Tall and Wearing Heels

My summer vacation is over

Why is it that at age 33 I still cannot stand to see those back-to-school commercials on television come every August? I am immediately transported back to being 10, smack dab in the middle of enjoying my summer, preferrably wearing a bathing suit from a day out on the Wet Banana and with a push-up pop in my hand, when BAM! An ad urging my parents to buy fall clothes and Trapper Keepers pops up and my summer, at best, takes on a sense of urgency, and, at worst, begins to die.

I know that it is now well into September, but I am still in denial that Labor Day has come and gone. Today we had our first chilly day (low 70s and VERY windy). I wore a sleeveless shirt to work as a small protest and regretted it pretty much from 9 AM on.

On the good news front, this summer I have discovered this. I've become obsessed, trying all sorts of fruit to determine which is the best vehicle for getting more of this tasty spice. Who knew I could actually come to like boring filler-fruit honeydew? Do yourself a favor and snatch the last of good summer fruit at the farmer's market and try it with my new best friend. Your life will never be the same.

Really? Has it come to this?

When it comes to transportation and getting around, Chicago can be a maddening place. A little too spread out to rely solely on public transportation, but also crowded enough to make having a car and finding a parking space a potentially daily nightmare.
Today I encountered a phenomenon that hopes to capitalize on this. As I was pulling around the block, looking for a parking space, I saw a possibly homeless man with an umbrella waving and pointing at a free space. He reminded me a bit of the guys who try to get you to park in their lot before a baseball game or concert. In others words, it immediately became clear to me that, should I park in that space, this man would expect money.
Now come on. Leaving aside the fact that I was perfectly capable of seeing this spot on my own (after years of searching for parking I am convinced Iknow exactly where the fire hydrants are on each street on the north side of Chicago), is this even fair? I am as bleeding heart liberal as they come, but I'm not giving money to some guy who may or may not be down on his luck for standing near a free and public space and pointing out the obvious.
Of course the other side of this is that, do I pay this guy a couple of bucks to avoid the hassle of continuing to drive around (thereby probably wasting $4 of gas anyway)?
Swindler or just adapting to the market? If you're a panhandler, how do you stand out from the pack? The windshield wiping thing is done. Maybe this guy's secretly a creative genius.
And one that gave me a dilemma for sure. A dilemma that I avoided by driving by, parking 3 blocks away and then avoiding eye contact with the guy as I walked into my destination, mere feet from the parking spot. Yeah, he knew who I was, the woman with enough common sense not to be swindled, but with enough guilty conscience to not look the swindler in the eye.

One Woman Speaks for Many (at the Mall)

That's it. I'm DONE. Goodbye to shapeless shifts, gigantor tops with nary a waist nor dart in sight. Sayonara, skinny pants!
What the hell is going on with women's clothes this year? After several months of wearing these fashion nightares in an attempt to be age-appropriately trendy (and frankly there was nothing else to purchase), it finally happened. It was inevitable. Come on, you know what I'm talking about. Somebody asked me if I was pregnant. Leaving aside that this might be the most inappropriate question ever (topping even "When are you getting married" or "Are you really going to eat that?"), I blame this incident entirely on the fashion industry. I defy any of my dear readers to walk into a store these days and find any top and or dress that doesn't slighlty resemble the latest collection from A Pea in the Pod.
Do designers hate the female form that much? I never thought I'd say this, but I haven't enjoyed shopping for clothes in about a year.
Maybe this is it for me. You know how many women after a certain age seem to be stuck in a particular fashion era? Well, perhaps I've arrived at mine: the recent bygone era (mourned by Pear shapes everywhere) of fitted blazers, cinched waists, bootcut pants and pointy shoes. If fashion trends are any indicator of things to come, I'll stay safely entrenched in 2005, thank you very much. I'd rather be an unfashionable WOMAN than get mistaken for pregnant any day. I can't be the only one. Pears, who's with me?

P.S. Do Apple shapes like this new look? Does it work you? Are we ushering in the age of the Apple?

The offending shirt. Notice the pseudo maternity/empire waist, which I refuse to pronounce as if I were French.

Only 6 weeks of summer left

Tonight was one of those times I actually felt like I accomplished something on my summer list, while still enjoying myself and having it not be a disappointment. I was one of thousands who attended a live taping of Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me down at Chicago's Millenium Park. I've been listening to this show for years, but have never gotten around to going to a taping, which happens pretty much every Thursday, albeit not in Millenium Park. Since I didn't have to get tickets ahead of time or pay anything, I took the opportunity to finally go. It was a great night. The sticky humidity that's been lingering over Chicago this week finally broke and the breeze coming off Lake Michigan was actually cool enough to make me slightly nostalgic for autumn. (banish the thought!) This was definitely your typical NPR crowd, slightly nerdy, liberal, which made the guest appearance of District Attorney Patrick Fitzgerald (guy who prosecuted Scooter Libby!) all the more fun and filled me with a nice comrade-ish, we're-all-in-this-together sentiment. My only disappointment was that Paula Poundstone was not one of the panelists, but who doesn't love Roy Blount, Jr.?

So take a listen when it airs this weekend and maybe you'll hear me in the crowd.

Wiser (I hope)

My birthday was this past weekend. As I heard in a poem on the radio just the other day, it's my "Jesus year." In other words, I'm the same age as Jesus was when he died. My friend M, who turned the same age a week ago, also pointed this out to me. Religious or not, this does give one pause. What have I done with my life? No matter what you say, I bet starting one of the most influential world religions is not on the list. (although he wasn't married and basically took road trips around with a bunch of guys. Sounds a little like my last date.)

I did some research. Here are some other people and their accomplishments by age 33:

Thomas Jefferson - had already written the Declaration of Independence two years previously
Mozart - had composed all of his great works because he died at 32
Martin Luther King - one year away from giving his "I Have a Dream" speech

But as I was spending my evening on Wikipedia, I discovered something. Famous and accomplished women seemed to get a later start than the men. Jane Austen didn't write Pride and Prejudice until she was 38. Betty Friedan was 42 when The Feminine Mystique was published. Granted, these women faced greater odds than do I (and for paving the way, I say "Thanks"), but I took comfort in this. Perhaps some of us take a little longer to marinate than others. (couldn't think of a better word but you know what I mean) Maybe some of us aren't meant to be marinated at all. Once, long ago, I received one of the best compliments ever as I complained to someone older and cooler than myself how I wished I was older (like I said, it was long ago). The person said to me, "I would not want you to be anything other than who you are, right now." We here at TWH are all about loving who we are, when we are, and not apologizing for it. So I say a "Happy Birthday" to myself and welcome in my Jesus year.

My mother was right

It appears that Al Gore is a rock star these days. Not becoming president seems to be the best thing that ever happened to him. Maybe he can even control the weather, because this past weekend, the weekend of Live Earth, was HOT. What better way to have people get serious about global warming than to literally bring it to them? Certainly having Kanye West rap "Golddigga" isn't going to do it. (I love Kanye but somehow that song seemed inappropriate for such an occasion. Don't worry, Kanye, you were just one of many.) Yes, it was hot, and I was cranky, trying to suck all the life out of summer in Chicago and really only wanting to sit on my couch in my centrally air-conditioned apartment and watch Live Earth. (The irony is not lost on me.) My mother often says to me, in that knowing voice of a mother, "You don't do well in heat." Of course, nothing invokes such irritation in me when she says this because, well, I don't do well in heat. A few years back I moved out to L.A., driving in my trusty Honda. About 100 miles outside of Las Vegas, in the middle of nowhere, in August, the AC gave out. It was 111 degrees outside, but we had no choice but to roll down the windows. You know how some hairdryers have that extra hot setting that you can't use for fear of burning your scalp? Imagine that in your face at 70 miles per hour. Not exactly refreshing. I had what I'm pretty sure was a panic attack. Perhaps because of my heat issues, I've always had this irrational fear of dying in the desert, but all of a sudden, in my mind, it was not so irrational! My Dad, who had come along to help me move, had to talk me down as I cried and screamed, "We're going to die out here! I need more water! I don't want to move to Los Angeles!" (like I said, not exactly rational)

So I had to escape the heat yesterday while also taking full advantage of the fact that it's summer. My dilemma was "solved" when I remembered that on my list of Things to Do in Chicago in the Summer was take advantage of the free city pools. Off I went, envisioning a cool and leisurely afternoon of blue water and catching up on my summer reading. It was 100 degrees yesterday. What was I thinking? The pool was jammed with children and adults of every shape and size. Kids ran, adults yelled, lifeguards blew whistles, people scrambled and tussled for open space poolside. Within five minutes of being there I had some kid do a cannonball on my head, saw a teenager spit two loogies on the concrete next to my towel, and got yelled at by the "lifeguard" for not moving to the proper area when he blew his whistle. (Since when do lifeguards wear tennis shoes?) And the blue water, frankly, was a little cloudy.

After 15 minutes I left and returned to my air-conditioned apartment, where I spent rest of my afternoon watching Serendipity on cable. Best decision I made all day. This heat renders my list useless. Hey, John Cusack is from Chicago, does that count?

I Become Miss Manners

Oh, my neglected blog. Don't take it personally. I live in Chicago, and must suck the life out of every day of summer; these short, jam-packed 3 months don't last very long. Honestly, it's a little overwhelming. I completely neglect any sort of calendar/PDA October through May, but come the first hint of warm weather I'm busier than Hillary Clinton. Say what you will about its weather, but no city appreciates the summer like Chicago. So far, I've experienced five barbecues, two nights of fireworks, three street festivals, bocce ball at the beach, several days of lounging at the pool, and a trip to a friend's cottage in Northern Michigan, complete with s'mores. This, of course, in addition to my normal 40-hour work schedule. I'm exhausted.

Who can keep up with all this?

During these busy days, i've encountered some rude behavior. Please, do yourself and your neighbor and a favor and do not engage in the following:

1. The neglect of the RSVP - many have written more eloquent essays on this one, but it still baffles me. WHY IS IT SO HARD TO TELL SOMEONE WHETHER OR NOT YOU'RE GOING TO SHOW UP?? You're not being nice by not committing. It is 10 times more rude than saying you cannot come.
2. Commenting on what someone is buying if you are the check-out person. I may be in my 30s but I still am not crazy about buying a box of tampons. Don't make it worse by picking them up, studying them for a minute and then saying, "Well, they must work." Especially if you're a 19-year old boy.
3. Not offering someone something to drink when they've been over at your place for well over an hour. This forces your guest to say, "Do you think I could get a glass of water?" Don't make them do that.
4. Listening and dancing to very loud music in your car while your 4-month old baby is in the backseat by himself, probably losing his hearing. Actually this is more than just rude, it's bad parenting.
5. Dumping someone via email and then asking if maybe you can keep the door open for future communication because "you never know about this whole dating thing.

Let's stop this charade immediately

I must set the record straight on this one. Mandy Moore, you are not average sized. Jessica Alba, you are not voluptuous and you are not helping girls feel better about their bodies. See?
While JLo, Eva Mendes, Kate Winslet, Scarlett Johannson, and Tyra Banks are not exactly mistaken for the 3rd Olsen twin, THEY ARE NOT AVERAGE! They are not "curvy" or "full-figured." Who are we kidding, here??!? They are all VERY THIN. They are just not as thin as the scary eating disorder skinny that passes for normal in Hollywood.
You know, just for once I'd like to see a celebrity tell it like it is. I'd have a lot more respect for the celebrity who'd say, "I starve myself and work out 4 hours a day to look like this." And Angelina, saying you feel guilty about eating does not make me like you and your lollipop figure more.

The check's in the mail

I heard this morning that the city where I reside, Chicago, has the worst postal delivery service in the entire country. I can attest to that. I once attempted to send a sick co-worker her paycheck and it took 3 weeks to find her. According to the news, a full 9% of mail in Chicago never gets delivered. Here's the thing: is that so bad? When was the last time you got anything other than bills and junk mail in your box? Admit it, no one's writing you a letter these days. You might have that fantasy of some "par avion" envelope, with a colorful array of foreign stamps and the promise of juicy tidbits of a traveler's journey, but it's just not coming. My sister studied in Italy last fall and she used to call me on her cell phone every few weeks. Ciao bella! So I will embrace the bad postal service. I can't think of a better excuse to tell Cingular as to why my payment might be late.

What TWH is not

I recently read that the just-won't-die series "Sex and the City" had more of an influence on Generation Y than Generation X. Falling on the younger end of the X-ers, this is somewhat disturbing to me. My younger sister is from that Y group, and she is a mere 24, which means when this show debuted she was only 15. I was never a big fan of this show. Entertaining, yes, but I could never understand the hype. I found it mildly depressing most of the time, a sad commentary on the lives of single women. But I can understand how someone younger might mistake that commentary for glamour and glitz. (They buy expensive shoes and go out every weekend, their lives must be so fulfilled!)
Somewhere in this article they mentioned another tv show that influenced Generation X, but of course I forget now. I was more of the "Facts of Life" type of girl. Say what you will about how bad/good this show was (and I suspect it was fairly awful), no girl my age escaped the fantasy of living at a boarding school, wearing a plaid skirt and knee socks, rooming with the rich/sassy/fat and funny/tough girl, and working at Edna's Edibles on the weekends.