According to e...

The Reef Atlantis -- Our Room and Beach

2011-12-15T11:26:00.012-06:00

This year my husband and I were faced with a dilemma: should we attempt to stick with our tradition of going on a vacation in the fall, or skip it because of my pregnancy? (And I do realize this isn't really a true dilemma per se, but rather a really nice problem to have.)

As I alluded to in Monday's post, I haven't exactly had the easiest time with things, so I was really paranoid about being far away from my doctors in Chicago. Yet I also knew it was important to not let all of my fears about something going wrong overpower what should be a happy time, or deter us from experiencing something that a lot of "normal" pregnant couples take part in nowadays—a babymoon.

We eventually made the decision to go ahead with a trip, but I had a ton of criteria that our ultimate destination had to meet, the main points being: 1) We had to be able to get there by taking no more than two short (less than three-hour-long) flights, 2) There had to be a doctor on site, and 3) it had to count as a place we'd never been before on the Travelers' Century Club's List of Countries. (One of our ultimate goals in life is to become members of this club, and to do so you have to hit 100 places on their spreadsheet. I currently have 41 or so checked off.)

The Bahamas immediately became the obvious choice. It's the closest of the Caribbean islands from the US, it's one of the few places in that area I hadn't been to yet, and I knew that the Atlantis resort there was big enough to warrant an on-site medical team. We waited until the ultimate last minute to book the trip (they had an incredible "off-season" deal that expired at the end of August, good for travel during the fall), which did come into question briefly thanks to Hurricane Irene wreaking havoc across the region a few weeks before we were set to depart.

But we ended up going in the middle of September and had exactly the kind of vacation we were hoping for: relaxing days at the beach (with things for Dustin to do while I lounged) and nice dining options every night. We would typically never choose to stay at a monstrous resort like Atlantis, and we'd been prepared for the worst based on online reviews and some of our friends' experiences. In the end, however, we totally lucked out because not only were we there during the lowest point of the low season (there were probably even fewer people around than would've otherwise made it there had the recent hurricane not scared them off), but we'd also randomly chosen to stay at The Reef, which was by far the quietest of the towers on the property. It's the furthest away from the center of the complex and is mostly comprised of for-sale condos, so there just wasn't anyone around. And that's exactly what we were hoping for.

We had a small suite that was just the right size. I couldn't NOT share the picture of our bed with the ten bazillion extra pillows I'd requested to assist with my weird pregnant-chick sleeping positions. The cleaning staff must have thought we were freaks:

To give you an idea of just how secluded The Reef's beach was (our tower had its own private beach, far away from the main complex's beach), here's a picture of all of the empty rows of beach loungers (with our two pulled away from the pack—that's my husband on the left!):

And here's a picture looking the other way down the beach. You can see a cruise ship in the distance:

Can I also just say that the water was some of the warmest I've ever been in? I usually take—no exaggeration—about 30 full minutes to get into any body of water. But I was able to wade right in at The Reef. I swam every day!

More either tomorrow or at a later point about some of the restaurants at Atlantis, as well as its truly impressive water park. Kind of sad to wrap up this post and then look out the window at an utterly dreary Chicago afternoon, though. BOO.

- e

Once Upon a Time: It's No LOST, But It'll Do

2011-12-13T13:56:00.012-06:00

First and most importantly, I want to thank everyone who left a kind message on this site, Facebook, or Twitter in response to yesterday's post. I had mixed feelings about writing out such personal stuff and then putting it on display oh-so-publicly, but now I'm glad I did.

So since you're up to speed on some of the bigger things that have been going on with me over the last few months, let's move on to the #1 question I've been asked by fellow LOST fans during that same time period: "What new shows are you watching now that The Best TV Series Of All Time has come to an end?"

What most people find hard to believe is that I really don't watch TV. I think that since my LOST posts were SO LONG, combined with the fact that, in general, I tend to be well versed in all things pop culture, there's just a natural assumption that I tune in to a lot of shows. But the reality is that since I've typically spent about three nights a week in movie theaters at press screenings since mid-2008, and since I've also had a rotating stack of DVDs begging for attention here at home that entire time as well, it just doesn't leave much room for TV. What's more, I don't have any of the cable channels like HBO or Showtime, and I'm just one of those people that hardly ever has a TV on overall—I refuse to watch any sort of news program (I read the news instead) and prefer silence whenever possible, so I'm not one to have shows/commercials/whatever on for background noise. However, I read a ton of entertainment magazines, blogs, Twitter feeds and sites, so I tend to have a handle on what's going on with all of the mainstream/popular TV series, even if I've never once watched them.

The shows I've chosen to keep up with over the years (and by that I mean that I DVR them and then sometimes weeks go by before I'm finally caught up) would admittedly fall into the "COMPLETELY MINDLESS entertainment" category. I think my brain just needed a rest after LOST. So the only shows I've watched with any regularity are Gossip Girl (yay for Chuck Bass!), The Amazing Race (travel/vacation ideas, duh), Survivor (new shades of deviousness never fail to amaze me, even after a decade), Top Chef (I hate to cook but like to learn about and be able to better appreciate good food), The Office (this one may soon get the boot, but I still love Jim at least), and—as embarrassed as I am to admit this—every recent season of The Real World and The Challenge on MTV (doesn't get more mindless than that, folks). That's it. My husband and I usually DVR all of the late-night talk shows as well, but only so that we can pick and choose to watch a specific interview or band/singer's performance that we're interested in.

But there is one show that I picked up this season, and as you already know from the title and graphic in this post, it's Once Upon a Time. I chose this one because: 1) I love, love, love fairy tales, 2) it's from two of the writers of LOST, and 3) it had gotten the thumbs up in advance of its premiere from many of my TV critic pals, like JOpinionated.

I don't foresee myself giving up on this show, despite some of the major problems I have with it, which I'm about to list out for you. But I'll start with the positive: I'm not going to give up on it because I like its core concept too much. All of the characters are living in the present day in this weird town and have no idea that they're actually all major figures from fairy tales. We see LOST-like flashbacks to their fairy-tale existences and learn how those same experiences have now translated into their current situations. It's unique and creative and I've usually found myself shedding a tear at least once an episode—another thing it has in common with LOST!

But make no mistake: Once Upon a Time is no LOST. Not even close. Here are the two main reasons why:

1) It might have the worst special effects I've seen on TV in years. Granted, I've just revealed that I don't watch that much TV so I'm probably not a good judge of what is and isn't acceptable, but so much of OUaT looks amateurishly green-screened or horribly CGI'd or just laughably fake that my husband actually refuses to watch it. I know this isn't the writers' fault, but I certainly hope that since the show has done well in the ratings that ABC will give the production team a higher FX budget going forward. It would help my enjoyment of the series immensely to not be so distracted by the B-movie-looking scenes.

2) There's no one character or actor/actress I'm really digging. As you all know, I immediately loved the character of John Locke on LOST, but also personally identified very closely with Jack from the beginning...and also adored almost ALL of the other characters, with Desmond, Sawyer, Sayid, Hurley, Charlie, Lapidus, Ben and Juliet (and Vincent, dammit!) being other favorites. On OUaT, I'm feeling no such love for anyone. If I HAD to pick a favorite, it would have been the character that was just killed off in this past weekend's episode—d'oh. And don't get me started on the kid, Henry (who's trying to convince everyone of their real identities). A child actor has to be REALLY good to not annoy the crap out of me, and the little guy playing Henry is unfortunately not up to snuff.

But the story's the thing, and that's what OUaT has going for it. I absolutely must know how everything's going to turn out for these characters—not because I really care about any of them individually at this point, but rather because the overall set-up is just so intriguing to me. How will they react when they learn who they really are? Will they remain in our world or go back to fairy-tale land? Are people like Henry and Emma Swan recognizable fairy-tale characters or not? Etc., etc.

I know a lot of you are watching Once Upon a Time, too, and so I'd love to hear your thoughts. Do you agree with my gripes above, or am I being too hard on the show? Spoilers are allowed in the comments, of course!

- e

Testing, testing... is this thing on?

2011-12-12T08:17:00.017-06:00

I've neglected "According to e" for 4.5 months. What do I have to say for myself?

A lot, actually.

So as to not "bury the lede"—a practice we writer-types tend to frown upon—let me start by sharing my biggest bit of news: I'm pregnant, and this kid is a-comin' next month. Assuming he (yep, it's a boy) decides to stay on schedule, that is.

Didn't my pregnancy go really fast for all of you? Aren't you glad I spared you a bunch of "oh my aching ____ " complaints and posts on stuff that only pregnant chicks care about? You're welcome!

Part of the reason I held off on mentioning this news is that my journey to bring a teeny Lord of the Rings fan into the world has taken four years. Four. Freaking. Years. As you might imagine, that period of time involved many ups and downs, and since the whole experience could very well be the subject of my next book, I'll keep it to myself for now. All that really matters is that my husband and I finally joined the ranks of parents-to-be this spring... and then I felt sick for the majority of the summer. I emerged from the depths of nausea in the fall, and then stupidly proceeded to take on a ton of clients (in addition to my full-time film critic/movie-blogging gig for Redbox) in order to try and make some extra cash before the arrival of "Baba Ghanoush," aka "Baba G," aka The Nickname We Chose Based on a Random Line from Wedding Crashers.

Unfortunately my plan backfired, as I failed to anticipate how incredibly tired I'd be—or that my Feeling Normal Again phase wouldn't last forever. All of this led to me barely being able to keep my head above water. I had no choice but to focus solely on getting my client work done each day, which in turn caused the majority of my family members and friends to assume I'd fallen off the face of the earth for the past few months.

So that's Big Piece of News #1. On to Big Piece of News #2.

As my January due date continued to creep closer and closer, I was forewarned by an increasingly large number of people that my husband and I had no idea what "exhausted" meant... but that we'd be finding out as soon as Baba G makes his debut. We were told this exhaustion would last at least two months, and that I was fooling myself if I assumed that during that time I'd still be able to maintain the level of work (writing an average of two posts a day, in addition to social media responsibilities and attending multiple film screenings per week) I'd been doing for Redbox. Believe it or not, in my 3.5 years of writing for them, I'd only taken off a total of 2 weeks. Not 2 weeks off per year... but 2 weeks off IN TOTAL across 3.5 years. I'd always found way to write during (or in advance of) vacations, on weekends, et cetera, and it just kind of became The Way It Was. I somehow made it work. But I was beginning to doubt that I'd be able to keep up this same pace come early 2012.

As it turns out, a decision on this front was made for me. A week ago my co-blogger Locke and I were informed that the site we'd been writing for (Redblog) was soon going to be managed in-house, and that while we might be asked to help with some one-off projects here and there, our time with Redbox had essentially come to an end. As the company has experienced phenomenal growth and success since we'd been brought on back in 2008, this news wasn't exactly a surprise to either of us, but I'd be lying if I said (speaking only for myself, of course) that the finality of it wasn't a bit of a shock. Even when you suspect something like this is going to happen, you're never really prepared for it to happen, you know, RIGHT NOW.

So I'm currently wading through the Stages of Grief, but I'm also reminding myself that the reason I landed the awesome Redbox gig in the first place is because of the movie reviews I'd been writing on this very site back in the day. The fine folks at Redbox had first been fans of my Long Live Locke blog, and then had noticed that in addition to loving LOST I was also quite a sucker for movies. So they reached out to me after I left the Chicago Board of Trade, and the rest is history. Had I not had the income from my work with Redbox, I probably wouldn't have been able to ride out my three-year quest to become a published author, nor would I have some of the other clients I've been fortunate enough to work with. Nor would I be a proud member of the Chicago Film Critics Association and currently be in the process of watching every last movie made this year in order to fulfill my annual awards-voting obligations (it's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it, as the saying goes).

My point is that while I'm incredibly sad that the weekly movie-screening-and-blogging-centric routine I've enjoyed since I left Corporate America is now drawing to a close, I'm thankful I got to experience it in the first place, and know that my life is about to change in even bigger and better ways. I figure the timing of all this change is probably as perfect as it could ever be, right? And yes, I do intend to once again write about movies on this site, so prepare yourself for a slew of year-end film reviews, Best Of lists, and all that good stuff.

I dare say this post has grown long enough, wouldn't you agree? And to think that I still have to tell you about how I'm finally going to get a home office after four years of writing from my kitchen table. And about our trip to the Atlantis resort in the Bahamas. And about my new MacBook Pro. And about the LOST book I'm contributing to. And about all of the new Pet Peeves I've discovered!

So, um, yeah... there's still much that I need to catch you all up on. Stay tuned for lots and lots of posts in the near future. And thanks for sticking with me. I appreciate it.

- e

No Sleep Till... Manhattan

2011-08-01T11:44:00.005-05:00

Is there a place where you sleep better than you do in your own bed?

I have two places like this:

1) The inner chambers of a ship.

I discovered this unexpected awesome-sleep phenomenon during my senior-year-of-college Spring Break when I went on a Caribbean cruise. My friends and I shared the cheapest kind of room you could get -- one with no windows that's situated in the bowels of the vessel. I don't know if it was the hum of the engines' motors, the ever-so-slight rocking of the waves, the utter pitch-blackness that comes from having zero natural-light sources, or some combination of those three, but after taking several more of these types of trips in my 20s, I can confirm that I've never slept better than I have on a cruise ship. Ever.

2) Miss M's pull-out couch.

Although my cruising days are most likely behind me, the good news is that I will be revisiting one of my most cherished sleeping spots this coming Thursday and Sunday. When I used to work for The Man and traveled frequently to NYC, I would stay at my friend Miss M's apartment in the West Village and would sleep on her pull-out couch. Now, most pull-out couches are not that great, I will admit. And it's not like M has some crazy futuristic model that makes it superior to the other hideaway options out there. But for whatever reason, I sleep like a frickin' baby when I am at her place. My guess is that it has something to do with the temperature and sound level in her unit, the bed and pillows, and the fact that even when I was there for work, I still associated staying at M's with "vacation." And this weekend's trip IS DEFINITELY for vacation, yippee!

A close runner-up would be Miss M's guest room at her parents' place in the Hamptons, which is where we'll be Friday and Saturday night. My annual visit out there is one of my favorite, if not my #1 favorite, weekends of the year. It's one of about only three places in the world where I've ever truly, 100% relaxed. (Those reading this who know me are aware that it's pretty tough for me to fully chill, even when on vacation.)

So what does all of this mean? That I have FOUR DAYS OF GREAT SLEEP coming my way in the very near future. After a week of freakish storms that kept my dog pacing and crying all night, followed by a weekend of a dog-sitter staying at my upstairs neighbor's condo and letting their puppy run around wildly from, oh, 1 AM - 4 AM, I'd say I'm ready for some shut-eye.

- e

Can't Beat the Heat

2011-07-21T12:43:00.008-05:00

Ten minutes ago, there were two firetrucks and an ambulance in front of my place. Not for me, but for an elderly woman who'd collapsed across the street. She collapsed because it's too damn hot outside. There's an "Excessive Heat Warning" in effect, and according to Accuweather's "RealFeel" reading, the temperature here right now is 108 degrees. Which begs the question, Why is anyone outside at all? Stay out of the sun, fools!

Before the paramedics arrived, three people—in addition to a worker from ComEd (Chicago's electricity company) who just happened to be driving by—were assisting the woman. I think at least one member of the group had been with her when she fell. She was down on the ground and they helped her sit up and drink some water. They put what I assumed were wet washcloths on her neck, and eventually a bag of ice (the ComEd guy ran down to the diner on the corner to get that stuff, I think). Later a security guard from a nearby building came out to see what was going on. You could tell this lady was totally out of it—she kept looking around in a daze and then trying to stand up. (And yes, I certainly would have gone out there if there hadn't already been a ton of people on the scene. But they had it under control. If there's one thing I'll say about my neighborhood, it's that there's always someone on the street, at all hours night and day, and almost everyone is friendly and helpful.)

The whole debacle was scary to watch... but what was even scarier was seeing ambulances pass by on their way to help other folks who must have called in earlier for help elsewhere. But soon enough the woman in question had more medical services at her disposal than any one person would ever need, and was promptly whisked away. She looked coherent and was able to stand on her own before they left, so I'm sure she'll be OK. But still, why was she walking around in the blazing sun in the first place?

Even my dog is like, "No, thank you." Normally he loves his midday walk and tries to stretch it out as long as possible by waiting to take care of business until we're as far away from my condo as he knows I'll take him. But not this week. This week he did his thing as soon as we hit a patch of dirt-grass. He is smart enough to know that this weather is no joke. He's even trying to seek out the coolest place possible in our air-conditioned condo, despite the fact that it means going against the rules he's been obeying since 2003. See, normally he is not allowed in our lower level because it has white carpeting... and black dogs who shed a lot don't mix well with white carpeting. He's never had an issue staying upstairs on the hardwood floors...

...But this past week he's been sneaking downstairs to chill on the cold-to-the-touch tiles in our bathroom. Yesterday alone I found him down there ten separate times. It's funny how he just instinctively knows where to go (and it is admittedly SIGNIFICANTLY cooler down there). So for the time being I've decided to just let him stay down there when he wants. And I'm staying where I want, too, which is inside. If you're also in one of the heat-stricken areas of the world, I suggest you do the same, lest you find yourself in the hospital bed next to the woman who went down on my block!

- e

Now That's a Good Neighbor

2011-07-19T13:43:00.018-05:00

This past weekend my husband and I were on the road yet again—this time we went to my hometown in Michigan for my cousin's fiancée's wedding shower. It's a five-hour drive from Chicago, and we arrived at my parents' place around 5:30 PM Saturday evening. The shower was set for 2 PM on Sunday. Alas, I was almost back home in the Windy City by that point.

What happened was that I woke up Sunday morning with a nasty case of food poisoning (I guess I was due after avoiding the worst of it when my husband got so sick last month). Although I was really annoyed/upset/disappointed to have come all that way for nothing, ultimately I decided that it wouldn't be cool if I was running out of the room every five minutes while the guest of honor was opening her gifts. We decided to cut our losses and head back immediately—figuring that it would be better to drive during the daytime hours, especially if I got worse and we had to find a hospital.

Thankfully, I didn't get worse, and slept it off after we got home. I spent most of Monday lying low as well, and then finally felt back to 100% yesterday evening, at which point I decided I needed some fresh air.

Like everywhere else in the country, Chicago's been in the midst of a miserable heat wave, and so I thought that since I've been slacking on helping out around my condo building, I would spend some time watering all of our plants and front "lawn" (read: small patch of already mostly dead grass).

So I am spraying the hose around our plants for about fifteen minutes and was feeling very peaceful. The sun was going down, and since I actually like to be hot, I considered the ninety-degree evening pretty perfect.

But then out of the corner of my eye I saw a small gray mass move from the sidewalk in front of our place, through our front gate, and onto our lawn. At first I thought it was a bunny, because 1) it was that big, 2) they usually come out at dusk, and 3) I'd seen one chilling among our plants in the recent past. But as this thing darted across our lawn and into our bushes, I noticed its long tail. That's right, a huge-ass RAT had run past me, within inches of my flip-flop-wearing feet, in what was still pretty much broad daylight. After rustling through our plants, it emerged seconds later to run for cover into the stairwell next to our building.

I must have shrieked (although I don't remember doing so) because a bunch of people walking in front of our place stopped and gave me a look like "Are you OK?"

Now, we're no stranger to rats in Chicago. I will spare any weak-hearted readers the gory details of some of my previous run-ins, but I will say that there's only been a few times in my fifteen years of living here that I've been in really close proximity to one of these guys. Usually I see them from afar, in the alley, and in the dead of night when I'm walking my dog. So I was a bit stunned—and yes, perhaps even slightly impressed—by the boldness of this rat last night. (On a related note, when I was trying to find rat pictures for this post, I realized that Chicago rats are way, WAY bigger than normal rats. I really, really, really wish our rats looked like this cute little guy.)

But back to my front-yard drama. The problem was this: there's no way out of the stairwell that the rat ran into. It's a dead-end. I knew that the rat must eventually come out the same way it ran in. And that would be OK... except that the water valve was also in that enclosed area and the water hose was still running.

Normally I am a semi-brave person. (Really, I am. REALLY!) But last night I was like, "You know what... after this food poisoning debacle and driving ten hours to Michigan and back within a day, I am just not in the mood to be bitten by a rat." Or maybe what went through my head was something more like, "Aww, HELLS NO am I going to get bitten by this #*$%ing rat and come down with some deadly rodent disease! That is not how I'm going to go out!"

My husband had just left to go meet friends for a drink and wasn't going to be back for about three hours. I figured that everything was so dry out front that it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to leave the water hose running in the grass and make my husband face the Rat Cave when he returned. But I didn't want my upstairs neighbor to think I'd just abandoned the task randomly. So I called him, explained the situation, and ended with, "I'm sorry, but I've spent the last 24 hours recovering from food poisoning and the last thing I need at this point is to get rabies or some strange rodent disease." Clearly I envisioned the rat not only running out at me, but also actually stopping to bite me.

Now, what you need to know about my neighbor (I will call him "A") is that he is ALWAYS coming to my rescue. It's kind of ridiculous. Since 2003, every time something has gone wrong with our building or inside of my condo, my husband has been gone and I've had to call A to come help me. (My husband swears he doesn't have any sort of sixth sense about this stuff, but I'm beginning to wonder!)

So A confirms that the rat has to run out the way it came in, and that he, too, has had encounters with the little guys back in that same area. But he said that we didn't need to wait for my husband to return—he would come out and face the Rat Cave in order to turn off the water.

Now picture this: A walks slowly into the cubby, reaches the water valve, and turns it off. Then he comes back out, gathers up the hose, and goes back into the cave with it in order to get the coil out of our yard. AND I AM STANDING BEHIND HIM, ARMED WITH TWO SWIFFERS.

In retrospect, I really have no idea what I thought I was going to achieve by having the Swiffers on hand. Did I plan to hit the rat with them? Was I going to throw them? Most likely if I saw the ran run out I would've screamed, dropped the Swiffers, and busted up the steps to our building. But I think the whole debacle provided some entertainment for passersby on our street, that's for sure.

I texted my friend Nerdy P about all of this once I was safely inside, and she wrote back, "You were going to BEAT A RAT, gangsta style!"

And so I would like to thank my neighbor A for helping me out yet again. I'm positive that if *I* would have gone in to turn off the water, the rat WOULD have charged me. Because that's just the kind of luck I've been having lately.

Rest assured I will be buying a little token of appreciation for A very soon.

- e

Close Enough for Now

2011-07-11T14:19:00.007-05:00

This past weekend I remembered something that had been tucked away in the back of my mind for a few weeks: An Einstein Bros. Bagels shop had opened just a couple of blocks away from my condo. Longtime readers might recall me mentioning Einstein's before (in the fall of 2007!) because they're the place that sells the pumpkin cream cheese that I stock up on around Halloween each year.

Those same loyal "According to e" visitors might also remember this post from the spring of 2008 in which I professed my love for "Whole Wheat Everything" bagels and complained on and on about how they only seemed to be available in New York.

Unfortunately that's still the case... BUT I'm happy to report that Chicago is inching closer to having a bagel option of the same delicious caliber. When I finally made my way down to the new Einstein's this weekend, I was beyond thrilled to discover that they offer a "Good Grains" bagel which is awfully similar to a "Whole Wheat Everything" bagel. It doesn't have as many types of seeds and salt and whatnot on top, but I was seriously smiling ear to ear nonetheless. This discovery made my day... my weekend... my month! You can bet that I bought a bunch to take home and will be back approximately every 3 days to restock. I am going to keep that place in business, no doubt. They will soon know me on a first-name basis, I am sure of it. (Particularly because you need to tell them your first name with every order.)

I've said it before and I'll say it again: See how little it takes to make me happy?

- e

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

2011-07-07T11:57:00.013-05:00

Long time, no write!

I've been running around like a madwoman, but things are finally getting back to normal (for a little while, at least... the summer is always crazy-busy -- why is that?). This past holiday weekend was spent NOT going to the Taste of Chicago with my visiting friend Nerdy P. It was just too hot out, and we weren't feelin' it. It sounds like we weren't the only ones: 2011 marked a 25-year low (2.35 million food-lovers) in Taste attendance, and now its future is a little bit up in the air. Yikes!

But rest assured that we did continue our annual tradition of enjoying the Sea Dog speedboat ride that leaves from Navy Pier and zooms up and down the coast of Lake Michigan. I think Nerdy P's son liked it. Would you agree?

OK, now on to the real subject of this post! The weekend before last (as in, the final weekend of June), my husband and I drove from Chicago to Pittsburgh for a charity event, and on the way we stopped in Cleveland to check out the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. When we moved back from Boston in 2003, my poor husband drove a huge truck halfway across the country with all our crap in it (while I flew home) and attempted to visit the HoF then... but it was closed. I still remember how annoyed and disappointed he was. And so I was a little bit nervous about this place living up to his expectations.

The good news is that we both really liked it. We spent about five hours there and could've stayed a lot longer, but needed to get back on the road. The first thing we did was watch an hour-and-fifteen-minute-long presentation that covered all of the 296 inductees since the museum opened in 1986. But somehow we missed the big wall with everyone's signatures?!? D'oh.

I had figured that the majority of the building would be filled with rock memorabilia and outfits and props and whatnot, but in addition to all of that stuff, there were a ton of interactive exhibits and films and video clips. Much more than would be present in a "normal" museum. The one I found most interesting featured The Beatles (no surprise), as well as some members of their production team, talking about each of their albums and what they liked and didn't like about it.

Speaking of The Beatles, you may have heard that the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame boasts the world's largest collection of items from The Fab Four. So I was kind of expecting A LOT of Beatles stuff... but it was really just one wall of about 70 things -- from jackets, to John's glasses, to handwritten lyric sheets, to Ringo's drum head. Don't get me wrong, it was cool and I loved it, but I guess I'd envisioned some huge room or display space that would take an hour to get through. When I started thinking about it, though, I realized that I can't recall ever having seen any authentic "Beatles stuff," so maybe it's just so spread out all over the globe that it simply doesn't take as much as I would've guessed to be considered "the world's largest collection."

One thing I found kind of funny was that in the special "Women Who Rock" exhibit, there was security guard dedicated to watching over Lady Gaga's infamous "meat dress." Which, by the way, absolutely (obviously) had something done to it to preserve it... but unfortunately it was to the point that it didn't really even look like meat anymore, but rather just a weirdly textured spray-painted-red, plaster-filled dress. On top of that, it was in a fully enclosed glass case. So I thought to myself, "They have a security guard for this, yet no one dedicated to, say, Michael Jackson's sequined glove or Elvis's jumpsuit or any of the other awesome items in the building?" Weird. Maybe Gaga made having a guard a condition of loaning out the dress. Who knows.

I would've included pictures of all the neat stuff that was there, except that -- as in many museums -- you weren't allowed to take any photos. The restriction was lifted in the atrium, though, which was where I snapped the Moby/Gwen props to the right, which were used in Gwen Stefani's Southside video (you can see them here from the 43-second mark on).

One last highlight that's worth mentioning before I wrap up: A wall dedicated to Rolling Stone magazine and its co-founder Jann Wenner. This display has tons of letters that famous rock stars sent to Wenner (as well as his replies), and there are also fascinating correspondences between Wenner and photographer Annie Leibovitz, as well as journalist/author Hunter S. Thompson (who wrote for the magazine in the early '70s).

When I was preparing to write this post and wanted to make sure I was getting my facts straight, I came across this section in Wenner's Wikipedia entry about how he's supposedly kept a lot of groups from being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame... groups including my beloved Monkees! Damn that snob!

Despite that "who gets inducted" controversy, I would still highly recommend a visit to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame should you ever find yourself in Cleveland. Musicians (like my husband) will probably appreciate all the museum has to offer a little more than plain old music-lovers like myself, but I can't imagine anyone who wouldn't find most of the major exhibits worth seeing.

Rock on,
- e

I'm Afraid This Means Goodbye

2011-06-20T10:18:00.005-05:00

At 6:30 PM last night my husband and I had dinner at one of our favorite Italian restaurants. By 1 AM we'd agreed we could never go there again. This makes me very sad indeed, but it's how we've always reacted to bouts of food poisoning -- we cut the offending dish/place off cold turkey.

Our harsh approach first took form back in 2001, when one of two meals we had in Bali led to my husband being freakishly sick for several months (look forward to that full story in a future book!). We'll never know for sure, but we think it was either chicken satay or this crazy beef-heavy Balinese feast that did him in... I partook in the former but not the latter, so I've always been convinced it was the beef feast. Either way, my husband's never touched chicken satay since. Same goes for scallops, which he had a bad experience with on Cape Cod in 2003. And pretty much anything else that makes either of us nauseous afterward. No second chances!

Last night we both ate the same thing: the "avocado crostini" starter (pictured above) -- I had one of them and he had the other three. Then we both ordered the pumpkin pasta -- which is so, so, so good, and is the main reason why we've returned to this place again and again over the years. It's pumpkin-stuffed ravioli with pine nuts and squares of butternut squash and this great, barely there brown-sugarish sauce. My husband finished his plate and I took half of mine home to warm up for lunch today.

That's not gonna happen now... because a few hours after dinner, as Badlands was drawing to a close (we're going through a big Terrence Malick film phase and had popped that DVD in as soon as we got home), I pretty much passed out. Meaning that I literally could not stop myself from falling asleep, it was as though I'd been hit with the proverbial ton of bricks. When I woke up a few hours later, I felt feverish and faint. So I pretty much just went back to bed after telling my husband about what was going on.

The next time I woke up it was to the sound of somebody throwing up in the distance. (Kind of like waking up to the sound of the ocean, or birds in the rainforest... or NOT.) When I came to my senses I realized that my husband had gone to our downstairs bathroom and was sick. Eventually he returned and mumbled, "We're never going to that place again."

So there you have it. I sadly dumped my leftovers into the trash this morning and am kind of mad at myself for insisting we go to that place last night. My husband hadn't been into it because we were just there last week when Miss M was visiting us from NYC. And now we'll never go again. Boo!

Is this how you guys handle bouts of food poisoning? Will you ever try the restaurant and/or meal again or would you rather take no chances?

- e

One Day by David Nicholls: Read This Book Right Now Before The Movie (Probably) Ruins It

2011-06-14T11:12:00.003-05:00

After finishing One Day during my trip to Belize last November, I immediately granted it a spot on my Top Five Favorite Books of All Time list. So before some of you take one look at its cover to the right and scamper off, hollering, "I don't do chick lit!", let me remind you that I don't do chick lit either. Plus, One Day was written by a dude, so there. Not that a dude can't write chick lit, but the fact that a guy (who's been compared to High Fidelity's Nick Hornby) penned this book that I'm about to sing the praises of and encourage each and every one of you to read might help build my case that it is not really a "romance novel," despite what its cover makes it look like.

OK, so what IS One Day about, then?

It's the story of two people, Emma and Dexter, who we get to drop in on every July 15 from 1988 (when they meet at their college graduation) until 2007. That's right, we spend just one day with them a year... for 20 years. I'm sure a story structure like this has been done at some point in the past, but I'd never experienced anything like it, and I found it so, so clever.

Now, clearly there must be SOME sort of spark between Emma and Dex or else they wouldn't be worth keeping up with for two decades. They definitely do have chemistry, but it's more of an "opposites attract" type of thing, with her being the more serious, practical one and him being the rebellious wild child. So when I say that the book checks in on them every year, I don't mean that they're together together during that time. We learn what each of them has been up to -- sometimes they meet up on that day, sometimes they have a phone call, and sometimes they are completely wrapped up in their own little worlds and have zero communication. To spill any other details would spoil most of the story, so I'm keeping mum.

For the first four or five chapters (years) of One Day, I wasn't into it. I say this in case others have the same reaction -- I urge you to keep reading. I felt, especially in the early years, that it was hard to relate to both characters. I should also mention that they're British, so there were some pop-culture allusions I didn't really get, either. Even by the end, neither Emma or Dexter were characters I liked, per se... but yet One Day is still one of my all-time favorite books, which surely means author David Nicholls is a genius.

After trying to figure out exactly why this book had such a huge effect on me (did I fail to mention how I spent half-a-day in Belize sobbing my head off? But not necessarily out of sadness...), I realized that it wasn't because I cared specifically about Emma or Dexter, but rather because what happens to both of them over the course of twenty years was so relatable and so realistic that I just don't think anyone could keep themselves from comparing how dumb luck, bad luck, good luck, random coincidences, twists of fate, stupid mistakes, and bold decisions have played a part in his or her own life. I also think I liked the story because despite several didn't-see-THAT-coming twists in both Em and Dex's paths, and despite the kind of depressing "Life doesn't always work out the way you want or expect it to" theme, I interpreted One Day's overall message to be one of exhilarating hope. It also reinforced my strong personal belief in making the most of the time we have so as to not ever wonder "What if...?" when we're old and gray and it's too late to do that one thing, apologize to that one person, go on that one vacation, or take that big scary leap.

One Day is up there with The Time Traveler's Wife for me, if that tells you anything. My husband read it as well and also enjoyed it. I've recommended it to several people over the past six months and every one of them has contacted me after they've read it to be like, "WOW." So I am confident that you, too, will thank me for encouraging you to check it out. However, since it is in fact an international mega-bestseller, perhaps you've already read it, in which case I would love to hear your thoughts.

Now, those of you who are up on entertainment news are probably aware that the movie version of One Day is coming out in mid-August. I'm seeing it next week (for my redbox gig) and you can bet I'm nervous. I'm not even going to mention who's playing Emma and Dexter because I don't want you to have any images in your head when you read the book (seriously, don't Google it or look for the trailer). While I certainly hope that the film meets my expectations, I really don't see how it could ever compare to the book. So get going on One Day before mid-August, or just as soon as possible, so that you aren't corrupted by the posters and trailers that will be everywhere very soon!

As always, we're free to discuss spoilers in the comments section below. There are some BIG ones in this book, so if you haven't read it yet, look away from the comments or you will kick yourself!

- e

Drink Your Veggies

2011-06-02T13:42:00.008-05:00

Yesterday I wrote about how we summer-ified our deck on Memorial Day, but there was another big event that took place at our condo that afternoon as well. My husband bought a juicer. Not just any juicer, but a pretty high-end one (the Hurom slow juicer) from Williams-Sonoma that made me yell, "It costs how much???" after he told me of his plans.

"Trust me, I've researched this," he replied, and took off -- returning in a few hours with this space-gadget-looking thing.

That's an action shot, by the way, which I just snapped a few minutes ago as I was trying the thing out by myself for the first time. I will say that it is really easy to both put together and then clean afterward. If it had any sharp parts where there was even the slightest chance I could slice off my finger, OR if there were any parts that need to be cleaned after use yet couldn't be totally submerged in water, I wouldn't even bother. Any type of gadget -- especially one for the kitchen that has to do with food preparation -- must be almost effortless for me to use or else it ain't gonna happen. 'Cause I can always go across the street, order my sweet potato fries, and call it a day.

I'm not exactly sure why my husband suddenly became obsessed with buying a juicer. The idea seemed to have come out of nowhere a few weeks ago. As I mentioned in this post, we are shifting our diet a bit and I'm assuming maybe he thought a juicer would make it easier for us to fit in more fruits and veggies on a daily basis. But I was like, "Why can't we just use a blender?" My friend Nerdy P had recently told me about how she makes smoothies in the morning for herself and her son, and she throws a bunch of spinach in and he's none the wiser. With a juicer, however, it's pretty tough to work with greens (we already tried -- they just don't yield much juice).

I also asked, "Why is this better than a blender when you can't put ice in it and therefore have to put all the juice you make in the fridge/freezer if you want it to be cold?" Then I also asked, "But aren't apple skins and the seeds in berries good for you fiber-wise and whatnot?" (The juicer separates all of that stuff out, as you can see in the container on the left in the pic above. That's also where almost all of the greens we threw in ended up.)

My husband gave some extremely vague answers to my questions, so I'm still not fully convinced we needed this thing. Granted, it's been used more since Monday than the blender and food processor we received as wedding gifts have in nearly eight years, so I'm not complaining. It definitely is nice to just be able to drop fruits and veggies in without having to peel them. I'm not a big veggie eater and this is a very, very slick way for me to "drink" tomatoes, carrots, etc. without tasting them at all. If you simply throw a few raspberries into the mix, all other flavors disappear, so I'm happy about that. Above on the right is today's finished product. At some point I'm going to mix in one of those packets (one's powdered greens, the other is powdered fruit) that I received as samples and see how it goes.

If any of you out there own a juicer and want to help further convince me of why it's better than/different from/needed in addition to a blender, I'm all ears!

- e

And, Just Like That, It's Summer

2011-06-01T10:54:00.005-05:00

It had been SO miserable, rainy and crappy here in Chicago the past few months that not even my SAD lamp could pull me out of my funk. But then on Memorial Day it was like Mother Nature finally decided, "OK, y'all've had enough," and summer instantaneously arrived. Seriously, we went from lows in the 40s to highs in the 90s in one day. I gave up on trying to figure out this sort of thing long ago.

But now my husband and I had no excuse to continue putting off the work we needed to do to beautify our deck and clean up our back yard (I use the word "yard" loosely, remember -- it's basically just a concrete path lined by a few clumps of weak-looking bushes).

He loaded up on flowers and whatnot at Home Depot while I braved the scary under-deck space into which the wind blows leaves, trash, and god-knows-what. This area is where our building's gas and electricity meters are and so we need it to be clear because we go back there every once in a while, but during the winter and spring this little cubby gets filled with a ton of debris. I'm always convinced I'm going to find a dead rat (it's the city, folks, these things happen) or a severed finger (that's just my morbid imagination) or a Black Widow spider (again, the imagination) or something horrible when I'm down there. But I sucked it up, put on some plastic gloves, armed myself with a few brooms, a dustpan and a trash bag, and cleaned it out. Thankfully there were only leaves and a few random balls of cat hair (who knows?) that I had to contend with.

My husband did all the hardest work. Here's our deck before:

Above you can actually get a glimpse of the four plants I wrote about here that I've miraculously kept alive for several years. See how the one in the corner is like twice the size of the others? Here's another view but with the sun in the back they're kind of hard to make out. (We decided not to transfer it into a new planter just yet -- we're too afraid we'll kill it in the move.)

And... the end result:

Last night we celebrated a second warm night by reading on the deck in our lounge chairs with our dog spread across both of our legs. (It seemed comfortable to him but kept cracking us up.) Now the question is, how long will this summer last? After waiting so long for it to arrive, the answer better be: Until December.

- e

Pet Peeve of the Week: One-Uppers

2011-05-26T15:18:00.008-05:00

Over the past few weeks I've been attending more social events than usual, despite the fact that I prefer to be alone or with a small group of friends. I do this every once in a while because if I didn't, there's a good chance I'd lose all social skills. I also do it because even though I usually dread meeting new people and/or having to be "on" for a few hours, once I'm actually in the situation I've been dreading, I do enjoy myself, and afterward I'm always glad (and proud) that I stepped outside of my hermit-like comfort zone.

But there is a downside to these little outings, and it's dealing with "one-uppers." You know exactly who I'm talking about. The people who -- no matter what you or anyone else involved in a conversation might be saying -- feel the need to top it somehow. Kristen Wiig plays a classic one-upper ("Penelope") on Saturday Night Live. One-uppers HAVE to say something more impressive, or outlandish, or even unrelated to the topic at hand... just so long as they get the spotlight back on themselves. If you pay attention, you can actually see them squirming in their seats and approaching a near-panicked state when they're dying to regain control of a conversation by way of a comment that's sure to blow everyone listening away with its sheer awesomeness. They cannot take it when someone less worthy has the floor. This behavior would completely push me over the edge if it wasn't so pathetic, and therefore kind of funny.

I admittedly still get worked up by attention-seekers, though. About 10% of the time I'm not mature enough to just let people like that get away with acting like they're God's gift. I think the reason why is because I've met some truly impressive people in my lifetime, and they're the ones who would absolutely NEVER toot their own horn. Let's take my friend KG, for example. I went to grad school with her, and our class was full of extremely accomplished twenty- and thirtysomethings. Some of those students felt like they had to make sure that everyone knew just how special they were, whereas others hardly ever shared information about themselves. KG was in the latter group, and as the years went by (I've known her now for over a decade) and I slowly but surely learned more about all the places she'd traveled and lived and everything she'd done before coming to school, I simply could not comprehend how she'd be able to just smile and nod when in a conversation with crazy one-uppers who'd brag about some place they'd visited in a tone that suggested the rest of us were country bumpkins. Once I knew KG's background, I almost wanted to jump in and knock the one-uppers down a few pegs on her behalf!

I guess some people just don't feel the need for validation from others -- they're confident and secure in their accomplishments and that's it. Whereas the one-uppers aren't really as impressed with themselves as they may seem to be when they're blabbing on and on. They need others to be like, "Wow, that's so cool!" and fawn all over them in order to be at peace. So they surround themselves with people who do just that. Whereas the most successful people I've met
(and I don't mean that in merely a financial sense) seek out other confident, interesting people who they can learn from. They also tend to listen more than they speak, no matter the situation. And they're not above realizing that everyone has knowledge or interesting tales to dispense -- from C-level executives to barbers to bartenders to cab drivers.

The reality is that the day will probably never arrive when one-uppers no longer faze me. But hopefully it will get easier not to sink to their level and say something snarky to put them in their place. I'll just have to perfect the art of smiling and nodding -- or maybe I'll go the totally opposite route and start lavishing praise and adoration on any one-uppers I encounter. That could be kind of fun, right?

- e

Out with the (Really) Old

2011-05-19T15:44:00.005-05:00

Those of you who are connected to me on Twitter might have caught a message this past weekend about how I'd discovered cans of soup and vegetables with 2005 expiration dates in my cupboard. Yes, I am embarrassed about this.

The full story is that my husband and I decided to do an overhaul of our diets and went on a crazy-big shopping spree at Whole Foods on Sunday. (Remember that I normally get our groceries delivered from Peapod, so we're rarely confronted with aisles and aisles of food options. It was overwhelming, to say the least.)

When we returned home I emptied out all levels of our sole kitchen cupboard... which was when I was met with a few surprises. On top of the several cans of stuff that had either expired in 2005, 2007, 2009, or earlier this year, a tin of jam had leaked god knows when, and as a result there was a thick layer of black and sticky goop surrounding it. It took quite a while to clean that mess up, and involved a knife, a lot of paper towel, and several combinations of goop-be-gone sprays.

I went through my fridge as well, but I'm happy to report that aside from a tub of cottage cheese that was past due, most everything in there was still edible.

After I'd toss all the bad stuff and set aside a few cans of things we don't eat anymore (to give to a food shelter), my challenge became trying to figure out the best way to arrange all of our new purchases in the cupboard. You see, my husband is one of those people who does not think something exists unless he can see it. He's the guy who opens a new carton of OJ if the not-nearly-empty/already-open one is, say, hiding behind the water pitcher. He fully admits to this, but it makes it tough when there's literally no way to display everything we bought at the front of our shelves. Some things had to go in the back, and therefore he's going to have to remember that 1) we bought them in the first place, and 2) he has to spend a few seconds figuring out where they are. He's been traveling ever since our shopping excursion and is back tonight, so we'll see how he does with it all this weekend.

Here's how the cupboard look now. The shelves are pretty deep, and lots of goodies are hiding in the back. Let's hope it's not 2017 before we see them again.

- e

User Error

2011-05-17T10:51:00.012-05:00

When I worked for The Man, I used to head up a bunch of different types of customer research projects and usability tests for web-based products and sites. We'd do one-on-one interviews, we'd have a research firm videotape customers while they used our banking applications, we'd run focus groups where we watched and listened to people discuss our company and its products from behind a one-way mirror, and then we'd also hold usability tests in this same fashion. For a usability test, a computer at the research facility would be loaded with a beta (think "draft") version of one of our web sites -- something we hadn't yet launched and that usually included a new type of feature or functionality -- and the moderator would ask the interviewees to perform certain tasks. Time and time again, a hyperlink or tab that WE all thought was completely obvious on the site (usually something like "Log out" or "Pay bills") would be missed by almost every research participant. The site's designers and coders would get defensive and blame it on "user error." Which is a polite way of saying, "That person's an idiot."

"User error" is a real term, which was originally meant to diagnose or explain technical difficulties that weren't actually the fault of the computer system in question. Let's say you called in to your bank because you're POSITIVE you're using the right password for their online banking site, but it keeps blocking your access. You have a customer service rep on the line and you're going through every step with them... and then you realize you've had the caps-lock key on. That's an example of user error. Another classic one is when there's a message that reads "Touch any key to continue," and people call in to tech-support lines because they can't find the "any" key.

"User error" came to take on a snide and sarcastic meaning over the years, however, and is something that those in the tech field say when they want to lightheartedly insult each other. Like suppose I accidentally hit "send" on a half-written email to my boss and had copied five of my co-workers... I might hear someone a few cubicles from me holler "User error!" over the wall. (If you get a kick out of this sort of thing, you should check out the stories behind PEBKAC, PICNIC, and the Army/Navy slang ID-TEN-T.)

The reason why I'm writing about all of this is because yesterday I fell victim to perhaps one of the most embarrassing types of user errors. I could not -- could not -- figure out how to turn my husband's computer on.

So here's the situation: On Sunday night, I downloaded Skype (a computer-based call and video application) onto my husband's Mac because my laptop's operating system is too old to run the version that supports video calling. I needed to do this because on Monday at 1 PM I'd been invited to have a video chat with the fine folks at the MTV Movies blog about the one-year anniversary of Lost's season finale. So I got everything working just fine on Sunday night and thought I was ready for Monday's interview.

My husband had shut down his computer Sunday night and then on Monday morning he went to work and I had a 10 AM film screening. I returned home a little before noon, walked my dog, and then went downstairs to my husband's "studio" (he somehow got one of the three bedrooms in our condo for himself) to make sure Skype was still running OK. This is my husband's setup:

As you can see, he's got a LOT of crazy music-related equipment and digitizers and god-knows-what all over the place -- which is why I hardly ever step foot in this room. I don't want to mess anything up or break something. It's all interconnected, including speakers that run out of something that's not the computer itself. Sunday night I had tested Skype to ensure the audio input and output worked. But on Monday, with about 50 minutes to go before my interview, I realized I wasn't exactly sure how to even turn my husband's Mac on. Every time I'd been on it before, it was already booted up.

There was no Power button or switch that I could see on the front of the monitor or on the keyboard. And the computer IS the monitor -- there's no other piece of hardware for it. I reached around and ran my hands all over the back of the monitor (which, as it's situated, is impossible to physically turn around, so I was kind of working blindly) but felt nothing. I figured that maybe a power switch on one of the music-related gizmos was what I needed to use, but didn't want to touch anything unless I was sure. So I left my husband voicemails on his cell and at his office, sent him a text and an email, and hoped he'd get back to me quickly.

But he didn't.

The minutes ticked down and I started getting nervous. I Googled "How to turn on a Mac G4" ... which is actually NOT what his computer even is (it's an iMac). So that's probably why none of the sites that came up provided any guidance. D'oh!

When it hit 12:30, I gave in and sent an urgent message to both the work and personal email addresses of our friend CH, aka The Mac God. Within 10 minutes he'd written back and explained that the power button was in fact on the back of the monitor, but easy to miss if you couldn't actually see it. He included these pictures.

I went down to the studio again and finally found the "button," which I put in quotes because this thing was hardly indented on the back of the monitor at all. I mean, it's ridiculous. Yes, I'm an idiot for not knowing how to turn the computer on in the first place, but it really is a bad design. THIS WAS NOT A CASE OF USER ERROR! Don't even try to tell me that it was.

Then I had another problem: It's now 12:45 and the computer is booted up... but the Skype application is nowhere to be found. (I do know how to search for files, applications, etc... trust me, it had vanished). So I had to re-download the entire app, redo all of the settings, email and leave voicemails for my MIA husband to tell him NOT to call me because the sound of the phone ringing would interrupt my video session, and then had approximately 1 minute to spare before MTV contacted me through Skype.

So that was my afternoon yesterday. The good news is that the video interview went well and was really fun. I think they're going to post it next Monday (May 23 is the anniversary of the Lost finale) and I will include it on Long Live Locke at that point.

The lesson I learned through all of this was to not wait until the last minute to ensure anything having to do with technology is set up correctly. I shudder to think how lame I would have looked at 1 PM if MTV had called me because they couldn't find me on Skype and I had to say, "Um... I can't figure out how to turn the computer on."

Three cheers to CH for coming to my rescue!

- e

Book Review: Her Fearful Symmetry, by Audrey Niffenegger

2011-05-13T12:22:00.018-05:00

As you all know, The Time Traveler's Wife is one of my top-five favorite books, and back in the summer of 2007 -- about a month before I stopped working for The Man -- I had the great pleasure of meeting the novel's brilliant and quirky author, Audrey Niffenegger. She gave a speech at the Chicago History Museum, and my motivation to get published was reignited after hearing about the ups and downs of her writing journey.

I had been utterly shocked to learn that she'd gotten thirty-six rejection letters from agents. I mean, hers was one of the best books I've ever read, and so I sat in the audience thinking, "Good God, how could anyone not be immediately sucked in to her story? How could her publishing rollercoaster ride possibly bode well for the rest of us aspiring authors who don't have nearly as killer of an idea?" But instead of losing all hope for my own book, I just reset my expectations and made peace with the fact that the process was probably going to take significantly longer than I'd hoped.

And it did.

Fast forward to the end of August 2009 -- more than two years after I saw Audrey speak about The Time Traveler's Wife and had left Corporate America to attempt to start a writing career (and yes, I know, I know, I still need to finish my Book-Writing Timeline...). My agent called with news that he'd sold my book to Wiley. A month later, I was in the depths of working with a lawyer to review my contract, and had to back out of plans with my friend CM to attend a signing event for Audrey's second novel, Her Fearful Symmetry. I was desperately sad to miss it, especially because I felt like it would've been cosmically cool -- like a bookend experience of sorts -- to be able to hear Audrey speak again just as I was officially starting down the path of becoming a published author. But it just couldn't work out that evening.

CM, however, still went. And she bought a copy of Audrey's second book for me. When she went to get it signed, she shared that I'd just gotten a book deal and was bummed not to be able to attend the event because I'd enjoyed her presentation in 2007 so much. Apparently Audrey acted genuinely excited about my news -- not like she remembered me or anything, but just truly happy to hear that one of her fans was going to be writing a book of her own. And so this is what she inscribed on my copy of Her Fearful Symmetry:

In case you can't make it out, it says: "For Erika, with best wishes on the occasion of her book deal." How cool is that?!?! If you've ever heard her speak then you know that the wording of her message to me is her trademarked mix of offbeat and slightly more formal than you might expect. And as she considers herself first and foremost a visual artist, it was no surprise that her handwriting is gorgeous. (I'd gotten The Time Traveler's Wife signed in 2007, but she didn't write a note with it so it didn't elicit quite the same thrill.)

So I had the book in my possession when it first came out... but, alas, no time to read it. But now, finally -- after almost two more years passed -- I am proud to say I finished it.

When I saw Audrey speak in 2007, she was in the midst of writing Her Fearful Symmetry, was living in London, and had taken a gig giving tours at the famous Highgate Cemetery, as that where her new story was based. Although she admitted to being nervous about the overwhelming expectations for her follow-up novel, she was of course too polite to mention the amount of her advance. But I'd read it was $5 million. Talk about pressure! (To give you some perspective, my advance was waaaay less than 1% of that figure, as are the vast majority of advances. The $100,000 advance Audrey received for The Time Traveler's Wife was also ginormous. Imagine how she felt when she received fifty times that figure for her follow-up. Lordy.)

OK, so now onto the book. This is a tough one to review without giving key points away. Aside from the cemetery setting and the fact that Audrey had mentioned the book was going to be about twins, I knew nothing going into Her Fearful Symmetry. And I strongly believe this is the way anyone else should approach the novel as well. Therefore I will only describe the plot very generally, and then mention a few of my overall reactions before leaving you to decide whether or not you think it'll be worth your time.

I enjoyed approximately 7/8 of the book. Once again, Audrey created a world and characters that I immediately wanted to spend time with and learn more about. The way the twins were described made them seem like almost otherworldly creatures -- and they're not just normal twins, they're mirror twins. That means one of the girls -- in this case, the meeker and prone to illness Valentina -- has all of her organs on the opposite side of where they should be. The dominant and more protective twin, Julia, doesn't have this problem, though she does seem to be plagued with mental issues. The main one being that she literally can't stand to be apart from Valentina. Ever. That uber-creepiness is a better conveyed in this alternate cover to the left that I found online when preparing this post. I can just see Saoirse Ronan playing the twins if the book ever gets adapted for the big screen. She can look just like she did in Hanna.

The twins are pretty much useless -- they've dropped out of college and are living with their parents in Lake Forest, Illinois, doing jack squat. But then they are bequeathed their aunt Elspeth's apartment in London, located next to Highgate Cemetery. The only condition of ownership is that their parents aren't allowed to step foot in the place. See, Elspeth and the twins' mom, Edie, were also twins, and had a falling out decades ago that remains a mystery to the family. The twins only saw Elspeth once when they were babies, and have no memories of her.

But since Valentina and Julia have literally nothing else to do, they decide to give the UK a whirl for a year, move into their dead aunt's place, and see how it goes. We get to meet two of the other people in the apartment complex as well: Martin, a crossword-puzzle creator who cannot go outside because of his crippling OCD; and Robert, who was Elspeth's much-younger romantic partner, and who just so happens to have all of her personal diaries that most likely contain the secret she and Edie have been hiding. From the beginning there is a strong indication that something is afoul with the whole situation.

The 1/8 of the book that I didn't like was all at the end, which was predictable but at the same time extremely lazy and disappointing, if that makes any sense. While I found all of the characters intriguing and I was quickly drawn into the story, I was in no way moved by Her Fearful Symmetry like I was with The Time Traveler's Wife. I wanted Clare and Henry to find happiness so badly -- I was rooting for them so hard -- and therefore I was a freaking MESS with TTTW came to a close. There were no such emotions tied to the twins' saga. Though I thought all of the characters in HFS were interesting and I was compelled to keep turning the pages, no one in the story was particularly likable. And that's about all I can say without ruining anything. Do I think the book's worth reading? Yes. Just be prepared to get angry about the ending.

The comments will be a Spoilers Allowed Zone, so if you have read Her Fearful Symmetry and would like to add your own thoughts, you know what to do. I skimmed through some of the reviews on Amazon and was not surprised to see that Audrey's fans were very much split into thirds -- the Loved Its, the Hated Its, and -- like me -- the Despised the Ending But Otherwise Mostly Liked Its.

- e

Lemony Fresh

2011-05-10T13:11:00.008-05:00

I try to avoid writing about anything too girly on this site, since I know I have readers of both the male and female persuasions. But even though there probably aren't too many dudes out there who care about scented lotions because they're not in the business of smelling like a Strawberry Shortcake doll, I assure you that there IS an overall lesson in today's post that applies to everyone. So here we go.

There is a lemon lotion sold by C.O. Bigelow, a brand also carried at Bath & Body Works, that is seriously the best-smelling lotion of all time. It's sold in a pretty big jar for around $20 for 8 ounces. I love this stuff. All I need is a whiff of it and I am instantly in a better mood.

A few months ago I was at my Grandma's place, and she was raving about a lotion my mom had gotten her, but was sad because her tube of it was almost out. I opened up the cap and was astonished that it smelled EXACTLY like the C.O. Bigelow cream. My mom didn't remember where she'd found it. I took note of the brand, J.R. Watkins, and the design of the tube.

Imagine my surprise when a week later I was at my second home, Walgreens, and a bottle on the lowest shelf of the Lotions & Potions aisle (not its official name) caught my eye. It was the same brand as my Grandma's lotion.

They didn't have it in the tube form she preferred, but it was about $9 for 11 ounces. That's right -- less than half the price of the Bigelow cream... for more product. I'd already ordered my Grandma the Bigelow jar for her birthday, so I decided to try the Watkins brand for myself.

All in all, the Bigelow cream is still better. Is it Twice The Price better, though? Probably not. The scent of the two lotions is exactly the same, but Bigelow's does rub in more quickly and smoothly. It made me wonder if one of them ripped off the other, so I did a bit of research. Yet it looks like both of these companies got their start around the same time between 1868-1870 (yes, they're old brands, so you know they're doing something right!). And Watkins was doing the whole "au naturel" thing waaaaay before it become trendy. Interesting.

All of this got me thinking about a big lesson I initially learned during my summer internships in the marketing department at GMC Truck in the mid-'90s, and then was reminded of again when I registered for my wedding. The lesson is that for many products, there exists an absolutely identical substitute under a different brand name for a much lower cost. I remember being shocked -- seriously, shocked -- to learn that GMC and Chevy trucks were made on the exact same assembly line and all that was different was the logo, the front grill, and a few other teeny details. (This is not just a General Motors phenomenon, by the way.) Then when I was picking out items for our wedding registry I noticed that a large percentage of what was available at Crate and Barrel was also at Williams Sonoma... but for a much higher price. What a scam!

This is, of course, the whole idea behind generic and store brands -- Walgreens or CVS oil-blotting sheets are the same thing as the Clean & Clear ones that cost a few bucks more. Just like the Walgreens body lotion is the same as the Vaseline lotion... and on and on. In the case of my lemony lotions there was a perceptible difference between the two products, but at least now I know that a cheaper alternative exists for me to get my Lemon Scent Bliss on. Feel free to call me Lemon Meringue from here on out. Now I just need to get a pet frog and name him Frappé.

- e

Pranksters

2011-05-09T13:01:00.009-05:00

Yesterday I was walking down the street with headphones on, jamming to some tunes, enjoying the nice, sunny afternoon. My peace was interrupted by a car jam-packed with burly-looking dudes (not kids, but adults) who were screaming and pointing out the window at me, "Watch out -- behind you!"

I thought they yelled something about a dog on the loose, too, but regardless, I stopped in my tracks and looked behind me with what I can only assume was a freaked-out expression on my face. I also might have jumped in the air a little bit.

There was nothing there, and the group of guys burst into laughter and applause, high-fived each other, and sped away.

My first instinct was to be mad about this, but then I was like, "Whatever." The fact is that it was kind of funny -- albeit mean-spirited -- and it's not like I'm some old lady with a walker who could've had a heart attack. But the whole episode did get me thinking about how there are very few pranks I can recall ever being involved in.

Back in high school there was a once-a-year powder-puff football game where the junior and senior girls played each other, and in the nights leading up to it there would be the TP-ing of yards and whatnot. I was along for the ride in at least one of those adventures. And I do believe there were a few crank calls I was party to that were funny at the time, though probably pretty lame to whomever was on the receiving end (I think we would always just hang up rather than say anything). But there were never truly nasty goings-on like egging, dropping/exploding dog-poo in a bag on someone's porch, or any of the other more popular and mainstream mischievous childhood acts I can think of. Not even any ding-dong-ditching. I was pretty innocent on the whole.

Usually I was more interested in harmless experiment-type exercises, which I don't really think could be considered true pranks. Like when my brother and I would drive around in the pedal car and try to see who could get more people to wave to us. Or when me and my friends would run up to random people at gas stations or in parking lots and greet them with nonsense phrases like "Hello Yellow!" to see what their reactions were and whatnot. I am realizing how dumb this is all sounding, so I will stop. But if you were ever a mean prankster, don't tell me about it because I will think less of you. Really, I will.

And to those full-grown men in the car who scared me yesterday: Yes, I laughed it off. But just remember, karma's a bitch!

- e

Bossypants: Hate the Cover, Love the Book

2011-05-05T13:21:00.005-05:00

I've always felt like something was wrong with me because I'd never been a huge Tina Fey fan like so many other smart women seem to be. (And yes, by saying "other" I am implying that I consider myself to be a smart woman, too. Please don't tell me if you think otherwise.) In particular, most female writers I know hold Fey up on a pedestal and consider her not only a role model, but a hero.

It's not that I ever disliked Tina -- I thought she was good on Saturday Night Live's Weekend Update, was surprised to REALLY like Baby Mama (?!?!), and I enjoy 30 Rock. Even though Liz Lemon annoys the crap out of me, I realize Tina's the one who created the overall show and writes lines for all of the characters (though I do think part of my feelings stem from associating Tina too much with Liz). But for whatever reason, there's just been something about Fey I didn't connect to. Even now, after I've read Bossypants and have seen her making the publicity rounds on the late-night shows, she still kind of rubs me the wrong way.

All of this is why I was totally shocked to have LOVED her book. I mean, I LOVED IT. I read it straight-through in one sitting (or "one lying" I should say... I read it in bed) -- I think maybe it took five hours. And there wasn't a dull moment during that time, either. To be extra-cliche, I DID laugh... and I DID cry. And therefore I can't recommend Bossypants highly enough (though I do think women will enjoy it significantly more than men -- there's just a lot of female-centric stuff in it, what can I say?).

I just wish she had gone with a different cover because I cannot stand looking at that freakish image. Seriously. WHY?!?!

Anyway, the book is a series of fairly disconnected chapters (I think some were actually published separately as stand-alone essays at different points in the past) that cover almost all of Tina's life. What I liked is that I felt I really learned a lot about her and "the biz," yet she never resorted to trash-talking anyone, though I'm absolutely positive she could have. She also kept several personal things private, which is quite rare nowadays with "the juicier and more scandalous, the better" mindset that has pervaded memoirs and the media in general.

In another break from memoir tradition, she didn't puff herself up to be something more than she's not. If anything, there was an overabundance of self-deprecating humor, which of course had the effect of making me (and I can only assume the vast majority of other readers) feel like she really IS quite the awesome chick. Awesome because she is totally and completely normal. She had a good childhood, loves her parents, didn't do anything too crazy while growing up, and was able to make a living by following her passion. She comes off as level-headed and able to keep things in perspective. Her personality and humor is darker than I was expecting, but I found it refreshing that she copped to so many feelings of insecurity, anger, and worry. I knew I was reading her words -- not a ghostwriter's. And while I still may not be a card-carrying member of the Tina Fey Fan Club, I certainly see her in a different light now, and have more respect for her than I do for 99% of her peers.

If you read Bossypants, let me know what you thought!

- e

Oh, Happy Day!

2011-05-04T11:01:00.010-05:00

I blame Friday's early-morning festivities for my lack of posts these past few days. If I've learned anything recently, it's that even the slightest adjustment to my sleep/wake schedule can really mess me up. Truth be told, I've been waaaay off my normal routine every evening since Thursday -- it's not all because of the royal wedding. My husband was traveling Thursday - Saturday nights, and then again last night, and when he's gone I usually end up reading or watching TV deep into the wee hours. I don't know why I do this -- maybe it's some sort of innate "rebellion reflex" where subconsciously I'm thinking, "Woo hoo, I can sleep in tomorrow because his alarm's not going to go off! I'm gonna be naughty and stay up until I can't keep my eyes open!" Who knows.

But anyway, what happened was that on Thursday night, since I hadn't been exposed to any of the royal wedding hype up until that point, I decided to watch a bunch of specials on BBC America until 1 AM. Then I set my alarm for 4 AM. When it sounded, I was very much out of it and kind of forgot what was going on and didn't know why my phone was chirping. Luckily for me, there's a TV in my bedroom (yeah, I know that's bad feng shui or whatever), so really all I had to do was click my remote control's "On" button.

I chose 4 AM because ten minutes later was when the first sighting of Will and Harry was supposed to take place as they left for Westminster Abbey. And believe you me, the moment the TV began glowing, I snapped into full consciousness. I was immediately captivated by the whole thing, and once the princes came into view with their snappy outfits (I don't know what I was expecting, but something about Will's bright red jacket was so cool to me -- it just made it all so real), I was SOLD.

The next two and a half hours absolutely flew by. I had been checking Twitter early on, but became annoyed rather quickly by anyone who was making snotty comments (mostly about some of the wedding guests, but still), and so I decided that I would just savor the experience by myself and refrain from seeing what anyone else thought about the event. The only tip I took from Twitter was to switch from BBC America to CNN because word was that Piers Morgan was fairly entertaining. I had never seen him or heard him speak before, but I did in fact get a kick out of his commentary. And, of course, he was with my man Anderson Cooper, so it was a win-win.

During the carriage procession I got nervous because it looked like several of the horses in the parade were quite antsy. They were bucking and seemed agitated and whatnot. So I wasn't sure if my eyes were playing tricks on me or if I was finally succumbing to lack-of-sleep delirium when I could've sworn I saw one running like hell up the side of the procession, sans rider. But none of the CNN peeps said anything about it, so I chalked it up to a hallucination.

But it really happened! I'm not crazy, hooray! You can see a great shot of the runaway horse at the very beginning of this video, and then there's the opposite angle (showing how close it was to the royal carriage) here. That horse was like, "Get me outta this mess, yo!"

After all of that there was a 50-minute break before the happy couple would emerge on the Buckingham Palace balcony, which was the part I had really wanted to see. So I decided to take a nap and set my alarm for about 5 minutes before the big moment. That was a bad idea, because I was so tired that I hit snooze when the alarm went off... and then the next thing I know, I'm opening my eyes to Kate and Will and their entourage waving from the balcony, and the commentators complaining about what a lame kiss it was. And I was like, "WHAT?!?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME -- I MISSED IT?!?!!?"

So then I rewound the Tivo (I had never turned the TV off, just had it muted while I dozed) and watched the first kiss... then forwarded through to the point where I'm pretty sure I actually caught the second kiss -- the one in all the papers -- live or almost-live. And the funny thing is, even though that was the part I thought I had wanted to see so badly, now that it's all said and done, I have to say that my favorite parts of the whole experience were:

1) First seeing the princes in the car -- I definitely got that fluttery "thrill" feeling in my chest when everything kicked off with their ride to the Abbey,
2) When Will and Harry got out of the car, walked into the Abbey together... and then later when they walked into the private room behind the gate once they were in the Abbey. I realized that what I had really been wanting to see was both of them -- side by side, happy, and "OK" -- on Will's big day,
3) Every time Will would give one of his conspiratorial side-smiles to Kate,
4) The breathtaking overhead shots of Westminster Abbey. Even though I've been inside and was in awe of the building when I was physically there, nothing beats those shots that looked down on the intersection of the two aisles -- gorgeous,
5) Harry in the kiddie carriage -- classic,
6) The whole carriage procession in general -- so Cinderella-ish, and,
7) Will driving himself and Kate in the Aston Martin with all the balloons tied to its bumper -- I missed this part live, but watched videos of it after. I just thought it was so cool and really reflected the spirit of the couple.

All in all I thought the royal wedding was one of the most fascinating, joyous spectacles I've ever seen, and I am so, so glad I watched it. Then, of course, came Sunday evening's big news, which kept me up very late once again (also totally worth it). A banner weekend indeed. As my friend Miss M put it best, "The world is on an upswing."

- e

I'm Not a Morning Person... But This'll Be Worth It

2011-04-28T14:49:00.021-05:00

Whenever I decide upon a blog-post topic, I usually begin "writing" it in my head anywhere from hours to days before I ever start typing. I'll decide how to start things out, how to tackle some of the first paragraphs -- kind of get a rough sketch, if you will. But as I was thinking about how I could best describe my reasons for wanting to set my alarm for the crack of dawn tomorrow in order to watch the royal wedding (despite the fact that I HATE GETTING UP EARLY), I began to sense that at some point in the past I'd already covered much of what I wanted to say. Everything I was coming up with sounded really familiar.

So just now I searched through my old posts and sure enough, I'd written about Prince Harry and Prince William here back in June 2007 when they were preparing the Concert for Diana. I'd commented on how I felt an odd sense of protectiveness over them despite the fact that I'm not British and have obviously never met them, and how my first thoughts after hearing about Princess Diana's untimely death were something along the lines of, "Oh my God, what is going to happen to those boys?"

Those feelings have not wavered ever since -- in fact, they've probably only intensified, as I've come to realize that the princes remind me a lot of two of my cousins. These cousins are also brothers, and the older one is a bit more serious (like William) while the younger one tends to be more carefree (like Harry). They are both in their early 20s and are just such great kids -- they give me hope for the future, and I use their existence to help me stay sane whenever I read about, say, any of the "teen moms" making headlines or various other young idiots who for some reason get press attention in this country.

Anyway, I feel like Prince William in particular has carried the weight of his mother's death -- in addition to having so many other responsibilities thrust upon him -- and so I guess I just am desperate for him to experience some sort of true, lasting happiness in life. My interest in the royal wedding has absolutely nothing to do with the wedding itself -- I couldn't care less about the dress, the cake, the guest list, the ceremony, or anything else along those lines. I don't know much about the royal family besides what I've learned from the movies or read during the weeks following Diana's death. I never dreamed of being a "princess" -- hell, I never even thought I'd get married -- so I'm not into the whole "fairy tale" aspect of Kate's (er, Catherine's) story. And because I never watch live TV, am only on Facebook and Twitter for seconds per day, and have avoided all other online and print coverage of the event, I am in no way sick of hearing about it like most people are. In fact, I really haven't heard ANYTHING about it. This is but just one benefit of livin' the hermit lifestyle, my friends!

I am watching tomorrow for one reason and one reason only -- I want to see that balcony kiss -- and I want to see it live. And I hope that somewhere along the way we get a glimpse of a genuine smile on the future king's face. He deserves it.

I bet the other 2 billion people around the world who'll be tuning in feel the same way.

- e

I WILL Survive a Zombie Attack, Dammit!

2011-04-25T19:37:00.014-05:00

In January 2009 I let you all know that I was deathly afraid of zombies. (Who isn't, though? Really.)

That's when A-to-e reader Craig recommended I check out both The Zombie Survival Guide and World War Z, in order to be prepared for the possible (inevitable?) zombie apocalypse. Alas, I didn't get to read much of anything besides business books after that point, but over the past few weeks I've been making up for lost time and have gone on an absolute reading bender, as it were. I mentioned a few weeks ago that I had tons of novels patiently waiting to be hauled down from my massive bookshelf, and so when I discovered that my good friend and fellow blogger JOpinionated went to college with ZSG and WWZ author Max Brooks (who I just learned is the son of Mel Brooks and Anne Bancroft), I promoted World War Z to the top of my queue. I'd bought it in paperback... and then once Jo found out I was planning to read it, she got Brooks to sign the hardcover version for me when she saw him recently at WonderCon.

How cool is this?

I also have to include a picture Jo tweeted of the other copy she got Max to sign for a LOST fan/former tour guide she and I met in Oahu, Matt. Matt had told Jo that WWZ was one of his top 3 favorite books of all time. I LOVE what Max wrote to him!

Awesome.

So... what did I think about World War Z? You guys know I have to keep it real, so I can't claim to have loved it as much as Matt (or the vast majority of other readers). It was written as a series of interviews with various people who survived a global zombie attack -- the discussions take place about 10 years after the situation has been contained (though zombies have not yet been totally eradicated). Each chapter reveals the perspective of a different person -- it could be a soldier, it could be a leader of a foreign country, it could be a filmmaker -- none of the subjects were necessarily tied together in any way. Through these oral accounts of what came to be called "World War Z," the reader can piece together what happened and how everything got so out of control, so quickly. It is not tongue-in-cheek, it is not funny. It is dead serious. There WAS a zombie war, and you're reading the accounts of a few dozen who lived to tell the tale.

What I appreciated about the book is that I 100% believe almost everything Brooks covers would actually happen if zombies popped up somewhere. How politicians would respond, what tactics certain countries would take, how the military would approach the situation, what normal people would do -- it all rang true. In that sense I was reminded of Stephen King's Under the Dome (which I will eventually dedicate a post to) -- another book which I thought nailed human behavior in desperate times.

What's more, I have a ton of respect for the insane amount of research Brooks must have done to ensure his characters who were specialists in a certain area really came off as specialists. I believed every character could be a real person -- they didn't feel like fictional characters in the slightest. For me, however, that's where the book fell apart a little bit -- I'm just not into different kinds of weapons and military tactics and whatnot, and there were A LOT of details about such things in the book. While it was initially fascinating to hear soldiers' accounts, it got old after a while. The book lost steam for me about 3/4 of the way through, because by that point most of the interviews seemed to be with people connected to military operations throughout the world. Whereas the chapters I liked best were the more personal tales about what happened to specific communities and/or individuals. There were also a few references to a widely used "vaccine" that claimed to protect people from getting infected, and I found those parts fascinating (once again, because I believe we would in fact see false hope peddled extensively were our race ever facing extinction).

I found myself wishing that there were fewer interviewees and more time spent on certain characters so that I could feel a deeper sense of connection to them. The end of the book includes "last words" from many of the interviewees, and I swear I couldn't keep any of them straight or recall any of their stories from before. They'd all run together in my mind.

World War Z is being adapted for the big screen, with Brad Pitt attached to star. From what I've read they're making up a character for him -- or perhaps he's going to be the narrator (the interviewer). Brooks has been quoted as saying that the screenwriter found a way to tie all of the disparate accounts together (because remember, there are no true "recurring characters," per se). The film has a HUGE budget of $125 million, so fans are expecting really big things, and I'm personally excited to see how it turns out.

For those of you wondering if the book is gory, I can assure you that it's not at all. I don't like horror novels and get queasy VERY easily, and there was nothing in World War Z that freaked me out in that way. The aforementioned Under the Dome disturbed me much more, because there was sickening human-on-human violence. With zombie-against-human violence it hits a little less close to home (for now), because it's not anything I could actually picture happening, like, tomorrow. Plus, Brooks doesn't ever get down and dirty with nauseating details. Weapon and military tactic details? Yes. Gross-out blood and guts details? No.

I would recommend World War Z to any guy who likes to read. It's definitely more of a "dude book," for lack of a better term. If you're of the female persuasion and, like me, are kind of obsessed with apocalyptic scenarios and how the world might respond in the face of a global threat, I would also recommend it. The parts that wowed me definitely outweighed the sections that dragged. And let's face it, who doesn't need to know more about what it might take to survive the coming zombie apocalypse?!?

If you've read it, let me know what YOU thought!

- e

Sit On It

2011-04-22T14:47:00.008-05:00

I didn't write a post yesterday because I couldn't stand to sit behind my laptop one second longer than I absolutely had to. Nope, it's not my old-lady back problems that are acting up again. (In fact, I've been meaning to write a post about how that situation was resolved... so stay tuned.) Now it's my old-lady hip. Seriously, is there any way to feel more ancient than by complaining about YOUR HIP? Good lord, what's become of me?

But here's the deal -- my left hip had been hurting something fierce for the past week, and it got to the point where I was doing anything and everything to avoid sitting at my desk. You might recall from the post I linked to above that I have the most ergonomically correct set-up known to mankind, so my problems weren't related to that. There was nothing wrong with my chair or my desk or my laptop height. At first I tried to blame the situation on inheriting my dad's "bad hip genes" -- he has been having this exact same trouble for a year or so now. But he's also nearly three decades older than I am, so I knew it wasn't a good sign that I was already experiencing this pain in my thirties. The bad genes probably have something to do with my problem, but I have to accept part of the blame as well.

As silly as this might sound, I recently developed an admittedly quite unusual and NOT wise habit. I've been sitting cross-legged in my chair for at least a month. Yes, cross-legged. Like this dude (Marc Bolan, who was the lead singer of the British '70s band T Rex, may he rest in peace). But only without the groovy threads and shoes. (I'm always in sweatpants and a robe, comfy-like.)

I know sitting like a meditating Buddha can't be good for me, but for whatever reason, I started doing it and it stuck. So add up over 12 hours a day of sitting cross-legged for 4 weeks and tell me if you think your hip would revolt. If you don't think it would, then you're probably 18, and I hate you.

So now I'm worried that I've incurred permanent damage and am going to have to drag myself back to physical therapy. Therefore, I'm trying to avoid sitting in my normal chair as much as I can to see if that helps -- if my hip will forgive me for acting like I'm a five-year-old at story circle. And yes, of course, I've forced myself to give up the whole cross-legged thing when I do have to be in my chair (which is still several hours a day no matter what).

I told my friend JC about my predicament, and he forwarded me this totally depressing article from last weekend's New York Times magazine. I highly encourage you to read it. The gist is that sitting on our asses all the time is killing us. Literally taking years off of our lives. And no amount of exercise really helps to counteract all the sitting. Sweet.

After reading the article I tried to gauge how much time I spend sitting now versus when I worked for The Man. Bad news: I think I've been plopped down in front of my laptop significantly more in the past four years than I had been in Corporate America. My job now requires either sitting in a movie theater, sitting to watch a DVD, or sitting in front of my laptop to write. While I walk my dog every day for 10 minutes and putter around doing laundry or getting snacks from the fridge every few hours, there's no more walking 20 minutes to and from the El stop each morning and evening. There's no going to conference rooms, stopping by someone's desk, going out to lunch, going over to another building for a meeting -- none of that. It's all about sitting -- sitting to watch or sitting to write.

Chances are I will not be able to convince my husband to get rid of our kitchen table and let me get the treadmill-desk set-up pictured above. (I honest-to-god would buy that if we had the room.) So I think I'm going to have to make a conscious effort to 1) resist the urge to sit cross-legged, 2) get up and move around at least once an hour, even if only for a minute or two, and 3) make use of this crazy gizmo I bought four years ago that's been mostly idle ever since:

Yes, it's a mini stair-stepper. It's been collecting dust in between my desk and the wall, even though it would be very simple for me to jump on it and start pumping those legs any time I receive a call or just need a break.

I'm also hopeful that with the eventual arrival of spring (hurry up, spring!) I'll just naturally start moving around more because I'm always inclined to go take a long walk whenever it's nice out.

And with that, I'm off to start my weekend of Not Sitting. Happy Easter to you and yours!

- e

Wimpy Plants Need Not Apply

2011-04-20T19:15:00.005-05:00

Before we get to today's subject, a quick update for you: Right after I published yesterday's post, I attempted to watch Glee. My DVR had recorded it... but the mother of all hail storms interfered with our satellite and the last 15 minutes of the show were blacked out. I chose to laugh instead of cry.

And I did end up taking a Lunesta in order to ensure some shut-eye, so thankfully I'm in a much better mood today (despite the fact that it's still ridiculously depressing outside).

OK, moving on...

The idea for today's post came from an email I received this morning from CM, who I used to work with at Chase (aka The Man). She sent me this present-day picture of a bamboo plant I'd given her nearly five years ago when I left to start my job at the Chicago Board of Trade.

When I saw how the little bugger had thrived (thriven? throve? too lazy to figure it out -- give me points for realizing I could be wrong) over the years, I almost died laughing. Why? Because when I gave CM the plant above, I kept a second bamboo plant for myself -- its brother, if you will. I still have it, too:

No, your eyes are not playing tricks on you. That's just a picture of a beautiful little pot with a bunch of stones in it. Alas, my bamboo plant went to the great forest in the sky shortly after I switched offices in 2006.

I've learned over the years that I am sorely lacking a green thumb. That's why I felt really bad not too long ago when my upstairs neighbor gave me one of his lush arrangements once he realized it was dangerous to have around his cat. This thing was gorgeous and thick and green and flowering. Now thanks to my lack of skillz most of it has died off... but dammit if a few sprouts aren't sticking with me:

It gets worse. Below is one of two rose plants I bought accidentally (long story) from Peapod (grocery delivery service) a mere month ago. It withered within a week, despite my best efforts. Don't ask me why I still have it, because I'm not sure. Keeping hope alive, perhaps?

My grandma and Aunt Sue are really good with plants -- as in, they can bring dead ones back to life and stuff. It's true! But I didn't inherit that gene. Not all hope is lost, though. It appears that really really really tough plants can survive under my care. You longtime readers might remember a post from nearly three years ago (here it is, if you need a refresher) where I wrote about all the greenery my husband and I bought to decorate our deck. The big surprise is that the four big potted plants we purchased in May 2008 are still with us. It's a true miracle. Here's what one of them looks like today:

But the craziest thing is that of the four plants we dragged back from Home Depot that day, one of them has gone absolutely wild. It's about to touch our ceiling, no lie.

I mean, would you look at this bad boy? He cannot be stopped! (And yes, those are the two dead rose plants from Peapod in front of The Green Monster.)

I know that he (it's a he, I'm sure of it) probably needs a bigger planter, but I'm totally afraid I'll kill him in the move. Now that he's survived this long on my watch I'll be extra sad if I lose him! What should I do?

- e

Still Sleepless in Chicago

2011-04-19T19:15:00.010-05:00

I wish I could tell you that after my no-good-rotten day yesterday, I'm now making like Patti LaBelle with a New Attitude. But I'm not. I'm still grumpy. And once again it's because of crappy weather (a dreary, cold, rainy day that's flooding my street, to be precise) and technological tomfoolery that led to another bad night's sleep.

The same "wintry mix" that resulted in my alarm system's malfunction on Sunday is continuing to mess with me. Our satellite signal was all jacked up last night, causing parts of the 20/20 special on the Royal Wedding to black out while I was watching it -- THE HORROR! For those of you thinking, "Good God, woman! Haven't you gotten enough of all that hype yet?" I respond, "No, actually, I have not indulged in ANY Royal Wedding-related hoopla except for reading two articles about Kate Middleton in Us Weekly earlier this month, thank you very much." I've completely avoided all other coverage so far -- not on purpose, but simply because I never catch the news and have a strange lifestyle that revolves around watching and/or reading about movies -- or tying to keep up with the latest and greatest shenanigans in the financial services industry -- almost 24/7.

But I'll write more about the Royal Wedding some other time. Today I have to share that the bad weather has not only caused satellite and alarm system mayhem, but it's also resulting in a spotty Internet connection. I don't know why exactly -- all I know is that everything had been fine, and now for the past 48 hours my wireless signal keeps going out at exactly the wrong time.

See, when your job revolves around writing on the web, it is kind of critical that you have a steady Internet connection. Otherwise you might, say, LOSE A TON OF WORK when you hit "save" and the connection drops. You're probably thinking, "Haven't you learned to save frequently?" To which I say, "Yes, my dear friend, but I am the fastest typer in the world (seriously, I am -- will eventually dedicate a post to this amazing fact) and what I can churn out in 15 minutes between saves is substantial. So there."

What's this have to do with another bad night of sleep? Let me tell you: 1) My dog paces constantly when there's a storm, so I was hearing him prowl around all night -- clicking his nails on the wood floors, sighing, groaning, banging around as he went in and out of his crate... etc., etc., and then, when I finally drifted off... 2) I had one of those "this seems so real -- is it actually happening?" nightmares ... about losing my Internet connection! An honest-to-god NIGHTMARE about it!

It was like something out of Transformers 2 -- which is probably my most-hated film of all time. I was in a house that vaguely looked familiar, but I think it was from a movie. Now that I'm remembering it, I think it was a house featured in the sci-fi thriller Children of Men starring my man Clive Owen (whoa! I actually found a picture of it!). Anyway, Clive wasn't in the dream, so that was problem #1. Problem #2 was that I was in this house and was sleeping (yes, sleeping within my own dream) and was jolted into consciousness (in the dream) by this huge evil machine that started crashing through the walls with gigantic metal claws, searching for my modem. I was almost killed by the claws, which eventually found what they were looking for... and as the huge mechanical creature lumbered away with my Internet connection, I saw the AT&T logo stamped on its massive frame. I kid you not. AT&T has infiltrated my dreams. This is how sad my life is right now. I am having nightmares about losing my Internet connection -- literally losing it to an evil AT&T Decepticon. And to make matters worse, I probably just gave Michael Bay the plot line for Transformers 4. So now I'll have no one to blame but myself when I inevitably have to suffer through a migraine during its screening in 2013.

- e

PS - As I am about to send, it just started LIGHTNING AND HAILING OUTSIDE, and my dog is going nuts and my connection icon is flickering like crazy. I don't want to resort to drugs, but I think I have no choice but to make a date with Lunesta this evening.