Category Archives: miscellany

Tiny Prints has my number

November 10, 2011

(I don’t usually post sponsored content here — in fact, I’m not sure I ever have before, and I have no plans to again any time soon — but when Elizabeth directed me to a form where I could sign up to get 50 free holiday cards from Tiny Prints in exchange for writing a post about holiday cards — well, I guess now you all know my deep dark secret. I can be bought, and the cost is free paper goods. Do you own a letterpress? Let’s talk.)

A friend of mine recently told me that she was annoyed that holiday card season is coming around again, because cards are so environmentally wasteful and pointless.

That made me sad.  I love holiday cards. I particularly love holiday cards with photos, but I take all types: basic text-only, nice family photo, over-the-top bragging Christmas letter. There is no time of year when the mail is more fun and exciting than during December.

I do not, however, love most holiday card display devices.  They are often kind of over the top, no? Big and metal and you have to mount them and they cost $50?

No thank you.

A few years ago, I found these magnetic photo ropes on photojojo:

I love them.  I bought three white ones, and hung them in the hallway leading to our kitchen.  During the holidays, I hang all the cards we receive on them, so I can admire them daily (the tiny magnets are SUPER strong- I haven’t met a card they couldn’t hold.)

And they are so nice and clean and simple that I use them during the rest of the year as a substitute for a corkboard to display invitations, greeting cards, and photos:

As you can see from this terrible picture, the hallway to our kitchen does not get a lot of light. But I still love it.

The best holiday cards? Stay up on the display all year.  See that one in the upper left? That’s a Tiny Prints card.  Just saying.

So if you’re looking for a nice, simple, versatile system for displaying your holiday cards, I highly recommend photo ropes.  And if you’re looking for great custom holiday cards, I highly recommend Tiny Prints. (And not just because they’re giving me free cards- every Christmas card, shower invitation, and personalized thank you note I’ve ordered in the past 3 years has come from Tiny Prints. They’re pretty great.)  You can check out their holiday card designs here.

Now go forth and take cute pictures so you can put them on holiday cards so I can hang them on my wall! Please and thank you.

Posted in miscellany | 1 Comment

A pointless, yet mildly entertaining, story from my past

October 20, 2011

When I was in college, I worked at a really unfortunately-named baby clothes manufacturer (now defunct, but for some reason I’m still skittish about publishing its name. But it was REALLY BAD, you guys. We got mistaken for a teen pregnancy center a lot. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a teen pregnancy center, but when what you’re actually doing is manufacturing $80 matelasse baby jackets, it’s an unfortunate point of confusion.)

(Sorry, that was a long intro.)

Anyway, one of my coworkers at Unfortunately Named Baby Products Company was a woman in her early 40s, a single mom with a manufacturing background, who smoked a lot and drank a lot of Coke Classic.  I forget her name, so we’re going to call her Debra.  Debra was kind of rough around the edges, and I think the owner hired me mostly because she wanted someone a little more polished who didn’t smell of smoke to deal with the clients in the small retail nook we ran out of the front of the warehouse space.

(Apparently not done with the intro.  Getting to the point now, I promise.)

ANYWAY, the summer I worked there, Coke was running a bottle caps promotion, where you could win a prize if your bottle cap said “winner!”  Prizes included things like a Coke tshirt, Coke keychain, and a free Coke.   The game details on the bottles said that, like, 1 in 50 bottles was a winner.

Debra, as I mentioned, drank a LOT of Coke, and as the summer progressed, she got increasingly irritated that she had not yet happened upon a winning bottle.

One day, after twisting off another non-winning top, Debra had had enough, and turned to me in indignation. “I drink a lot of Coke!” she said to me. “This game must be rigged.”

“Well,” I said, in all my one-year-of-college earnestness, “actually, it’s probably just bad luck- that’s the way probability works, there’s no guarantee that if you draw 50 bottles, one will be a winner- you could have 1, or 3, or none. That’s just the odds of winning OVERALL.  So, like, in Vegas, when you’re considering the odds of winning at craps- ”

“Whatever,” Debra interrupted me.  ”I know how it works. It says one in 50 is a winner, I’ve had more than 50, I didn’t win. They’re cheating.”

So Debra called Coke. From work. Because, sure, why not?

“Hi, I drink a lot of Coke, like definitely more than 50 bottles, and I haven’t gotten a winning cap, even though the game says that 1 in 50 is a winner.”

Now, I couldn’t hear the Coke end of this conversation, but here’s where I’d imagine someone saying something like “well, ma’am, those are the odds, but that’s no guarantee that if you drink 50 bottles you’ll get a winner.”

Debra was having none of it.

“I am one of your best customers,” she continued. “I don’t even drink water. I drink at least 3 bottles of Coke every day, and I haven’t gotten a winner.  This is crap.”

Here I’d imagine the Coke person saying something like “well, see here’s the thing about probability…”

At this point, I was making a “hey, it’s no big, maybe you should sign off!” face at Debra. There were hand gestures.  I was getting a little embarrassed for her, frankly.

Debra persisted.

“I want to know what you’re going to do about the fact that I haven’t gotten a winner even though I’ve drunk more than 50 bottles,” she said. “This is ridiculous.”

At this point Debra’s four year old son, who often came to work with her, was watching intently.  I was watching him watching her.

There was a long pause.  Debra listened to the person on the other end of the line.

“FINALLY,” she said.  Then she recited her address and hung up.

“They’re sending me a coupon for a free Coke,” she told me, triumphantly. Then, to her son, “see, son, sometimes you’ve got to stand up for your rights.”

And then, for a change, I was speechless.

Posted in miscellany, nostalgia | 11 Comments

It’s like someone is trying to send me a message about healthy eating or something

October 5, 2011

This morning Poppy had to get 3 shots. That sucked. Perfect day to eat my feelings, right?

So on the way to work, I stopped at a delicious local bakery and treated myself to a sour cherry muffin.

As I was driving, I reached into the bag and was preparing to take my first bite when the muffin toppled out of my hand and onto the filthy floor mats of my car.  Operation muffin? Foiled.

So upon arrival downtown, I walked into Starbucks, planning to treat myself to a pumpkin spice beverage

I walked in, saw 28 people in line, concluded I would be late for court, walked back out.

So after court! I headed back to the office and stopped at a different, local coffee shop nearby.  I would use my punch card, which had 10 punches, to treat myself to a FREE spiced latte.  And a Rice Krispie treat. Because Rice Krispies are cereal, and cereal is breakfast food. That’s just science.

I carefully ordered my completely obnoxiously picky one-pump gingerbread nonfat latte, and then stopped paying attention. Fatal error.  As I sat down at my desk and brought the coffee to my lips, the overwhelming smell indicated that my “one pump” instruction had been interpreted to mean “so many pumps that this beverage is really more syrup than coffee.”  Latte? Undrinkable.

Well, at least I have my Rice Krispie treat. Sweet, sweet Rice Krispie treat.  I opened it up just now and…..stale. Inedible.

So let’s review: I have now spent $2 on a muffin, 5 minutes of wasted time stopping by Starbucks, sacrificed my precious free drink punch card for a treacly sweet abomination, and spent $1.50 on a stale snack.  ALL I WANT IS TO EAT SOME JUNK FOOD OR DRINK SOME SUGAR.  THIS SHOULD NOT BE SO HARD.

If you need me, I’ll be scouring the office for M&Ms.

 

Posted in miscellany | 9 Comments

Walgreens: den of mystery products

September 28, 2011

So last week, I was waiting at Walgreens for approximately eleventy hours while they filled a prescription for Poppy.  This afforded me a lot of time to look around.  After I stocked my cart with Halloween candy and toothpaste and Kleenex- you know, the usual- I started browsing the aisles I normally breeze right by.

I first found myself in the press-on nail aisle. I know what you’re thinking: an entire aisle of press on nails? Impossible! Back when I was a pre-teen who coveted Lee press-on nails, you could get pink, or slightly darker pink, or French. That was pretty much it.

Those were the olden days, when people had to walk to school barefoot uphill both ways, and had to grow their own fingernails.  They were dark times.  We shall not speak of them.  Now, apparently, press-on nails come in hundreds of styles.

For example, if you want to demonstrate your “Harajuku Style,” you can buy a mismatched plaid manicure.

I apologize for the poor photo quality, but a Walgreens employee walked by at around this point and gave me a very strange look for photographing the press on nail aisle.

That didn’t stop me from capturing this shot, though. Because I wanted you all to know that the late 80s/early 90s? They aren’t dead. Hypercolor lives on!

Without nails that changed color in the sun, how would we ever know when it was sunny out?

At this point the Walgreens employee was really starting to look at me suspiciously, so I was unable to photograph all the other truly fantastic styles, including one with peace signs (because what better place to advertise your pacifist beliefs than your fingernails!) and airbrushed tiger-stripe with sparkles.

I sidled over to the cosmetics section. Where I found this:

What is that, you ask? That, my friends, is makeup for your legs.

Airbrush makeup.

For your legs.

I have concerns. Could one wear clothing? Because it seems like makeup FOR YOUR LEGS would get on your pants. Or your skirt. Particularly if you’re wearing white or light-colored pants/skirts/what have you, which is when it seems like one would most care about having ones legs appear nicely tanned. This product seems wildly impractical, is what I’m saying.

Finally, I decided to head back toward the pharmacy in the hope that if I started hovering around, they might one day have my prescription ready.  As I was standing there, doing my best to look wild-eyed and desperate, my eyes fell upon this:

Interesting. A little card with a place for pills at the top that you can slide into your wallet. Because I’ve always wanted to keep pills in… my wallet? I guess? I mean maybe it could be useful for, like, vitamins? Birth control? That medicine you have to take with your morning coffee for which you need a daily reminder?

Then I looked closer, and realized the true purposes of this product:

In case you cannot read that from my crappy, crappy iphone photo, that little red medallion says “discreet dispenser for aspirin, ED meds, and allergy pills.”

AHA.  They try to sneak it in there all innocuous-like, but this is a product for men. Men with a particular kind of problem. Men who are potentially picking up women in bars, and need a way to subtly engage in necessary pre-game warmup activities without scaring off their opponent.  Men whose dates end with side-by-side bathtubs.  I’m glad to know that these products have reached such a level of popularity that they have spawned a market for related storage products. Way to go, big pharma!

At this point, the pharmacist called me over and gave me a prescription for 492 days worth of antibiotics for Poppy, so I had to stop photographing odd products.  And I hadn’t even gotten to the 5 Hour Energy aisle yet! Next time, my friends.  Next time.

 

Posted in family, miscellany | 10 Comments

Irrational linguistic pet peeve

July 1, 2011

Discussing weekend plans, someone offhandedly mentioned that they were “taking the truck up to Wisconsin for the holiday.”

“Oh!” I said, “I didn’t know you have a truck!”

“Yes you did,” this person said. “The Tahoe! I drive it every day!”

For reference, I shall now show you a picture of a Chevy Tahoe:

Shiny! Pretty! NOT A TRUCK.

People make this mistake all the time, particularly (in my experience) men who drive SUVs but believe that it is somehow more tough to call it a “truck.”  Heaven help me I realize this is totally irrational, and I have no idea why it drives me so nuts, but it DOES. I had to actually restrain myself from correcting this person’s characterization of their vehicle as a truck. (I did restrain myself, in the moment. You all are not so lucky.)

Trucks are vehicles that haul things, often in an open bed.  Yes, in the Very Olden Days, when SUVs were new, they were sometimes built on truck chassis, and were categorized by DMVs as “light trucks.” I ADMIT THIS UP FRONT, lest anyone seek to prove me wrong by pointing out that little zinger.

But can we all just agree that by now SUVs are not trucks, and stop trying to make ourselves seem more rugged by so calling them? SUVs are a dominant vehicle category, they have to abide by emissions standards for passenger cars, they can drive on Lake Shore Drive without being ticketed, and, oh yeah, THEY ARE NOTHING LIKE TRUCKS.

Ford F150? Truck. Dodge Ram? Truck. I will even accept a Chevy Avalanche as a truck (though I’m not happy about it).

But your Broncos, Tahoes, Range Rovers, Wranglers, Libertys, and Ford ExplorerExpeditionExcursuionExcessives? NOT TRUCKS. (And this is coming from someone who drove a 92 Ford Explorer for a decade, during a period when I wished very much to be considered outdoorsy and tough. And yet? IT WAS A CAR.)

Perhaps a visual would be helpful here.

Truck:

Not Truck:

Truck:

Not Truck:

Truck:

Not Truck:

Are we clear? Excellent. Now let us go forth and enjoy our holiday weekends in peace.

 

 

Posted in miscellany | 13 Comments

Over Eager

January 14, 2011

I am, perhaps, a little too enthusiastic when asked to share recommendations, particularly when it comes to food.  A few months ago, my father called and said that they had some friends who were considering a move to our neighborhood, and they were going to come in on a Saturday night to check out the restaurant scene.  He asked if I had any recommendations of local places.

Oh, how excited I was to tell him all about my thoughts on this topic! This kind of question is right up my alley! I love eating! I love my neighborhood! I love being helpful! On and on I went, naming several places we’ve tried and loved, then giving him the scoop on a couple of new and highly-regarded places in the neighborhood that we’ve been meaning to try. I talked about what kind of food they had, which ones were more focused on local ingredients, which one had the best burger, etc etc etc. Just when the poor man thought I’d finished, I remembered another place, and then talked about THAT one for a minute or so.

I realized, of course, that this was really more information than my father needed, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. I had relevant information and opinions, and I like to help people make informed choices that hopefully they will be happy with, and I would feel lousy if they had a dinner they didn’t enjoy based on my recommendation, so….yeah. I erred on the side of thorough, and was feeling pretty good about my little rundown of the local restaurant scene.

Until, that is, my wedding anniversary a few weeks later, when my mother and father gave me and John a generous gift certificate to….the first place I’d listed in that endless phone call, the one I’d called “our favorite.” The whole thing had been a setup, and my cute dad had just wanted cover for figuring out what our favorite local place was so that they could treat us to a night out there. I actually smacked my forehead with my palm when I figured it out.

Well, it has happened again. I regret to inform you of this, internet, because she seems so nice, but that Jennie of She Likes Purple is a TOTAL SNEAK. A few days ago she emailed me asking about a post I’d written for foodlush during the holidays, listing some of my favorite gift cookbooks, and some that I was hoping to receive. She said she needed a gift for her sister in law, and wanted to know did I actually own the Chez Panisse Vegetables book? Was it really as good as I said?

Oh absolutely, I said, and proceeded to describe, in excruciating detail, the layout and organization of the book, its tone, the level of expertise required, even the mother-loving illustrations. A few minutes later, I got another email asking if I had the fruit version of the same book. “No,” I replied, “but given how much I love the vegetable one, it’s on my wish list.”

Yesterday when I got home from work, what was waiting on my doorstep? Chez Panisse Fruit, a gift from my foodlush Secret Santa, Jennie.

SNEAK!

Um, sorry about that incredibly long and needlessly detailed missive about the Vegetables book, my friend. Thanks for finding absolutely the perfect secret santa gift. And to anyone else who may be thinking of asking for my advice or recommendations in the future, I promise: I’m trying to get better.

Posted in food, miscellany | 7 Comments

Assorted updates from Apocalypse House

December 9, 2010

1. Ye Olde Floode: I am pleased to report that the first words out of humidifier company guy’s mouth when he came to assess the damage were: “we’re going to take care of all of this.”  And to their credit, they have.  We have a contractor lined up, humidifier guy is paying for the work (which, mercifully, is going to be a lot less expensive than I feared, but still WAY MORE than we would want to pay ourselves) and it should all be done by Christmas.

2. The Mouse Sitch:  Things on this front are more mixed.  We know that two of the mice are gone- one got caught in a trap and we released him outside, one John found dead in the basement.  (Eek.)  But there is still one left, at least.  I saw him alive, scurrying merrily along my basement wall over the weekend.  We also still have evidence of him (poop, OMFG) showing up in the kitchen.  The good news?  The poo is blue.  Why is this good?  The “make them thirsty” bait is also blue.  I’m hoping this means he has taken the bait, literally, and will be headed for moister climes imminently.

Also, I am getting better at looking for the silver lining.  Every morning when I come downstairs, I now examine our shoes to make sure there is no mouse-ly evidence contained therein.  This gives me a daily opportunity to riff off that old Friends scene.  “Marcel, did you poo in the shoe?  Did you BLUE poo in the shoe?”  Mercifully, the answer so far has always been “no.”

3. The impending baby.  I have  added “call daycares” and “find a childbirth class” to my to do list.  And there they sit, undone, but nonetheless, I am calling it progress.  Pants still do not fit properly, skin is dryer than an elephant’s ass, but other than that, little girl and I are getting along fine.

Posted in miscellany | 9 Comments

Other people’s hemlines

July 22, 2010

Okay, so you know how I complained like an octegenarian the other day about the horrifyingly short hemlines that are in style this season, and how I do not feel comfortable wearing them?  Apparently my old lady-ness is worse than I thought- it’s not just me I’m worrying about, it’s everybody else.   All I seem to notice are these adorable college-aged girls, here in the Big City for their Big Summer Internship, walking around the loop dressed like they’re looking for clients.  Except not in a “professional” kind of way.  In a “world’s oldest profession” kind of way.

Seriously, I saw a girl walking around yesterday with her friend on their lunch break in a skirt so short I seriously feared that everyone at the corner of Adams and Dearborn was going to learn whether she favors thongs or bikinis.  Another girl was wearing a dress that looked very professional on top- nice silk button-up blouse, attached to a pencil skirt- except the pencil skirt ended approximately 2 inches below her crotch.

But the worst was yesterday at lunch- I was having felafel with my wonderful friend Sara.  Next to us, two girls were sitting and chatting.  They finished, and as they got up to leave, one girl’s skirt became kind of…um…stuck.  In her ass.  Like, the material was all bunched up in there, resulting in a kind of… skirt wedgie?  With her thighs totally exposed?  She was moving too fast for me to stop her and discreetly tell her that she might want to, perhaps, pick her dress out of her butt before heading back out to the street.  Fortunately, the situation resolved itself as she walked through the restaurant- but not before the table of six stockbroker-looking guys all noticed and blatantly stared at her as she walked out of the restaurant, then burst into laughter.

Don’t you see, college-aged ladies of Chicago?  This is the risk! You wear these adorable dresses that look fine when you’re standing still in front of a mirror-  but you’re going to have to sit down eventually!  And when you do, your thighs are going to stick to the faux-leather of your office chair, leaving unattractive red marks, and your skirt is going to get stuck up your ass, and douchey banker boys are going to point and laugh.  Eventually, you’ll have to walk outside, and you’ll be yanking your dress down awkwardly and living in mortal fear of a stiff breeze.

I don’t know when I turned this corner and became the kind of person who wants to pull these nice young girls aside and tell them, kindly, that young ladies are better served by leaving a little to the imagination.  I mean, who AM I?  Nineteen year old me is mortified at the boring conservative meddlesome bitch I have become.  But COME ON.  This is just getting ridiculous.  I know times are tough, but I’ve got to think that clothing designers could afford to throw a few more inches of fabric our way.  Right?  RIGHT?

Posted in miscellany | 8 Comments

A tale of two weddings

June 28, 2010

I’ve been to weddings each of the past two weekends.  They were about as different from one another as two weddings in the Christian tradition can be.  First wedding was a black tie affair, full Catholic mass, oldest church in Chicago, fancy reception at fancy club with live band and steak and a full open bar and a photo booth.  Second wedding was outdoors, a mix of secular and sacred with such tidbits as a water ceremony and a kazoo parade, dinner in an unairconditioned but beautiful old university building, group singalong, several guests wearing Tevas.  Different, is what I’m saying.

John and I have been to a lot of weddings in the past 16 months- these were numbers 12 and 13 – so I consider myself somewhat an expert on the genre at this point.  And both of these weddings, different as they were, were really honestly perfect for the couples they married.  That’s so cool, right?  That you can have this ceremony that is such a huge and life-changing thing, surrounded by your friends and family, and it’s virtually infinitely customizable to fit your particular personality and style?  I love that.

The experience of attending the wedding last weekend was a little different than most because I went without a date.  John’s baby brother’s high school graduation was the same weekend as the wedding of my sister’s best friend (my sister was maid of honor – did you catch all that?)  So John and I decided to divide and conquer – he to the graduation, I to the wedding.

Going to a wedding solo when you’re not single is a really different experience than going to a wedding when you’re single.  Going to a wedding solo when you’re single carries endless possibilities- many drinks and wacky dancing and potential hijinks with single friends of the groom, that kind of thing.  Flying solo at a wedding as a married person can just be kind of sad- everyone else gets up to dance and you head off to the bar to get yourself another diet coke, because you’re old now and can’t pound gin and tonics like you used to.

So it was with some trepidation that I picked up the card that told me my seating assignment.  Sure enough, I was seated at a table of odds and ends -  my parents, the bride’s boss and his wife, the parents of two other bridesmaids and one other solo married person, Sarah, who works with the bride and whose husband couldn’t come because he got last-minute tickets to the World Cup.

Rounding out the table was Patrick, the twenty-year old son of the bride’s boss, who had Bieber hair and whose button down was about three sizes too big.  Oh, and a red and gold striped tie that looked like it should have been worn by a character in School Ties.  When Sarah told him that his tie looked like it was from School Ties, he looked at her blankly and asked “what is that?” And then he swirled his Bieber hair while she and I died of old age.

Sarah knew Patrick from working with his dad for years, and it turned out she had invited him to come as her “date” when her husband flew off to South Africa at the last minute.  He told me excitedly that Sarah and the bride were the first people to ever get him drunk when he was fifteen.  As the evening progressed, he told us about his frat, and his summer internship, and the girl he broke up with right before summer started because he just wanted to have fun.  He was, in short, entirely ridiculous and entirely adorable.  He was also, quite clearly, entirely in love with Sarah, which was a little awkward to watch.  Poor kid though Sarah hung the moon.

When the dancing portion of the evening started, we three sad sack solo acts sat at our table, watching everyone else (including my parents, known paragons of rhythm) hit the floor and start rocking out.  Finally, Sarah suggested we all make the best of it, and we got up to dance together.  This is how I ended up spending the better part of the evening dancing noncommittally with a person who had to use a fake id to get the bartender to serve him Jack and Cokes.

As the band took a break and we returned to the table, Patrick pulled out his phone.  “I wrote about you guys on my facebook!” he said, as he showed us the page.  His status update read: “bagged two cougars in one night.  Awwwww, yeah.”

AND THEN I DIED.  The end.

Posted in miscellany, Uncategorized | 16 Comments

Things I find it nearly impossible to throw/give away

June 21, 2010

I’m usually very good about purging the closets and garage of things we don’t need or use anymore (one of the benefits of having too little closet space- it forces you to get rid of stuff) but there are exceptions.  A selection of things I can’t seem to bear to part with, even though DEAR LORD I should:

  • mismatched socks that have been through dozens of wash cycles waiting for their mate to reappear.
  • fabric scraps
  • trinkets from former students
  • book club books, even the ones I didn’t like
  • the dregs of jars of condiments
  • favorite tshirts from high school
  • back issues of Cooks Illustrated and Gourmet
  • cracked/broken tupperware
  • promotional usb thumb drives
Posted in miscellany | 11 Comments