Yep, that just about does it

Ask "Merlin"
Originally uploaded by ajna6 (mostly away a little longer - thanks!).

This is pretty much the position I've been sitting in - and the facial expression I've been wearing - all day.

It is simply too hot and sticky and steamy to do anything of substance today. After walking in the humid rain to brunch this morning, I've since been catching up on laundry and generally staring blankly out into space.

And of course I am secretly cursing myself for not having installed my window air conditioner already. On the day that I actually need it, I couldn't be bothered hoisting it into position (only to watch it fall 10 stories to the ground below).

Sigh.

As a guy said to me the other night, remarking on similar weather, "Ugh, it feels like a warm bath out here,". Too true.

Give me money, I make you thin

beach workout
Originally uploaded by fonsico.

"I want to do yoga and pilates because I start on the floor - not as far to fall," I explained to Lex last night. She reminded me that she had done a pilates class at her gym a few months before and her muscles spasmed for three days afterwards. OK so perhaps my gym attendance will require a bit more forward-planning than I'd initially thought.

Equally the energetic gym sprite who met me upon arrival for "orientation" (aka Fat Pinch Test) sternly cautioned me against a routine entirely devoted to floor-based exercises. Something about my muscles having a memory, and my weightloss and toning program reaching a plateau...something something.

But on closer inspection, so few of the classes I actually want to do are offered at a time that I can do them. Who is attending these classes at 10am on a Tuesday? There must be some trim, taut, and terrific unemployed people in my neighbourhood!

I can do my classes in the evenings, and mix things up on the machines when I get bored (or miss the start of the class). I have already made a note to myself to stay away from the eliptical machine. That thing goes forwards AND backwards - way too much margin for error there.

Lex's recommendation is to pedal like mad on an exercise bike - sounds good to me. They're bolted to the floor and once I'm safely on, it would take a fair bit for even me to fall off. Check.

And memo to me - buy new ipod headphones, cause then I can walk on the treadmills, looking oh so cool, and catch up on my TV shows at the same time. I wonder if they get Food Network in there....

All aboard!

Big Pineapple, Queensland
Originally uploaded by TV Disko.

I went to another movie premiere tonight, this time it's the latest starring role for Seth Grogan ("Knocked Up" and others) called "Pineapple Express".

Don't be fooled; this is not a film about fruit, or about trains. It's a movie about smoking pot - lots and lots of pot. More accurately, it's about the creme de la creme of pot, known as "Pineapple Express".

Take a couple of stoners, throw in some crazy drug dealers, and hilarity ensues.

Actually to be fair, the film was pretty funny. I find that Seth Grogan is a little like Will Ferrell for me - I used to think he was annoying and then almost overnight, I grew to love him. And there were some gross-out moments, and some laugh-out-loud moments, and I think you need that on a Tuesday night.

And if anyone out there was looking for the 20-something single guys in Chicago tonight, they were all at my screening. Talk about "it's raining men", yikes!

Thumbs up for the movie AND thumbs up for the crowd!

It really IS possible to navel-gaze for too long

On Saturday morning I shifted a drawer of long-sleeved tshirts off the still-unopened box containing my air conditioner and I discovered that there is so much wrong with that corner of my bedroom.

For one thing, the drawer has come completely off the tracks in the shelving unit (some might argue that is a metaphor for its owner). Secondly, the kamikaze drawer is full of winter tshirts. Not exactly an oxymoron but still rather unseasonal. And thirdly, they are resting on top of a box containing something that I bought weeks ago and still have not installed.

Procrastination is my latest thing. I am not ashamed to admit it - there is simply no denying the obvious.

But I recognise its a pattern and so I'm setting about to change it. So today I joined a gym and I absolutely plan to go to pilates and yoga classes. That is until my wobbly bits stop wobbling quite so enthusiastically, and then I will switch to something more upbeat and cardio-like. See? I have a plan.

Not that this plan gets me any closer to mending the drawers or installing the air conditioner, but it's baby steps over here.

And of course a new gym regime requires a new gym wardrobe and I'm pretty excited about that. I only have fashion sneakers right now, so I'm not really sure what shoes I'm supposed to buy, when all I'm going to do is take them off to do the yoga stretches or the pilates exercises. The websites tell me about cross-trainers, and running shoes, and the rather unhelpful and remarkably generic 'athletic' shoes so I'm pleased I decided to browse online before heading into the stores for a complete Alice in Wonderland shoe-buying experience.

Whatever I choose, one thing is for sure: they obviously have to be fabulous because this IS Boystown after all. While my kind of wobbly bits aren't exactly prized here, I'll still get snaps for effort. Way to go, girlfriend!

What's that, Skip?

Red Kangaroo
Originally uploaded by Thirty6Red.

It is a well-established fact at work that I am a princess (well-established, that is, in the minds of Mero and Biggsy) but they also know that I am a big nerd.

I have just finished reading "Chasing Kangaroos" by Prof Tim Flannery, Australian of the Year 2007 and former Director of the South Australian Museum. The book explains the evolution of the kangaroo and how the changing Australian flora and fauna contributed to the kangaroo's current appearance and habitat. Far from being a text book, Prof Flannery takes a more Bill Bryson-ish approach to the narrative so I really enjoyed it.

But of course I mention this reading material to Mero today and she just stared at me, blankly. I read her mind. "I know, I know," I said, "I'm such a nerd". And then she said something that completely floored me.

"Did you know that earlier this year scientists mapped the platypus genome?".

I could have hugged her. And I probably would have, if I'd only known what the heck she was talking about.

We nerds have to stick together I guess.

Taking time out, just somewhere else

Sari, I was so wrong!
Originally uploaded by Karan V.

I knew it wouldn't be long before I was sick of my own company and would need to escape home detention for some fresh air.

In search of my Audrey artwork, I realised that lugging home a 3ft piece of pop art on the bus was NOT how I wanted to spend a sunny Saturday, so I went shopping for photo frames instead.

Indulging my love affair with "World Market", I headed there first and was pretty disappointed with their frame selection. No matter, because I picked up another sofa cushion (to match the ones I already have), as well as some delicious Indian sandalwood candles. I was never a candle fan until I moved to the US, so I'm not quite sure why I'm indulging now, but I seem to love them.

Anyway, while I was in the area I called in to the local independent cinema just to see what was screening. I was in one of those moods where I figured that if something was showing pretty well straight away, then I would buy a ticket. If I had to wait around for any amount of time, I wouldn't bother. As luck would have it, "Brick Road" was screening about 5 minutes after I got to the cinema, so I bought a ticket - with absolutely no idea what it was about. In fact, I had no idea what ANY of the movies were about, and the ticket booth dude was no help - he hadn't seen any of them yet either.

"Brick Road" is a really lovely movie that starts out in Bangladesh, and ends up in London. It's principally the story of a woman who grows up with her sister in a small Bangladeshi village but then gets married off at 16 to a rather rotund man in London, who she has never met. The separation of the sister is heartbreaking, and while they never see one another again, they do stay in semi-regular touch through letters. The story is a commentary (in some way) on a Muslim community in a very average part of London, and their immediate reaction after September 11, which happens quite late in the film. The characters are so real and so normal, that I thought it was a really beautiful story and I enjoyed it. I did not enjoy the steady commentary provided by the woman on my right, whose companion would have been about one million years old. Both of them were carrying on like porkchops the whole movie, and were quite hard to zone out. Still, I focused on the gorgeous saris that the main character wore - they were stunning colours.

It's funny because back home, I would never have gone to the movies by myself but since I've been away, I do it quite often. I will also go to the theater by myself quite confidently. I haven't got the courage to go out to dinner or a bar by myself yet, though I am sure that day will come.

Until then, it's back to house arrest for the day, before I am flung, full-force, back to the office tomorrow for the start of the working week.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

I am under voluntary house arrest this holiday weekend and I usually get cabin fever by the second day, but this time around I've found so many odd jobs to keep me busy.

Yesterday I got an uncharacteristic burst of inspiration to clean, and now all my clothes, sheets, and towels are clean and the hardwood floors are shiny and sparkling. I know, who am I, right? It's like my body and mind have been taken over. Read on, it gets worse...

I also dug out all the photos I've been meaning to display. In my previous apartment, I created a photo collage on my bedroom wall, just sticking them up with blu-tack and while they looked good, they weren't protected by frames and anyway, it was only ever meant to be a temporary display. Now that I'm somewhere a little more permanent, I figured it was time to get some artwork on the walls and what better artwork than my own stash of family photos and arty postcards?

As luck would have it, I have photos and cards of all different sizes, so I need to get an array of frames (matching of course) and devise a scheme to get them up on the walls in a way that will look good - and not messy. I think that's where Lex might come in - she has an amazing eye for these things. And she's also given me a piece of her own college artwork that I really love and I'm looking to display.

And there are a few things from back at home that I miss so terribly and I'm eager to create over here.

For instance, I have a huge Audrey Hepburn print that weighs a ton but looks amazing on the wall we've chosen at home. It's this print here:



I was browsing on the Home Depot site yesterday and they have very inexpensive poster prints that are laquered up and framed to give them a more professional look. The exact same poster I have back home is available in the HD store closest to my house so I'm going to check it out there today. I was going to just buy it online but I'm more concerned that the frame might be a bit cheap-looking so I want to see it for myself first. And the slogan for Home Depot is "you can do it - we can help". I wonder if that extends to helping me get it home on the Number 8 bus and putting it up on my wall?! Something tells me, no.

The second thing I miss from back home is my Indian wall hanging that is so colourful and sequinned, and takes pride of place on my bedroom wall (though not usually with the "Welcome Home" banner attached!). I have not had much success in US shops finding something the same size.



When we were in Toronto in October last year, I got a smaller version that has pinks and reds through it, but I really want something larger that I can hang in my apartment - not sure where yet. So again, on a website affiliated with National Geographic of all things (http://www.novica.com/), I found a bunch of hand-made Indian textiles including the amazing wall hangings that I love. These ones even have the rod loops sewn into them, so they are purpose-built to hang (whereas mine at home is actually a bedspread so it's hanging my castiron clips instead). The prices online are quite reasonable so I'd like to get one. But as is the case with Audrey, I'd really like to see the wall hangings before I buy them - I will keep looking online to see whether National Geographic/Novica (or other) has a Chicago storefront or supplier.

After the cleaning & organising spurt was over, I fell into my rocking chair by the window, and read for the rest of the day. I had a couple of glasses of wine, curled up like a cat, and just enjoyed being on my own (well it WAS Independence Day, after all).

I've got rhythm, I've got music...

The other day I posted about people around the world losing control of themselves - their minds mostly, but then their bodies follow I guess. The news that day had been full of murders, murder-suicides, and just about every form of craziness in between.

So you can imagine my relief when I was sent the link to the Where the Hell is Matt? website. I'd been following Matt's dancing travels in the early days of his site, but admittedly my interest dropped off when it all got a little 'same thing, different day'. But it seems people around the world have really danced into the spirit of things, and it made me really happy to watch it.

Kids, dogs, bearded guys, men in suits, pregnant women, all kinds of people with all kinds of rhythm - check it out. And if it doesn't make YOU think there are still good people in this world, then I don't know what will.

Oh say can you see?

Stars and Stripes
Originally uploaded by lelisa.

Come October 6, I will have been in the US for three years and even though I feel very comfortable here, I still feel like a fraud when I join in the national celebrations. July 4th is the case in point.

It's not that I consider the Americans to be an exclusive bunch - far from it in fact. I mean, hotdogs, burgers and fireworks are for everyone. But July 4 marks such an important, defining moment in the country's history that to me, it feels more appropriate to take a step back and let the party rage without me.

I'm not being a party-pooper of course; I have plenty of opportunities to get out and about this weekend. But tonight, rather than braving the crowds and being part of a rowdy, patriotic celebration, I'm choosing instead to stay at home and relish the chance to relax and unwind after what has been a really busy week.

And if three years in Chicago has taught me anything, it's that the Americans will be up for hotdogs, burgers and fireworks with me any time I'm ready.

A watery end

thankfully his feet were clean
Originally uploaded by ratterrell.

So Mero and Biggsy were giving me grief the other day when we were talking about slip & slides. I was telling some silly story about how when we were kids, my cousins would put washing detergent on the backyard slip & slide to make it extra slippery (and extra soapy). But I was always too afraid to go running and sliding on my belly for fear that I'd bash up against the garage wall, or skin my elbows, or something like that.

And the chorus of "oooh you're such a princess!" began. And then somehow it morphed into me not liking waterslides, which is not something I ever said.

So maybe I had waterslides on the brain because last night I had a great dream about being at a waterslide theme park and it was towards closing time. There was only a handful of people there but I dont' think I was actually with any of them - I was there by myself.

I went down the huge chute slide a few times, and really enjoyed it, and on my last climb up the stairs, the attendant told me that the slide had been turned off. I refused to climb back DOWN the stairs, but he assured me there was enough water on the slide to take me down to the pool at the bottom.

So I sat down, pushed myself off, and started to slide. As I got to the flat bit right before you plunge into the water, I stood up and ended up almost barefoot water-skiing across the pool. I looked and felt coordinated - and totally awesome!

But then some woman on the slide behind me crashed into me at a cracking pace, and sent us both straight to the bottom of the pool. My glory day was short-lived, but it was good.

Does the 'Last One Standing' get the last laugh too?

I've long carried on here about my love for going to the hair salon. You can keep your mani-pedis or your deep-tissue massages, give me a haircut & colour any day and I am one relaxed lady. So normally a three-hour appointment would not phase me. But tonight it was a little more draining than usual.

This is all due to the excessive trashiness of the trashy magazines on offer.

Most of them were full of that talentless pair Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt. Don't ask me who they are or what they do, I just know they are being given tons of cash to parade around together smiling a lot and generally being irritating wannabes.

Normally I would flick through the magazines and stare at the photos, occasionally pausing to read the captions or admire the fashions. But tonight, given the sheer abundance of references to the Montag & Pratt train wreck, I started reading about them in more detail. The various tabloids are convinced that the 'romance' is a complete sham, but who cares because between them, they've pocketed $3+ million for in-store appearances, openings of envelopes, and all that crap. Nice "work" if you can get it I guess.

And what's more, the 'journalists' that write these 'articles' seem to be obsessed with the horrific idea that the twosome will not only get married but they will also breed. Give me a break.

So I started feeling really sick at the idea from an ethical standpoint (if I want to see sham marriages, I'll watch "Bold & The Beautiful" every day on CBS at 12.30pm!). But then I got annoyed because on a closer reading, I learned that Heidi is 21 (let's face it, aren't we all?), and Spencer is not much older. And people are speculating about their marriage prospects?!

OK so I know I should have stopped reading at this point, but as I said this twosome are a train wreck, and I am a gullible average consumer and as such, I simply cannot get enough.

Just once I'd love for a Hollywood 'celebrity' to own up that they're actually too young for something. I want someone to screw up her surgically enhanced nose at the mere suggestion of marriage, and confess that they're happy to just enjoy their 20s and just have fun for a while.

Maybe then I can start to enjoy my trashy mags AND my hair salon visits all at the same time.

Doing my bit for humanity

I spent yesterday getting re-acquainted with my sofa, having spent a wonderful weekend with JK who was here en route to a study course in Boston.

We celebrated Thanksgiving in June on Friday night (yes, I cooked turkey); we overdosed on steak and other carniverous delights on Saturday night at Fogo de Chao; and so by the time he departed on Sunday, I was knackered and just wanted to lay down all day. So I did.

But I got mesmerised by some useless program on VH1 that did a countdown of the 20 (or was it 30?) most shocking Hollywood murders. The Mansons took top honours (DUH) with the Nicole Brown-Simpson crime in second place. Generally the show was crap, and it depressed me for a while, so I closed my night by ogling Colin Firth in "Nanny McPhee".

I got to work today and the news was full of more murders and mayhem. Not necessarily based in Hollywood this time, but I read about an axe murder and murder-suicides in Australia, as well as some nutjob in Texas that (surprise, surprise) shot a bunch of people for one wacky reason or another.

I suspect that what we have here is a wonderful collection of psycho nutcases, which makes my mental actions today all the more defensible.

Coming home on the bus tonight, very late for any day much less a Monday, two girls were across the aisle from me. One of them was talking very loudly - so loudly that I had to lean forward several times to see whether her unfortunate travel companion was wearing two hearing aids. She wasn't; Chatty Kathy was just a loudmouth jabberjaws.

And she was talking utter rubbish. Crapping on at ever-increasing volume about her theater shows, and her literary prowess, and how the recent car trip she took was oh-so hilarious because she was reading to the captive audience from her collection of trashy romance novels. [Side note: Why her travel companions didn't leave her at a truck stop after filling up with petrol is beyond me.]

So on and on she droned, and I was simultaneously wishing for death, and a new set of I-pod speakers, neither of which materalised.

I texted Lex and asked if I was allowed to hit the woman, and Lex gave me permission, but only if I took a photo at the same time. Hmm I'm not that clever.

But surely smacking a noisy commuter upside the head would not result in me taking first place in a VH1 Top 20 countdown of public transportation outbursts. Rather, I would probably be given a street parade, or at least a hearty round of applause. Or something. Right?!

It's not a question of where he grips it...

Feed
Originally uploaded by Diana Pinto.

An article on today's Reuters news online left me quoting Monty Python for hours, and soon you'll see why. I guess we should just be grateful that Brazilian pigeons, like African swallows, are non-migratory.

"A sharp increase in drugs and mobile phones found inside a Brazilian prison mystified officials - until guards spotted some distressed pigeons struggling to stay airborne.

Inmates at the prison in Marilia, Sao Paulo state, had been training carrier pigeons to smuggle in goods using cell phone sized pouches on their backs, a low-tech but ingenious way of skipping the high-tech security that visitors faced.

"We have sophisticated equipment to search people when they go in, but they avoided this by finding another way to bring in cellphones and drugs," prison director Luciano Gamateli told Globo TV.

Officials said the pigeons, bred and trained inside the prison, lived on the jail's roof, where prisoners would take their deliveries before smuggling the birds out again through friends and family.

The scheme was uncovered when guards on the prison walls saw some pigeons struggling to fly."

Duck...duck....GOOSE!

Back home, it's quite the norm for the staff at fast food joints to be pimply-faced juniors in the full deathgrip of puberty with amusing crackly voices and a general ambivalence toward everything. Especially customers.

Here in the US however, the demographics are quite different. The fast food counters here are, in large part, monitored by much older people, sometimes even senior citizens, many of whom are not native English speakers. It's not a bad thing of course, but it's just different. And watching a much older person flipping burgers and shaking fries sort of redefines 'fast' food...

Anyway this morning I was craving a breakfast sandwich so I went to Dunkin' Donuts and got served by a lady who was not only ancient, but also a trainee. Oh boy. I placed my order in typical American fashion (aka quickly and no-nonsense, straight to the point to minimise confusion).

Or it was SUPPOSED to minimise confusion.

The woman rambled at me, and the Dunkin' Donuts trainers looked up at me expectantly. I literally had no idea what she'd just said. I wasn't even sure it was English.

So I asked her to repeat it. Again with the rambling. Again with the expectant looks.

So I had to get a translation from the coffee dude. Who then just burst out laughing at me.

It was then that I regretted wearing a white top, because it only further highlighted the fact that I was blushing from head to toe.

I was so eager to just get out of there that I mumbled something incoherently, which seemed to satisfy everyone in question, and I slunk out of there. Miraculously with everything I ordered (or thought I did).

Was there life before Pixar?

Pixar Wall-E Poster (7)
Originally uploaded by divxplanet.

I recall a night out in North Adelaide when a certain pair of Aussie adults were deciding whether or not to go and see "Finding Nemo".

"Sure, we should go," one said "but we should find some random kid to take with us."

"You're right," agreed the second "do you know any?"

The first girl shook her head sadly. "You know what that means," she said, "we're easily going to be the oldest people in the cinema."

The second girl looked up, the light of inspiration in her eyes. "You know, it would kinda be bad parenting if people bought their kids to a 9.30pm screening on a Sunday...."

The heady smell of potential hung in the air. Or it could have been chicken tikka. At that point, after that many bottles of red wine, it was pretty hard to tell.

Buoyed by their own genius, the girls shoveled in handfuls of garlic naan and creamy butter chicken, downed the last of their quality Aussie reds, and made their way to the cinema across the street.

And realised, to their hysterical amusement, they were actually the YOUNGEST people in the cinema. The night was a riot.

[And almost funnier than bringing garlic yiros into the cinema, being the only 2 people in the cinema, and then trying to pretend they couldn't smell garlic when the usher came around. Priceless.]

The thing about a tipsy trip to the movies, late on that balmy Sunday evening in Adelaide is that Pixar never gets old. The humour is as much for the kids as it is for the adults, and my own love of the studio shows no sign of letting up.

And really, when they keep putting out adorable gems like "Wall-E", why should it? Definitely not one to miss.

You quack me up

I haven't told you yet but my favourite barista left my coffee shop to work at the yoghurt place next door - don't ask. I'm not quite ready to have yoghurt for breakfast yet, so I let him leave and waited with baited breath to meet his replacement. Who turns out to be cute, but dumb as a stump.

I have been training him for the last 2 weeks or so, and he's only screwed up twice, which is pretty good. But this morning, he made an absolute cracker.

There are two types of filtered coffee on the go every morning - light, and dark. Clearly being the caffeine freak that I am, I need to order the dark otherwise my old heart simply does not start pumping like it should. Dependence issues? Probably.

Anyway, the rookie calls me up to the counter, and I place my usual order for "a large dark with room for cream". Bear in mind that I very rarely deviate from this order. So he says, "a large latte?". I breathed in patiently, "Uh no," I replied "a large DARK with room for cream".

"A large duck?"

I wanted to die.

So I stared at him for a second and let it all sink in.

Then the dude making the coffees (who I think owns the place) says to him "No dummy, why would she order a duck? She said dark: D-A-R-K."

The rookie barista didn't even look embarassed that he'd misheard me. And even though I roll my r's when I say "water" or "whatever", I just can't bring myself to roll them in the middle of a word. Not yet, anyway.

But in future, perhaps I should stay out of the barnyard and just order light coffees from now on.

What does B.S stand for?

Allison III
Originally uploaded by Sara Heinrichs (awfulsara).

In my case, BS stands for BABY SHOWER - and I'm off to my first one today. I've been invited to a few in the past of course but, for whatever reason, I have had to put in my apologies as the date got closer.

But today I'm really looking forward to catching up with my Aussie friend S, who is not much taller than me and is, by all accounts, absolutely ready to give birth any second now. Let's hope it doesn' t happen today, purely from my selfish standpoint!

I am well acquainted with the SATC episode where the girls drive to their friend's baby shower and, with the exception of Charlotte, feel like square pegs in round holes. All the baby talk and the goo-ing and gaa-ing was a bit too much for them all. The fact that the mother-to-be served cocktails at the event was the only way I think the girls got through it. Hear, hear!

Like bachelorette parties, baby showers always seem to be organised by the friend of the special woman in question. As a guest, you find that invitations come from people you've never heard of, and so the party itself is a real unknown quantity. Who else will be there? What is expected of you? I mean at a birthday party, you can safely assume that there will be cake and decorations - two traditional components that just about everybody can abide. But a baby shower? There are usually no babies and certainly no showering, so what to expect? It seems that baby showers do, however, bring with them a certain sense of pomp and ceremony.

Case in point, I hear that baby showers feature games that the assembled women are encouraged to play. They're supposed to be games about kid-related things, or story-swapping opportunities where we all sit around regressing to childhood and sharing things about ourselves. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I don't mingling with strangers, and swapping conversation and stories, but game-playing? Hmm. And if anyone mentions the words "breast pump", I am leaving.

I do think that I'll be OK today though, for two reasons. Firstly, the inside scoop from another guest (and friend of mine) is that the mother-to-be is not the game-player type herself. With any luck, she'll have vetoed any storytime or group games straight up. Secondly, S and her husband run my favourite wine store in Chicago, so chances are there will be plenty of bubbles and wine to bolster my spirits. Fingers crossed on both of those fronts, I think.

All jokes aside, I am so excited to meet this baby in a few months time. His parents are two of my favourite people in Chicago so it makes his birth a much-anticipated event for me. What's not to look forward to? I mean, for the past 9 months I've been spared the bloating, pressure and pain, but at the end of it all I'll still get my fair share of cuddles with the little guy. Sounds perfect to me! And maybe even worth playing a game or two...

We've NEVER been in Kansas, Dorothy

The US Midwest has been battered by some pretty horrible weather the last few weeks and I'm dosed up on hayfever meds and having that daily "umbrella-no umbrella" argument with myself before I leave the house to go to work.

The office offers shelter from the elements but it's been a whirlwind of meetings, farewells & welcomes, and a general rollercoaster of emotions. Somehow we all made it to Friday though, and I'm enjoying a weekend of strong coffee, DVDs, and Aussie music blaring out of my computer speakers.

I'm looking forward to having JK back to stay with me next weekend, as he's en route to Boston to become an even more brilliant Uni student. I got an email from him the other day that presented a rather lengthy list of pre-course readings and writing tasks so as he said himself, sometimes it's a good thing that the flight from Oz to the US is so long and boring. I wonder if he'll get any (or all) of it done.

I was talking to Lex the other week and we agreed it would be fun to have a "Junesgiving" dinner for JK - after all, if he can't be here for the real Thanksgiving, maybe we could bring it to him. So I'm cooking next weekend - yes, you read that right. I'm cheating with the turkey of course, opting for a seasoned rolled turkey rather than a whole bird that would just go to waste. But otherwise I'm going for the traditional fare - green bean casserole (which I love), mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and Lex is bringing the sweet potato casserole. I can't allow pumpkin pie in my house (it's a phobia), but I'm happy to admit pecan pie so that's our dessert. I've also got creamy limoncello in my freezer courtesy of Coco and while it's not traditional at Thanksgiving, it's delicious and a fantastic digestif so I'll bring that out too.

But as I have had my windows open all week to let the howling winds blow through and keep me cool, my apartment is full of dust and fluff and I even saw spider webs in the loungeroom so I think it's probably about time I got busy cleaning.

The things we do for friends, eh?!

A victory for the little people

letter clutch - front
Originally uploaded by ::sämyii::.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that US Postal Service employees are the most disgruntled you'll ever find. They pass on their workplace frustrations directly to their customers which is both unfair and unpleasant. By and large, customer service simply ceases to exist once you reach a USPS counter.

And I think one of the biggest bummers about the whole thing is the fact that we NEED the postal service, and the employees know this. So there is no incentive for them to cheer up and actually be helpful, because as customers, we're going to keep coming back regardless of the treatment we receive.

So with all this in mind, I trudged over to the USPS after lunch thinking that the lines would be smaller and I could get in and get out quickly. Not so.

Round One with the USPS employee began with her annoyance that I couldn't find an appropriately-sized mailbox for the gifts I needed to send. In typical Goldilocks fashion, one box was too small, but the next size up was far too big. No mailbox I could see on the shelves was just right.

Faced with the option of splitting the gifts into two smaller boxes, I instead opoted to shove the whole gift collection into one big box and bravely approached the counter for Round Two.

The USPS employee was now deliberately being useless, and she looked at me like I had the plague when I queried whether she might have spare newspaper behind her desk so that I could pad the box out a bit.

She seemed to think that newspaper was a ludicrous suggestion, and instead wondered why I couldn't clearly see that the USPS sells bubble wrap for that very purpose. Now I understand the concept of up-selling, but as I was now so irritated by her, all I wanted to do was wrap HER in bubble wrap and mail her somewhere far, far away.

But I am also good at picking my battles, so I let the USPS lady win that one, and instead I duly opened a pack of costly bubbly plastic and stuffed the box with it. Once I had ensured that the enclosed gifts were safely protected, and all the necessary customs forms filled out, I returned to the counter for what I hoped would be the final round.

Round Three began with much huffing and puffing on the USPS employee's part, trying to fathom why I would send such a huge box to such a far-away land. By now I was quite happy standing in utter silence and just letting her do her thing. And clearly silence was not something that this woman was used to. Realising that our transaction was nearing its close, she tried to make up some ground with me.

To my complete surprise, she said "I'm really sorry if I was mean to you before," and yet made no additional excuse as to why she was mean, or why she was now sorry for it. And by way of reply, again to my complete surprise, I simply uttered "Uh huh". And nothing more.

So this annoyed her because I was now playing hardball (and I was past the point of caring) so she was blathering on about Australia and my family and whether it was hard for me to adjust to living in a new country.

And what did I say?

"Uh huh."

And I manged to maintain this frosty silence until she had finished processing the transaction. Completely out of character for me, but on a steamy Friday afternoon, I was completely over it and not in the least interested in putting up with her crap any more than I had to.

So once I was certain that my gifts were correctly bound for Australia and not, perhaps, Austria, I gathered my things, cordially wished her a pleasant weekend, and left.

And even though statistically the USPS woman won 2 rounds out of our 3, I nevertheless felt that I had ultimately emerged the victor because after all, she was the one who ended up apologising. And in the case of USPS, everybody knows that that NEVER happens.

Fugedda-boudit

There is a construction site across the road from office with, quite honestly, the best looking crew I've ever seen.

In the absolute absence of any kind of OH&S policy, they bash and crash to build some sort of eyesore that will hopefully not block too much of my view over the Chicago River. They dangle from the lofty heights, with no harnesses or safety nets, or even hard hats (in the case of some). They have even put up a cheeky chalk sign on one of their steel thingies that says "We do all our own stunts" - they are classic.

The other day I learned that it is quite uncommon in the US to have office buildings with a 13th floor (superstition is alive and well here), but the construction workers are basically working on what would be the 13th floor - so they're basically eye-to-eye with me all day.

Of course I'm too shy to open my blinds, because I know that they can see me - and with so many of them looking like the Diet Coke man, I can't say I'd get any work done if I got to watch THEM all day too.

But yesterday I was walking to work and stopped in at the pharmacy first. I crossed the road when the lights changed and ended up on the same side of the road as the construction site. A bunch of construction workers were lined up outside the site, enjoying a cup of coffee and the warm sunshine. As I walked past, the cute one in the green cut-off shirt (who I had noticed maybe once, yeah right) smiled at me and said "How YOU doin'?".

Totally Chicago.

And what did I do? Yep, I giggled like a bloody schoolgirl and kept walking.

Hopeless.