong. With me being right.
Lesson learned. You'd think. But not seven and one quarter hours later I hear my (admittedly) overflowing bin of recycling making a lot of racket in the wind. This, the recycling that hasn't quite made it to the recycling receptacle. No problem. Except that the thing has gotten full to the point where - on this sort of unusually warm, windy, earthquake-y late December day - a few (beer) cans are now rolling around the concrete landing of what is my back stoop, where the bin of recycling is situated.
Not the prettiest sound in the world, I agree. And certainly not acceptable in these parts. No, the hollow, sad beer can rolling around sound, NOT okay, especially right in the middle of the holidays. And, honestly, it took me nearly an hour to realize that I was the culprit. Suffice it to day that I'm certainly not invited to be part of their book clubs, now.
Then, I hear a someone putting these very cans (my cans) from my back stoop into a bag - to dispose of them "properly" once and for all, because someone had to do it. I could imagine all the calls back and forth. The snide, bitchy jokes. I even felt okay with it - at least they have someone to laugh at - why not me? And, really, what do I care? They have nothing else.
Then I see it. Really see it. Squarely, for the first time. Oh, how they have had to "deal" with me. It must have been the biggest pain, dealing with me. And then, of course, I become incredulous. Crazy bitches. You can't just come over here and "help" me, like that. My god.
So, I go through the gamut of snark. Then, suddenly tough as nails, I go outside to confront this helpful person. And her army, Oh, yeah? You're going to help me? Okay: Help me to my face, then, lady, lets go.
This is that part where it would be so funny and explained so many things if it had just been my mother, who lives thirty feet away, who was doing this. But it was actually a cat scrounging around this bin, the putting everything into a plastic bag sound - an actual plastic bag in the bin that this cat was dealing with in her search for food. So, I gave her some food. That's when I realized that this cat was actually a wolf or a raccoon or something. That's when I went back inside.
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