I heart RBG

The current Supreme Court makes me cranky. *mumble mumble* partisan decisions *mumble mumble* unbalanced court *mumble mumble* haaaaaaate.

I was very happy, then, to read this article about Ruth Bader Ginsburg. “She is accusing the other side of making political claims, not legal claims.” Damn straight!

I am so pleased that she's making a fuss about it. The partial-birth abortion decision pissed me off mightily ("Precedent? What? Sorry, I must have been in the bathroom when we discussed that in law school."), and I quite enjoyed the scathing dissent. Sure, it's not a Scalia dissent, but the ability to produce that kind of vituperative castigation does not emerge overnight. I have high hopes.

I have very much missed Sandra Day O'Connor's voice on the court, but I am much heartened by this indication of Ginsburg's transformation. Supreme Court steel cage deathmatch? Oh, I hope so.

On a side note, I found the last paragraph of this article regarding the Pay Disparity decision extremely interesting:

In her opinion, Justice Ginsburg invited Congress to overturn the decision, as it did 15 years ago with a series of Supreme Court rulings on civil rights. “Once again, the ball is in Congress’s court,” she said. Within hours, Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton of New York, who is seeking the Democratic nomination, announced her intention to submit such a bill.

So PoMo

Occasionally I get emails from restaurants around town. The restaurants have my email for various reasons, mostly because I told them to email me a confirmation rather than calling me. Inevitably I get put on their news lists, which I generally don't mind, as it reminds me "oh, I haven't been there in a while, and look, a wine tasting..."

I think, however, I may have to unsubscribe from at least one restaurant thanks to following phrase:

A Wine Dinner Event This Monday - June 4th - 7:00 post modern time

No no no no no— it buuuuuuurns.

You shouldn't spring that sort of thing on a girl first thing in the morning; it's just not cricket.

This Is Always Happening To Me

Okay, have you seen Stripes? If you haven't, stop reading this post and go rent it immediately, as no education is complete without watching what is decidedly one of my top three movies of all time.

Assuming you have seen that movie, do you remember that scene at the end? Where Bill Murray, wearing his military uniform with martini glass in hand, staggers out of the jet to thunderous applause by the crowd? He says something along the lines of, "Oh, guys, you shouldn't have, you really shouldn't have. This is ridiculous— okay, everyone's coming back to my place for drinks."

That is exactly what I'm like after a few drinks on an empty stomach.

Earlier this evening I hopped over to a neighboring apartment to return the keys to the roof to my board president. We started talking, her partner offered me a drink, and somehow I found myself still hanging out on her porch drinking an hour and a half later. So obviously I invited them over for cocktails this weekend.

Then I stumbled home to run into my upstairs neighbor, who had been trying to get in touch with me to offer me her extra porch furniture, as she had noticed I didn't have any yet. So sweet! Obviously I invited her and her partner to cocktails as well.

And now I have a full-fledged party going on Sunday evening. ...Oops.

Well. There are worse things. Hurrah for wonderful neighbors. Now what should I serve? Obviously the full bar will be available, but nibbles must be considered carefully. Olives, maybe something a little more substantial? Maybe...something wrapped in bacon? Hmm...

In further irrelevant news, I painted my toenails a really slutty red and liked them so much that I painted my fingernails the same color. I'm pretty sure my nails now scream "SLUT!," which means it's time to bust out the over-sexed red polka-dot skirt. Wahoo.

One! More! List!

Sanity: a mere memory. I am tearing my hair out today due to the following:

1. Firefox keeps crashing.
2. My grandmother died this morning.
3. I am out of cheese.

Sadly, I'm rating all of these things at pretty much the same par for frustration and misery. ARGH.

Real updates are for people with cheese.

Awkward Silence

I have no words for the bizarre dreams I had last night. Seriously, they were just... I really, really am beginning to be disturbed. Let's go with a list:

1. Road trip with the members of N*Sync. What? Wait, what?
2. One-night stand with that guy who was married to Jessica Simpson. Turns out he's a foot fetishist and a bad kisser and lives with two other inquisitive roommates.
3. Horrible farm equipment accident that involved penis amputation. There was a lot of blood. Oh my god.
4. An endless supply of dirty laundry. (Which one of these is not like the other one?)

So, yeah, I slept poorly.

In other news, I'm stuck at home ALL DAY so I can supervise the furnace/AC replacement. The goal: actually work on the old novel somewhere along the way.

Tragedy; or, Not My Fault

I had some fabulous potential topics to blog about yesterday. Really, they were quite brilliant, and I was quite excited to share my brilliance with the interweb, so you can imagine my disappointment on discovering that my internet connection was down like a cheap whore. Alas! The interweb was to remain unenlightened! Tragedy!

I'd post yesterday's strokes of brilliance in their entirety, but I think the magic is lost. Instead, you get a one-line summary of each of the three posts that I might have made yesterday.

1. Ghetto resume, e.g. That's Just How I Roll (Experience), All Up In My Grillz (Education)
2. An in-depth analysis of the kind of friendship that results in the compliment "If I had to have anyone's pee in my sink, it would be yours."
3. The percentage of women in the average Brown line car with no/severely-reduced pubic hair as proportional to the car's proximity to Lincoln Park.

I know, you're just devastated that none of these will ever go beyond a one-line summary. I think you know who to blame; remember, Comcast = $5 whore.

Too Exhausted For Narcissism

I'm so tired I can't even pull any ridiculous, navel-gazing bullshit out of my ass to cover today's "yeah, yeah, I'm going to post every day again" obligation. So have a funny picture instead.


Did you laugh? I totally did.

And now I kind of want to hear that song. Curse you, iPod! How is it possible that you do not contain the wonder that is Gin and Juice? A crime against good taste, surely.

Interesting observation: when you're in the mood to listen to Gin and Juice, there is no musical substitute. Gin and Juice is, as Stephen Fry might say, a unique child born of a unique mother.

Indeed.

The Road Not Taken; or, No Regrets

Last night I found myself caught That Mood. You know the one: you spend a lot of time feeling like you're staring into the void, marveling at the machinations of the universe, idly wondering if your life matters in the grand scheme of things.

The Mood was triggered by an influx of people in my life who have just moved/are about to move to Chicago. How fortunate am I!, I was thinking. My vast network of awesome people is merging into close proximity! And what fun we shall have!

At which point, my brain wandered into being a bit shellshocked that not only do I live in the midwest, I also really like living in the midwest. (Well, Chicago, at least. Let's not get too enthusiastic.) Which of course led to the inevitable reminder that I almost didn't move to Chicago.

I moved to Chicago to go to grad school. University of Chicago, very fancypants, very exciting, except for the part where I had already filled out the acceptance form for Claremont. I believe I even had an addressed envelope, stamped and ready to go. I was this close to mailing it so I could study in sunny California.

But I came here instead.

I tell people that my big, life changing decision was the result of a well-thought-out decision about the class options at both schools. I chose the school with the stronger ethics curriculum because I am all about logical, informed decisions.

Informed decision my ass. Here's why I chose the University of Chicago: no one from my college had been accepted by the Divinity School in over ten years and I'm both vain and extremely competitive. Bragging rights? Yes please.

I could go into all the weird bits that contributed to that attitude, like how my advisor, whom I very much admired, was so excited to hear I had been accepted that he kissed me (awkward!), but I won't. You're probably already sick of all this navel-gazing anyway.

Who knows whether I would have chosen Chicago without those influences. It's very possible I might have: the idea of living so close to L.A. to attend Claremont was rather horrifying. (Not that the south side of Chicago was all that much more appealing.) None of it is important, though, because this is the only thing that matters: I'm happy. And I'm happy because I live in Chicago. The end, c'est tout.

In conclusion, I'm hardly convinced that the universe cares what I'm doing with my puny little life, but I'm awfully grateful for the odd little nudges it's given to get me moving in this direction. Thanks, universe! You have an open invitation to visit me in Chicago any time!


Sorry for the navel-gazing, folks. I promise to get back to daily updates that you might vaguely care about tomorrow. In the interval: yay Bill Richardson! He's my favorite these days.

Guilt

Yes, yes, I've 1) failed to post every day since I returned from Morocco and 2) failed to talk about it at all, despite the many wonderful stories I acquired while there. Bad blogger!

I've also failed to keep up with That's Why I Loved Her, for which Cirque is entirely permitted to berate me. Bad writing partner!

I have little hope of managing any of the above tomorrow, as I glanced at my calendar for tomorrow and, good lord, I might never make it back to my desk. Meetings! Meetings with everyone! Eek.

Post-work, I have to attend my standing Wednesday social engagement, which I have missed for the last six weeks because I was out of the country/deathly ill/a bad person. In short, drinking with friends trumps blogging. It's not that I don't love you, it's that I like alcohol more. Sorry.

In other news, I greatly enjoyed hearing Salman Rushdie speak yesterday. Wonderful! Erudite and unexpectedly savage, which is always fun. I highly recommend him, if you ever have the chance to hear him speak.

I am currently listening to my iTunes on random, not a setting for the faint of heart. Fear for my sanity.

Death Would Be A Mercy

Who's bright idea was it to drink for eight hours straight yesterday? As soon as I feel better, I am going to find the person responsible and bash his/her head in.

So I woke up drunk this morning.

What was a fairly amusing occurrence in college is miles less entertaining now. I. Want. To. Die.

I think I have discovered the nebulous phase, thought to be mythical, in which one is simultaneously hung over and still a little drunk. It is not an attractive phase.

I'm fairly sure I would have failed the straight line test when I woke up this morning. Luckily I seem to have gotten my motor skills under control. I think. One hopes. Because in half an hour I'm going to an industry conference to schmooze with peers. And schmoozing is hard if you can't even stand up straight.

Wish me luck. Or a merciful death. You know, whichever.

Holy Shit

Giuliani just came out with a pro-choice platform. I am SHOCKED.

...[Mr. Giuliani's aides] argued that abortion and other social issues were not as decisive for Republican primary voters in this election, providing Mr. Giuliani with an opportunity to break from a 30-year tradition and run as a Republican nominee who supports abortion rights.

Whoa. I mean, sure, I'm not at all surprised he supports choice privately, but to make it part of his platform is another thing entirely.

Let me preface the following with the statement that, yes, Giuliani is an insane fascist and I would be slightly terrified to have him as our President. However: if this precedent means more Republicans can move further left on social issues I will be wildly happy, and I think Giuliani's fairly awesome for taking a stand. Admittedly he didn't have a whole lot of choice, given the publicly available records that reveal his habitual donations to Planned Parenthood, but still: damn, that takes balls. Well done, Rudy.

I would kind of love to see a Giuliani vs. Clinton race/deathmatch. The craziness would be exceedingly entertaining. Media frenzy!

I think I'm officially rooting for Giuliani to become the Republican nominee, just for the sheer insanity of it all. Go fascism go!

Stress Test

I took my last pill today at noon. According to the wisdom of the internet and my pharmacist, I was supposed to wait three days before drinking. Six hours is like three days, right?

Come on, who am I to turn down half a bottle of $75 wine when I'm being treated?

And behold: my stomach held. No puking (flagyl is not a makes-you-drunk-really-quickly drug but rather a makes-you-vomit-repeatedly-when-you-consume-alcohol drug), which was a relief both to me and to the rest of the patrons of the restaurant.

Also on the tonight's menu: giant filet mignon, baked potato, corn on the cob. 'Twas awesome. I am content.

Okay, I Give Up

Why does the John Hancock building have pink lights this month? I'm usually able to deduce the cause of the color du jour, which I can see from my living room windows. But this pink? It is mystifying me. Is it breast cancer awareness month? (I feel like I'm usually more inundated by pink during that month.) Gay pride month? What? Tell me!

In health news, I finally have most of my usual energy levels back. And I'm almost done with my medications! Three! More! Pills! Two tomorrow morning and one with lunch! *dances*

Not Dealing Well

Feel free to skip this nothing-but-whining post. Really, I can barely stand to write it; reading it would surely erode the last bit of respect you may (or may not) have had for me.

1. Apparently I'm still sick enough that I can't get to work without breaking into a cold sweat while en route. Ugh.
   
2. Nausea. Nausea nausea nausea. Hate drugs
3. My grandmother's dying. Barring my parents, she's the last standing relative that I actually like. I don't think I'm going to be able to go see her, though, because of items (1) and (4).
4. SO MUCH WORK. Oh my god, I am too sick for this much work. I hate this week.
   
5. The grandmother situation is giving me dreams of family, which are always, without fail, awful and anxious and awful. Awful awful awful.
6. By now I really shouldn't be shocked by the incompetence of select coworkers, but I am. Thanks for creating a whole bunch more work for me, asshole!
   
7. I would really rather be in bed finishing my book right now.
8. Hell, I'd rather be in bed, period. Can I hide under the covers and never come out?
9. Have I mentioned that one of my medications contraindicates dairy? Do you know how hard it is to find something to eat when you're (a) extremely nauseated, (b) allergic to gluten, (3) unable to eat dairy? REALLY HARD.
10. I'm actually really bummed about my grandmother, although it's probably for the best. She's a pretty awesome lady.

Okay, done with the whining, I think. Time to start digging my way out of this giant pile of work.

Drugs R Awesome

Thank you thank you thank you, drugs. I feel like I might possibly be a human being once again. Sure, you're making me awfully nauseated, but at least I can get out of bed. No more fever! No more vomiting! I can even coax my stomach into accepting bland foods, and I'm finally not dehydrated. Go team pharmaceuticals!

That's pretty much it, really. I still have to take drugs through Wednesday, and you can count on me bitching endlessly about how nauseated I am until then, but I am on the road to recovery.

While dying, I managed to read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Through the Looking Glass, and The Big Knockover, as well as three quarters of the internet. Yes, a full three quarters. Which means I am now very, very bored, but not really up to any form of real entertainment yet. I think I'll go take a nap.

Drugged to the Eyeballs

I have a lovely collection of prescription drugs now. Thank you, Dr. Just-Finished-His-Residency. The following conversation actually occurred:

Dr: And I'm going to prescribe you one more antibiotic that's also an antiparasitic for another condition you may have.

Me: And what condition is that?

Dr: It's called giardisis. I don't know if there have been any reports of it in Morocco, but...

Me: The State Department has cleared all drinking water in major Moroccan cities, so no, no giardia.

Dr: Oh, well in that case we can skip that.

Me: I still want an antiparasitic. Maybe flagyl?

Dr: That's what I was going to prescribe for the giardia, actually.

Me: Yeah, I'd like some of that, too.

Dr: Okay.

Oh the bright side, I really like doctors who just hand over prescriptions when you demand them. On the other hand, I actually dictated my entire prescription regime, which may or may not be a good thing. But hey, I know the drill by now, I know what I'm supposed to be getting.

Mmmm, drugs!

Health + Politics + Excessive Parenthetical Notation

So I called my mom (oh please, what do you do when you get sick? that's what I thought) and she advised me to take my temperature. Smart! Good thing someone has a brain around here.

It turns out I have a fever (hi, infection! how are you today? thriving?), so I am hauling myself off to a doctor at 1:45 today. Wish me luck: I played Northwestern Hospital Referral Service roulette, which turned out well the last time I tried it. Google has not turned up any horrific malpractice lawsuits, but one never knows.

In the meantime, being sick is boring, so I'm amusing myself by watching clips of last night's GOP debate. There is something horribly wrong when Rudy Giuliani sounds the most reasonable. All of these candidates are terrifying.

Dying

I have called in sick to work, as I spent all last night hurling the remaining contents of my stomach into the toilet. I have never loved my bathroom setup so much: the toilet is perfectly situated so that I might perch, doubled over, on the side of the bathtub, needing only to aim when the inevitable wave of nausea hits.

Sorry, too much information, I know. I'm a sharer.

I crawled out of bed to call in sick and then couldn't resist the siren call of hysteria, so I checked WebMD.

Clearly I'm dying.

Time to vote on what I'm dying of! Comment with YOUR suggestion, and if enough people vote for a deadly enough condition, maybe I'll consider seeing a doctor.

Appendicitis (suspected because only the right side of my abdomen hurts)
Giardisis (hello Moroccan tap water!)
Gastroenterisis (tap water OR food!)
Shigellosis (no fair, I've already had this)
Amebiasis (all of this is the same after a while)

I'm going with one of the travel-related diseases, i.e. anything but the appendicitis. I am, however, not at all keen to see a doctor, as last time I had a fairly undiagnosable travel illness I was stuffed full of antibiotics and antiparasitics that made me sicker that the original disease. The flagyl particularly: I was totally out for the count for the entire two-week course of that. Also, flagyl (a broadbase antiparasitic) is the only pill I've ever had trouble swallowing. I had to hide it in applesauce, which was, incidently, the only thing I could eat, as those drugs give you hella nausea.

Also incidently, that was the doctors visit that diagnosed me with celiac, totally fucking with my future ability to order in restaurants. So negative associations and all that.

I, alas, think I have to bow out of dinner tonight. As much as I would love to see all of my grad school friends, I don't think I can leave the house right now, let alone be in close proximity to food. Another day, I hope.