I Can't Tell Yet If I'm Grateful for the Gratitude Challenge

As a means of kick-starting my path back to happiness, I've decided to embark on my own (scaled down) version of the infamous Gratitude Challenge. Despite the recent batch of cheating-boyfriend- lemons handed to me by Life, my spirit will not be broken! I will cheer up by recounting things I am grateful for! Over the course of 21 days!

Wait, 21 days, for real? That is a big commitment. I thought this was like a 4-day Facebook thing. I don't know I can stick with the full three-week regimen. But I guess there's no harm in starting....

One of the first activities suggested, after taking The Pledge, which I'm not taking because I'm not sure I want to do this for 21 days, is to use the alphabet to make a list of things I'm grateful for. Way to start off easy, Gratitude Challenge. 26 letters in the alphabet and I have to come up with something for each one that I'm grateful for? Well, here goes nothing and no worries if you get bored around letter N.

A - Antidepressants because they keep me sane and arguably saved my life.

B -  Boston. I'm grateful for having gotten to live there for four years and for my friends there.

C- Cats, specifically this one:

D- (my) Dad. He's pretty swell.

E- Emotions and being in touch with them. Yes, sometimes I wish I could turn off my Big Feelings...but then I wouldn't be me.

F- Feminism. Duh.

G- Gonzo, my favorite Muppet. He's deeply in love with a chicken. Stay chaotic, my friend.

H- (my) hair, which is pretty easy to deal with. A lot of people hate their hair, or fret about losing it. Mine never really stresses me out. Anything that doesn't cause me anxiety = something I'm grateful for.

I- the Internet. Are you familiar? It's great! My friend Noah was once recounting to his mother his attempts to find a picture of matzo brei on the Web and she said, "There are pictures of matzo brei online?" And Noah said, "Mom, there are probably pictures of people having sex on matzo brei online." (note: a brief Google image search yielded no results, but that doesn't mean it's not out there somewhere. Different folks et al.)

J- Job, as in the fact that I have one (a lot of folks don't) and one that I actually like most of the time and pays me enough to live on.

K- Karaoke. Seriously, if I could be a professional karaoke singer....

L- Laughter. Few things feel better than a good belly laugh. I crack myself up fairly regularly, either because I'm a narcissist or because I'm funny. Jury still out.

M- the Master Singers, the choir I recently joined. My heart is happy when I am singing. Corny, but true. And my Mom, because she reads this blog and if I say I'm grateful for my Dad and not her, I will get an angry phone call. Also, she is a wonderful person.

N- Netflix.

O- Oprah gifs.

P- Poetry. Here's a poem written by a friend's four-year-old that pretty much sums it up:

Poetry, poetry
I like poetry
It can be about ice cream
It can be about anything
I like poetry


Q- Quiche. It's one of my favorite comfort foods, far superior to omelets and much less appreciated.

R- RuPaul's Drag Race, aka the best show on television of all time, hunty!


S- Sleep. I take my sleep seriously.

T- Tough love. It's not always what you want, but it's sometimes what you need.

U- Ursula the Sea Witch, because she's the best Disney villain. So sassy! 

V- Vaginas. They're neat, no? If everyone had a penis, well, that would be...problematic.

W- Wine. Duh.

X- X-rays, I guess, because yay science? Xerox machines also make my life as a teacher easier.

Y- You, dear reader!

Z- ....zebra stripes? Because they're fashionable?

Things are happening

I finally feel settled enough in my new home in Chicago to report on what my life is like here. After a slow and slightly lonely start (thank God for the Olympics, which made staying in every night watching TV seem like an acceptable thing to do), things are finally happening. Good, exciting things. Such as:

1) I got into a choir

In Chicago, a lot of choral groups hold their auditions in spring, as opposed to late summer, so many of the groups I was interested in had already accepted their new members for the upcoming season. It was looking like I'd only be able to share my vocal stylings with my fellow drunk patrons in karaoke bars. But I auditioned for The Apollo Chorus this week, and despite my inability to sightread bass clef (which led me to accidentally curse in the audition -- oops), I have been invited to join their Alto 1 section. With 110 members, Apollo will be the biggest choir I have ever been a part of. It's also the oldest choral organization in the country. They have performed Handel's Messiah every December since 1879. That's a lot of Halleluias.

And speaking of halleluia-- 

2) I am employed

As of the day I left Boston, I had nothing locked down job-wise. The interview I had in July for a lecturer position at Roosevelt University didn't result in an offer....but they did like me enough to offer me adjunct work. I am teaching two sections of English 101 (Intro to Composition) and so far, I'm really enjoying it. Roosevelt's rhet & comp program is just similar enough to Emerson's that I feel like I know what I'm doing, but just different enough to feel new and fresh. And the students are cool -- there are less scowling hipsters, to be sure, but so far, they seem ready to work and learn (with the exception of the girl who, when I asked her after class why she refused to participate in a group activity, said she "just wasn't feeling it").

3) The Big Quiz Thing is coming to Chicago, with me as the host/quizmistress

After side-kicking/Vanna White-ing in Boston with Quizmaster Noah for two years, I have earned my hosting wings and will be helping launch the Chicago edition. Starting Oct. 4, I will be hosting the best live game show spectacular on either side of the Mississippi on the first Thursday of every month. The venue: Uncommon Ground in Edgewater. More details soon....but if you're in the Chicago area or have friends there, please encourage them to check it out. I REALLY want to be a D-list Chicago celebrity by the end of the year.  

I am repurposing a silly Funkin' A! picture for promotional purposes:

             I look kind of like a game show host, right?

For the full event details, visit the Facebook event page!

4) The Food Committee is finally under one roof

My best friend Jon is the co-founder of the Food Committee, a very, very exclusive organization dedicated to eating only really excellent food in excellent company. And now, we're roommates (as well as Elite Yelpers) and can take our culinary adventures to the next level. I am convinced that Chicago is the best restaurant city in the country (yes, even better than NYC) and I vow that no meal shall be wasted.

5) I have located my CSO

CSO = coffee shop office. I am notoriously bad at getting any work done at home, so finding a place nearby with wifi and decent coffee is essential. I was about to give up on my neighborhood when I stumbled upon Eva's Cafe. It's kind of on a sketchy, weird block, but it's adorable and has good, cheap food and reliable wireless. This is where I will be pretty much every day I'm not teaching. It's where I am now, in fact.

6) I went to my first Cubs game at Wrigley Field (and obviously, they lost)

Baseball is the only sport I even remotely care about, and I love rooting for underdog teams. The Cubs are, therefore, totally deserving of my support. Except when they play the Cardinals, of course. Then all bets are off.

7) The cats are getting along

Actually, this is a lie. They are better than they were a month ago, but there's still a lot of hissing (Maude), growling (Maude), and food-stealing (Meaty). But occasionally they occupy the same room and ignore each other peacefully. So that's something. 

8) I'm kinda sorta maybe possibly perhaps dating someone. And that's all I have to say about that.  

     

That's all the news that's fit to print at the moment. Happy Friday and God bless you and these United States of America. (Yeah, I have been watching too many convention speeches).

My wit, condensed to 140 characters

The inevitable finally happened: I joined Twitter. I resisted for a long time. I couldn't convince myself of the usefulness/purpose. Was worried I'd feel self-indulgent. Concerned no one would follow me.

These fears have not entirely been put to rest, but I have to say, after a few days, it is more enjoyable and addictive than I thought it would be. Is this the beginning of the end of my productivity?

The 140-character thing is genius. It's like a game/puzzle, to reduce whatever joke/self-promotion/breaking news/gossip into a handful of words and symbols. As a writer who values concision and a poet who likes formal constraints, I dig this aspect. I also like all the lingo: hashtags, handles, feeds. Twitvernacular, if you will.

My Twitter empire is in its infant phase, as I have less than 20 followers. To be exact, I have 16. 13 of the 16 are folks I know. The other three, I have no idea who they are. Which is kind of cool. Could you be lucky #17?

I can't promise any revolutionary content, but I think I have Twitter potential. And I promise not to just post pictures of Maude sleeping.

Chicago! Olympics! Exclamation points!

Welcome to my first blog post since my move to Chicago!

Yes, one week ago today, I set out on 1-90 W with my mom and my diabetic cat, Maude. Sitcom fodder, I know, right? We arrived the following evening after driving through the scenic states of Massachusetts, New York, Ohio and the top of Indiana.

My new digs ain't too shabby:

There are skylights and an amazing amount of natural light. There's a dishwasher. A patio. A fireplace. Central air. I feel like such a grown-up. It's all so civilized. Maude's adjustment has been a little rockier, as her new home is inhabited by another cat, Miss Meaty. The cats are hopefully moving toward being civil or at least aloof toward one another; right now, there's a lot of hissing and growling and chasing. 

In between unpacking, I have also, like the rest of the world, been watching a lot of Olympics. I realized yesterday that I watched the Beijing Olympics also after just relocating to a new city (Boston). I think I will always associate the Summer Games with living out of boxes and feeling disoriented.

I love watching gymnastics, probably because it was the only sport I was even halfway decent at as a kid. I totally had the gymnast body, before my boobs came in: short, broad shoulders, strong stocky legs. If I'd had a little more grace and balance, I coulda been a contender. I was good at vault and floor -- couldn't stay on the beam to save my life. But I remember feeling awesome after doing my first unassisted back walkover. I was a good little tumbler -- being close to the ground helped. I went to All-American Gymnastics in St. Louis a few times a week. Other than the foam pit, the thing I most looked forward to most was getting a reward of a small bag of Farley's Fruit Snacks after practice. Nothing like some high fructose artificially-fruit-flavored gummies to ruin your dinner.

The best part of watching the Olympics is how everyone is suddenly an expert. It's easy to get lost in the moment, beer in hand, bemoaning to your peers how not sticking the landing is going to result in a 3/10ths deduction. I mean, we all sound like assholes. But it's all in good fun. I nicknamed this gymnast Bangs:

Bangs did not have a good night last night. Basically, the Fab Five could have done the Funky Chicken for their floor routines and still won gold. 

But don't think I always root for the U.S. -- in many cases, I'd rather see another country win because, let's face it, the U.S. is going to get a ton of medals. That South African guy who beat out Phelps for the gold? For the rest of his life, he can say he beat Michael Phelps, most decorated and celebrated Olympian ever of all time*. Yay for that guy and for all the underdog countries who consider it a victory just to make it past the qualifying rounds.

*until some other freakishly gifted athlete tops that

So here I am, in Chicago, getting acclimated. Gearing up to teach some freshman comp at Roosevelt University and hopefully do some freelance writing as well. Hoping to join a choir and maybe even audition for a play or two. It's a whole new world.

I bet I know more about feline diabetes than you do

Maude's diagnosis has put her in some very distinguished company.

A recent vet visit revealed that Maude's long streak of perfect health is finally over. She is diabetic and I must now give her twice-daily injections of insulin and feed her special food. It is certainly the beginning of a new chapter in our lives together.

But I'm coping -- and doing lots of internet research. Cornell University College of Veterinary Medicine has a very helpful video series featuring some adorable cat actors. And this website has some very dramatic rhetoric: "Your Emotions Will Be Raw" cautions one section; another warns that:

Gone are the days of putting out food and water, giving a quick pat on the head, and hurrying out the door ... Friends, relatives, and co-workers may make insensitive comments that you are crazy to care for a chronically ill pet. Although it is difficult, try to ignore the unsupportive people - they do not understand the special bond of love that you share with your pet. Their inability to have compassion for an animal means that they will never experience the pure and unconditional love that can be shared between a human and a companion animal.

Damn!

I'm going to be the best caregiver that I can and take it one day at a time. Apparently, feline diabetes can go into remission and not all cats need insulin for their entire lives. Honestly, though, the syringe is tiny and Maude doesn't seem to mind so far. And if anything, she likes her new food more than the stuff I was feeding her. So we're adjusting. Our emotions are a little raw but we'll pull through. Feline "diabeetus": it's not a death sentence.

Happy Halloween!

Halloween kind of snuck up on me this year. In fact, the whole month of October snuck up on me. How is it already November?

At any rate: Halloween 2010. It was fun, perhaps not as memorable as past years, but maybe I'm just finally reaching an age where Halloween is less fun for me. That's a depressing thought. Not going to unpack that at the moment.

This year, I had a little impromptu gathering at my house, featuring pumpkin-flavored beer and homemade "spooky snacks": Sriracha-spiced deviled eggs and curry/cayenne roasted pumpkin seeds.


We watched a few scary movies (Little Shop of Horrors, Alien), then went to the obligatory costume party. My costume was I think funnier in concept than in execution. But really, it's all been downhill since my costume zenith from Halloween 2001: The Taco Belle.

I spent the whole night speaking Spanish with a Southern accent. Damn, I'm clever.

Last year, I went as Baby from Dirty Dancing. I carried a watermelon around all night. And told people not to put me in a corner.


Tonight, I did little to celebrate -- no trick-or-treating, no parties. Ate take-out Thai food and orange and black M&Ms. Maude looks way more festive than I do, but she's sort of perpetually in the Halloween spirit due to her coloring. And her worship of Satan.

Too much candy for Maude?

Who Am I?

(hint: the answer is not Jean Valjean)

In my nonfiction writing class, we've been reading excerpts from memoirs and personal essays by authors ranging from E.B. White to Maxine Hong Kingston. For my first workshop piece, I'm focusing on the question of identity by telling the story of my crazy freshman year suitemate, Bashe, who desperately wanted to be British and spoke with a phony accent 24-7. Issues pertaining to my own concept of identity tie into the essay (what college freshman isn't unsure of who he/she is?), which got me to thinking about how others perceive me vs. how I perceive myself. What I am discovering is that context is everything.

For instance, I have recently been detecting something unusual from Ali, the balding overweight man who runs the corner bodega by my apartment (the Linden Superette). The look in his eyes when he rings up my items....could it be pity? Why does this man feel sorry for me? Then I realized that I always come in alone, often unshowered, without makeup, and wearing sweatpants. And I regularly buy cat food and frozen Lean Pockets. He thinks I am a lonely cat lady! When this dawned on me, I felt compelled to dress up and enter the store flanked by an entourage of attractive friends...but this guy probably doesn't feel superior to many people, so I think I'll continue playing the role of single, homely, cat-owning woman.

At my new waitress job, Exotic Sushi and Tapas, they clearly have a different perception of me. Those of you who know me have heard me gripe about this place -- I'm trying my damndest to stay positive because the food is delicious and I think the owners mean well -- but the fact remains that I have worked there for 6 weeks now and not seen a paycheck. I'm making tips and my hourly wage is only $2.67/hr so it's not like the check is going to be that helpful, but still, it's the principle. Many employees have quit because they weren't getting paychecks and it's hard to understand how/why management believes they don't have to pay their staff. The only conclusion I can come to is that in their eyes, I am slave labor.

(In a meek act of protest, I have started giving my customers free miso soup. I fancy myself a sort of Japanese Robin Hood, distributing miso soup to the masses. We only charge $2 for the soup, but considering how cheap it is to make and how much gets thrown out, I think the end justifies the miso.)

Finally, let's examine how one other party perceives me: my cat Maude.


Not to brag, but I am the center of Maude's universe. Maude is mesmerized by my presence -- I am all powerful. When I come home at the end of the day, she is always, without fail, waiting by the door, meowing. The unconditional love pets provide is pretty nice -- no matter how shitty I may feel or how people may treat me, I know there is one living creature who will always crave my affection and attention. It's almost enough to give me a God complex. Almost.

Goodbye to all that

Maude is clearly ready for the big move to Boston. But am I?

The answer, as far as I can tell, is yes. I've had a rocky love affair with New York, but it's time to close this chapter in my life. Maybe I will live here again someday, but maybe it's just not in my blood. You can take the girl out of the Midwest but you can't take the Midwest out of the girl.

A good friend recently quoted Joan Didion's stunning essay on leaving New York on his blog, and not to seem like a copycat, but I'm going to quote it too. It perfectly captures the bittersweet feelings I have about leaving this exhilarating and bewildering city. To read the entire essay, click here. You won't regret it. Here are some of my favorite excerpts-- part of why I am going to graduate school for writing is to learn how to write something as powerful and true as this.

Goodbye to All That (1967)

It is easy to see the beginnings of things, and harder to see the ends. I can remember now, with a clarity that makes the nerves in the back of my neck constrict, when New York began for me, but I cannot lay my finger upon the moment it ended, can never cut through the ambiguities and second starts and broken resolves to the exact place on the page where the heroine is no longer as optimistic as she once was....

Part of what I want to tell you is what it is like to be young in New York, how six months can become eight years with the deceptive ease of a film dissolve, for that is how those years appear to me now, in a long sequence of sentimental dissolves and old-fashioned trick shots—the Seagram Building fountains dissolve into snowflakes, I enter a revolving door at twenty and come out a good deal older, and on a different street. But most particularly I want to explain to you, and in the process perhaps to myself, why I no longer live in New York. It is often said that New York is a city for only the very rich and the very poor. It is less often said that New York is also, at least for those of us who came there from somewhere else, a city only for the very young....

Nothing was irrevocable; everything was within reach. Just around every corner lay something curious and interesting, something I had never before seen or done or known about...I could make promises to myself and to other people and there would be all the time in the world to keep them. I could stay up all night and make mistakes, and none of them would count.