You no want the shrimps head? January 31, 2007

So, I have this assignment to eavesdrop on a conversation between two people and write down what they say, as accurately as possible.  I’ve been trying to do this in various places, but there’s always an issue.  The people talk too softly, or the music is too loud, so I can’t hear them, or I’m sitting too far away to catch everything, or I can only hear what one of the people is saying.  It’s been a pain.  So today, I decided to take myself out for sushi for lunch.  The sushi place I go to is usually pretty quiet, and it’s small, so I was thinking I’d get seated next to a couple of other people, and I’d listen in on the conversation, and I’d get to eat sushi for lunch to boot!

Of course, when I arrived, there were only four other people in the place.  I was able to grab part of the conversation of the couple closest to me, but they left soon after.  Eavesdropping isn’t actually what this post is supposed to be about, however.  This post is supposed to be about shrimp heads.

I’m not a very experienced sushi eater.  When I go by myself, I try to stick with things I know.  But today, I was feeling adventurous, so in addition to my Crunchy Shrimp Roll (which, I believe, doesn’t really qualify as sushi, but it’s DAMN tasty), I ordered some sashimi–ama ebi (sweet shrimp) and yellow fin (don’t remember the Japanese name).  Sweet shrimp!  I thought.  That sounds delicious!

Um, yeah.  No.  Not delicious.  It was a piece of raw shrimp, for god’s sake.  I felt brave (plus I paid $3.50 for the damn thing.  $3.50 for a piece of raw shrimp!  What the hell is wrong with me?) so I popped the thing into my mouth, after thoroughly soaking it in soy sauce.  And while it certainly tasted, um, FRESH, it also tasted raw.  And weird.  And I chewed and chewed and for some reason my throat absolutely refused to swallow it, and I held my napkin over my mouth because I thought there might be a possibility that I was going to throw up, right there, onto the remaining pieces of my Crunchy Shrimp Roll.  But, I swallowed it down, with the help of some water and shoveling a piece of Crunchy Shrimp Roll in there too, to mask the sliminess.

And about three seconds after I got that down, the server saunters up with a little porcelain bowl and sets it down.  “Here is your shrimp head,” she said.  Shrimps have heads?  I thought.

The stuff in the bowl looked delicious.  It was like a giant piece of shrimp with lots more legs than I’m used to seeing, and some feeler type things sticking out, and it was fried, and there were some greens and some green onions and some kind of sauce and some red blobs that may have been tomatoes, but I’m not sure, along with several slices of lemon.  It smelled delicious.  But I had absolutely no idea how to eat it.

I finished the rest of my food, and the server came and took my plate and she pushed the little porcelain bowl towards me.  “You no want the shrimps head?” she asked.

I smiled.  “Of course!  Just saving the best for last!”

Yes, I know.  I could have just asked her how to eat it.  But I didn’t, okay?  I pulled the thing over towards me and lifted the big chunk of shrimp up with my fingers, and poked around inside it with my chopstick.  There was some stuff in there.  I put the thing in my mouth, and because I wasn’t really interested in eating shrimp shell, I just sort of sucked stuff out.  It was tasty.  I poked around inside it a little more, and ate a few more bits of unidentifiable stuff (probably a bunch of shrimp shit, who knows?), and then gave up.

That was my adventure for the day.  Eating a shrimp head.  Now, even if I find out how I’m really supposed to eat a shrimp head, it’s likely I’ll never get one again, because there is NO WAY IN HELL I’m ever going to order that ama ebi again.  Ever.  Just thinking about it gives me the willies.

Genarlow Wilson January 30, 2007

I was just perusing my stats and noticed that I’ve received a hell of a lot of hits from people searching for information about Genarlow Wilson!

There’s a group over at Newsvine who’ve done a damn fine job of collecting a lot of the info out there, so rather than attempt to reproduce the work of a ton of people, I’ll just send you over there!

If you’re looking for info about the ridiculous case of Genarlow Wilson, please go here: WilsonPetition.newsvine.com.

You should be able to read all of the articles without being a member, but Newsvine is a worthy endeavor and you should just go ahead and join up anyway. If you need an invite, leave me a comment and I’ll give you one, although I’m not sure they’re necessary anymore.

The Church of Cool January 29, 2007

One of my most favorite people on the planet started a blog today! And I didn’t even make him do it!

Please take a minute and go visit The Church of Cool. Today was his first day. Welcome him to the wonderful weird virtual world of the blog! He’s a great writer (possibly better than me, but that’s debatable). Once he gets rolling, there’s no stopping him. I can’t wait to see what he comes up with.
Oh, and I went to see M. Ward play tonight at the Park West. He was totally solo. It’s rare for me to go see an artist play totally solo. He was pretty remarkable. I had the opportunity to give the people sitting behind me some really dirty looks because they were talking the entire time, and I got all distracted trying to think of things I could say to them.

Two I thought of (but didn’t use):

“Um, yeah. You know, you could put his CD on your stereo at home and talk loudly all night and it would be pretty much the same thing, minus the girl bringing you drinks. And, as an added plus? You wouldn’t be bothering the CRAP out of 100 people who paid to see someone play some music!”

OR:

“You know, I have to thank you. I had an assignment in which I had to eavesdrop on a conversation and record everything said, and do my best to capture any possible unique qualities to the voices of those speaking. I went to Starbucks, but it was too loud and I couldn’t hear all of what people were saying. It’s so funny though, here I am at a ROCK CONCERT, and I was able to catch every word of your entire, inane, annoying conversation, and I think I did a damn good job of replicating your snobby, pseudo-intellectual, nasally voices! Thank you so much!”

I didn’t say anything, though. I’ve never been any good at the snappy comebacks. Mostly because they’re never snappy. By the time I’m done with them, everybody has kind of moved on. Oh well.

Chicago Symphony Orchestra – Bear Down Chicago Bears January 28, 2007

Chicago Symphony Orchestra – Bear Down Chicago Bears

You may download your very own free version of the Bears fight song performed by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, directed by Sir George Solti, right there!  See what I bring you people?

Anyway, I never got around to posting about last week’s game.  I still intend to.  Really.  And no, I’m not doing it now.  You can head over to Newsvine and read the article I posted there if you like:  Super Bears!  Super Bowl!

Super Bowl, Super Bears January 21, 2007

Pics and drunken ramblings to follow.  I have to eat.

BEARS!!!!!!!

Bears January 19, 2007

Chicago Bears, that is.

Day after tomorrow, I will be sitting in a seat at Soldier Field, guzzling beer and biting my fingernails down to nubs. Because you know that Grossman isn’t going to make it easy on me. If we lose, I cry. I really want the Bears to win. While I’m excited to go to the game, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to handle the stress. The last several games have been like watching a horror movie that just keeps going and going and going, and either way, you’re yelling, “No! No! You idiot!” or something to that effect.

As a Chicago sports fan in general, I know better than to get my hopes up that thing will go our way on Sunday.  But I’m hoping anyway.  Although, I’m a bit pissed that I forgot to get my xanax prescription renewed this week.  I’m really going to need relaxation enhancers at the game.  Beer just isn’t going to cut it.  Plus, we’re bringing the kids.

And that was an issue.  On one hand, do you waste two seats at the championship game on an 11-year-old and a 9-year-old?  But then, it’s a chance in a lifetime kind of thing.  They can say they were at that game, and if it snows 2 inches, like it’s supposed to, it’ll be even more fun.  But, I worry about the environment if the Bears do win.  I’m not looking forward to the walk to the parking lot, as we have to squeeze into a little underpass kind of thing, and it’s not fun to do that with 20,000 other people at a regular game.  After the Bears win, it’ll be insane.  I plan on hanging out in the stadium until they kick me out.  I still remember being at a playoff game many, many, many years ago, and getting caught in a crowd as people were anxiously trying to get back to their seats before kickoff, and things got so tight, I was lifted off my feet and carried a ways in the crunch, hollering the entire time “Move!  Move!  My feet aren’t even on the ground!”  I’ve been a little freaked out by crowds, especially inebriated, celebratory crowds, ever since.  I don’t want to have to try to hang on to my children in one of them.

Anyway, cross your fingers and toes and all that good stuff.  Fuck New Orleans.  Go Bears!

Effects of Drugs and Alcohol on Spider Webs January 11, 2007

glumbert.com | Effects of Drugs and Alcohol on Spider Webs

This is one of the most interesting things I have EVER seen about spiders.  It’s amazing.  Please, check it out.

I want… January 7, 2007

It’s nearly the end of the year, which means it’s nearly time to start making New Year’s Resolutions I probably won’t keep. I mean, I’ve been making them for years, and I don’t have a whole hell of a lot to show for it.

So, anyway, being the somewhat selfish person that I can sometimes be, I thought I’d make a list of all the things I WANT, and from that, I can pilfer out all the things I can do something about, and from that, I can pilfer out all the things I’m somewhat WILLING to do something about, and from that, I can come up with a, possibly, realistic list of New Year’s Resolutions.

So, here goes.

I WANT:

1. World peace. I mean, doesn’t everybody? Well, no, I guess not. I’m starting right off the bat with something I can neither do anything about nor view as realistic. World peace is ridiculous. It just ain’t gonna happen. We’re all just too…crabby. And selfish.

2. Several thousand dollars I wouldn’t miss after pouring them into my ‘56 Chevy. Because I really want my ‘56 Chevy to be rockin’. I don’t want a new motor for it. I want some motor genius to come along and take some of my extra money to reconfigure that 50 year old straight-6 to run like new. I mean, it’s nothing special, really. It’s painted aqua-blue, for god’s sake. But it’s able to power a car that probably weighs as much as my house. Plus, it’s pretty. And original. And this is an ancient, old station-wagon. It’s not some crazy muscle car. It’s a really cool old station wagon. And I just want to be able to start it on the first, or even the second, try, without having to rub the dashboard seductively and say things like, “Come, on Bessie, show me your stuff, baby, you can do it Bessie, yes! Yes! Okay. I get it, you’re not ready. Let’s try again, come on Bessie…” while the engine roars and then sputters. I also want some old car paint magician to restore the beautiful copper and cream thing we’ve got going, to rid her of her very blessed few rust spots, and to pop out the two little dents my husband put into the hood when KNEELING on her to reach something in the upper reaches of our former garage. Because, I’d like to stop making him feel guilty about that. He didn’t mean it.

3. This is way harder than I thought it would be when I first came up with this idea. I guess I don’t really want that much. Anyway, I’d really love for the weird black cloud that has been hovering over my friend Susan to blow the fuck away. This woman can NOT catch a fucking break. It’s bordering on the ridiculous. It’s a damn good thing she has not only a sense of humor, but an ability to persevere. I’m pretty sure I’d be in a mental institution right now. I’ll save the saga for another post, or an essay, or something. Suffice it to say she’s been through enough already, and I completely admire her ability to get up every day and go to work and continue on. She’s a good strong soul, and I’m grateful for her.

4. To have time to write, and when I have the time, I want to actually spend it writing.

Update:  I encountered this post in my saved, but not posted posts.  I don’t really remember when I wrote it, but I assume it was sometime before New Year’s Eve.  It amazes me sometimes to look back over the things that I’ve written, in my blog, sure, but mostly in my journal and in the accumulated piles of file folders filled with fiction and non-fiction that I’ve written for classes, and to sift through it all and try to remember who I was when I wrote it.  I’m still pretty much the same person I was when I wrote the above, but about a year ago, I had a pre-registration conference with one beautiful and amazing Patricia McNair, a full-time faculty member at Columbia College, and she handed me this fat manila folder filled with the crap I had submitted, oh so many years ago (13?  14?) to apply to grad school right after I graduated from college.  I went, immediately after our meeting, to the South Loop Club, ordered a Ketel One and tonic and a turkey and swiss on a croissant, heated, with fries, and read through what I literally thought was my best work, the work that best represented the kind of writer I was.  I was terrible, although it amazed me that full lines of some of the crap I had written are still present in my thesis.

Whoever writes my biography better have a hell of a sense of humor.

Terminator January 7, 2007

Terminator 3 is on TV right now, and my husband wants to watch that versus letting our daughter watch the Grease audition show.  So, I am listening from the other room as he attempts to explain the first two editions of Terminator to our children.  He just said, “so, aliens from the future…” and I yelled, from three rooms away, “They aren’t aliens, you idiot!  They’re just from the future!”

Such is the way of things in our house.

The children go back to school tomorrow, after two weeks at home.  I don’t actually mind the holiday break thing, nor do I mind summer for the same reason:  there is no schedule.  Granted, I still get up at 6:30 a.m. to make my husband’s lunch and see him off to work (yes, I do that, even when hungover.  I even do it when I’m mad at him.  But I don’t do it when I’m really, really pissed at him, and it’s only been a couple of times in the last seven thousand years (oh, only 12?  It seems like 7000) that I’ve been pissed enough to refuse to make the lunch), but then I get to relax, write, peruse the internet, etc.  The kids don’t get up until 9 or 10 when they don’t have to go to school, and it’s nice to begin my day like that.  When they have school, they get up at 7 a.m., which means I’ve got 15 minutes to chill before I have to deal with breakfast, making their lunches, making sure they’ve got their shit together.  Although, they usually do, and sometimes they make their own lunches, so I don’t know what the hell I’m complaining about.

Randomly connected brilliance January 4, 2007

I have a problem. Well, not so much a problem as an issue–one that I am having difficulty resolving.

For the past couple of months, I have been adamant about the application–and reapplication, when necessary–of Sally Hansen “No More Breaks” Restructurizing Strengthener to my fingernails. As a result, my nails have grown quite long and, contrary to the usual, look very nice. However, yesterday, I did something. I don’t know what it was–I bumped into something, poked somebody in the eye too hard, something–and the nail on the index finger of my left hand sustained a breakage right at the point where the nail leaves actual connection with skin. Actually, just the teeniest bit of the tiniest millimeter BELOW that point. The break wasn’t all the way across the nail, but kind of in the middle. In serious fear for how much the removal of the entire chunk of fingernail from the breakage point to the tip would hurt, I have been constantly applying Sally Hansen’s “No More Breaks” Restructurizing Strengthener in the hopes it would hold my fingernail together until such time as the nail grows out enough so that when cut off at the breakage point, I am not left with a throbbing little finger stub complete with a painful and bloody wound that won’t heal properly.

However, I could not stop myself from fucking with it. And it became so completely broken that I had to cut it off, carefully. It’s a little wavy-looking, because I did not want to cut it straight across, leaving myself with the above mentioned bloody wound and throbbing finger stub.

Here’s the issue: this looks stupid. I have a bunch of long fingernails and one short one. One very, very short one. In addition, typing can be said to be much easier with this particular finger, as there is no nail in the way. What do I do? Do I cut off the rest of my nails, so as to make things even, and also to facilitate typing? I mean, this could very well be the reason I have been blogging infrequently of late. Perhaps I was subconsciously irritated by typing with long fingernails? And what if I cut them off and I still don’t feel like blogging about anything?

I force my children to keep their fingernails clipped short, because it’s easier for said fingernails to be kept clean. Whenever I bitch at them to clip their fingernails, they point out that I have long fingernails. I point out that I know how to keep them clean, yadda yadda, typical parent-child argument ensues in which child attempts to point out that parent is being a hypocritical ass, and parent ends up saying something childish, as in, “Because I said so.”

Being a parent, it is frequent that I find myself being hypocritical. Don’t smoke! But you do! True, but I’m an adult, nevermind that I’m stupid. Don’t drink alcohol! But you do! And on and on. I just hope I’ve rid my home of all incriminating paraphernalia! I am constantly telling my children, for instance, that they should eat healthier. Yet, for dinner tonight, I made macaroni and cheese (Kraft, of course) and pigs in a blanket (“homemade” with little mini smoked sausages and crescent rolls). True, I put out a bowl of carrots, but nobody took any. It could be said that I put that bowl of carrots out because I feel guilty for feeding them food that, if eaten on a regular basis, will require them to have a quadruple bypass before they are 18. Whatever. I never said I was a perfect parent.

Just now, one of the children of this not-perfect parent brought me one of the brownies she made with a friend earlier this evening. They are absolutely disgusting. And by that I mean, they taste like eating the entire brownie might actually kill me or cause me to endure a great, long-lasting illness. I do not like to be ill. I had food poisoning once. I spent three days in bed, aside from frequent trips to the bathroom. Even though I didn’t eat anything for three days, I was still capable, somehow, of, shall we say, “voiding.” It was horrible, and while it is not an experience I wish to repeat, I could actually use an excuse for remaining in bed for 72 hours.

Sleeping in the winter is a pleasurable thing for me to do. I put these ultra-soft flannel sheets on my bed, and it creates the coziest of cocoons. There doesn’t seem to be any real pressing reason why I should drag my ass out of my cocoon and into the cold, dark, non-light of of a dreary Chicago winter’s morning.

And dreary our weather is. Even though the weatherman keeps claiming that it’s 50 degrees outside, and how fantastic that is for January, I can’t help thinking that it’s horrible. It’s cold and damp. As much as I hate a biting, arctic wind, I really do believe that I prefer it over this dreary cold/damp thing we’ve got going here. It’s so…pointless. You can’t go out and play in the cold rain. You can’t go sledding. You can’t go ice skating. You’re not sure how to dress, because while it’s cold OUTSIDE, every public building has its heat BLASTING, so you find yourself shedding outer layers, and then sweating in your inner layers, no matter where you go.

It has been more years than I can count since we had snow on the ground all winter long. Is this global warming? Is this just a weird weather trend? Is this El Nino or El Nina (please mentally add the tildes)? In a week or so, it will likely be ridiculously cold, and then I’ll complain about that. I’m just wondering where the consistent, unending, freezing temperatures are. The ones that create a frozen, slippery crust on top of the constantly present snow.

I think I have to stop now. This most certainly isn’t anything near to being Randomly Connected Brilliance, as the title of the post implies. I’ve run out of steam. I started talking about my bed, and right now it seems perfectly logical to curl up in my pajamas with a good book (I’m reading What’s Eating Gilbert Grape by Peter Hedges. It’s really fantastic. I’m looking for inspiration, as I’m trying to rewrite my novel into first person, in present tense) and a vodka tonic (I do wish I was able to lower myself to the point where I could train my children to make a perfect vodka tonic and not feel guilty about it). I suppose I could curl up there with my laptop, but at this point, this post is long enough, and my son has seated himself in front of our fireplace, in which a fire is raging, and I can see on the little scrolling LED message board we’ve installed above his head that tells us his thoughts that he is considering what kinds of things he’ll be able to get away with throwing into the fire, and I probably need to intervene.