It's Raining Cats and Dogs

With the exception of my job situation, things are actually going pretty well in Casa De KC. Since Matt has moved in, we have been getting along pretty well considering that neither one of us have done the “living in sin” thing before. We are definitely still figuring each other out but we really have not fought badly – which is a great sign.

While Matt and I are doing well, Matt and the other inhabitants of my apartment are still developing a working relationship. The dog is easy. Mojo is pretty chill and when he does something annoying, his smooshy little face and his big bug eyes have enough emotion to melt even the coldest of hearts.

(Ppppttthhhhbbbbbb!)

Karma, on the other hand is a bit of a challenge (and by “challenge,” I mean she is the devil incarnate and will rip your eyes out of their sockets while you sleep if you so much as look at her sideways). I once had a friend come to visit from out of state. She brought her boyfriend over and Karma jumped up on his lap and lay down. Cute, right? Not so much when kitty responds to touch with growling and the patent-pending Power-Hiss. (It is powerful both in sound and smell as she has the worst breath I have ever smelled on another creature. Ever.) When he tried to push her off his lap, she scratched at him. My friend and I, of course, responded to his cries for help with laughter and ridicule because we are sensitive and caring like that.

(Note the distain in her eyes...and the half Hiltler mustache...as she blocks me from my bills)

Not only is Karma a raging bitch to most guests, but she hates Matt with a passion. Lucky him. For now, they ignore one another as best they can – and I can only hope that they are able to continue their indifference-based relationship. After all, Matt would look funny with his eyes scratched out – and I don’t think Karma would fare so well after being thrown out a window.

How Could I not?

Despite my beloved Chicago Bears taking a turn for the suckage this year, I was actually excited to watch the Superbowl. I was rooting for the Giants - and they delivered! It was a great game and exciting down to the last minute - everything you could want in a Superbowl game. I even enjoyed Tom Petty's performance! There was really only one thing missing - good commercials.

Being in the ad industry, I actually watch the spots - and the Superbowl is supposed to be a time when everyone else does too. I have to say, though, that the last 2 years have been very disappointing when it comes to quality advertising. There were a couple mildly humorous spots last night - but nothing spectacular.


Whatever happened to the clever ads that had everyone talking the next day? Anyone else miss spots like this one?




Just for fun - here is the Miller High Life Guy (Wendall) talking about last night's commercials. Happy Freakin' Monday.

I am totally "That Guy"

For those of you that a)know me IRL and b)know about this blog - you know that I love going to see live music. Going to concerts has been a favorite pasttime since Jr. High when my mother took me and a few friends to go see Collective Soul at the Hard Rock Cafe in Chicago. (Oh like you had great taste in music in Jr. High - I heard you snicker)

No matter what kind of music I was into - I went to all the shows. In Jr. High, I rocked out to Collective Soul, Candlebox, Offspring, Pearl Jam, Violent Femmes and even Bob Dylan. (Ecclectic!) In High School, I saw Soundgarden and countless Ska shows before my tastes changed and I was drawn towards the Jam Band Scene. It was at this point that I began to get bitter and annoyed with other fans. You see, despite the fact that my musical tastes were of the neo-hippy variety - I have always been far too much of a bitch to embrace the "I love everyone" mentality. I don't love everyone. In fact, most people are assholes, myself included. Besides, it is far more entertaining to mock the hippy dance (video example below) than to hug a tree.



While I still loves me some Grateful Dead, Phish, Widespread Panic and Gov't Mule, I find that their fans piss me off to no end. I have been to the shows where everyone camps for the weekend. To me, camping with good friends after a good concert should be the recipe for a fantastic time...until you add in all the neo-hippy-moochers. I have literally been offered 3 crayons and a shoelace in exchange for a Heinekin. I have also had a girl stop and openly weep over my portable grill as I flipped my "death burger." Seriously, hippies, wtf?

I understand that "sharing" is part of the culture at these shows, and I have (on more than one occasion) wanted to "share" my deoderant with some of these people. I do not, however, care to share my beer, tent, money, food or blankets with other campers in exchange for anything other than money. I didn't buy my sandwich with good karma, dammit. I bought it with money I worked for and earned. I cannot subscribe to the ideology that because I decide to go to a show, I now must share everything that I paid for with idiots on drugs. I'm not gonna lie, I have been to shows on drugs (in my younger days), but never, ever, did I wander up to someone else's car and ask for a free beer.

I must be a glutton for punishment, because I continue to go to shows on a regular basis. I will continue to get mad at the flailing hippy and his cracked out arm that inevitably hits me in the boob. I will always be the one to death stare at the Trixie behind me that just has to call her friend in the middle of a song to scream (more in my ear than into her phone) about what a great time she is having.

I want to start a revolution! I dream of one day going to shows where the crowd is actually there to listen to the music being played - a crowd that is respectful of others that paid good money to see an artist perform - a crowed that picks up after itself and doesn't smell like a combination of BO and foot. I dream of...of...Ravinia. Shit...I am old.

Nominees for the worst dressed list

Some might say that I have a mild to moderate obsession with Bravo's Project Runway. I fell in love with the show after watching the first episode of the first season. Though I have no fashion sense whatsoever, I was immediately aching to be Jay McCarroll's "fag hag." I wanted to go hang out in the work room at Parson's School for Design and make catty remarks about inferior design talent. I became the fashion critic equivalent of a backseat driver as I watched and commented on the "lay of the fabric" or the color campatability of the whatchoomacallit with the light reflection against the whosawhats. I had NO idea what I was talking about - and I didn't care. I was hooked.

Many people love the show, so my adoration may not be such a big deal were it not for my complete lack of fashion sense. I wish I was kidding, but I literally have no idea how to dress myself. I have no sense of style, and the thought of shopping often makes me nauseous. Part of my current fashion retardation stems from the fact that i have gained some weight (especially since not smoking has given me the urge to eat constantly) and don't particularly revel in the thought of buying clothes in my current size. That said, I get home from work on Wednesdays - put on fleece sweatpants & a t-shirt, whip my hair into a ponytail and proceed to become the most vicious couch critic in the history of fashion.

"That hem is atrocious!," I might say or "I can't believe he would send THAT down the runway!"

Of course, if any of the budding designers on the show were able to see me and my standard uniform of jeans, tank top and a cardigan, they would probably scream little girly screams whilst scratching at their eyes in order to avoid having such bad fashion permanently burned into their retinas. Someone that willingly buys clothes from Old Navy or *gasp* Target (such as myself) are probably a creature from their worst nightmare.

Thing is, even if I had the money to spend on designer duds, I would have no idea what to buy. Knowing me, if someone were to actually give me money and tell me to go buy something "fashion forward" - I would end up looking like this



rather than this.



Where do I seek help for this complete and total style stupidity? Can trend be learned?

My screen is dirty...

...so I am having it cleaned

(Update: Link fixed)

You gotta have faith

When I first entered the world of advertising, I landed on a desk that fed my need to work in a creative environment. The client was fantastic and I was SO happy in my position. I mean, sure, there were frustrating and stressful days (I do work in advertising, folks - this shit is crazy), but for the most part, I left for work with a smile on my face. After a period of time, I rotated to new responsibilities. It was more of a lateral move than a promotion, but the gears switched and I have since been working with a different kind of client - focused on tedius task-master type projects rather than creative strategy. I'm sure some people would thrive in my position. The daily tasks are clear and free of ambiguity - things are pretty cut and dry.

I, however, have been extremely unhappy. I went from loving my job to dreading most every day. I head to the same building as I did 6 months ago. I make the same amount of money (actually a little more), but I am miserable. I stay because I adore my co-workers, I love the company, and lets face it - I just don't want the hassle of going somewhere else. I can't lie, though, there have been days when I have left work at 7:30pm and headed to the El close to tears.

Thankfully, the days my career depression overwhelm me are few and far between. Nevertheless, every time I am having a horrible day...I see the same guy...a street musician with a beautiful voice.

I don't know his name, but I have come to the point where I know his sound before I even make it down the stairs. I have seen him on good days, but I always see him on the days where I have surrendered any hope of a positive attitude. For this, I am so thankful. He lifts my spirits and helps me put things in perspective. It's not even the songs he sings, but the way he sings them.

One of my favorite songs is Sam Cooke's "A Change is Gonna Come" - a song that carries a certain sadness, but brings a feeling of hope. My Subway Savior sings the song a bit more up-tempo, but with the same amazing soul and conviction that I love about the original. When he sings it as I wait - it touches my heart and allows me a moment of peace to reflect. It's almost as though just hearing him sing lifts the weight of my day off my shoulders. All of the noise and unpleasantries of the CTA disappear, and a sense of serenity overwhelms me when he is present.

I know there will be a day when I am feeling particularly down, and he will not be there on the subway platform, and that's ok. I may only know him as the man with the sweet voice and a guitar, but he has taken permanent residence in my memories - and when I think about the sincerety of the music he plays - I know it will make me smile.

Just because.....here is Sam Cooke...

The Bus Witch

Every morning, I catch a bus and take it almost a mile to the nearest subway stop - which I then take to work. Nearly every morning, I end up on the same bus and train as one of my favorite "Auxiliary characters" in the movie of my life.

I call her "The Bus Witch" (TBW) because she has strange growths all over her face and arms - similar to what comes to mind when you think of the wart on a witch's nose. They may be all over her body, I just haven't had the displeasure of seeing that much detail with my own eyes. Either way, I see her almost every day. She is an older woman, perhaps in her mid 50's. She has greying dark hair, which she pulls back with a barrette. She also has some of the most stunning facial hair I have ever seen on a woman. I'm not just talking a few stray dark hairs here and there...I am talking cop mustache. She does occasionally wax or shave, but I think she could pull off a convincing Burt Reynolds if she chose to do so. It appears as though she has a uniform of mom jeans, short sleeved muted Hawaiian shirts, and Keds. To recap: Warty growths, long grey hair, cop 'stache, tourist outfit (without fanny pack).

There are a lot of odd looking people on Chicago's public transit, but it is TBW's sense of urgency and panic that cause me to find her particularly interesting. If you know anything about Chicago buses during the morning rush hour, you know that they are ridiculously packed full of people. To liken my morning commute to being in a can of sardines is more telling than you will ever know unless you experience it first-hand. The smell is even similar. By the time the bus reaches my stop, I am lucky to get on. TBW gets on at the stop after me, so the bus is already filled to the gills (I am on a roll with the fish references). While many will try to squeeze on in an effort to get to work on time, TBW takes it to the next level.



She will cut in front of children, the elderly, hell- she would knock over a pregnant woman if that's what it took to make sure that she could get on the bus. It is extremely entertaining to watch from afar - though not as funny when you happen to be in her path of destruction. The woman shoves her way onto the bus, but it is not enough that she gets on...oh no. That would be too easy. Once she gains entrance, her main objective is to shove her way to the back exit. If she is not able to immediately take residence next to the back door, she becomes increasingly agitated with each stop closer to the subway.


Now, keep in mind that approximately 70% of the riders will exit the bus at the subway stop so there is little to no chance that a person would be unable to get off - even considering the crowd. I don't think that the concept registers with TBW. The woman will start to grunt and pace anxiously as she shoves anyone who proves to be an obstacle. If someone dare mention that everyone in front of them will also be exiting at the subway, she will shout "You don't know that!" "- and she will continue to heave herself towards the exit. I have watched her take down grown men in quest for the coveted standing position near the door.


I heart TBW because she is relentless in her pursuits, however bizarre they may be. She symbolizes so much more than than a nutball on a mission. She accomplishes her goal on a daily basis, and those that try to impede are left bruised and battered in her wake. I dig that kind of determination - but only because I know to get the hell out of her way.