Memorial Day Weekend!

I was so happy to have this long weekend.  I feel like I haven’t had a day off in forever — probably because I haven’t.  I went to a few parties, had a rather odd drinks session, and went to the Cubs game.  Not a bad weekend.

 

Oh, and the other day, I was raving about the library visit.  Well . . . I find out later that it wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be.  I checked out Fortunate Son by Walter Mosley, a selection for one of my book clubs, and I’ve been speeding through it.  It’s engrossing, which isn’t the problem. 

 

The problem is that there are 30+ pages MISSING from the book.  That’s right.  My checked out copy of Fortunate Son skips from 250 to 283.  Then it goes from 283 to 314, which is the end of the book, and then back to 283 again.  WTF???  So, it’s a good thing I’d already ordered a copy of the book, because it looks like I’ll need the supplemental copy to make any sense of the end of the story.

 

I’ve gotta tell you that this incident isn’t a glowing endorsement of the Chicago Public Library.

 

Went to the Cubs game today and sat in one of the skyboxes, which is about the only way that I’m going to watch a baseball game.  My friend’s husband had an extra ticket to hang out in their corporate suite, and got to go onto the field.  When I heard that we were going on the field, I immediately wondered what one does on the field of a baseball game when one is not a player.  I found out that you run out there, take a quick picture, and are immediately ushered off.  It was kind of interesting. 

 

The other thing is that we were only a few suites away from Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston.  Vince walked past me a few times and I even snapped a shot of him on my camera phone.  I also saw Jennifer Aniston, but she was further away.

 

I can’t help thinking that it would suck to be a celebrity.  I can’t imagine having no privacy, and having people gawk at you while you do mundane things like eat a hotdog.  Yeah, sure, they’re rich, but they live in fishbowls.  I can’t imagine being unable to do things like go to Target or just standing in line to see a movie.  I appreciate anonymity, or at least the ability to have anonymity.

 

I think that people have too much information as it is.  I think I’ve posted in the past about how I refuse to give information to stores, like the Container Store, who ask for phone numbers at every purchase.  Even if you pay in cash.  That makes no sense to me.  When I refuse to provide my number, they try and justify it by saying that it’s “just for marketing purposes,” and I politely opt against being a part of the marketing process.  Those discount cards for grocery stores are also a mere tracking mechanisms for consumer purchases.  Whenever I can, I let the cashier enter the store number.  They don’t need to know what kind of feminine hygiene products I prefer, and how often I buy salmon.  Ricidulous.

Column on vacation today

The Gina Spot took a day off.  I’ll be back next week!  In the meantime, the old column about hygiene is still running online:  http://www.redeyechicago.com/ginab.htm.

 

My horoscope today is rather amusing:

 

Virgo

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Lookin’ for love, but not exactly sure where the right places are? Try shaking up your routine just the teensiest bit. If you usually drive to work, take public transportation instead. Love could be waiting at the back of the bus!

 

 

Apparently the writers of this horoscope don’t quite understand my bus route. 

Why Spice Girls shouldn’t have children

Bluebell Madonna!?!  Come on!  Give the kid a chance!

 

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20060523/ap_en_mu/geri_halliwell_2

Rediscovering the library

It’s funny . . . I looked up and realized that I hadn’t been to the Chicago Public Library in years, which is strange, because I’m so bookish, and always reading.  I loved the library as a child.  It was a big building full of literary possibilities.  My mother was actually happy to take me there, and I was happy to be there.  In adulthood, I’ve been somewhat less of a fan.

 

There were good reasons for this unofficial boycott.  First, the library in my neighborhood has, like, four books.  Seriously, nothing’s ever in stock — not that they had a good inventory to begin with.  I went to other neighborhood libraries, and it was the same story.  I even tried to go the online route to make sure that the books that I wanted weren’t checked out, and that proved fruitless.

 

I wasn’t jazzed about the main library, especially since, when it was in the Cultural Center, it seemed to be a haven for freaks.  Countless times I noticed lunatics sitting in little cubicles, staring at me, with their hands mysteriously moving toward their crotches.  It was completely disgusting.

 

But, despite all of these traumatic memories, I decided to give it a shot again.  Well . . . actually I was forced to give it a shot. 

 

I’m in two reading groups, and they always seem to fall during the same weekend of each month, which is weird.  Fortunately one is typically held on Friday, and the other on Saturday.  All of this is irrelevant, actually.  The point is that I ordered one of the books that we’re reading — Fortunate Son by Walter Mosley, and for some reason, it’s taken FOREVER to arrive. 

 

I looked up and realized that book club is in two weeks, and I need to get cracking, so I thought I’d get a library copy until mine was delivered. 

 

It was actually a pleasant experience.   The online system said it was on the shelves of the main Harold Washington library, and it was actually there.  Amazing!  And the price was right.  The only problem was that my library card hadn’t been used in SO long that I had to get a new one. 

 

When I think of all of the books that I’ve bought that I know that I will never read again, I wonder how much cash I’ve wasted on things that I would never have bought if it hadn’t been for the book club selection. 

 

The library might be my new lunchtime hangout.

 

 

New Column and . . . my picture’s missing! That’…

New Column and . . . my picture’s missing!

That’s misleading. The pic’s not missing from the column, but it seems to be absent from the blog. I have no idea why. Weird.

The new column is about personal hygiene. Pass it on to the aromatically-challenged person in your life.

American Idol my Ass!!!

Ever since Chris got voted off of American Idol, I’ve had absolutely no incentive to watch. (And yes, I voted for him) Granted, I was never a huge Elliott fan — I somehow liked listening to him more than watching him — but now it’s between Taylor (who’s fabulous, but the youngest old man there is), and the ever inconsistent Katherine McPhee.  Neither of these candidates are idol-worthy, in my mind.  Which is why I won’t be voting for either of them, or watching the finale.  But who am I but one of several Americans who are choosing their idol?

 

BTW, Ace — the cutie pie who was voted off several weeks ago, it seems –  has a song on the radio now.  I don’t necessarily love the lyrics.  It’s about a guy who loves a woman so much that he plans to raise a child that she has by another man.  I didn’t know that such a situation could move one to song, but again, who am I?

 

On another front, I was happy to see that Danielle was elected the winner of ANTM.  I like the idea of the underdog — the girl who can’t speak without her southern/ghetto twang, and was clumsy enough to break a toe while walking in platform stilettoes, AND who had to have the two-inch gap in her teeth closed — winning the competition.  She’s a pretty girl, anyway, and looked stunning at the final judging.  Good for her!!

Posting

So, the other night, I recaptured my youth by becoming involved in a large game of Capture the Flag.  Yep, you heard me (or should I say “you read me”).  It was a lot of fun, but I was absolutely exhausted afterward.  My legs hurt — because it’s been a long while since I’ve had to run because I was being chased.  And because I was either walking or running for about 3 hours, I’m sure I burned tons o’ calories.  Hell, I should play that game every week. 

 

I’m trying a new method of posting, so I’m going to continue this story later after I’m sure that this will actually work.

Boy do I love the bus! On the bus, on the way hom…

Boy do I love the bus!

On the bus, on the way home today, I overheard a girl who was sitting a few rows back talking extra loud on her cell phone. Here’s what I heard:

Hey, Tameka’s in jail and she wants you to call her momma and tell her to come pick her up.

For giving you free clothes.

Yeah! I told her to stop doin’ that shit. I guess they caught her

Look, I don’t care if you asked or she just gave you the shit. I told her that that last time she did that, it should have been her last time doing that. Now she lost her job AND she’s in jail. Her momma’s gonna kick her ass.

She’s at 17th and State. Are you gonna call her momma or not?

It was at this point that I realized that I was about to miss my stop.

Never a dull moment on the CTA!

Commuting The public transportation morning trip …

Commuting

The public transportation morning trip on Fridays is weird for me. I didn’t realize how many people actually read RedEye until I starting taking the train. I’ve actually sat next to people who are reading my column, and I watch them for signs of enjoyment, hate, distate, humor — you name it.

And of course I never get recognized. Why would I? Few people actually pay attention to who’s writing the column, let alone the picture. For most people, my little weekly rant is nothing more than something to fill their time and keep them from staring at all of their fellow weird commuters while swaying back and forth to the rhythm of the el.

I’m grateful for the lack of recognition. It allows me to ask a lot of questions without people thinking that I’m automatically writing about them. I usually ask questions just because I’m curious. No other real reason. If I wrote about everything I learned in the answers to the many questions that I ask, I would have to write several weekly columns. People are just too fucking strange, and their stories are bizarre.

Most of them don’t become topics because their lives aren’t interesting to most others, just bizarre. Particularly bizarre to me, if for no other reason than they (the storytellers) often think that the weird shit that goes on their lives is normal. If I shared some of my stories, you all would be thinking the same thing about me — weird and uninteresting — which is why I spare you most of the gory details of my life. You’re welcome.

New Column, Cinco de Mayo, et al The new column d…

New Column, Cinco de Mayo, et al

The new column dropped today, and it’s all about being a cheerleader for the one you love– or at least claim to like.

The cover features Tom Cruise, who has turned out to be quite the freak, hasn’t he? That’s what religious fanaticism will do for you, I guess. And last night at an event with a few colleagues, we discussed how Katie Holmes is probably a Scientology Stepford Wife, and is now a robot who perfectly executes the Scientology “religion.” She probably gave birth to the dubiously conceived child without so much of a whimper, and she was able to do that because she no longer has feelings. I only hope I’m still around when she’s resumed her senses and writes a tell-all book.

All this to say that I’m significantly less excited to see MI III.

Anyone got any good Cinco de Mayo plans? I’m going to a wild party given by a co-worker. I don’t know the address, but he told me to follow the scent of Tequila. I’m afraid.