Apologies Are Due

Sorry for the non-updating there, but I was too busy having fun. The fun, it was overwhelming: the few times we were at the apartment with some downtime, we were drinking. And as everyone knows, you should never drink and blog.

So here I am, back at the office, with 60+ emails and a full voicemail box and only a little bit of nausea to remind me of how fabulous the last two weeks were. Mmm, nausea.

No one else is in yet, and while I missed my friends the most (as usual), part of me wants to sit alone in my quiet little corner and pretend that I'm just waiting to hop in the car to visit the crazy ex-pats in Fes. Le sigh.

Still, I'm not so nostalgic that I'm lifting the Moroccan restaurant ban any earlier than I had declared. There is, in fact, such a thing as too much kefta, and I have looked it in the eye.

Dispatch: from Casablanca, just back from Fes

I had so. much. fun. in Fes. Anyone want to move there and open a riad with me? The ex-pat community is charmingly eccentric and everything is cheap.

The weekend trip to Fes was so wild and insane I really can't do it justice in this post: somewhat because the stories require hand gestures and voices, but mostly because I'm so damn exhausted, having walked in the door about half an hour ago.

At least I no longer smell like goat. God bless showers.

I am not even going to attempt to tell the stories here- you'll have to ask me yourself. We'll split a bottle of wine: stories like these require alcohol. Hint: if you've ever seen Absolutely Fabulous: The Last Shout, it was exactly like that, except I didn't get sold into white slavery.

I have not yet purchased a carpet, but the acquisition is imminent. I may not have a couch when I get back (see my second post in this blog), but I'm going to have a hell of a lot of interesting interior furnishings. Rugs, poofs, lamps: oh yes.

Off for cocktails/dinner/collapsing. A demain!

Dispatch: from Casablanca, getting ready for Fez

Just a heads up: we're going to Fez this weekend, so communication will be pretty much impossible. I still love you!

Fez! Exciting! Let the shopping begin. Who needs a rug?

Dispatch: from Casablanca, Day One

Jealousy is not an emotion I feel often; I think the last time I had an overwhelming wave of jealousy was... I actually don't remember. That's a product of my life being totally and completely awesome, I guess.

But I'm totally jealous.

Someone please step in and remind me that a career in the foreign service is probably not what I want to do with my life. Remind me of the stupid rules and excessive regulations and that I'd have to study a lot for that big, scary exam. Do NOT remind me of all the awesome adventures I could have, or all the really smart, cool, interesting people I would work with.

Because right now? If I were offered a position? I'd take it in a heartbeat. This is the coolest thing ever. So. Totally. Jealous.

Besides lamenting my horrifically boring life, I spent today wandering around solo. Mo had a diplomatic lunch (boooooring), so she gave me a quick orientation of her neighborhood and the house keys.

Casablanca is fun! I mostly poked around stores and an open air market (clothes shopping: moderately interesting; open air market shopping: guaranteed interesting) and settled into a lovely lunch at a street cafe. Thank god I know French, even as poor as my skills are: I wouldn't have a chance in hell of managing all of this otherwise.

Tonight: dinner and jazz with Mo's friends, which should be fun. Given that the people I have met thus far are unreservedly awesome, I am psyched to meet more of this crowd.

A Side Note: I notice that while I have somehow people able to move heaven and earth to update this blog in two different countries over the last two days, someone who will go unnamed has not found the time for a single line, a lone anecdote, or even a bad zombie joke. *ahem* LAME.

Dispatch: from the Amsterdam Airport

I have made it this far, at least! The Amsterdam airport is rapidly becoming my favorite airport in the world. So much to do! And as long as I stay away from the casino I'll be fine. The shopping... it calls me...

Nothing of substance to report thus far, although I am reminded once again of how much I hate interacting with the unwashed masses. Has common civility gone by the wayside entirely? I wish lost luggage upon them.

I've already visited the museum (check that one off the To Do list!), so I'm off to hunt down breakfast.

On a sidenote, blogger is all in Dutch on this computer. Disorienting. Ah well, I'm fairly sure hitting the PUBLICEREN is the appropriate move to make at this juncture.

News these days just sucks

Supreme Court Upholds Ban on Abortion Procedure

The decision pitted the court's conservatives against its liberals, with President Bush's two appointees, Chief Justice John Roberts and Justice Samuel Alito, siding with the majority.

Justices Clarence Thomas and Antonin Scalia also were in the majority.

I miss you, Sandra Day O'Connor.

Packing

Underwear is boring: let's talk about what I'm bringing to read.

The Dante Club, Matthew Pearl
Longfellow! Holmes! Lowell! A murder mystery! Welcome to my dorky side.

His Majesty's Dragon, Naomi Novik
Napoleonic-era British Navy... PLUS DRAGONS. Automatically awesome.

The Gangs of Chicago, Herbert Asbury
"An Informal History of the Chicago Underworld." I will do research, I will do research, I will do research.

I am also bringing:
a journal
many pens
my enormous backlog of alumni magazines

It's a literary kind of vacation.

FYI

In my inbox this morning, from Orbitz.com:

Just a friendly reminder, there are only a few days left until your "Casablanca 4/18/07" trip.

THANKS, I HAD FORGOTTEN. Also, by "a few days" I think you mean "thirty hours."

So in case you hadn't picked up on it, I'll probably be mostly incommunicado until the end of the month. I will, however, be keeping up with my pledge to write every day: I'm going antediluvian and bringing a journal with me. I know! It's like I'm Amish! Wacky.

I've promised to do my best not to get blown up (although I was really looking forward to it, damn you Amanda), so with the best of luck I will return with all of my typing fingers intact. Expect journal excerpts as cop-out posts while I'm still working through the jet lag.

I shall miss you all bitterly, but mostly I shall miss John and Marjorie. Cirque, there better be some brilliant dialogue when I return (damn it).

Cheerful News

A conversation with my father today:

"...and be careful, especially after the news this weekend."

"What news?"

"Didn't you catch it in the Sunday Times?"

"Apparently not."

"Some suicide bombers blew themselves up at the U.S. consulate this weekend."

"In Casablanca?"

"Yep."

"...the consulate where my friend works? That I'll be staying right next to?"

"That's the one."

"Is everyone okay?"

"Oh, no one was killed. Well. Except the suicide bombers."

"Charming."

"Just be careful. Worse case scenario they put you in lock down at the consulate."

"Oh that's fun."

"It can't be too bad. Make friends with some marines."

"Thanks, dad."


So while I'm sure I'll be fine, think of me if you read about any more suicide bombers in Morocco. Criminey.

Yay For Weekends

I have to say, this weekend has been fairly fantastic. I spent most of yesterday alternating between reading and napping, with a few interrupting arguments with my parents via phone about where to spend Christmas. (Mexico seems to be leading at the moment! Beach + Myan ruins = totally acceptable vacation.)

Today I woke up at my usual 7:30 but recklessly went back to sleep until 9:30. Crazy! I just got back from seeing Mrs. Warren's Profession as presented by Remy Bumppo Theatre Company, which was fantastic. Love GB Shaw as per usual. I walked to and from the theater, so I even got to enjoy some of the beautiful weather. I am now waiting for friends of the family to call so we can choose a dinner venue, which means something very tasty is on the horizon.

Of course I got nothing done in the way of packing for my trip, but heck, I don't leave until Wednesday. Plenty of time! And now, back to the laziness.

Politics Ahoy: Dangers Shoals Ahead

I've been wondering when an article about this would crop up.

“I hear these anti-Hillary attacks by men, especially right-wing men, and I feel like it’s just as much an attack on me,” said Cheryl Lynn Brierton, an in-house lawyer for the California courts. “It’s an effect of intelligence that you come across as intense, that you have strong views. I’ve always felt that the way she is singled out and attacked is very indicative of how society reacts to smart women.”

Ready for my controversal statement of the weekend? I kind of like Clinton. I will admit that the Wellesley connection prejudices me in favor of her: would I like the first female president to be an alum of my alma mater? Heck yes.

But I also think she's damn smart and extremely cunning. She's centrist enough to appease my mixed-bag political leanings, and as I see her as a strong advocate of women's rights. Of all the candidates, both parties included, I think she has the best shot at getting a reasonable health care package passed. She is, after all, the candidate with the most experience in that arena, and she she sure as hell has the clout to push something like that through Congress. Other issues aside, I just don't think any other candidate can do it. Edwards? Something bigger than cancer has to happen to get this southern pretty-boy some real numbers.

So there you go: I'm a casual, fairly lazy Clinton supporter who actually thinks she could pull it off. Rare breed! Not often seen in the wild! Oooh!

And in conclusion, I'm fairly sure I've alienated at least 50% of my readers, if not both of you. Awkward! I probably won't do much politics-jabbering in this blog, though, so you're mostly safe from any further irritations. Ta!

Moderately Discombobulated and Disconcerted

I saw such a great play last night. Lillian Hellman, never change. Toys in the Attic, done by Blindfaith Theatre at The Viaduct: SO GOOD. So good, in fact, that I got back home still reeling from the emotional charge and went to bed without setting my alarm, hence this morning's discombobulation and disconcernation. At least I'm a morning person, so I still got to work on time thanks to some heroic efforts.

Hold on, must go grab breakfast.

Okay, I'm now armed with a bagel. Returning to the topic at hand: did I mention SO GOOD? Lillian Hellman always takes my breath away with her twisted, twisted plots (The Children's Hour, holy crap: I saw it years ago and it's still imprinted on my brain).

I have no experience to substantiate this opinion, but I think that her roles must be very difficult to play. Hellman's characters always have hidden (twisted) depths that slowly emerge over the course of the play, and the challenge for the actor is to make it both entirely natural and a complete surprise.

Related: Hellman's tendency to include unusual sexual proclivities in her characters has always made me wonder exactly on what experiences she was drawing. To Wikipedia!

No word on the sexual creepiness, but: "She was romantically involved for 30 years with mystery and crime writer Dashiell Hammett (and was the inspiration for his character Nora Charles ), and was also a long-time friend and the literary executor* of author Dorothy Parker."

Okay, I'm trying not to have an paroxysms of joy here, but Dashiell Hammett is one of my very favorite authors, and I've recently gotten on board the Dorothy Parker Is Awesome train. Surely someone, somewhere has written a fictionalized account of their relationships. Or heck, I'll take non-fiction, too. But come on, the novel would be fantastic! I'd write it, but that would involve research, and eh.

What was I talking about? Oh, right, the play. Still so good! Tragically, the actors (if one counts the walk-ons), outnumbered the audience. Jackie and I constituted more than 20% of the audience. Sad! Especially since it was so good. The play closes Sunday, and it's obviously not sold out, so if you live in Chicago I highly recommend attending.


* Wouldn't that be executrix? I'm just saying.

Brain Hurts

Dear Mr. Rushdie,

You absolute fucking bastard.

kisses,
P&G

You may have inferred from the above that I've finished The Satanic Verses. I finished it at about 8:30 last night, incredulously turned the last page, and said, "No, really? That's it? Really?"

I feel like I need to form a study group to help work out my unresolved issues with this book.

I mean, yes, in a sense the story did have to come to an end, as there sure weren't a whole lot of main characters alive by the last page. But but but! I need to know! Oh my god, the angst.

Here are the question that oozed their way out of my traumatized brain [spoilers ahoy!]:

1. Was Gabreel really an angel of God? Or was he an agent of Satan? Or was he just crazy?
2. Who was the narrator anyway?
3. What the fuck was with that whole pilgrimage bullshit with Ayesha? I hated her. What is its relationship to the larger narrative?
   
4. What is the nature of evil in this world? Related: where do humans fit in this moral universe?
5. Are there accepted answers to these questions, or is this one of those "choose your own adventure depending on how fucked up you are as a person" deals?
6. What is the value of salvation in this universe?
7. Would it be cheating to see what Wikipedia says about it?

I want to talk some of it out here, for my own peace of mind. You may wish to skip this babble for the sake of your sanity; I'm really just thinking out loud.

According to Wikipedia, satanic verses "is an expression coined by the historian Sir William Muir in reference to several verses allegedly interpolated into an early version of the Qur'an and later expunged." Okay, yes, we did see that, and hello heresy. Nice one, Rushdie! He later parallels the historic satanic verses to a verbal incident involving the characters, which is really quite elegantly done.

Now, if you assume the title is being used only in that limited definition, you arrive at the following conclusions: the narrator is god, Gabreel is an agent of god, Saludin is a manifestation of evil in the world, human beings are fairly fucked, and blind faith is the only hope of salvation, which is Everything.

You see why I don't like that interpretation? God is good, humans are fucked up seeds of evil, snoooore.

Option Two: the satanic verses refer to the story as a whole, and the narrator is satan. And that, of course, changes all the rest. If the narrator is satan, Gabreel is his agent, and Saladin manifests evil because of this contact, not in spite of it. Evil disguises itself as holy, and humans are easily fooled because the word of god that defines their holy is not really the word of god. Oh, didn't I mention that? In this interpretation, the Qur'an is the word of, um, satan. Sorry! If it makes you feel any better, other holy texts would be equally corrupt in this universe.

There are positives to each interpretation. Oddly, I think the second is more hopeful about the fundamental nature of mankind. If the first is true, then hell, we're all fucked, and since when is that news? The second is far more interesting to me, but the objections to it are numerous.

The interesting thing about this universe is, despite having a very clear overarching good/evil (no matter how you choose to interpret it), on a smaller scale, good and evil are very difficult to distinguish. Which is an interesting point in and of itself. Huh.

Okay, okay, I'm giving up for now.

Wait! Okay, maybe there is no god or satan, maybe there is just a deity who is neither good nor evil. In which case my earlier statement would be reversed: there is no overarching good/evil, good and evil are only established by the minutiae of humanity.

Oh my god, my brain is leaking out my ears. I love books like this. Mindfuck!

Phlegmatic

In Which I Tap Into My British Roots And Discuss The Weather With My Invisible Friend
or
The Start Of Every Conversation In Chicago For The Next Twelve Hours

Goodness! This is quite the weather, isn't it?

I know, me too. I was nearly blown off my feet leaving the train this morning!

Well, yes, but it's Chicago, so we really should expect it. Doesn't make it any more pleasant, though. This part of town is always so much windier with the lake right there.

I saw that guy, too! Wind-resistant umbrellas are just no match for Chicago.

Mmhmm. I agree completely!

April. April!

Well, yes, but still. That's no excuse.

These are the days that I wish I worked at home.

Indeed, indeed. Well, I have a meeting across the street, so I have to dash. Once more into the breach, eh? Wish me luck!

The End (OR IS IT??)

Everyone Deserves A Cop Out Now And Again

I'm sitting at my keyboard, exhausted from my completely ridiculous day, and I have no idea what to write.

I wrote an entire post this morning about today's Science Times, but when I reread it the whole thing just came off as prurient, so I deleted it. Fool! I should have hit publish and be damned. At least then today's post would have content!

What does this post have instead of content, you ask with that unflatteringly smug smirk that implies you've caught me in some sort of oxymoron? I have the opposite of content: I have a YouTube video.

Of course all bloggers are contractually obligated to include YouTube videos in their posts every once in a while, so perhaps I'm just being sly and getting in my quota early.

Or maybe I really don't know what to say here, much like Hugh Laurie in this song from the sketch comedy show A Bit of Fry and Laurie. ("Nice segue!" "Thanks, I worked hard!")

An Open Letter

To the Gentleman Sitting Across from Me On The Train This Morning Who Obviously Dressed To the Left,

I didn't mean to stare, and I tried not to be obvious about it, but I was quite distracted by the empathic panic I felt for your current, past, and future lovers. I can see that you weren't purposely drawing attention to yourself; your pants, on most other men, would have been entirely modest. And while, of course, it is possible that you were receiving an additional boost from an entire package of tube socks, your casual demeanor and lack of obvious narcissism indicated to me that the contents were entirely god-given.

It was purely bad luck that you happened to be sitting under an advertisement for pistachios that touted the tagline "Grab our nuts."

I thought I was doing quite well adopting the thousand-yard-stare of the iPoded commuter, but I was considerable disquieted when you stood up to ready yourself for exiting. Was it entirely necessary, I wondered, for your hips to twist in quite that direction? While I was glad to verify my original deduction of 100% organic, I found the free range aspect slightly alarming.

Please, sir, consider adding a bit more discretion to your morning routine. While I am strong of heart and lung, I have noticed several ladies of advanced years on my morning commute who might not be equally able to cope with such a revelation.

With Affection,
P&G

Happy Zombie Jesus Day!

I tried to dig up the link to my favorite abandoned zombie jesus comic, but it is now an ex-website and not even the wayback machine can help me. Sad!

You'll have to enjoy your fertility celebration/undead deity day without linkage from me. Somehow I think you'll survive.

Movie Recommendation

I just got back from seeing The Lives of Others, which is, wow, the preview doesn't do it justice, but go watch it anyway. Setting: East Berlin, 1984. The premise: "devoted Stasi officer and expert interrogator Wiesler is given the job of collecting evidence against the famous playwright Georg Dreyman."

It's a long movie— just over two hours— but it somehow manages to maintain the high level of intensity established in the first sequence. I hate long movies, but this one flew by. (Admittedly I had to pee halfway through, but when don't I have to pee? My bladder has a ninety minute capacity after a cup of tea.)

I believe I had my hands over my mouth in an "oh my god oh my god" gesture for the entire final twenty minutes. Ah! I don't want to ruin it for anyone, but it's taking all my willpower not to talk about it. Go! Go see it so we can discuss it!

On a related-but-not-spoilery note, I also saw a preview for The Valet, from the writer/director of The Dinner Game (very funny) and The Closet (hysterical). God bless the French and their slightly off-beat sense of humor. I'll be at the theater with bells on when it opens in Chicago.

Late-Breaking Addition: an NPR interview with the writer/director. Extremely interesting and well-worth the listen.

And Here I Thought I Was In Training

How To Injure Yourself Opening A Bottle Of Wine:
A Pintles and Gudgeons Educational Moment

1. Invite a friend or two over: an audience is key to your subsequent inability to deny that the event ever occurred.

2. Offer your guest(s) a cocktail; mix one for yourself as well.

3. Have another cocktail.

4. Consider a third cocktail: while recommended, this round is not required and should be considered in relation to your own tolerance for alcohol, as you must still be able to operate a corkscrew following consumption.

5. Propose switching to wine. Ready the glasses and find your waiter's pull.

6. Peel the foil away from the cork. You may wish to use the point of your corkscrew to facilitate the process.

7. Insert corkscrew and affix leverage device. Pull.

8. Pull some more. Complain to your guest(s) that "this cork is damn stubborn."

9. Turn down offers of assistance.

10. Place bottle between your feet, using said appendages to hold the bottle in place.

11. Pull again, this time using all available muscle groups. Scream in pain as one muscle in your shoulder makes an odd popping noise and forces you to hunch forward.

12. Pour yourself some anesthetic and complain about how your wine-opening muscles should be in better shape than this considering how much you drink.

Congratulations! You're now ready to injure yourself while opening a bottle of wine. May I recommend a Burgundy?

No, I Did Not Smoke My Breakfast

I'm feeling especially alive this morning —no, wait, I know that sounds stupid, please bear with me while I try to explain.

The tea that I'm drinking right now is, wow, perfectly brewed and deliciously hot and feels so good going down the throat.

The song I'm listening to right now is awesome, so awesome that I really want to hit the back button to repeat it, but I'm not going to because I know the next song is going to be at least as awesome, if not more awesome.

I don't really know to what I should be attributing this abnormally thrilled-with-everything mood. Anticipation of my trip to Morocco in less than two weeks? Several nights in a row spent drinking in the company of friends? Sleep deprivation? Hormones?

Certainly not the weather. It's cold (cooooooold, coooooooold) today. I'd rather be curled up in my warm bed right now, but heck, you can't have everything, right?

Besides, I'm sure my good mood will round down to apathy quite soon. Nothing like an interdepartmental meeting to reestablish a blah attitude.

In the meantime, I'll be dancing at my desk. No, really. Benefit of getting here an hour before everyone else.

Dammit John

Phrases for my every mood, courtesy of a three-minute-long comedy sketch:

Frustrated
Damn blast and double damn!

Incredulous
By God here's a turn-up!

Romantic
You don't need a Harvard MBA to know that the bedroom and the boardroom are just two sides of the same agenda.

Compassionate
That must have hurt, hurt like hell on a jetski.

Determined
You know as well as I do there's no such word as "a bit late for all that."

Pressed For Time
Tell him any damn thing you like, just buy me some time!

Wistful
Amsterdam's too obvious. Marjorie was never obvious. That's why I loved her.


*90% of the content for this post was stolen shamelessly from A Bit of Fry and Laurie. Because original thinking is just not happening today.

Further Simple Pleasures

1. Finding a tube of your favorite lip goo that you thought you were out of and that you were waiting until September to buy because it's only available in Europe (bastards).

2. Pretty new bed sheets. With stripes!

3. The anticipation of post-work champagne.

Summary: lip goo, new sheets, champagne. Which makes it sound like I'm having a really flirtatious social life these days. Untrue, but I'm all for false impressions!

Bad Idea/Worse Idea

Bad idea: letting the precocious children of NPR commentators host a show for a day.

Worse idea: turning the show into a series of feature interviews with famous psychopaths and serial killers.

Even more disturbing: that is the dream I had last night.

It played out pretty much as you'd expect.

The children hosts were precocious and unsurprisingly sophisticated for their ages. The stories of the psychopaths/serial killers were simultaneously heartwarming and haunting, decidedly reminiscent of segments from This American Life.

An Open Letter To My Brain,

What? That is seriously fucked up. Can't we just have sexy dreams about inappropriate individuals (or groups)? That would much preferable. Please make a note of this for the future.

appreciatively,
P&G

N.B.— At least John Wayne Gacy didn't show up in a clown costume. On the one hand, thank god. On the other hand, my brain isn't nearly as witty as I like to think. I'm almost disappointed.

Writing Is Hard

Having never written anything remotely novel-length— by far the lengthiest attempt was my undergraduate thesis, which maxed out at eighty-five pages— I'm spending a good deal of time trying to figure out how I write.

The conclusion is turning out to be fairly boring: I write linearly. There's a first scene, then there's a second scene, and a third and fourth, and damn if I don't have to write one following the other in precise order.

I've tried to write out of order, I really have, but I the inspiration isn't there. How am I supposed to know what the character is feeling/thinking/wanting if I don't know what happened immediately preceding? The mix-and-match scene thing just doesn't work for me, which is something of a disappointment. It means I have to slog through what I consider 'boring parts' before I can get to that snappy scene with the good dialogue.

In my immediate future, it means Katherine is going to have to go interview her friend the whore (name not yet determined— suggestions welcome!) and then decide that she's going to take things as they come before she runs into Nolan again. Two whole scenes before she runs into Nolan! Blaaaaaaahhhhhhh. Necessary to advance the plot, but blaaaaahhhhhhhhhh. Although I can probably get some good lines from the whore, and I might frame the Inner Think in that whiskey/pharmacy scene I've been wanting to do. Le sigh.

I kind of wish I could write like Cirque does, all brilliant scenes and intriguing characters not yet tied to a plot...

Okay, sorry, this post has to be interrupted: I just saw a naked man walk across the alley I can see from my window. Naked! Man! In public! I laugh.

Right, what was I saying? Oh yes, writing is hard, but at least it doesn't mean being naked in public. The end.