It's up to the Skipper

I’m setting off to sea for a few weeks (it’s really a channel of water) and packing up my stuff. Packing clothes for a sailing trip requires almost no consideration for fashion whatsoever. This really is a time when functional clothing is best. No tiny-titty-t-shirts, “crack in the box” shorts, or platform shoes are allowed on board. I love it! The difficult part of packing is figuring out provisions (nautical speak for food). First of all, you have space that is pretty much the size of a dollhouse. There is also no refrigeration. Luckily, we bought a larger boat two years ago, so there is a bit more room for food stuffs. We even have a “head” (no, not what you naughty boys are thinking!). This is a good thing because I no longer have to pee in a can, which is not so easy to maneuver when you’re past 40 (nimbleness left me when I was 7).

This is what I'm reading on board:

• "The Time Traveler's WIfe" by Audrey Niffenegger
• "The Partly Cloudy Patriot" by Sarah Vowell
• "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time" by Mark Haddon
• "The Piano Tuner" by Daniel Mason
• "Travels with Charley" by John Steinbeck
• "Children Playing Before a Statue of Hercules" edited by David Sedaris
• "The Shadow of the Wind" by Carlos Ruiz Zafon
• "A Devil's Chaplain" by Richard Dawkins
• "Reading Lolita in Tehran" by Azar Nafisi
• "Dry" by Augusten Burroughs
• "Invisible Man" by Ralph Ellison
• "The Custom of the Country" and "The House of Mirth" by Edith Wharton

This is an interesting “user satisfaction” t-shirt for those young librarians out there!

Since I will be “out of blog” for a few weeks, you can check out casual Friday guy’s blog. It’s rather sophomoric, but that's pretty much why I like it.

Ahoy!

My Bootyless World

Today I lost my dog for about 10 minutes, I found out my parents had a lien put on the house they are selling by some asshole contractor, I saw the perv that frequents the library checking out porn-zines at the bookstore, I broke a shelf, and I ate carbs. Luckily, the dog wasn’t killed, my parents will survive, the perv is not listed on the sex offender’s web site, the shelf is repairable, and I can avoid carbs tomorrow.

I hear there is a call out from ABC’s "Extreme Makeover" looking for a librarian that wants to change her appearance. I guess they think male librarians don’t need the overhaul (think again, ABC!). I can tell you this for sure: the library listservs are going to be buzzing for many months to come over this shenanigan.

Geez, where would one begin for librarian makeovers? I can already think of at least 20 librarian candidates in less than a nano-second (I include myself in the list). I guess the first thing I would change on my list is to get a new torso, new arms, combine some brain cells from a few smart friends and have them transplanted into mine, and get a new skin tone so that I’m not so hideously translucent that it scares children away. A booty implant and lift would really be my first choice. But despite all this crazy “bootylicious” makeover talk, the inevitable sad fact is that a new booty (or anything else for that matter) would not change my life at all. I’d still be depressed about getting older, not having rich parents, not being a writer, fear of death, or worse the fear of no more coffee after death – you know, the usual suspects. So, I guess I will continue to trudge along in my “bootyless” world.

Glass animals, matches and eating

I went to my friend H’s baby shower this weekend. I had a good time, but I was disappointed I didn’t win any games. I tried so hard on the last one, but I only got 4 out of 6 right. I really need to work on my percentages. I had to grade two game answer sheets and was way off.

The shower reminded me of my baby book, which I just looked at recently. I must have updated the thing at some point. There was a section that asked for hobbies, which I listed as glass animals, matches and eating. How are “matches” a hobby? Did I collect matches? I don’t remember doing this. And is eating really considered a hobby?

I tried on a lilac colored hippy shirt today at Vagabond Imports. It was short sleeved and had elastic all around the collar and at the sleeve. The shirt puffed out a bit and had some decorative embroidery. I looked pregnant, and the sleeves were cutting off my circulation. The sleeves looked like those weird neon colored arm floats that children wear in waiting pools - plus it reeked of incense. I didn’t buy it.

"1983 Key: Evanston Township High School" Vol. XXXIII

My parents are moving to Wisconsin and I had to sort through some boxes of stuff I still had at their house. Low and behold, I ran across the ETHS (Evanston Township High School) 1983 Yearbook called the “Key.” I never went to ETHS, instead I went to Whitney Young and then made the wise choice to attend correspondence school after my sophomore year (she says with a note of sarcasm) in the hopes of becoming a great ballet dancer (more snickers of sarcasm).

Had I gone to ETHS along with my junior high classmates and friends, I would have been in classes with Jeremy Piven or John Cusack. I’ve just had too many brushes with fame in my life that never seemed to rub off. Piven looks pretty awful in that yearbook. Poor kid.

I don’t really remember much of high school, junior high or even elementary school. Where was I? I know I went to classes (most of the time), but nothing sunk into my little grey cells. Maybe I was too busy having crushes on boys that were far too popular for me to even look at in the hallways (Michael R., Bob W., Geoff D. – to name a few) and that’s what I was day dreaming about all the time. That and ballet. I think I was pretty invisible in school. True – I was pretty skinny back then, but I don’t remember talking to people that much or maybe I was just shy or something. It’s all really quite a blur.

The only attention I recall getting was from a boy in elementary school that sent me a secret admirer letter with change in it. I don’t remember the amount, but I found it pretty appalling that someone professing love for me would give me loose change. I think I was in the third grade (maybe second). The letter completely freaked me out. I remember running home after school and throwing it out – with the change – in the kitchen garbage. About an hour after the "incident," I recall going back into the kitchen where I witnessed my father hunching over in the trash can collecting the change. I looked at him in complete shock and all he said was, “no need to throw out perfectly good change.” I was mortified. To this day, I still don’t know who sent me that letter.

The Rodent Factor

My friend L called me this morning with the most horrific nightmare: she found a RAT in her apartment ON HER BED!!! Totally grotesque beyond all imagination!!! Can you even imagine???? This has always been one of my greatest fears. The worst rat problem I had in Chicago was in the laundry room of a brownstone I lived in for a couple of years in Logan Square. I never went to that laundry room after the rat incident. Complete freakoutness!

Oddly enough, my friend A called this morning to tell me that she had two mice in her apartment in Evanston. Then earlier today, I saw a little country mouse in the garage of the house my parents just bought. I freaked out once again, but luckily it ran out. Country mice are not nearly as freakishly scary as city mice. For some reason, country mice seem smaller, darker in color, shorter tails, and bigger ears and eyes. They look sort of cute in a monstrously squeamish way. City mice just seem like a mutation of the rat in a smaller size.

Then my friend P’s husband called and I told him about the rat story, and he told me that their new kitten, “Little Timmy,” caught a mouse last night and killed it right in front of the toilet!

The heat must be getting to these critters. I can already predict I’m going to have nightmares tonight.

Dispatches and Dish

I made a trek to Appleton today to the lovely Fox Valley shopping mall to look for something to wear to a wedding I’m attending next weekend. The inevitable wrath of camisoles was like a virus spreading from store to store. The camisole (note to designers), is not so flattering on middle-aged women with flabby upper arms and breasts that don’t fit so neatly into tiny triangles. I tried to hike mine up by using a string to tie the straps up like a holster, but then I just looked like an out of proportioned sausage. I then attempted to re-arrange my boobs like I was working with model clay - molding them into these small triangular mountains, but to no avail. It was humiliating.

I did score the latest W magazine (July 2005) with Brad and Angelina on the cover. Interesting shots (60-page spread), but I was hoping for something a little dirtier. I love the “Suzy” column – lots of celebrity and high society dish. Great little blurb on Joan Rivers attending some Garden ball dressed like a crazed exotic bird. Her entrance to the ball was described as, “…you could almost see her coming before she arrived (p. 51).” Katie Holmes will be on the cover of the next issue. Supposedly she was escorted to the interview by her Scientologist chaperone, Jessica Rodriguez. Katie was quoted as saying, “Tom and I will always be in our honeymoon phase.” Aaahh, youth. It’ll get you every time.

Willie Nelson is releasing a reggae album? What’s that all about?

Toronzo, Chico, Velveeta, Grady and Hoochie Man

I just got back from a whirlwind weekend of groovy live Blues music in Chi Town. Toronzo’s band kicked ass! He invited other local musicians to the stage to jam out through their own style of guitar speak. It was awesome, sweet! (ND reference). The T-Man really gets the audience going and psyched into a hypnotic beat. We also saw Joanna Connor’s band (with Toronzo playing 2nd guitar) and she is amazing – a mesmerizing voice that takes you to a different era. That woman can play the funkdified Blues and gets down and dirty on that guitar!

I also met up with my friend JD who is working in the adult entertainment business - a far cry from his previous and recent career choice of law. Not sure how law school prepares you for porn, but there must be something there. He did have a good time over the 4th at his “Skindependence Day” conference.

I’m back in Wisconsin and was forced to purchase some clothing at Target. I frequently shop at Target for other things, but I’m leary of buying clothes there for fear of everyone in town wearing the same thing. Lately, I’ve been into the “junior” Ts with goofy-ass sayings on them. I’m not sure why exactly, but I bought one that says, “Jamaica: Come By and Say Hi!” They must have forgotten the “t” in “say” at the manufacturing plant in Honduras. That would make more sense.

I just finished Augusten Burrough’s memoir, “Running with Scissors.” I enjoyed this very much because it read more like fiction then some boring and insipid account of someone’s life. This guy had one wigged out childhood. Here are a few short highlights to peak your interest:

- Bible Dipping
- Shit in the toilet that points upward in the bowl has Godly meaning
- Strong desire to work at McDonalds
- Stronger desire to create hair products and become the next Vidal Sassoon
- Delusional lesbian mother seeking the meaning of life through her poetry and her shrink