A lot to blog about, which is what happens when you don’t blog all week.
First of all, I’m having horrendous back problems. I woke up on Saturday morning with shooting pains in my upper left back. I tried to get to the chiropractor’s office, but it didn’t work out, so I suffered until Tuesday, when I could get into the chiro in my office building. I’m still suffering, but at least I’m getting a massage on Monday, and it’s getting better. Although getting out of bed in the morning feels similar to the fall of a guillotine on my neck.
That didn’t stop me from socializing, however. I hung out with Kyra, fellow RedEye columnist of Going Public fame, and we went to have sushi, and then she talked me into going to a party of a friend in Hyde Park, where we met up with Phil, yet another RedEye columnist.
The interesting thing about hanging out with the RedEye gang is that everyone knows who you are if you’re all together. I guess it doesn’t help that Phil introduced me to everyone as Gina B., instead of just Gina, which is my preference.
As an aside, I find it really off-putting when people socialize using their professional monikers. There’s a certain radio personality in Chicago that uses his radio name when he calls me just to shoot the breeze. It makes me wonder if he ever turns it off. But, as usual, I digress . . .
One of his friends started in on me immediately: “I have a bone to pick with you about that last column!”
A few points of note: First, I’m happy to engage in light-hearted conversations or debates about my column. I welcome them, in fact, because I think a lot about what I write and am prepared to defend my points. Especially to men. I remind myself that people attack me because I struck a nerve, which is my mission, as a quasi-journalist. However, I do not appreciate an attack, or ongoing grueling conversations about my columns — particularly at a party — because a) you’re not going to change my mind; b) I have no interest in changing your mind; c) I have a cocktail in my hand — one that I would like to get back to; and d) the reality is that, if what you’re doing works for you, who gives a shit about MY opinion?
So, I told him to bring it on. He was referring to the most recent column — the one about The Come Over Guy, and how there are men who like to date within the confines of a home, instead of going out in public to a restaurant, etc. He said: “What about guys who don’t have any money?” I glanced at his girlfriend who was holding his hand, but had a “Give me a freakin’ break!” look on her face.
I told him that the column has nothing to do with money. Nothing at all. If you don’t have money, be creative! Take a date to a street festival. If you’re in Chicago, there are at least 5 each weekend in the Summer. Go to a free concert in Millenium Park, which is gorgeous, and can even be romantic. Take her on a coffee date. (I challenge anyone to drink $10 worth of Starbuck’s in a two-hour period.) (Oh, and if you can’t afford a $10 date, you might want to put my column down, and read the advice of Suze Orman.)
All of those things are thoughtful and will be looked at as creative and sweet, instead of cheap. What’s NOT thoughtful is an evening of circa 1985 DVDs on a dusty couch with greasy boxes of leftover sliders and a 40 oz of malt liquor . . . TO SHARE. Again, we have digression . . .
He seemed satisfied with that answer, so he asked the topic of the next column. I had to think about that, since I turn them in a few weeks in advance (or at least I’m supposed to. My editor’s usually ready to put a bounty on my head before deadline), and I told him that it was about going the extra mile for your mate.
He asked which perspective I was giving. I didn’t understand what he meant. He went on to ask if I was telling it from a man’s or a woman’s perspective. I often find myself giving this answer, so I’ll immortalize it here in my blog. I smiled and explained: “I. Am. A. Woman. This means that I write from a woman’s perspective. Do I think women are always right? NO. But, I was hired to tell a woman’s perspective, which is where my capability lies, and that’s what I will continue to do. If you would like a man’s perspective, Jon writes on Wednesdays.”
He and his girlfriend laughed. The night continued. I drank whiskey. It was a good evening.
On the celebrity gossip note . . .
How creepy is it that Tussaud’s Wax Museum has done a wax replica of baby Shiloh Jolie Pitt?? Their other children are going to have inferiority complexes, since there are no wax creations of them. And also, creating a wax statue of a newborn is a cheat. How difficult is that? Newborns don’t have any developed features. They could have just had any random wax baby laying around that they weren’t using, and dressed it the right clothes. Voila! Weird.
And Lance Bass of NSYNC? Gay? NOOOOOOO! You’ve GOT to be kidding me? (To be read with dripping sarcasm)
