Sunday, March 16, 2008

I'm on Blogger now

I have disbanded my Typepad blog for this new one on Blogger.

Typepad has much better features, but I've been using Blogger to host my garden blog and I realized that I can live without the fancy-pants features. And Typepad is monthly fee-based and Blogger is free. Since I don't have the kind of blog that "pays" me back, it made since to migrate.

I probably should have done this a while back, but it's a hassle.

The cons are... blogger doesn't have an Importing system so I can't easily import my old posts from Typepad. So I am going to pick and choose the posts that I want on this site (if I ever find time), but for the most part, it'll be like starting from scratch.

Oh, and I changed my title. Rosey Cheeks.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Book Review: Ellington Boulevard

After all the good books I read in 2007, it was only inevitable that I should be in a reading funk in January and February. Every book I picked up felt like lead in my hands and a burden in my book bag. So it must be karma that once I find a good book, then a suite of good books follow. It's like that saying, "When it rains, it pours."

I picked up 5 books at the library recently and have been reading them in order of their size (small to large). Ellington Boulevard was my first.

This is the latest book by Chicagoan Adam Langer, who also wrote Crossing California. CC was one of the books I tried reading in January (as well as last year); it takes place in Chicago (Roger's Park) and for that reason you would think that I would plow through it, but that wasn't the case. As far as I read of this novel, it's 1979 Chicago and it chronicles the lives of some Jewish youths in Roger's Park during the span of the Iran hostage crisis. Maybe it was the characters, but I didn't like them enough to care and I didn't feel like reading it anymore.

Ellington Boulevard -- set in NYC and we know how I love NYC (read: hate NYC) books -- hit me in a completely opposite way. The characters were more caricatures, and I liked them a whole lot better. The plot is simple: Ike Morphy, a former Jazz clarinetist for the group the Funkshuns, and his dog Herbie Mann, live in a rent controlled apartment in an up-and-coming NY neighborhood. When the landlord dies and his son, Mark, inherits the building, he learns that Ike's been living there with a lease equal to a "handshake." That's when the new owner decides to sell the apartments so he start a chain of restaurants, but Ike's not making it easy for Mark or real estate broker Josh, especially when potential buyers Darrell and Rebecca come to look at it.

Rebecca is a new editor for a tanking magazine and her husband is a perpetual doctoral student and spends all day avoiding his dissertation and chasing after a pretty red-head he met in the library -- who has a story of her own. Each chapter tells a little more of each person's story and how all their lives in NYC are all intersecting through this one apartment.

The seller is a recovering addict who's trying to make over his life, but he's still pretty sleazy. The real estate broker is an aspiring actor who fell into the lucrative world of real estate. The mortgage broker opens a bottle of champagne whenever the economy reports job losses. The girlfriend is a writer who lost her creativity and now only writes stories like "This annoying guy is trying to pick me up in the library, what's up with that" -- or something like that.

The character list is unending and each is interesting - whether likable or not - in their own right. But Darrell had to be my favorite: the son of professor's in Madison, WI, he's the perpetual doctoral student who downloads music instead of writing his dissertation, bullshits his TA work, and resents his wife for having wealthy parents. He's an insecure slacker, completely annoying, and I loved him. To me, he felt like the only real character; maybe because he was the one

The style was reminiscent of the Bill Fitzhugh novels I've been reading -- where the multiple characters are all connected in ways they didn't know they were. And they effect each other's outcomes without ever even meeting each other. The novel starts of slow, describing the setting and people, then you learn how they all intersect, and finally the face-paced ending where it jumps from story to story. So it was a style I liked, and I can't say he copied it since I'm sure Fitzhugh got it from someone else ...

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Flipping Out

Matt and I just discovered how not to fight anymore.

The other night, we were all warm under the covers ... too warm. That's when Matt said, "did you lower the heat?" On days that I work from home, I run the thermostat manually, otherwise it's on a program. So this was one of those days and there's no way we're sleeping wit the heat on 65 (more like 55 for us).

"Can you shut it off?" I begged.

"No, you turned it on..." It went back and forth until we agreed there was only one way to solve WHO was getting out of the warm bed to shut the heat. And that decision needed to be made by George Washington -- the quarter, that is.

So Matt flipped, I called tails, and I won. So Matt had to get up and shut the heat and that was the end of the story.

So my advice to all you fighting couples: when in a pickle, flip the nickel.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Women's Lib-ido

I was reading an article in the Chicago Tribune this morning about a new pill to help a woman's libido. Apparently, the loss of testosterone in a woman can decrease sex drive, so this pill is for amping up the testosterone (i.e. can I have a side order of facial hair with that pill, please?)

Anyway, the best part of the article came when they quoted someone as saying, "Testosterone isn't going to help if you're married to a schmuck."

I think this should be stated as one of those voice-over warning, "May cause dry mouth, fatigue, and dizziness. Do not use if taking anti-depressants. May not treat symptoms if married to a schmuck.

Friday, February 15, 2008

Sad

I was on the train last night going downtown from work and in front of me was the cutest little girl who was about 2 years old. She was with a woman who must have been her mom and what was the mom doing? Teaching her little baby to say the word "skank." And saying it she did over and over with her mom making sure it was right.

I was overcome with sadness. And I asked myself which was worse, this or the moms I see beating their kids on the train when they fuss just a little.

Not having grown up with this sort of behavior, I'm shocked and saddened each time.

I imagine these women being young, poor, single moms who are stressed out and have never been taught what it's like to be a proper mother. Each time I see this I see the continuing cycle of poverty. And every time I see this I get more and more angry with those who only want to teach abstinence instead of a comprehensive sex education to ALL people -- not just those in wealthy suburban schools.

Sunday, February 10, 2008

If I had a million dollars...

Can I have this chair please?

Bubble02_zoom_2 It's called a Bubble Chair by Finish designer Eero Aarnio. I just saw it in a magazine and flipped out, although it's been around since 1968 (where have I been?). It hangs from the ceiling by a chain: our ultimate adult playground fantasies have come true! It's yours for about $3400.

For a cheaper alternative, I found a less expensive version of this designer's Ball Chair for only $1800.

Friday, February 8, 2008

If I had a million dollars...

Towelwarmer... I would have one of these towel warmers in my bathroom so that when I got out of the shower in the early February mornings and I can feel the cold air penetrating past the flimsy glass we call a window in the downstairs bathroom, I could wrap myself like a cocoon.

Of course if I had a million dollars I wouldn't have a crappy bathroom with a flimsy window that lets in all the cold. But I'd still want the towel warmer.

Now I know you don't believe me, but we had a towel warmer growing up ... Uh huh, it was called the dryer. And my mom would put our bath towel in it so when we got out of the bath we could be wrapped in a nice warm towel. I still remember, Mom!