I'm fairly sure this is not my news to report, but I can't help it. GRACE EMILY was born today to my amazing friends Amanda and Dan. Grace is 7 lbs 10 oz and, though I have not seen her picture yet, I am sure she's gorgeous. Dan says she "seems long."
I got the phone call as I was walking into an eyebrow waxing appointment at Bliss. Dan literally called as I was supposed to be checking in, so when I got off the phone with him, I went through the salon doors and yelled "I'm sorry I'm late! My best friend just had a baby!" And, I am not even kidding, the woman behind the desk did not crack a smile. She just handed me a sheet of paper and said, "Go back that way, take a left and wait." I could immediately tell that her heart had somehow been replaced with kidney stones, but even she could not ruin the glow of knowing there is a beautiful healthy baby in Chicago, with her beautiful healthy parents and I get to meet her next weekend!
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Control issues
Rob and I prepared our wedding invitations last night, assembly line style.
I gluesticked them shut, while he stamped them. But because I was the one who picked them up, addressed them, obsessed over our list to make sure we weren't forgetting anyone, stuffed them, and then double-checked the list again, I was slightly uncomfortable with the idea of involving him.
As he lifted the first stamp, I said "If you put those on crooked, I'll have you killed."
And after that, I felt better.
I gluesticked them shut, while he stamped them. But because I was the one who picked them up, addressed them, obsessed over our list to make sure we weren't forgetting anyone, stuffed them, and then double-checked the list again, I was slightly uncomfortable with the idea of involving him.
As he lifted the first stamp, I said "If you put those on crooked, I'll have you killed."
And after that, I felt better.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
New Blog on the Block
You're all very, very lucky. Ellie has entered the blogosphere with Living Off Piste. Check it out. Her first post is totally a true story. I remember that guy.
In other news, Emma is never happier than when one of us returns home from a business trip and leaves a suitcase out.
In other news, Emma is never happier than when one of us returns home from a business trip and leaves a suitcase out.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Citizen Grope
Cameron and I went to see Alice Smith and Citizen Cope on Thursday night. This makes Cameron extremely awesome because she is way more pregnant than anyone else who was at the show, and still rocked out like a champ.
When we got to Terminal 5, we stood back and surveyed the scene, trying to decide on the optimal spot to stand. "Let's go feel out the crowd," Cameron said, and neither of us knew at the time how apt her statement would be.
We chose a slightly elevated spot right in front of the sound guy, which made it a nice viewing area and also a perfect place for people to trip all over themselves. You couldn't even really call what we were standing on a "step," yet it was far enough off the floor that I got a squishy handful of at least one large man, and almost ended up wearing my beer.
Ah, feeling the crowd, one love handle at a time.
Our other observation, which Penny had warned me about, was that the crowd was really young. Prior to this show, I wouldn't have considered Citizen Cope an aphrodisiac, but I will never make that mistake again. In every direction we looked there were teenagers making out with each other. I don't care if this makes me sound old, but I seem to have reached the point where spending a concert attached to someone else's face is an unappealing prospect.
Cameron and I stood on our ledge, directly behind a couple who went one entire song without breathing. And when it was over, he walked off in one direction and she pushed past the two of us, her eyes very unfocused, and ran directly into the railing we were leaning on. She let out a little whoosh of shock, and then felt along it drunkenly until she could make it around. And then she went back to the bar.
Because a lot of Citizen Cope's songs sound the same after a while, the falling and the face sucking were highly entertaining. Cameron and I agreed that we should not move up any further towards the stage, lest we find ourselves spontaneously making out with each other. It seemed to be a very real possibility.
For a better post on feeling old at concerts, check out Todd Levin's guestblog on Dooce.com.
When we got to Terminal 5, we stood back and surveyed the scene, trying to decide on the optimal spot to stand. "Let's go feel out the crowd," Cameron said, and neither of us knew at the time how apt her statement would be.
We chose a slightly elevated spot right in front of the sound guy, which made it a nice viewing area and also a perfect place for people to trip all over themselves. You couldn't even really call what we were standing on a "step," yet it was far enough off the floor that I got a squishy handful of at least one large man, and almost ended up wearing my beer.
Ah, feeling the crowd, one love handle at a time.
Our other observation, which Penny had warned me about, was that the crowd was really young. Prior to this show, I wouldn't have considered Citizen Cope an aphrodisiac, but I will never make that mistake again. In every direction we looked there were teenagers making out with each other. I don't care if this makes me sound old, but I seem to have reached the point where spending a concert attached to someone else's face is an unappealing prospect.
Cameron and I stood on our ledge, directly behind a couple who went one entire song without breathing. And when it was over, he walked off in one direction and she pushed past the two of us, her eyes very unfocused, and ran directly into the railing we were leaning on. She let out a little whoosh of shock, and then felt along it drunkenly until she could make it around. And then she went back to the bar.
Because a lot of Citizen Cope's songs sound the same after a while, the falling and the face sucking were highly entertaining. Cameron and I agreed that we should not move up any further towards the stage, lest we find ourselves spontaneously making out with each other. It seemed to be a very real possibility.
For a better post on feeling old at concerts, check out Todd Levin's guestblog on Dooce.com.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Sugar, Sugar
According to the Wall Street Journal*, High Fructose Corn Syrup feels it is getting a bad rap. So it has hired a high profile ad agency to help it get back in the good graces of its prime target: moms.
The ad campaign? From what I can tell, its tagline seems to be
HFCS: Just as Bad for You as Sugar. Sweet.
Which totally reminds me of another great, if not highly effective, slogan,
Chlamydia: It's No Worse than Syphillis. Have some.
A diet high in sugar isn't good for anyone, I know. And studies show that both HFCS and sugar intake can lead to obesity in our fattish nation. So the corn people's logic is essentially that, although processed, HFCS contains the same ingredients as regular table sugar and should therefore not be avoided or removed from certain foods. Though this is not quite true (HFCS contains more fructose, which is tied to obesity at a greater rate than other -oses), let us suppose for a moment that they are the same.
Why would we eat the fake one instead of the natural one?
It appears that our country values wealth over health (shocking, I know.) Most of the foods that include HFCS do so because it is cheaper than sugar. Corn subsidies have driven down the price of corn syrup, and sugar import tariffs have made it more expensive to procure the real deal. Americans are paying more than twice the world price for sugar.
I know, this is more information than anyone wants or needs. But since I actually found myself highlighting portions of the WSJ article, I figured I should look into this more. Plus I just think it's a fascinating marketing choice. Watch for the ads on TV and in major newspapers:
HFCS: Your chubby body will never know the difference.
*I can't link to the article, because the paper lamely will not let you read it if you're not a subscriber.
The ad campaign? From what I can tell, its tagline seems to be
HFCS: Just as Bad for You as Sugar. Sweet.
Which totally reminds me of another great, if not highly effective, slogan,
Chlamydia: It's No Worse than Syphillis. Have some.
A diet high in sugar isn't good for anyone, I know. And studies show that both HFCS and sugar intake can lead to obesity in our fattish nation. So the corn people's logic is essentially that, although processed, HFCS contains the same ingredients as regular table sugar and should therefore not be avoided or removed from certain foods. Though this is not quite true (HFCS contains more fructose, which is tied to obesity at a greater rate than other -oses), let us suppose for a moment that they are the same.
Why would we eat the fake one instead of the natural one?
It appears that our country values wealth over health (shocking, I know.) Most of the foods that include HFCS do so because it is cheaper than sugar. Corn subsidies have driven down the price of corn syrup, and sugar import tariffs have made it more expensive to procure the real deal. Americans are paying more than twice the world price for sugar.
I know, this is more information than anyone wants or needs. But since I actually found myself highlighting portions of the WSJ article, I figured I should look into this more. Plus I just think it's a fascinating marketing choice. Watch for the ads on TV and in major newspapers:
HFCS: Your chubby body will never know the difference.
*I can't link to the article, because the paper lamely will not let you read it if you're not a subscriber.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Is It Safe?
I had a cavity filled today for the first time in about 16 years. The dentist assured me it would be quick and painless, and said that although I would feel like my face was swelling up, it really wasn't, so don't be nervous.
Finding out that I had a cavity felt like failure in some way. I am a bad flosser, I admit it. And then there was the procedure itself. There's something very weird about getting a hole drilled in your head, but I looked at the ceiling and tried to ignore the smell of hot flying tooth chips.
Anyway, the real point of this post is that the entire side of my face is killing me. It feels like I got smashed in the head. So I am sitting here with a bag of peas on it and I just want this to be a cautionary tale to anyone who feels like they don't have "time" to floss. Do it now.
Finding out that I had a cavity felt like failure in some way. I am a bad flosser, I admit it. And then there was the procedure itself. There's something very weird about getting a hole drilled in your head, but I looked at the ceiling and tried to ignore the smell of hot flying tooth chips.
Anyway, the real point of this post is that the entire side of my face is killing me. It feels like I got smashed in the head. So I am sitting here with a bag of peas on it and I just want this to be a cautionary tale to anyone who feels like they don't have "time" to floss. Do it now.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Seoul Show
Rob is pacing around the apartment. He brings one item of clothing from the first bedroom into the second bedroom and lays it in a suitcase. Then he goes and gets another one. I will go insane watching him do this, so I have decided to just narrate his activity.
Those of you who are more observant will note that Rob is supposed to be in South Korea. He left for the airport this morning at 5am. I was actually able to form a coherent sentence--something about love and safety--before he left. Then at 8:30am, when I was drinking my second cup of coffee, the phone rang. His name flashed on the tiny screen and I picked up, "This is not good."
"No," he said. "My flight was cancelled."
He had been planning to fly to Los Angeles and then on to Seoul, but a little mechanical issue became a showstopper, and he spent the next 5 hours running from airline desk to airline desk trying to get someone to take him to Asia. The things he said about Delta today: they were not nice things. Finally Korean Airlines came through, so he is zipping up his suitcase for Take Two of this trip, which will be a direct flight (14 hours) to Seoul, arriving a mere 3 hours before his meeting.
He walks up and reads over my shoulder. "You're making me sound like a madman," he says in a bizarre monster voice.
"I disagree," I say. And then, "You should listen to The National song Slow Show on the plane."
"Don't boss me around," he says melodramatically, as though he is so stifled by my attention to our music collection.
The phone rings and he picks it up. "I know," I hear him say. "I'm not happy about it either." Apparently the driver who is waiting outside said it was unusual to be traveling to the airport at this time of night. A weird thing to say, in my opinion, but I guess it's not as weird as going to the airport at 5am and then going back at 11pm.
Those of you who are more observant will note that Rob is supposed to be in South Korea. He left for the airport this morning at 5am. I was actually able to form a coherent sentence--something about love and safety--before he left. Then at 8:30am, when I was drinking my second cup of coffee, the phone rang. His name flashed on the tiny screen and I picked up, "This is not good."
"No," he said. "My flight was cancelled."
He had been planning to fly to Los Angeles and then on to Seoul, but a little mechanical issue became a showstopper, and he spent the next 5 hours running from airline desk to airline desk trying to get someone to take him to Asia. The things he said about Delta today: they were not nice things. Finally Korean Airlines came through, so he is zipping up his suitcase for Take Two of this trip, which will be a direct flight (14 hours) to Seoul, arriving a mere 3 hours before his meeting.
He walks up and reads over my shoulder. "You're making me sound like a madman," he says in a bizarre monster voice.
"I disagree," I say. And then, "You should listen to The National song Slow Show on the plane."
"Don't boss me around," he says melodramatically, as though he is so stifled by my attention to our music collection.
The phone rings and he picks it up. "I know," I hear him say. "I'm not happy about it either." Apparently the driver who is waiting outside said it was unusual to be traveling to the airport at this time of night. A weird thing to say, in my opinion, but I guess it's not as weird as going to the airport at 5am and then going back at 11pm.
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