The "Other" Bail-out Plan for Detroit

Sunday, the Detroit Lions became the first team in NFL history to go 0-16.  To keep with the trend and general motif Michigan,  I think we should bail them out.  This idea is not so original...but read on.

The MO?  The 2009 Draft.

As a nation, it is our duty to see that no more embarrassment come to the "Motor City".  In my Bail-out plan, we allow the Lions to draft in '09 by applying the rules of the classic Parker Brothers board game, Scrabble.  The new rules would read as follows: You may use a [draft pick] to exchange all, some, or none of the [players and/or coaching staff]. To do this, place your discarded [players and/or coaching staff] facedown. Draw the same number of [players and/or coaching staff] from the pool, then mix your discarded [players and/or coach](s) into the pool. This ends your turn.

As described, Roger Goodell would place his hand inside a cotton drawstring bag filled with the names of current Lions AND potential draft picks.  He would then pull out names and Voila!  Brand new Detroit Lions!  There is a risk, of course, that the commish might pull out "dumped" players, (i.e. Jon Kitna/Dan Orlovsky).  

In exchange, the new and improved Lions promise reform in an effort to become an endzone viable team.  

Bozo Blagojevich

In 2001, Bozo the Clown's Super Sunday Show was cancelled due to "increased competition from newer children's cable channels".  So what became of the lovable, pie-throwing Clown?  I suppose most might assume Bozo retired; hung up his over-sized shoes and hit up the Big Top in Tahiti. 

I suspect otherwise.

I think he became Governor of Illinois.     

Maybe Governor Blagojevich thought he could play the Grand Prize Game with President Elect, Barack Obama's senate seat?  I bet Jesse Jackson Jr would have coughed up some cash if there had been Archway Cookies and a crisp one-hundred dollar bill at stake.  

Blago, you're a Bozo.  Give it up and resign already.

Break-in at 600 N. Michigan

Seriously?  The most ridiculous things happen to me.  

I actually got off work at a reasonable hour this evening (before midnight) and as a result of the early dismissal, everyone was particularly anxious to scoot out the door.  Apparently... very anxious.  And apparently, surprisingly fast.  Immediately after clocking out, I grabbed my belongings and went directly to the ladies room.  I couldn't have been in there any longer than 2 minutes but by the time I was making way to the front door, all of the upstairs lights were out.  Upon reaching the front door, I found myself to be alone with the rhythmic beep of the alarm.  "Well, this can't be good," I thought.   I put my hand on the front door, closed my eyes and pushed.  

Locked.

I looked out to Michigan Avenue in time to see two Eddie Bauer managers strolling away across the busy intersection.  I flung my body against the window; both fists clenched and banging against the cold window pane like Fred Flintstone screaming for Wilma.  Shrieking, I called out to the Magnificent Mile for help.  I pounded so hard that my vibrations rattled down the giant "Holiday Sale" signs from the two story windows and simultaneously set off wildly alarming security alarms.  (As an objective side note, the alarm was entirely effective as a deterrent. Any robber, thief, or crook would probably pee themselves; God knows, I almost did.)  

Still screaming and erratically slamming my body against the huge windows, the passers by stared at me with looks of wonder.  "Yes, I'm looting the place in a trapper hat, Hollister jacket, Abercrombie scarf and furry snow boots... HELP ME".    

Alarms blaring, lights flashing, and the window display rapidly being destroyed by my seizure-like fit, I saw my managers do a triple-take  and sprint back to the storefront.

Needless to say, they settled the alarm and apologetically let me out.  Coincidentally, I've decided that the buddy-system is extremely underrated.   

   

Romeo and Joliet

A few nights ago, I drove to Joliet to see the national tour of "Movin' Out".  My married friends, Katrina and Mike very sweetly invited me out to see their one night at the Rialto Theatre.  Mike stage manages the production and Katrina sells the goods (merchandise).  The show was magnificent; the theatre was beautiful, but nothing topped seeing old friends.  Katrina and Mike had to get back to work shortly after curtain, but I can't wait to see them again.  

My analysis of Joliet?  I didn't find the prison, but I also didn't have my Blues Brothers soundtrack (or my sunglasses at night) so I'll have to go back when I'm properly outfitted.  I did, however, see Harrah's Casino.  It was difficult to miss the Vegas style flashing white lights amidst the quaint little mid-western town.  Apparently, Joliet is one of the fastest growing cities in the mid-west.  With Harrah's Casino, the Infamous Joliet Prison, and Route 66, how could it not be?  Joliet is Jumpin'.  

 

Wednesday Grumblings

Retail (psycho)Therapy

Allow me to start off by saying how thankful I am to be employed during such a tough economic time.  It is a joy and a blessing to receive a paycheck every week.  That being said... 

I have a college degree and I'm preaching about a $9.99 ice scraper that is one of "Oprah's favorite things".    

...

It kind of makes me sick to my stomach.  How I went from penning critical essays on Chekov and the Moscow Art Theatre to pitching ice scrapers (Mitten included!!!), I'll never know.  One thing is for sure, after the holidays, it is time to get serious about finding a more sustainable job.     

CTA Happenings

I've had a few interesting occurrences as of late which I am deeming blog-worthy.  (Please excuse my brevity; I'm pooped.  I sold a LOT of ice scrapers...)  

A few days ago, the woman next to me on the train began clucking like a chicken.  There was clearly something wrong with her, but I couldn't help but wonder if I should toss out some breadcrumbs.

Today, a man got on the bus who was tripping so hard his upper-body went catatonic while his legs pulsated rapidly.  He may have been having a seizure of some type, and as much as I wanted to help, I knew it was potentially dangerous for me to get involved.  There were two other twenty-something girls who were also eyeing the situation.  Randomly, the three of us, complete strangers, said that if he moved towards us we were going to defend each other.  Jessie, one of the girls, thought the guy was a heroin junkie.  She was from Detroit; so we'll take her word for it.  Either way, it was a little freaky.  I guess I must be adapting to city-life quickly.  Although these events were a bit strange, I wasn't shocked or surprised.  

Hugs not drugs!

a view from my 'hood

Thanksgiving

The Lights Festival

The Lights Festival on Michigan Ave.  

The Great Flood of '08

It's been a long week. 

Last Sunday I awoke, ate a healthy breakfast, and geared up for my usual weekend workout.  As I was headed out the garage door, I noticed that the shower curtain in the downstairs bathroom was drawn shut.  "Some night when I come home late; that's going to freak me out.  I'm going to think someone is hiding behind it," I thought to myself.  I promptly walked over and opened the curtain, thus silencing my paranoia.  En route, I noticed a single ply of toilet paper floating in the toilet.  Thinking nothing of it, I flushed the toilet and went on my way.

I was feeling particularly spry and energetic that morning, so I drove Petunia to X-Sport Fitness (the preferred gym of the Chicago Bears) for a morning class and a little cardio action.  I wasn't feeling completely exhausted after the class, so I found myself at my *other* gym, Flirty Girl Fitness for some boxing drills.  Only in Chicago can you find an all-women's gym with a boxing class (complete with pink Everlast equipment)  set to Miley Cyrus music.

I digress.  Several hours later, I returned home and noticed water pouring out of the garage.  "Please don't let that be coming from the apartment," I thought.  As the garage door slowly unveiled the source of the cascade, my heart sank into my stomach.  I scrambled for the key while the freezing cold water seeped through my shoes.  Finally, I opened the door to reveal the toilet spewing out (clean) water.  I took a step into the apartment.  Squish.   "Uh-oh".  

At first, I thought the toilet had only overflowed into the landing next to the bathroom.  After talking with Sarah "the Saint" and my Dad, it was concluded that I would rent a wet-vac from Home Depot.  I scrambled to the HD and rented the Wet-Vac, only to find that it didn't properly fit in my VW Bug.  Foiled again!  I struggled with the Wet-Vac for quite sometime before deciding to drive home with the hatch open.  

Just as I got the Wet-Vac wedged into my car with the hatch open, it started to snow.  So there I was: having a panic attack, stuck in traffic, with the snow blowing into my car and in my face.

Priceless.

*Fast forward to me realizing that the water had seeped through the wall, under the stairs, and into Sarah's room*.  (Expletive). 

*Fast forward to me realizing that the water had ALSO seeped through the other wall, under the stairs, and into the neighbor's adjoining apartment*. (Expletive. Expletive).  

Yep.  My neighbors LOVE me, by the way.  They've really enjoyed being inconvenienced by the water, servicemen, and the sound of industrial-sized fans all night.  

Epilogue:

The carpet has been completely ripped out.  Industrial fans and dehumidifiers have been commissioned to dry out the place.  If it doesn't dry out, maybe it will freeze over and we can charge admission for ice-skaters(?).   Fortunately, Sarah is the kindest, most understanding person in the world.  She has taken the "it could have happened to anybody" stance, rather than giving me the boot.  She says one day we'll laugh about the time I flooded half of Chicago.  Here's hopin', Hanchar.  Here's hopin'.

  

Michigan Avenue

Good news.  I'm employed.  Eddie Bauer hired me as a seasonal associate at their Michigan Avenue store.  It's nothing fancy, but it will get me through the holidays and still allow me to audition...yadda, yadda, yadda.  

I'm mostly excited because Michigan Avenue will be beautiful for the holidays.  There is a big, festive parade with my old friend, Mickey Mouse, and it appears to be quite the event.  The top picture is of the Eddie Bauer I'll be working at- it's gigantic!

*Nerd Alert*

As it turns out, Eddie Bauer was a real person.  He actually invented/patented the first goose down coat and outfitted Jim Whittaker in his journey to the peak of Mt. Everest.  I'll have to take employee discount and go scale a mountain now...

  

Anish Kapoor's Cloud Gate Sculpture

Millennium Park

Today I walked through Millennium Park.  It was lovely.  You should do it sometime.  

Tails of the Rat

Today I saw my first rat.  I was completely calm and rational about it...

That's a bold-faced lie.  I totally flipped out.  

First, let's discuss what he did not look like: 

Aww.  Ratatouille!

 

 Rizzo :)

Jaq and Gus Gus

No, no...  I saw this guy's twin brother:

Plague-Carrying Demon, Spawn of Satan, Rodent

Now if only I had a giant marble, bathtub, plastic shoe, bucket, and a rubber band...

I suppose I could be over reacting.  In all fairness, the rat was outside, and across the street posing no immediate threat to me or Buster.  I guess I should have a teensy bit of empathy for the guy, I mean in the Chinese horoscope sense, I, too, am a Rat.  As a matter of fact, 2008 is the "Year of the Rat".  Maybe he was having himself a celebratory parade for which he was the grand marshall... awww, okay, Rat.  You win.  You stay on your side of the street and I'll stay on mine.  We Rats only have until January 25th, and then it's the Ox's year. Rats!      

All I ever needed to know, I learned from Kermit

 Shout out to Sarah, Jess, and Mary.  I miss you girls.

Muppets Saying Goodbye - video powered by Metacafe

All bundled-up.

One of my favorite things about Chicago is getting all bundled up in cutesie sweaters, coats, tights, jackets, thermal underwear, gloves, hats, and scarves.  (Okay, I lied.  There is nothing "cutesie" about thermal underwear).  I've discovered that there is an art to layering up.  One carelessly layered sweater and you're not only unfashionable;  you're in a thermal straight-jacket.

I'm particularly proud of this little ensemble because it is what I wore the first time someone asked ME for directions.  That's right... I'm blending it.  Watch out.

Barackin' the suburbs just like Michael Jackson did (what?...they're both half white)

I guess I'm pretty glad that Barack is our President elect.  I was out pounding the pavement looking for a job today, and then I remembered that we're all about to be socialists... so I stopped for lunch.  

I stopped at Camille's cafe, a little sandwich and salad shop on La Salle.  It was raining and my umbrella had snapped in half (future shiv), so I was ready for my Bolshevik Break (see Socialist joke above).  Somehow, I keep getting turned around downtown and have to ask the question "Which way is the lake?".  I carry a map with me, but I like to maneuver on my feet.  Did Lewis and Clark have a detailed map?  No!  Hmm, they did, however, have a Native American guide...I'm pretty sure I could find one on the Southside for cheap.  I'll look into it.

Nevertheless, job search 2008 is on!  I've applied at retail stores around the city, and a few legit jobs on Monster.  I'm slightly commitment-phobic when it comes to jobs.  I HATE having to quit, so it puts a lot of pressure in finding the right job from the get-go.  

Time for yoga!  Namaste.

Here are a few pictures of my room featuring my recently assembled IKEA furniture (not shown: piece of crap IKEA manual).  I also wandered up to the roof of my building today... Check out the wicked view!  I had to hold on to my hat- literally.  Oh, and don't be confused by the tank top- there is a possibly snow flurry as soon as Saturday.   

Goodbye Sally, Hello Petunia.

I made it.  Chi-town is mine for the taking.  Watch out Oprah- there's a new ambitious, black woman in town... and then there's me.    

Day #1: Buster's Great Escape.  

Buster made a break for it.  While Mom, Dad, and I were moving boxes up the stairs and into the apartment, Buster saw his window of opportunity and bolted.  My fuzzy-faced little guy scrambled through the gap in my porch fence, down the hall, down the stairs, across the parking lot, and squeezed through the only hole in a chain-linked fence.  As it turns out, my Dad is actually (insert your favorite superhero here).  In a flash, Dad was in the parking lot; hopping the chain-linked fence like a 16 yr old hoodlum running from the cops.  Buster was captured and returned safely to my new abode.  A not-so inexpensive trip to Home Depot and Petsmart was made.  The loft is now a Canine's Alcatraz; even Lassie would be screwed.  

"Mustang Sally, you better slow that Mustang down..."

One of the perks of Sarah's awesome loft is its garaged parking spot.  Holy cow. The spot alone is a tight squeeze, but factor in the 3 cement pillars, brick wall, and other cars and I might as well be playing parking mine-sweeper.  *x-ed out exploded, frownie-face*.  Sally, my aptly named Mustang, in all of her sleek, baby blue beauty, could barely fit.  At a 187.5 inches in length... it just wasn't happening.  Another not-so inexpensive trip, this time to Carmax, has brought me the joy of Petunia- my neon green VW Bug.  Petunia is 160 inches long, a far less-wide.  Her previous owner suped her up, so she's extra sassy under the hood.  

IKEA. 

I put together my dresser, bookshelf, tv stand, and bed... If I ever have to look at another long, flat, over-sized  IKEA box of nonsense, it will be too soon.

 I conquered IKEA and therefore I can do anything.

Peace, Chicago.