she moves she

Dear Cubs fans,

You suck.

Sincerely,

Wrigleyville Resident

i don’t write poems/but i used to/and you knew me then/did you know i used to write poems?

This metropolis cannot buy me. All the bricks, all the feet, the verticalness, the uniform, leave me sputtering.

There’s a garden at the corner of Addison and Jansen. I’ve walked by it every day for over a year. Attached to it is a beautiful early 19th century boarding house. In the spring and summer a very elegant older woman is in the garden everyday, planting, watering and sometimes just staring, contemplating it. There’s something intriguing about her. She’s gorgeous. Early sixties, thin frame, short white hair. I’ve always felt the urge to talk to her but never had a reason. A couple weeks ago I was walking home, past the garden. It was dusk and I saw my first lightning bug of the summer. I turned my head to watch it light up and noticed the beautiful older lady lying on the ground in front of her porch steps. I stopped, confused. “Are you ok?” She insisted that she was but it was painfully obvious that she couldn’t sit up. Her words were slurred, her eyes were out of focus. She couldn’t move.

I wrapped my arms around her and got her sitting up. When she then fell over in the opposite direction I realized I’d have to hold on to her to keep her upright. I had my arm around her shoulders. “What happened? How do you feel?” She’d blacked out, fallen down the stairs. At first I thought it could’ve been a stroke but after I made the implication she admitted that she was just drunk. “I had too much wine, I think.” I had to smile.

We talked for a while about trees, the neighborhood, gardening before I noticed her head was bleeding. She insisted she go inside and get cleaned up before her husband got home. I made sure she got up the stairs ok and safely into the house before I left.

I saw her a couple days later in her garden. Gloves on. Wide brimmed hat shading her eyes. I said hello and she thanked me again for helping her. I wish she’d teach me how to garden.

Our newest role model.  Glamour Magazine’s Woman of the Year, Victoria Beckham.  Glamour truly couldn’t have picked a better role model for the women of the world.  Look how classy Vicky looks in her hot pants and six inch heels.  She’s definitely a strong, intelligent, independent, loving, humble person.  She obviously embodies everything that is important about being a woman.  She’s ridiculously thin, fake baked, has accomplished nothing significant in her life and most importantly, she married a rich man.  What I’m really trying to say here is that this title now bestowed upon this “woman” is the epitome of what I hate about the media. 

 I’d like to nominate Lisa Bufano for SPRY’s Woman of the Year award. 

Listen to her story here on NPR. 

Today is Friday.  Which means tomorrow is Saturday and the next day is Sunday. I haven’t had two days off of work in a row since April (excluding an impromtu road trip to Alabama).  What a luxury a full weekend is to me at this moment!

Last night the SPRY girls had dinner and a work session.  It’s really incredible how the idea has taken shape.  Five months ago it was a wisp of an idea I had 30,000 feet above Tennessee and now it has a heartbeat…and editors, and a website.  What we’re working on now is narrowing down the specifics of what we are and what we’re looking for.  It’s nothing short of brilliant and completely original. 

Something interesting happened on Monday.  I got hooked on Lost (first season).  There’s this wierd guilty feeling I’m battling for being so enraptured with a television show.  I haven’t been a fan of television since Growing Pains went off the air and I actually became a genuine “hater” of the medium when American Idol hypnotized the nation.  But something wild has happened!  It’s a combination of good writing and the online “full episode” option.  It started with a simple visit to ABC’s website on a slow night at work.  A few innocent clicks later and I’m watching Grey’s Anatomy.  HOOKED!  After that I avoided watching anything new because now I had this weakness, I had to be on my guard lest I become a junky.  Fat, cheeto-stained teeth, Diet Coke addict, lobotimized.  But a few weeks ago the same thing happened.  Slow, boring day at work.  I wander innocently to the NBC site and before I know it 30-Rock has ensnared me in its quirky, upbeat, Tina Fey trap!  Fast forward to the next afternoon at home and I’m geeked out in front of the computer.  Popcorn, bottle of wine, maniacal laughter echoing through the house. 

BUT (and this maybe just be me trying to rationalize my pathetic actions) I think there’s a difference between appreciating a television show when it is at your disposal via DVD or internet.  I’m not blowing off my life in order to place myself in front of the television every Wednesday at 8pm.  Plus, you can knock out an entire season in a couple weeks and you’re done.  No waiting nine months to find out how a story line turns out or enduring the ever-present adverstising manipulation. (Television shows really are just the impetus to hook us into watching endless commercials.  I’m afraid to even get started on what that does to our psyches.  Americans are in so much debt it is shameful!)

So there!  I’m out of the closet.  I like television shows.  And I am not ashamed damnit!

I really want to see this new documentary by Adrien Grenier.  Does anyone have HBO?  

I can’t get enough Stereolab or enough of The Tao of Physics.  And can’t wait to see Knocked Up and The Year of the Dog.