Foto + Monologue

Alone In A Forest

2012-01-07T15:45:00.004-06:00

Taken by my brother from another mother, Dan. This reminds me of the song by the Cure "A Forest".

"Come closer and see, see into the trees, find the girl, while you can..."

In Retrospect

2011-12-30T15:33:00.015-06:00

Here I am at work and not working because it is the last work day before New Year's Eve. I am reflecting on this past year. I had high hopes for 2011, but alas, it just...wasn't at all what I thought it would be.

I have been wanting to write about different things that have happened, but with the dysfunctuality of my iPad and my only other computer at the moment at work, things just kinda got pushed aside. I am more likely to write about current events when they are current. The longer I wait, the less important, or the more troubling, they seem. So writing about a close family member's death has gone through many rewrites in my mind, each with it's own special emotional outburst, but none have ever made it from that dark place to my fingers and onto the keyboard. Writing about what happened today at the grocery store or at the gym seems easier, but painfully trivial. And really, all that has really been happening is the glorious rebuilding of my home, which has taken me to new levels of patience, and made me realize that no matter how right you think you are about something, doubt is the monster hiding under your bed ready to devour you whole.

2012 is gonna be better. Well, at least until the planet Earth meets it's demise and the Mayan aliens come and gather us up and make us into human corn tortillas. But then again, Godzilla and Mothra and Lady Gaga will probably team up to beat their alien asses and send them back into outer space. Yeah.

Image reblogged from retrogasm

It's A Drag, Lee Groban

2011-12-15T16:10:00.004-06:00

Oh Lee Groban. The first time I met you was at the Gingerman Tavern. You were sitting alone in the corner at a table that sat four. I wanted that table. I was a lazy drunk. You were intimidating and gentle and observant and accommodating and I sat down next to you and we talked and drank until closing. And then I would see you all over town, at all the art openings - your reasons were different than mine, in that you were socializing with friends and I was merely there for the ambiance and free red wine.

Oh! The red wine! I will never forget at Around the Coyote running into you and upon hugging, you planted a very wet kiss on my cheek and as you pulled away, I noticed your mustache and lips and teeth dyed red and it made me laugh and I asked, hey, where can I get some of that?

You would always greet me by asking me "Are you Elizabeth Stock from 1542 West Waveland?". Everytime. Even if I had just seen you the week before. You gave me a poem written so small I could barely read it. And you were awesome. Thank you for inspiring me.

RIP Lee Groban - 20 March 1947 - 09 December 2011 - Gentle soul.

Top photo:
:::"Lee Groban" - Platinum-Palladium Photograph, 1999::: by Elizabeth Stock - All Rights Reserved

Cityscapes

2011-12-15T16:02:00.002-06:00

Undergarments Are Important

2011-11-28T12:30:00.006-06:00

Sometimes, in order to achieve rock star status, one must wake up in the morning with a stiff neck from head banging and a split in the crotch of one's favorite jeans that was the result of an audaciously failed attempt of acrobatics during a karaoked Scorpions jingle.

I love you Lincoln Karaoke. You and your booby tv. And bad pizza. And pink light-up tambourines.

And It Was All Yellow

2011-11-16T09:33:00.001-06:00

November 14th, 2011 - Morning @ Addison and Janssen

Sausage Art Somewhere In Philly

2011-11-14T18:21:00.002-06:00

Photobooth Children

2011-11-14T18:19:00.002-06:00

Fear The Van, Fear The Man

2011-10-23T10:43:00.012-05:00

There is a man living in his mini-van outside of my apartment building.

I first made this discovery when I noticed a window washer's set-up (bucket, rags, squeegee) on the curb next to the van. I thought, hmmm, that is strange, I wonder who left that there. And then I began to notice other things... Windows heavy with humidity. Fallen leaves that surround the van smelling not of decay, but urine. And then it occurred to me that some guy was living in his van. That was two months ago.

I had many questions. Is he watching me? Is he warm? How much money does he make window washing? Where does he poop?

At first, I wanted to bring him a hot meal, or give him money for gas to move to another location. But I keep having these little scenarios go through my head of being abducted and held captive in the van outside my apartment, my cat watching the whole thing go down from the bedroom window and trying to alert a passerby, like Lassie did when little Timmy fell in the well. No one notices my cat's frantic efforts to save me, so I write "HELP ME" on the fogged windows, but I forget that I have to write backwards so my rescuers outside can read it. And then, the window washer gets angry that I messed up his windows, so he drugs me and makes me stand out in the sun all day by the expressway and wash people's windows. I get a really awesome tan. As I grow fondly attached to my captor, I learn to live in a van and my old life becomes just a faded memory.

It has kept me up most nights. Despite the anxiety, I still feel sorry for the guy. I can't bring myself to call the cops or have his van towed. He is probably a really great guy.

Thought Balloon

2011-08-29T14:46:00.003-05:00

Under the viaduct @ Ravenswood and Berteau

Birdman

2011-08-26T15:56:00.007-05:00

Whenever I walk or ride my bike, I always make sure I say hi to this little guy who hangs out
just north of Irving Park along the Ravenswood train tracks. He told me that he's from Australia
and is really good with boomerangs and that he isn't really a bird. He's Australian.

Under The Elevated(2)

2011-08-26T15:54:00.003-05:00

Found No. 31 - O Sole Mio So Horny!

2011-08-16T16:45:00.010-05:00

Another reason why no one wanted to sit on Uncle Rudolfo's lap at the family parties.

*Special gratzie to my favorite Italian American, and fellow Aquarian, and just all-around kinda wise guy who would break the fingers off of whomever you want, Anthony "The Cannoli Kid" Lumbrazo. He discovered this precious little photograph in his family album. I am loving the picture of Mary behind him...

Clean Up, Aisle Eleven

2011-08-12T16:52:00.004-05:00

Look Lady in Whole Foods with Tourettes, I am COMPLETELY EMPATHETIC to your situation. I mean, I walk around shouting obscenities and break into song at the top of my lungs for no apparent reason, so I get it. But i am a little freaked out when your tic sounds like you are screaming my name, especially when we are aisles apart. And then while I am waiting my turn at the deli, you sneak up behind me and do it again and I am so startled, I drop my shopping basket and everyone looks at me like I'm the asshole.

You People Need Serious Psychiatric Help

2011-08-04T09:21:00.015-05:00

The other day I was taking a look at my lame-o blog, admiring my true failure at creativity, evidenced by the utter lack of activity for the last couple of months. All of a sudden, I realized I had 101 followers! How exciting! I went out that night and celebrated with my friend, Captain Morgan. I was gonna write about this amazing milestone, but I felt it was too late as it would have been more appropriate to celebrate my one hundredth follower. Like, I should have had a contest or something so that the one hundredth follower gets to meet me in person and buy me a(n expensive) present or clean my house. Maybe give me a two-hour long foot rub.

Well, fortunately for all of you, today one of my followers must have decided that I was a waste of space on their blogroll, so HAPPY ONE HUNDRED FOLLOWERS TO ME! I am so honored that you love my photographs and think I am such an amazing writer and that if I wasn't such introvert I would certainly be the most famous person alive!

So in return for being so faithful, I will do the following:

-Stop doing more productive things, like work, and focus once again on spending hours thinking of witty things to write about on my blog.
-Start planning a celebration for once I reach my thousandth follower. I always wanted to host a nude beach party with trampolines and slip-n-slides and lard and daisies.
-Buy some land in Montana to accommodate the future compound. And, as a reminder, you may punch in the face anyone who claims you are part of a cult. They are jealous haters.
-Drop all restraining orders - it is obvious you are not stalkers after all.
-It is that time in my career to make a new sex tape. This time I won't use a VHS format and accidentally leave it in a Popeye's Chicken. I will shun my bunny suit. Wait. Maybe I will still wear the bunny suit...

With gratitude...xoxo

I Am Not Much Older Than Music On The TV

2011-08-01T12:22:00.010-05:00

Thirty years ago there was a neighborhood kid named Wade who talked like a gangsta Sling Blade, had a satellite dish, and in his gangsta talk would go on and on about how much pornography he got to watch. He was eleven. I didn't know quite what that meant, as I was much (much) younger than him (in fact, I may not have even been born yet). Anyway, I never hung around him long enough to hear any details as he was a complete idiot.

One day he invited a bunch of us neighborhood kids to his house to watch this new channel that was coming on the satellite. It was called MTV. And it became the reason I spent most of my early life dressing like a punk rock hillbilly. A specific thank you to Devo.

Subway Abstract

2011-07-19T10:18:00.003-05:00

Under The Elevated

2011-06-23T13:17:00.002-05:00

High Rise

2011-06-20T17:59:00.002-05:00

The Last Night

2011-06-20T17:16:00.004-05:00

When you live somewhere for thirteen years, you never fully realize how much shit you accumulate. It took every weekend for a month to pack and organize everything. And unless you are a hoarder who proudly displays their bountiful belongings in plain sight and in every crevice of your home imagineable, it can be a great big surprise to see what's been stuffed into drawers and closets and storage units. Sadly, there weren't many pleasant or useful discoveries, like, "Oh! That's where I put that million dollars!". More like boxes and boxes I filled and marked with my Super Sharpie "GS", which doesn't stand for good stuff, it stands for garage sale. And one hell of a garage sale it will be. Funny. I know I should take the stuff to the trash, but it's good junk and someone might give me money for it.

Towards the end of the packing I just wanted to set everything on fire.

Moving day was interesting. I thought it would take the movers four hours. Nine hours and two separate trips in the truck it was done. Completely insane. It was sad to see the empty space. And I did shed a tear. But just one.

The night before we left, I went upstairs to the rooftop that I will miss on those hot summer nights and took these...

Big Trouble, Little Monkey

2011-05-20T12:37:00.004-05:00

Crazy at it may seem, I have accepted a babysitting job for two and a half hours today. There are many things that puzzle me about this commitment I have made. Like, the two-year old kid, whose vocabulary is scant, refers to me as "Big Trouble". This is because, while being offered some of his peas one time, I told him that I don't eat peas, I stick them in my nose. To which he, in one fluid motion, began to insert the pea into his nose. Yes, I am big trouble. And yet the parents still called me to watch over their little nugget.

I have not babysat since I was a teenager. And I am trying to remember how to babysit. All I can remember are a few things, like, watch tv, raid the refrigerator, try on the mom's clothes, locate the parent's porn collection and replace the vodka that I drink with water.

I guess what is most frightening about this experience that begins in just over an hour is that I think the kid isn't potty trained. I do not know how to change a diaper. I am actually very afraid of poo. I might even be allergic to it. So I am taking advice from my friends and bringing some rubber gloves, bleach and a hose. And some Vicks Vapor Rub for under my nose.

This should be big fun for big trouble.

Living In The Promised Land, Again

2011-04-23T14:16:00.000-05:00

The good and the bad about temporary housing in Wrigleyville...

One block away from Anthropologie and Uncle Dan's and Jewels

Two blocks away from the Southport El

Three blocks away from my drycleaner of, gee, twenty years, and Starbucks

Four blocks away from Wrigley Field

It will be summer, glorious summer and I will be there for only three months

The apartment is shitty, but allows dogs and short-term rentals. I'm sure we can make it temporarily pretty.

My old neighborhood that I miss so much. Will I ever want to leave?

Found No. 30 - Bunnylicious

2011-04-22T08:27:00.004-05:00

14 April 1913 - German photo postcard to Anny from Eger

Back in the old days, the Playboy Bunnies didn't just serve fancy man-drinks, they served up a mean drumming performance as well.

The Florence Of My Dreams

2011-02-19T07:18:00.009-06:00

Wally and I are attending a concert at the Aragon Ballroom, but it's not really the Aragon Ballroom, as is usually the case in dreamland. We are in front of the stage and Florence and the Machine just finishes playing and I start chatting with Florence, trying to act nonchalant about how in love I am with her. She says she has to go to the bathroom, so I say, me too and we go downstairs to the Aragon Ballroom bathroom, which really is the Aragon Ballroom bathroom, and not some fantasy bathroom.

We go in and start to put lipstick on, and all of a sudden we look over and there is Madonna (not the mother of Jesus) sitting on a ornate round table in a yoga pose similar to this:

But she's like really small, like maybe three feet tall, and she just nods at us as her assistant is applying her makeup. All of a sudden, Florence walks over, picks Madonna up with single-handed super human strength and proclaims "Look, I've won a Granny!"

And with that, I wake up.

Polly Wants A Cracker

2011-02-12T06:39:00.010-06:00

I am a music psychic. Lately, I have been listening to the radio and thinking of a song and all of a sudden it comes on! I am thinking there is some money-making venture with this, like I could set up shop and tell people what song they are thinking of. People would pay me to do this, right?

Speaking of music, flannel is back in style. The Patagonia store on Clybourn is chock-full of flannel. I didn't even go in, I could just see the mass quantities of plaid blazing through the windows. On my to do list: dig up my old flannels and my Nirvana cds, buy some clove cigarettes and don't wash my hair for three months.

Speaking of flannel, did you know there is a gay bar in Lincoln Park called Manhandler? Thing is, it's been there on Halsted for years and years. And it's called manhandler, for goodness sake. Instead of asking for your ID, they ask what your safe word is. Worth checking out if you feel like a beatin'.

I Keep My Eyes Fixed On The Sun

2011-02-08T07:00:00.001-06:00

It is my cancerversary. Number four to be exact. Somewhat unnerving, since in order to not become a typical statistic, I need to stay cancer-free for one more year. ONE MORE YEAR! This whole year will be spent absolutely staying away from anything that potentially causes cancer, like sugar, alcohol, the microwave, pantyhose, toilet paper, partial nudity and reruns of People's Court. Which is sad because I often enjoy all of these things together, in excess and on a daily basis.

No Business Like Snow Business

2011-02-05T17:15:00.005-06:00

There were many names that were given to last week's snowtastrophe, and many reasons to probably hate what happened and blame the city of Chicago for not shoveling your sidewalk or digging out your car or making you wake up an hour earlier to get to work on time. But I choose to remember the third largest snowstorm in Chicago since the weathermen have been keeping track, as the day Wally and I donned our winter mountain climbing gear and trekked to the lakefront as the storm came in for another round of havoc. As the day I got to burn 2000 calories shoveling the sidewalks and the mountain of snow in the backyard of our new house, and treat myself to a hot chocolate afterwards. As the day that Lake Shore Drive was shut down, and blessedly quiet. As the day Wally and I ate dinner at the roachy Melrose Restaurant, which is at the end of the block from our condo.This is monumental because for thirteen years we swore we would never go there, but exhaustion and hunger and the fact that the sushi place was closed, made the decision a no brainer (surprisingly, we didn't get sick).

Here are some photos from that day...

Honestly, Officer, I Come From Middle Earth

2011-01-30T16:11:00.010-06:00

I am in so big trouble. My driver's license expired on my birthday, which was so last week. I am waiting to get my hair re-blonded and Oil of Olay my hag face for a couple weeks, as it has been ten years and I have to get my picture taken again [Must. Retain. Youthful. Driver's License. Photo]. Meanwhile, I am driving very responsibly.

The last time my picture was taken I thought it would be a super good idea to wear my SUPER BLONDE hair pinned behind my ears.

Here's what it looked like...

and then here's what it actually looked like...

which, ironically, looks a lot like this:

Yes. I am an elf from the Lord of the Rings. Which means I am immortal and do not need to worry about looking shrivelled in my driver's license photo. But you know me, little miss perfection.

Found No. 29 - Unrequited

2011-01-29T14:17:00.005-06:00

His attempts at romantic love were futile. Had he only offered to tie her shoe.

(this Sally Mann-worthy photo of my dear and disinterested friend, Brooke,
was taken by an unknown United Press Intl colleague of her father's)

Found No. 28 - Submersible Explorer

2011-01-20T09:12:00.006-06:00

This is an amazing photo my friend Brenda found of her dad in a diving suit.
She says that he used to dive in the lakes of Connecticut.

Random Thoughts Regarding My Place Of Bodily Worship

2011-01-14T13:24:00.005-06:00

a. There are weird people who I do not recognize ever being in my gym before, walking around talking to themselves, and dressed in what appears to be discount gym apparel. I think they are CIA.

b. While I will be old someday, even then I will not ever prance around the locker room naked. Never ever.

c. Speaking of locker rooms, is it wrong to have a crush on the post-op tranny who hangs out in the women's locker room?

d. Girls, when doing exercises in which you bend and stretch in very close quarters, please, PLEASE wear tighter workout pants. And if you are low on cash and only have baggy shorts, at the very least, PLEASE wear underwear. Same goes for guys. Seriously.

e. A shower before you workout to wash off the morning stink is much appreciated. And trust me, you do stink.

f. I find it mildly amusing that every song in my ipod's workout play list, affectionately titled "Move Yo Fat Ass", has the "F" word. And I'm not talking "fat" or "french fry". Although, they do go together. Like a horse and carriage.

g. Lastly, farting is NOT ACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOR during yoga. You're not the friggin' swami, dude.

Dang, all this thinking and I need cookie.

Things I Will Miss About Highrise Living - Part One

2011-01-07T09:54:00.010-06:00

One of the first things we purchased when we moved to our deluxe apartment in the sky was a pair of binoculars. Although they have come in handy when there is an emergency water rescue at the harbor or checking out Wrigley Field from afar, their best use has been spying on the neighbors.

Oh please, like you wouldn't be curious? When you are surrounded by many multi-family structures, it is only human nature to check out, say, how their apartment is decorated, or what they are up to. I mean, they don't have curtains, so what do they expect? (I actually thought about doing a photo project based on captured moments in my neighbor's personal spaces, but that would have probably got me arrested.)

Throughout the years, we have had many fun and interesting things to look at...

Many amorous encounters (one guy bedded a new girl every single day it seemed)
A kitchen fire (for which the fire department was never called apparently, because they never showed up)
A poor old lady who would climb into bed every day at 5pm
A top-heavy naked girl doing step aerobics (this one was at least three nights a week, outside our kitchen window, usually while we were making dinner. We were sad when she moved out.)
Two topless girls drinking wine - seriously, what is that?

Most of the time, you just see people walking around in their underwear or robes, making dinner or watching tv. These things give you a sense of community. I will miss them.

The Old Year Ends, A New One Begins, As It Always Does

2010-12-31T08:39:00.006-06:00

Here is a cartoon I found and kept over the years. I can relate on so many levels.
Have a safe and happy New Year everyone!!! [click to enlarge]

Finally A Year To Be Proud Of

2010-12-29T09:29:00.003-06:00

I have decided that this year was one big FAIL as far as my diligence in blogging is concerned. I was really preoccupied with so much stuff going on and it seems like my ADD was on overdrive. I couldn't just focus on one thing at a time.

So like one of those Christmas letters that you receive that you claim you hate but you secretly love, it seems only appropriate that I summarize all the good and the bad things that happened this year. Let us begin with the bad...

Finding out that The Wendy Williams Show was not hosted by Wendy O. Williams
The Cubs really sucked bad
And then Ron Santo died
Missing the Winter Soltice lunar eclipse because I am lazy and now I will have to wait another 400 years
Actually getting left out of my family's annual Christmas letter

And now the good...

After the crazy tax season, Wally and I finally made our trip to Nepal and the Everest Base Camp trek. You can read more about it here...
In July, we put in an offer on a greystone two-flat and waited. And waited. In fact, we waited until mid-September for the owners to finally accept our offer, at the original offer price. We closed on the two-flat (known affectionately as the Winchester Money Pit) on November 30.
So, yeah, we committed the cardinal sin of purchasing a home before selling our own. But wouldn't you know, after two years on the market, and two weeks after we were under contract on the WMP, we received a CASH offer on our condo, with a thirty day closing date. Not only that, but the new owners asked us if we would be opposed to renting the condo back from them until June. Um, no, not opposed and yes, that could not be any more perfect, since we would be doing major renovations on the WMP and would not be able to move in for quite some time.

And the undetermined...

After five years on the waiting list, I finally got Cubs season tickets. Wasteful? TBD.
And Wally got a new job on top of all this. Not sure if this should fall under the good or the bad. It's been tough.

So that's it. I hope you have enjoyed reading how amazing my life is and are not too jealous and spiteful. Don't be a hater. Please feel free to leave comments on how awesome I am.

Found No. 27 - Santa Glögg

2010-12-17T14:37:00.009-06:00

This is what it looks like when Santa comes to your house for dinner and
brings a jar of homemade glögg and two musically inclined elves.

December Morning Over The Harbor

2010-12-17T08:47:00.003-06:00

Silly Little Monkeys

2010-12-02T11:42:00.006-06:00

Neon Star

2010-11-19T12:08:00.002-06:00

Corner of Elston and Cortland Avenue

Found No. 26 - Chastised

2010-11-17T08:54:00.007-06:00

Later that evening it was discovered that he was the only one who didn't adhere
to the strict policy of swingers to wear only knee-high nude hosiery.

A Winter Prelude

2010-11-13T19:51:00.006-06:00

I See Dead People

2010-10-31T15:38:00.017-05:00

Okay, so it's Halloween and I have no salacious photos to post of me as a skank-ass ho or Wally as a sadistic Santa Claus. I happen to have an allergy that has affected both of my eyes and therefore I could not wear the required face paint for picking up tricks. Halloween is the only time I can make any good money, seriously, I am a little bummed out. I did consider going out as a plastic surgery disaster, with my eyelids being so inflamed, but then I thought that might be cruel to people like, that lion lady.

So instead, I will tell you some scary stuff. When I was little, I was so scared of my Grandfather's ghost, I would hide under my Grandma's kitchen table when she went out to feed the chickens. I would hold my breath so he would not hear me, and so I could hear him coming down the old, creaky staircase. Not that there had ever been a sighting of my Grandfather's apparition, but the fear of this possibility would bring me to tears.

I have had a few weird things happen to me since. Unexplained instances of electronics turning on by themselves in the middle of the night. Something scratching furiously at the door of a closet, that when opened, revealed no living creature, or explanation.

But then there was that house on Magnolia.

Two years ago, I started checking the real estate section for potential fixer-uppers. While randomly searching the internet one day, I came across a home for sale on a double lot, loaded with all things vintage - original stained-glass windows, hand-carved staircase, intricately tiled entry ways and fireplace mantels, original hardware. It was so perfect, I could not make an appointment to see it any faster.

A couple days later, Wally and I were walking down the sidewalk looking at this old and worn Dutch Revival home. Inside, we were blown away by the beautiful little details - but, confused by the general condition of the home. While the stained glass windows and glass tile fireplaces were intact, the walls of the home were exposed to the studs. It was dark and foreboding, but I shrugged that off as the impending dread of such a large scale project. Before we could even inquire as to the reason of the bare bone walls, the realtor explained that ten years prior, there had been a fire and the walls and roof had to be rebuilt. The house had been empty all of those ten years. All of a sudden the uneasiness I felt was stronger. And I had questions. But again, I pushed these thoughts aside and decided to do a little investigating of my own.

I was able to find out that the original owner (a Free Mason, known as the "Corn King" after making his fortune in the corn pits of Chicago's Board of Trade in the early 1900s) commissioned an architect named William G. Weigh to build the house in 1896, when the Uptown neighborhood still had open fields. The house had won a prestigious award for design from the American Institute of Architecture. The Corn King had died in the house, as did his son, both of natural causes.

It wasn't that I felt these men were haunting the house. There was something much darker, a presence more sinister and angry. I started having your garden-variety Amityville nightmares.

More searching went on. The current owner had moved in with his new wife who lived a few doors down the block. This was after an undisclosed illness had taken the life of his first wife. Did she die in the fire? I tried to get this answer from the realtor, who admitted she was a smoker, but that to the "best of" his "knowledge", he was unaware if she accidentally started the fire or if anyone died in the fire. This was despite the fact that the realtor had told us that he was good friends with the owner of the property. So why didn't he know?

I could not find any record of the fire in the mid-1990s, nor could I find if anyone died in the fire.

Wally and I were discussing the possibility of putting an offer in, but my nightmares continued. We looked at the house again, and I spent some time by myself in it, but I couldn't shake the feelings of something evil. As much as I tried to rationalize my feelings, it came down to the fact that I would not be able to live in the house without being scared to be alone. We let the opportunity pass.

And then one day, I was going through old files and came upon the photos I had taken that initial showing. I laughed to myself about whether or not the place was really haunted. But then, as I stared at the very first photo I took that day, I noticed something in the window.

If you look closely, you can see a woman in the middle of the bottom pane,
looking forlornly downward, while above her to the bottom right corner
is a devil face...yikes!!!

Vacancy

2010-10-28T21:18:00.004-05:00

Diptyph ::: North Avenue Beach in Late October
:::Click on image to enlarge:::

Found No. 25 - Beastie

2010-10-28T09:52:00.005-05:00

My very first found photo.

Storm Of The Century

2010-10-27T09:20:00.009-05:00

My favorite thing about living by the lake is my view of Belmont Harbor. As you know, I have occasionally posted pictures of the Harbor during different times of the year. Since my time of living with this view is coming to an end in seven months, I have decided to photograph it everyday, beginning on November 1st.

I am still working out the mechanics of the project. Yesterday was supposed to be the worst storm in 70 years, so I thought, what better a day to go for a trial run with time-lapse photography. I started shooting at 7am and ended around 4pm, taking a photo every 4 seconds. I had to stop the camera a few times to adjust exposure, and at one point I knocked the camera over (!), but in the end I had approximately 7000 images! After some editing (and by no means perfect), I have captured the storm of the century (which was so completely lame).

Being that the computer memory needed for such a project would be insane, I will most likely shoot only 12-24 images a day for the seven months, resulting in just under 5800 photographs. I am so happy I won't have to leave this behind.

Chartreuse Deconstructed

2010-10-21T19:58:00.005-05:00

Dearborn Bridge over Chicago River

We Used To Wait

2010-10-21T09:13:00.010-05:00

Yes, this is a picture of me holding a catfish. Yes, I do have a mullet. No, I did not have an eating disorder at the age of seven, I was just a really picky eater.

When I was a kid, my parents owned a resort that was steps from a lake. We had a boat dock and boats. We went fishing a lot. I could clean a fish with my bare hands.

My parents liked to adult fish. Meaning, they would get up at 4:30am and be out to the fishing holes no later than 5:30am. This was just a bit too early for me, but I was forced to go, because, quite frankly, who the hell can find a babysitter at that godforsaken hour of the day?

I was not a very good fisher. I could not sit still. Nor could I keep quiet. My parents attempts to teach me patience were futile.

Which is why I hate selling real estate. Here are the similarities:

There is excitement as you bait the hook, artistically positioning the bait in an appetizing way with which to attract your prey [staging your house, putting flowers out, making it smell pretty, cleaning out the cat box]

Then you throw the line into the water, and wait [listing home on the MLS, waiting by the phone for the calls for showings to come in]

Occasionally you get little nibbles, the kind that make you fantasize about the size of the fish [people come, act interested, you anticipate a bidding war]

You check bait, it is gone, you re-bait [time goes by, you lower your price]

This all repeats over and over and over again.

You start to judge the nibbles by how powerful they are, you start to will the fish to take the bait [a second showing! awesome! please buy my house please buy my house...]

And finally, after two years, you are able to bring a fish out of water. It's not quite big enough to feed your family, but it will do nicely [YAY UNDER CONTRACT!]

We finally sold our beautiful home and it is bittersweet.

Fuzzy Blue

2010-10-08T10:01:00.000-05:00

Outer Space

2010-10-05T15:57:00.003-05:00

Silver + Light

2010-09-18T17:39:00.003-05:00

Outside Soldier Field

The Last Summer Day

2010-09-17T08:52:00.002-05:00

Monroe Harbor with Adler Planetarium in the distance

The Buddhist In Me

2010-09-10T09:59:00.005-05:00

This was supposed to be a Foto Friday, but this very artistic depiction of the enormous spider I photographed in my living room today deserves commentary.

I hate spiders. Well, to be fair, I hate most creepy crawly things. I grew up in Missouri with brown recluses and tarantulas and lived in a constant state of fear that I would be bitten and dead in moments. The weird thing is, I can't kill them. I feel so bad. I mean, here is this helpless, innocent little spider that helps catch mosquitoes and other bugs and how can I kill them? Seriously.

So, living by the lake in Chicago for the last twelve years has been quite an experience as there is a strange phenomenon that occurs in the windows of every high-rise. At the beginning of summer, little baby spiders show up and make really pretty webs in the windows. One summer, I counted 36 in one window (I have about twenty windows). By the time fall rolls around, the little baby spiders are all grown up and fat from eating their prey. And they start to get cold, right around the time a person opens the windows to let the cool crisp fall air in. Which is an open invitation for invasion.

Then you have a house full of spiders. And you find them everywhere. I am constantly screaming. The worst place of course, was the time I found one in my bed. Yep, right under the covers. Needless to say, I slept on the couch for a week.

How these spiders materialize in the windows was always a mystery to me. I mentioned it to my friend Bill, who seems to be the keeper of all random information, and sure enough, he knew all about them. I checked out his claim and upon further research, found this (very un-scientific) explanation on-line...

Baby spiders release silk from their spinnerets to create a balloon-like contraption. The spiders then use the balloon to hitch rides on uplifting air currents from the lake. The spider is the Larinioides sclopetaria, an orb-weaving spider that is found throughout the Northern Hemisphere. In natural environments, these spiders live on rocks overhanging water. In the city, they have found the next best thing; tall buildings and high-rises. What makes high-rises so appealing is the light shining through the windows.

Thankfully, Skye and the cats are on my protectors. They pounce on them and sometimes eat them as a snack, which takes the pressure off of me killing the poor, scary spiders. Hopefully they will be gone by winter.

Scars Are Badass

2010-09-10T09:15:00.006-05:00

It's almost breast cancer awareness month. And you all know how excited that makes me. Today I received an invitation to an art exhibit from David Jay, a photographer who in his infinite wisdom of toying with the emotions of breast cancer survivors, started The SCAR Project.

I found out about this project when I was a frequent visitor to the Young Survival Coalition boards. Everyday I would silently commiserate with my cancer sisters and live in fear of mets. The mets thread was the worst - daily reading about women who were dying right there before my eyes. All of a sudden, someone would just disappear for a few days. And then her husband or sister or best friend would log in under her name and write about her valiant fight to the end.

Anyway, one day, a thread popped up for this project to photograph women and their scars. Being an artist, I visualized the beauty of this idea and being a cancer survivor, I yearned selfishly to recapture something of myself. To feel pretty again. And human. Because I was feeling dead inside.

So I contacted the photographer. And, the reply to me was that I was too old. At 38 (this was before they changed the age requirements on their website for applicants to be between 18-35). I was hurt and angry and responded by bashing him on the YSC boards. I wondered what his motive was for this so-called project. Fame? A coffee table book? Some perverted fetish? In the end, I had convinced myself that all the angst caused by this wasn't worth it. I also decided that I would never visit the YSC boards again. I already had enough poison in my body, and I didn't need to poison my mind.

A month or two later, my friend sent me her SCAR project photo. It was, admittedly, beautiful and emotional and tragic. Three years later she is still alive, as am I. And as we all know, that's ultimately what really matters.

Fame Is A Four Lettered Word

2010-08-14T18:00:00.006-05:00

I am in awe of and totally jealous of two people who, in different time slots, make up most of my television viewing. They are Rachel Zoe and Jeff Lewis. As a matter of fact, they do not know it, but they must have been separated at birth, and the biggest shocker is that I AM THEIR THIRD EMBRYONIC SISTER! Yes, we are, all three, the same exact person(s). Except that I do not have my own reality show (yet). But....

I am completely crazy
I use the word "ba. na. nas." a lot
I do not allow my employees to go "number two" at work

Me, Jeff and Rachel during a night out - notice: I dyed my hair that night because
Rach gets pissy when my hair is the same color, and since she's a
little more famous than myself, I have to do what the bitch says.

I am sure that I could have my own reality tv show as a psychotic boss, but who wants to watch a show about accountants? My real life is much more fascinating and glamorous.

Speaking of which, I submitted my letter to Suzanne Somers and on Friday I received a giant box containing forty bags of chocolate covered espresso beans! Then, my friend told me she posted the letter on her blog. So now I will begin the downward spiral into chocolate covered espresso bean addiction...see you in caffeinated hell, my friends.

Giant Monkey Hitchhikers

2010-08-07T18:35:00.002-05:00

Corner of Halsted and Cornelia

Foto Friday - Brought To You By The Letter...

2010-07-31T09:26:00.003-05:00

Just north of the corner of Fulton Market and Green Street

I Will Stalk This House Today

2010-07-30T10:54:00.005-05:00

Hello. I am a victim of the economy. I have had my house on the real estate market since Labor Day, 2008, and shortly after it was listed for sale, the media started to blast out that the housing market was crashing. This may have sent some home sellers into complete emotional breakdown, but for me, it became a challenge. Before each showing, I would meticulously clean my house in fanatical mode - not unlike Annette Bening in American Beauty, complete with pantyhose and heels. Even now, one hundred million showings later, the big hairball of cat puke on the couch must be disposed of, the furniture febreezed and the chrome fixtures have to shine to the point of potential blindness for the intended viewer.

The one thing that a prospective buyer, such as myself, should NOT do, is search for a new home if their current home isn't sold yet. Unless you have a shitload of cash and are famous and therefore entitled to have more than one home at a time.

Yes, I am guilty of this, so guilty in fact that I have been known to stalk a house for weeks, months. I am not sure what I am accomplishing with this. Do I expect the owners to run out and hand me the keys to the front door? Here, here you go, it's all yours! Move on in! Or do I expect to drive by and find that the home has vanished and therefore I needn't obsess about it any longer?

When the obsessed-over home finally sells (ie. doesn't show up on my daily morning review of the MLS listings), there is sadness and relief, and I temporarily consider therapy. But then, much to my happiness, there is usually a new listing that pops up and begins the insane cycle once again.

Cotton Candy Expressway

2010-07-23T11:58:00.006-05:00

Sausage Man

2010-07-17T12:39:00.011-05:00

By the corner of Lake Street and May Street

Welcome to a new segment of Foto + Monologue.
Every Friday I will load up a photograph taken with my iPhone that week.

Found No. 24 - Mouse Droppings

2010-07-16T09:40:00.006-05:00

She smiled, unaware that right outside the door,
a giant, hungry cat waited patiently to devour her...

The Gun Show

2010-07-12T08:52:00.008-05:00

I taught my nephew to roll up his sleeve, flex his bicep and ask "Wanna go to the gun show?" I thought this appropriate since he lives in Georgia, eats barbecue regularly, and is five years old. At least I haven't taught him to swear. Yet.

I grew up with guns. I lived in Missouri, after all. My dad had (and has) a collection of all sorts of guns - rifles, handguns, semi-automatic, which used to be locked up in a glass gun cabinet and proudly on display. He bought me a bb gun when I was seven, with which I happily shot at squirrels and birds (until I realized I was a really good shot and that squirrels and birds die).

We ate wild game frequently - venison, pheasant - even squirrel! This was discovered much later in life, after Wally and I read an article in the New Yorker about Kentuckians who consider squirrel brain a delicacy, but now have a form of mad cow disease. After summarizing the article to my dad, and remarking "Isn't that crazy? I am glad we never ate squirrel!", my dad, choosing his words carefully, delicately informed me that in fact we had eaten squirrel. I am not sure what was more traumatic - the idea that we ate tree rats or the confirmation that I was indeed a hillbilly.

In any respect, this week my city has decided to allow it's citizens to arm themselves legally against the gangsters. There was talk about a "gun boutique" going up in Lincoln Park! I am sure it would have done excellent business. I can just picture all the Lincoln Park yuppies sprinting to wait in line for it's opening, American Express platinums and double skinny lattes in one hand and baby stroller/dog leash in the other, waiting to buy their shiny new guns. But alas, gun shops have been banned in the city.

On the other hand, Wally and I will not need to purchase a gun. I am quite certain that between Wally's dad and my own, we will be getting one for Christmas (because, you know, guns and Baby Jesus go so well together). I would like to have two, so I can wear them on each hip like an urban cowgirl hipster. The effect would be quite slimming. Problem is, we are only allowed one per home and we can't take them outside. Specifically, porches, yards and garages. This ruins yet two exciting aspects of having a gun in the city - popping off caps at rats in my parking garage, and celebrating like the gangsters during the holidays (Mother's Day and Valentine's Day included).

So, it appears the only use for a gun in my household will be:

a nifty coffee table decoration
settling disputes with our neighbors
holding up the pizza delivery man for fun
Russian roulette drinking games
or just in case a gang fight breaks out in my kitchen

So many possibilities.

What We Call The Tuck-A-Butt

2010-07-02T07:55:00.003-05:00

Rare footage of Skye doing her thang...

Chocolate + Caffeine = Yum Yum

2010-06-23T11:08:00.005-05:00

Dear Suzanne Somers,

First, I would like extend my gratitude to you for inventing the thigh master. It is truly a wonderful fitness tool and because of the incredible toning of my thighs, I am able to do many things like pole dance and open up beer bottles. I am very popular at social events.

But the real reason I am writing is that my husband and I just got back from a mountain trek to the Nepalese side of Mount Everest's basecamp. The trek was 14 days long, very strenuous and while the food we ate was all organic, we found ourselves battling stomach bugs after a couple of days. This would zap our energy and make the day's trekking very difficult, not to mention require many unhappy trips to really smelly and slippery squat toilets.

Before leaving on our trip, I had packed some emergency food just for this potential problem. As I filled up some ziplocks with Clif Bars and single-serve peanut butter, I found a bag of chocolate-covered espresso beans a friend of mine had given me for Christmas. I looked closely at the bag and saw that they were made by Suzanne Somers! I thought, "hey, this would be a great surprise if we need energy and caffeine and most importantly, a chocolate fix!" I secretly packed them in my bag.

So after a couple days on the trail and after a particularily bad evening spent nursing an upset stomach, I decided to break them out and share them with my husband the following morning. It was the only thing we could manage to eat at that time. Not only are the beans delicious, they woke us up and gave us crazy energy that kept us going up that mountain for hours!

There after, instead of drinking coffee in the morning, we just ate your beans. Sadly, we ran out before the end of the trek, but you can be sure that for future mountain climbs, we will always have plenty of Suzanne Somer's Chocolate-Covered Espresso Beans in our backpacks!

Your fan forever and fellow blonde bombshell...
Bette

Ways To Save Money In A Shitty Economy

2010-06-23T10:19:00.007-05:00

Conversation with who I think is a table busser at Bar Louie Wrigleyville while lunching with my friend, Kelley, before the Cubs v. Sox Crosstown Classic game.

Guy in normal street clothes approaches table...

Me: Oh, (motioning to my plate) did you want to take this away?

Table Busser(?): Are you finished with this?

Me: Yes.

Table Busser (?): Can I have your hamburger?

Me: (momentary pause) You mean to eat?

(not a) Table Busser (after all): Yes.

Me: Well, okay...do you want my ice tea also?

So the guy pulls the plate closer to himself and starts assembling a sandwich with my leftovers as we just stare in disbelief. And then...

NTB: WHERE'S THE MEAT? (very loudly) DON'T YOU GOT ANY MEAT?

I squeaked out a little "no" and try to explain my dining out dietary eccentricities (ie. eat the protein, leave the carbs) but the guy dismisses me with a wave of his hand, picks up the plate and the ice tea and walks over to an empty table to eat his vegetarian lunch.

It's Summer, Somewhere

2010-06-16T08:57:00.006-05:00

Sometimes I play one song over and over and over again in the car. The reasons are many, primarily that I am usually practicing my singing and determining the song's karaoke worthiness, and to see if other people walking on the street or in their cars think it is a good song fit for me. Usually people just ignore me (well, that is in general). It is best during the summer, when I can open every window of my car and maximize my talent exposure.

There is this guy who walks in front of my house every so often that sings at the top of his voice. Opera. And when he passes people by, not only does he sing louder, but he puts this gigantic smile on his face. I wonder if people think he is crazy, but I secretly wish I was him. He certainly has talent. When I see him again, I will make a point to tell him I think he is extraordinary.

The weather has been so crappy for June, which has brought a very disturbing fashion trend. Short shorts with cowboy boots. I don't get it. First, I haven't seen anyone wearing short shorts that truly deserves to wear short shorts. I mean, you have to have eaten celery all winter in order for your thighs to qualify. Then, it's like, cold out, and so since it's June, you are adamant about wearing shorts, but your lower legs are cold so you throw on the cowboy boots? I mean, even Sissy in Urban Cowboy didn't stoop so low to get Bud back. She just wore a spaghetti tank top and a cowboy hat and that was sexy enough! Girls, take note!

Oh how I love Urban Cowboy. It is always so fascinating to me that Uncle Bob lost a testicle while bull riding. I find karaoke much less dangerous personally.

It's Ain't Curling

2010-06-09T21:25:00.012-05:00

Today, I spent most of the day trying to figure out how to show excitement for something I have absolutely no excitement for. Ice hockey. While googling for information about the Blackhawks to expand my scant knowledge, boredom set in and I decided to make these pictures of me, Wally and the Stanley Cup.

Let's look at the facts. I grew up in a part of the country where ice hockey didn't exist. I have problems watching the sport, as I can't figure out where the hell the hockey puck is most of the time. It is because of this that I feel anxious and want to scratch my eyes out when I watch a hockey game.

I know that the Chicago Blackhawks are in the playoffs and I know that the name of the championship game is the Stanley Cup. Yesterday, I found out that they were playing the Philadelphia Flyers. And, yesterday, I found out that there is a hockey team called the Philadelphia Flyers.

I know the Blackhawk's "song", only because they play it on TV every ten seconds. I find the music video much more interesting than ice hockey.

Don't get me wrong. I think the hockey players are really hot, despite their lack of teeth, bloody noses and black eyes. So much so, that I made the mistake of commenting on how cute one of the players was on Facebook, only to receive notifications that I had inadvertently developed a crush on a player of the opposition and consequently lost 27 friends. In my (poor) defense, I seriously thought he played for the Blackhawks. Oops.

So today I will not claim to be a fair-weathered fan. In fact, the only way I will know what becomes of the final game for the championship is if I hear the sounds of gunshot and smell the smoke when el tracks burn to the ground in the warm summer air.

Update: Blackhawks win. Yawn.

Glass Harbor

2010-06-04T09:08:00.002-05:00

Fissuring Structure

2010-06-03T09:10:00.007-05:00

I always wanted to say that I am "on a sabbatical" and take like, a year off work. When other people say that, I wonder, without asking, so, you are on this sabbatical from work, traveling the world or something exotic like that, and NOT receiving a paycheck. How is that possible? And what will happen when you decide to come back to work? Like, your employer is just gonna say "welcome back" and not just hand you a pink slip? Of course, now-a-days the appropriate dismissal from work is sent by text message, I imagine.

So, no, I still have yet to indulge in the mysterious sabbatical. I settle for another fancy word, hiatus, which has many meanings according to Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia...

Hiatus may refer to:

Recess (break), a break or interruption in the continuity of a work, action, etc.
Hiatus (anatomy), a natural fissure in a structure
Hiatus (television), a break of several weeks or more in television scheduling
Hiatus, a discontinuity in the age of strata in stratigraphy
Hiatus (band), a Belgian crustcore band

While the first definition is my initial inclination, I find the second definition strongly attracting. Maybe it's just that fabulous word "fissure" that does it for me.

In any respect, I am done fissuring and ready for the summer!

Found No. 23 - Proof

2010-05-03T21:53:00.007-05:00

Salina, Kansas 1933

There are many things that drive me crazy (with love) about this photograph. The George Washington calendar. The floral wallpaper. Her shiny stockings and authoritative stare. And the baby yeti on her knee. Especially the baby yeti on her knee.

Oh my gosh, I am so in love.

Rave, Followed By Rant

2010-04-30T09:38:00.008-05:00

Maybe it's the anticipation of getting out of Dodge. Wally feels it too. We are ready to board our plane and commune with sherpas and yaks, and wake up in the morning breathing fresh mountain oxygen-depleted air, and become familiar with squat toilets and catch a yeti on film. We are anxious and sleep-deprived. Why can't we leave tomorrow instead (knowing that tomorrow will soon come and our spare bedroom is piled high with an unorganized mess of gear)...

As a result, I haven't had much to think about other than the trek. I've started a separate blog for this - :::yeti trekker::: - in hopes of blogging throughout the course of our journey. Yes, we are taking technology to the mountains with an easy to pack and carry two pound netbook, a nine hour battery and our Skype all hooked up and ready to go. Trendy? Perhaps. But I'd rather think of us as technical pioneers. We'll see if it works. We will probably be cussing at the extra weight.

In other news, I hate Barney's, the department store. For some reason, I was obsessed (who, me?) with this perfume called Le Labo and the only place they sell it in Chicago is Barney's. So I go there and while browsing the perfume counter, they followed me around and watched me closely as though I was about to rob them blind. Then when I finally found the counter I was looking for, they were so pretentiously snobbish, I thought, thank goodness I have all my teeth and am not wearing overalls or something - I would really be in trouble. So, I found the perfume and bought it.

Only to wind up hating it because it gave me headaches.

Which only meant I had to return it. YES, I WAS RETURNING SOMETHING TO BARNEY'S! I tried to think of ways to avoid going there again, like, selling the perfume on eBay. Or giving it to someone else. Or just forgetting about it and calling it a loss. But then I thought, screw that! I want my money back. Why should I be intimidated by some nasty Gold Coast sales witch who doesn't smile because she has botox freeze?

So I grew some cojones and returned the perfume. And as I left, the sales witch rolled her eyes. Whatever. It's not my problem you work at a department store owed by a frickin' purple dinosaur.

Found No. 22 - Camel Toes

2010-04-29T10:13:00.002-05:00

Just because this is awesome. And because I have the same exact outfit.

Found No. 21 - (It's Never, To Me) Just A Mountain

2010-04-19T08:14:00.003-05:00

Some believe that a photograph captures the soul of it's object, however, I find that completely impossible when it comes to photographing a mountain. No matter how I've tried, I can never photograph adequately the massiveness or allure of a mountain. I cannot make an image of the smell in the air, the feeling of awe at the beauty before me, or the feeling of anger when the altitude is kicking my ass. To me, a photograph of a mountain is a miniature recollection of a moment that is big and ageless. It is a reminder of obstacles overcome.

Easter Bunny And Sacrificial Child

2010-04-04T08:00:00.004-05:00

Being that a friend forwarded this to me, I can't really label this a "found" photo, but it's just too good to not share. I think I have mentioned that

a. I am obsessed with bunnies.

b. when I was little, I woke up really early on Easter morning and looked out the window and saw the Easter Bunny in my front yard.

So, Happy Easter and don't eat Peeps and drink cola at the same time. Trust me on this one.

Found No. 20 - Close Encounters

2010-02-20T21:32:00.006-06:00

I looked at this image for a long time. And then I looked at it again, for a long time. And what really bothers the shit out of me is, what the hell is that thing [furry space creature] on the left side of the photo? I mean, I am really seriously bothered by this. And another thing that really pisses me off is the smirky look on the girl's face, like, "haha, I know that a furry space creature is in this photo with me, but you will never know the truth, stupid 21st century humanoid!"

Or something really mean like that.

Stick With Me Kid, You'll Go Places!

2010-02-20T20:55:00.005-06:00

My friend, Dan, has a blog in which he critiques little kid's art. It is so awesome, I secretly sent him my nephew's photo that he took with a plastic digital camera awhile back. There was no favoritism involved - he has NO IDEA I submitted it - I still have to email him back and let him know...but I think I want to first submit these clay sculptures that Nicholas created of a very f***ed up version of the three pigs. Those, of course, are not my little four year old nephew's words.

Here is the link - enjoy!

Early Morning Harbor

2010-02-12T21:15:00.002-06:00

It's Always Unblocked In Philadelphia

2010-02-10T20:04:00.008-06:00

Don't even bother buying yourself a chastity belt in this town.

Thanks Colleen for thinking of me when you saw this!

Wintery Night

2010-02-09T21:25:00.003-06:00

Top: Corner of Inner Lake Shore Drive and Melrose Street
Bottom: Lake Shore Drive

Both taken outside my eleventh story window.

Forward Moving

2010-02-08T09:14:00.016-06:00

Today is year number three since my diagnosis of the big C. Not bad for a late-stage cancer survivor. While this has changed my life, I feel as though I am beyond normal. Stronger. I hardly think of the journey to this day anymore. It is only after I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and notice the scars do I stop and think exactly why and how they got there, which is a big change from thinking about cancer everyday.

So in honor of celebrating this cancerversary, and keeping with the theme from a couple of blogs ago - Doppelgängers, I have posted a photograph of celebrities that best resemble me naked from the waist up. It was a toss-up between Marilyn Manson and Barbie, but I would have to go with Barbie, because Marilyn Manson is really a man. And really pale. And really a bigger freak than Barbie.

Old Man Bar Discoveries

2010-02-07T16:00:00.012-06:00

My friend Jimmy worked at this old man bar in the Ukraine Village, and being an old man bar, the drinks were cheap and the pool table was readily available. This one night, as Wally and I, some other friends, and some girl named Chris (who had a vicious crush on Jimmy), sat around shooting the bull, a new song "Ava Adore" by the Smashing Pumpkins came on the jukebox, which prompted a game I coined "Six Degrees of Smashing Pumpkins". For those of you unaware, the band grew up in the Chicagoland area, and consequently, almost everyone I know has had an SP encounter.

So we went from bar stool to bar stool with our SP story. Someone had washed their car right next to Billy Corgan doing the same at a car wash. Another person's friend had a friend who dated D'arcy.

Wally and I had a few stories. First, Wally's co-worker was married to Billy Corgan's step-brother and they spent every Christmas with Billy. Then, Wally and I had briefly hung out with D'arcy and James Iha at the Elbo Room for some charity event - sometime early in their career. It was all very casual - I didn't know what rockstars they would eventually become.

And then there was the time that our friend, Ric, who was buddies with Jimmy Chamberlin, called Wally and I up one night with an invite to bowl with Jimmy at Waveland Bowl. Which we did, and called Colleen to come along too. He drank Tanqueray and tonics, with a lemon, and was a pretty good bowler as well.

We had all taken our turns with our tales of SP and the only person left to give her story was Chris. She look at us with an amused smile and said:

"I was married to Billy Corgan."

There was silence and then finally one of us asked, "What did you say?".

She went on to explained that they were high school sweethearts (edit: previously this stated "childhood" but what I meant to say was high school) and that they had been married in 1993, separated in 1995 and divorced in 1997. She said that the whole album Adore was about their life together at the end of their relationship, as were some of the Pumpkin's earlier songs. In particular was this song, Lily, about their cat (one of my favorite songs off of Billy's Home Demos which features a more raw, acoustic version than on Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness). She said that their cat used to sit in the window sill of their apartment waiting for him to come home. She seemed very sad that they were no longer together.

Of course, we were all shocked and relieved that the game had come to an end. But also enriched with a new six degree story to tell.

Editors note: After posting this, I found a lot of activity on my website from a site called BlamoNet. I feel it necessary to add some clarity to this blog post.

First, I have nothing to gain by writing this story. It is just a recount of something funny that happened to me and my friends, albeit after we knocked back some cheap beer. This is a true story and it happened when Adore came out. According to Chris, the Adore album was about her. Whether that is factual or not (I have not researched it further), this is what she believed at the time. In addition, although I love the music, I do not know much about the personal lives of the SP members, but she did tell me about Lily the cat. And thank you for pointing out that the photo is not Billy and Chris - I found it by googling and wanted to include a photo of them together. I did not think it looked much like her, as she had blond curly hair when I knew her, but I thought that this was a picture of them when they were young. I have subsequently removed the photo.

If you have any further questions, please feel free to post a comment and include your email. Thanks for reading!

Naughty Little Kitties!

2010-02-05T17:44:00.002-06:00

My friend Keith sent me this photograph of a lovely mural. For some reason I think it is indicative of the way my cats behave the moment I walk out the door, which would explain why my household cleaners are always diminished shortly after I buy them.

I Am A Sucker For The Umlaut

2010-02-03T10:25:00.003-06:00

Yeah, remember when I said I would NEVER join Facebook? Well, Facebook has appealed to my addictive personality and I have been sucked into it like a woman who prostitutes to sustain her crack addiction (aka crack ho). Fortunately for most, one does not need to prostitute themselves to participate in Facebook - all you need is a computer, a keyboard and modem. Also, you can link Facebook to your phone so you can receive a constant feed of status updates and comments on your own witty status updates. It might just trump the automobile, airplane, telephone and Internet in world's greatest inventions!

Anyway, one fun thing to do is receive instructions from other Facebook friends on what to put as your status updates. For instance, a couple of weeks ago I got this: quick everyone, don't let the men know but us women are gonna post the color of our brassieres today. Oh yes, this caused quite a stir among the men. What exactly had taken over the women that day, they wondered. It was probably something hormonal for sure.

Another status update had me kicking Chuck Norris's ass while standing in line at a bank because that's the way I roll. This was determined by doing some fabulous equation based on my birthdate.

The latest and greatest was this week: Post Your Doppelgänger. First of all, I am so illiterate that I didn't even know what the hell that was - my first thought: post a german venereal disease you've had? Well, let's see... But then I googled and found a great photo of Kim Basinger, who people often said I looked like when I was younger (much, much younger).

After a week, no one commented on my Doppelgänger, so I thought, oh no! No one knows who she is! So, maybe I should go more contemporary. Someone told me recently I looked like Fergie (which I just don't get), so I found a photo and posted it up.

A couple hours later, a conversation between my mom (who is a Facebook Mom) and me:

My Mom: So, I see you changed your Facebook photo...

Me: Yeah, you like it?

My Mom: Oh yes, that is a gorgeous picture of you - when did you have that taken?

So, I have concluded that I really must look like the Ferg if even my Mom can't tell us apart.

As a sidenote, I reposted my Kim photo, and two people commented saying they just thought it was an old photo of me with 80s hair. Thank you Facebook for allowing my friends to feed my hungry ego.

And Now I Only Eat Guitars

2010-01-31T09:09:00.016-06:00

After now fully recuperating from my unbelievable punk rock karaoke birthday celebration at Rockit Wrigleyville, I am finally getting around to reminiscing. I dressed as a punk rock yeti, which consisted of a lot of fur garments. Surprisingly enough, I was the only yeti sighting that night...

This is one birthday that will go down in history - here are some highlights:

My friends, who came and dressed all anarchy
My friends who jumped onstage and rocked the house
Billy Dec wanting to pose with me for a picture on his phone (sooo rockstar haha)
PRESENTS!!!
My final performance which consisted of a lost fur skirt while belting out Blondie's Rapture and channeling GG Alin, sans blood-letting and poop-slinging, of course
More frilly underwear dancing at Smart Bar

Basically, as you may have surmised, I do not adhere to the advice that I should act my age.

*Special thanks to Colleen and Keith for the party planning, and Tad for capturing the final moments on iphone faux film!

Found No. 19 - Stranger Danger

2010-01-19T17:35:00.004-06:00

Inscription: May 1974

Yeah, I'd go for a ride only if he promised we could stop at the liquor store and have a party in his chest hair.

Wash Me Messages

2010-01-16T22:47:00.003-06:00

@ Best Buy parking lot, Bucktown neighborhood, Chicago

Sunday Afternoon Chicken Hypnosis, Or, What I Do When I Am Bored

2010-01-15T08:00:00.000-06:00

Skye's Ugly Addiction...

2010-01-12T20:00:00.003-06:00

Skye loves Ugly Dolls, specifically "Ugly Dog", also known as BooBoo. She treats her Ugly Dog like a baby, carries it around with her and gently nibbles on it's ears. It takes about six months before her Ugly Dog's stuffed guts are scattered all over the house.

Here are a couple photos of her protecting her brand new BooBoo.

All Things Jersey - Revisted

2010-01-12T19:20:00.000-06:00

Jersey dresses... Jersey cows...
Jersey housewives...

Jersey Shore Goombas...

Freakylekie Friday

2010-01-08T14:42:00.024-06:00

So, the other day I was blindly watching the tube when all of a sudden Ghost Lab came on. Ha ha - yeah, I know, that was the beginning of my last blog post - I am trying to continue on with a theme for goodness sakes! Like you don't watch TV like 12 hours a day too? Anyway, it was easier to copy and paste that line rather than type a new one all over again...

Ghost Lab. I do not like TV shows or movies about ghosts in my house anymore. When I was a kid, I LOVED movies like this, but then as an adult, I realized the real possibility of demon possession and decided that demons could probably sneak up on my lazy television watching ass and the next thing you know, I'm cussin' like a sailor and hurling my cats against the wall just by pointing at them. Not to mention all the green vomit everywhere - try to get that out of your carpet. And that head spin thing - explain that one to your chiropractor.

Anyway, I left the room to go look at porn and all of a sudden, Wally yells from the living room "Sanchez - hurry, get in here! This guy you know is on TV!" (Sanchez is his endearing term of the month for me - I call him Pedro). So I quickly zip up (really kids, that was a joke) and I run into the LR and plop myself back on my lazy ass couch.

In this Ghost Lab episode, the ghost hunter dudes are in Chicago and investigating a couple of scary ghosts at this tattoo parlor called Old Town Tatu, that is housed in an old funeral home. OMG, I scream! Yes, I totally know the owner of the place! His name is Richie and I met him back in 2004 after he had opened up the shop and he was inquiring about some accounting help. He drove up on this big ass motorcycle and squeezed in my doorway totally covered in leather and ink and piercings. I gave him some free advice and he told me to come by the shop for my next piercing or tattoo. Sadly I never took him up on it because I was scared he would pound my head in when I told him I wanted a Richard Simmons tat on my right bicep.

So anyway, the ghost hunters are there at his shop doing all this thermal imaging and stuff and talking to witnesses about the ghosts. The first ghost is named Walter, and he had been seen many times and threw stuff around, turned on and off lights, slammed doors, you know, typical Scooby Doo stuff.

I am starting to get bored, but I decide to wait until after the commercial break to see if they interview Richie. It comes back on, and they start to talk about the second ghost they are investigating and what do you know but they were investigating RICHIE'S GHOST!!! My mouth dropped open and then I had a small accident in my pants. Yup, poor Richie died in 2006 and now he hangs out with Walter the Ghost and Beetlejuice and probably drinks beer all day long in his version of the afterlife!

After I became conscious again, I had to then leave the room because I couldn't stand the thought of Richie's spirit possessing my body and making me drink Budweiser. I still want the Richard Simmons tat, so I think I am pretty much un-possessed. By Richie the Ghost, at least.

Reginald Rumpelstiltskin Ripeass Who?

2010-01-07T09:32:00.008-06:00

So, the other day I was blindly watching the tube when all of a sudden Wheel of Fortune came on. WOF is my favorite game show, as I am really good at it and often fantasize about being a star contestant. I mean, how hard is Hangman when you have cold hard cash and prizes to motivate you instead of the threat of death by hanging? True, it doesn't take high intelligence to play, like Jeopardy, which I really suck at, but hey, you can't blame a girl for wanting to be in a Pat Sajak Vanna White sandwich.

Okay, now I need a cold shower.

Anyway, here is what I saw, conveniently filmed by a parakeet and easily found on Youtube to bring you hours of pleasurable replay...one thing that bugs me, though, is why do people buy a vowel when there are non-vowels left and they can clearly solve the puzzle?

Blue People Scare Me

2010-01-07T08:21:00.005-06:00

I Was A Yeti In My Previous Life

2010-01-05T17:44:00.020-06:00

Ahhhh, the first blog of the new year.

First, I would like to say that an enormous snow storm is about to hit Chicago, and I am so very excited! Yes, I am one of those people who have a completely sophomoric outlook on bad weather, as I automatically call a snow day and don't do jack shit but sit at home and cook and watch court tv. Seriously, I have already done my grocery shopping for the next few days!

My friend gave me a book called "calming your anxious mind" because she knows what a spaz I am and how I desperately need some serious un-medicated calming. I decided to take a hot bath to get me in the mood for de-spazzing, and to help ease the pain in my lower back from when I did something completely stupid today while working out.

The only problem is that I have the attention span of a monkey on crack and I cannot focus on what the book is saying to me because I left my hands in the water too long and now they look all wrinkly and stuff. As a result, I do not make it past the "foreword". So I decide to read the back of the book and it reads "...discover your own potential for presence and stillness, kindness and compassion...blah blah blah blah..." and I think, I do not have time to read this book because the water is getting cold and my back is still hurting and I wish that I had a little person to follow me around and give me orders on what to do next.

What the wha? you ask? I know, another year of mindless banter awaits! Bully for me, double bully for you!

I have never tried meditation. Well, actually, that is a lie. When I was a little kid, my parents were totally into transcendental meditation. In fact, I swear during a party my parents threw when I was maybe five, the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi came to my house and hung out in my bedroom and watched "Old Yeller" with me. But then again, the Maharishi delusion might have been caused by a contact buzz from some funky incense which was burning, or the fact that I was sick in my bedroom with a really high fever. Whatever the case, there were a bunch of crazy hippie folks sitting around like the 70s Beatles in my parent's makeshift Midwestern Indian ashram (which normally acted as a living room). I don't know. Hell, maybe the Beatles were there too.

In any respect, I will try to read the book and work on my "mindfulness" and hopefully this will unbunch my proverbial panties.

In other news, the New Year has made me realize that I am not getting any f***ing younger, and that it is time for me to seriously consider...

...wait for it...

...planning my Everest Base Camp trek in Nepal!

(What did you think? Children? Maturity? Oil of Olay? pfft!)

I have tentatively chosen the month of May. Girl, you crazy! you say? Well, yes, that is obvious, but there is a motive. I fail miserably with my fitness during tax season, so this endeavor will ensure that I get my fat lazy ass to the gym and continue to be a freakazoid workout queen during tax season. Will it work? Well, once I buy the plane tickets and pay my trekking deposit, I am pretty much in it deep and will have no choice.

So, we'll see. But I am totally psyched and dreaming again of mountain air and Dal Bhat and yaks and yetis.

Found No. 18 - Get Your New Year On!

2009-12-31T16:00:00.002-06:00

Happy Y2K-10 everyone - may this decade knock last decade's smelly socks off!

Signing off 'til next year - gotta go clean my gun before the clock strikes midnight!
xo bette

Image: From personal family collection c.1975

Life Imitates Art Imitates Life

2009-12-31T08:57:00.006-06:00

It has been a New Year's Eve tradition for me and Wally for the last thirteen or fourteen years to prepare a lobster dinner with live lobsters flown in from Maine. They arrive that morning, moving around in their air freight crate, spending their last hours in cold darkness without knowing of their steamy fate.

Wow, writing that makes me almost feel sorry for them.

In 1998, we had just spent all year making our dilapidated condo livable, and were excited to host a New Year's party with about ten of our friends. We would be eating our lobster dinner and then by 11:30pm, we would drive off to The Hideout for the countdown to 1999. I made a delicious New England clam chowder from scratch, rosemary new potatoes, green beans, cornbread and of course, the lobster. Meanwhile, Wally was in charge of entertaining.

Hmmm, this is where the trouble started...and let me preface the following by saying that I certainly have had my over-served moments, but Wally's New Years 1998 was definitely a memorable one...

One of our friends had generously brought Wally a gift - a bottle of Balvenie Single Barrel 15 year Scotch. While I was busy in the kitchen, Wally was having scotch. And wine. And champagne. And as I brought the food to the table, I realized my plight. Wally was really having a HAPPY new year time, and I hadn't even had a drink all night!

Thankfully, we were eating late and when everyone was finished, there wasn't much time left to waste so we all hurried into our winter coats and piled into designated driver's cars .

As with most situations with a car-load of drunk people, they like to sing really loud in the car. I cranked the radio and drove as fast as I could, watching for stoplights and watching the clock. It was taking forever to get across town and we finally pulled up to the bar and ran in as everyone was chanting eight, seven, six...plastic flutes filled with cheap champagne were shoved in our mittened hands.

Happy New Year! Big long kiss! It was time for Bette to get her first real drink of the evening.

So I went to the bar and sat down and ordered a beer. Meanwhile, Wally is strangely walking around in circles. I think, is he looking for the bathroom? I get up to direct him, and he starts to hug the wall. Now I am mad. I put him on a stool and order him a coke. I tell him he had better not move from that stool. I WILL have some fun and he can just sit there!

All our friends are in the back room by the band and I am sitting next to drunk boy, wondering just how long before I have to take him home. He says, I have to go to the bathroom. I tell him, fine, you have 5 minutes. Meanwhile, some oddly familiar girl sitting in the corner all by herself, observing the whole situation, comes up to me and says, Wow, he's pretty out of it, huh? I laugh and say, yeah, sadly - word of advice - don't ever mix scotch and wine and champagne! She laughs, knowingly nods her head and disappears into the other room.

At 12:21 AM, January 1st, 1999, Wally was ready to go home.

Later that morning, Wally awoke to find what was left of his scotch poured down the drain. While I thought this was funny, my Dad, after telling him the story, gave me a ton of grief for being so wasteful.

I found out a few days later that the girl at the bar was Martha Plimpton, who had ironically just filmed the movie 200 Cigarettes, a story about a drunk girl who passes out at her own New Year's Eve party.

Some New Year's Eve Drinking Tips...

2009-12-30T09:00:00.007-06:00

The following are derived from not adhering to my Father's sound advice that New Year's Eve is for amateurs. Now that I am a seasoned ex-drinker, I feel I should pass this wisdom onto you...

Do not drink any combination of beer, wine, scotch or any other mixed drink all at once for many hours in a row.
Do not drink aforementioned lethal alcohol combination on an empty stomach, or after consuming copious amounts of seafood, specifically lobster.
If a guest shows up uninvited, be sure to hide your expensive gin.
Do not attempt to cue up U2's "New Year's Day" song seconds before the stroke of midnight.
If you must sing karaoke at the top of your lungs, please provide your guests with earplugs.
Regardless of what anyone else says, a colander and a flashlight is a good alternative to a disco ball.
Leaving a pair of handcuffs lying around is not a good idea if you do not have a key for them as you may have to cut them off a person who has cuffed themselves to a hot radiator.
Check all hallways and neighbor's doorways for passed-out guests (usually can follow the snoring sound).
Be sure to keep a blanket in your bathroom, just in case you wake up naked the next morning in a fetal position, and a pool of drool in your porcelain bathtub.

The Snow Cap Of My Eye

2009-12-29T14:41:00.007-06:00

Way Down South

2009-12-27T21:01:00.012-06:00

I started last week out feeling like a giant ball of chaos and ended it feeling extremely chill, even though coming back from the holidays is hectic and I have a million things to do. Wally and I left an impending snow storm in the north for the mild temps of the south last Sunday and spent our first two nights in the land of Cracker Barrels, Walmarts and Gun Shows. Oh yeah, and Smoky Mountains. We rented a posh cabin complete with a electric fireplace (!) and a pool table (!). All to ourselves (!). Since we had arrived in the dark, we didn't get to see the amazing views from our deck(s) until the following morning, and being my first time to this particular part of the world, it was then that I discovered how the mountains got their name.

It was difficult to find a trail that was accessible the next day. The roads were closed due to a snow storm that had passed through earlier that week and supposedly trees had fallen everywhere. A park ranger suggested a nice little four mile trail past a waterfall and up a mountain ridge. It seems as though this was only trail they were telling people about that day, as it was very crowded all the way to the waterfall. Beyond this point, we strapped on our crampons, and continued further up an untouched trail, our footprints laying claim to the 8-10 inches of fresh snow. It was peaceful and strikingly beautiful.

The next day, we left the Smoky Mountains and detoured through North and South Carolina to Georgia. Our goal was to make it to Atlanta early enough to drop off our stuff at Pam and Dan's, change clothes and be on time to our 5:30pm dinner reservations at Woodfire Grill.

Unfortunately, we ran into some serious traffic and drove up to the restaurant at 5:34 with full bladders and remnants of lunch litter. My first words to my dear sister were not of joyful reunion, but "I have a banana and I have to pee!" and with that I carried a banana peel past her and sought out the bathroom.

We had the five-course tasting menu with wine pairings and it was pretty good. This is the place that Top Chef contestant, Chef Kevin Gillespie owns. My favorite thing was a pork belly and quail dish. Mmmmm. Yes. Impressive for sure. (We also checked out that week Top Chef contestant Chef Richard Blais' burger joint, Flip and it was yummy as well).

The next few days were spent playing with NP and Egg and hanging out with my mom and Pam and Dan. The craziest thing about this Christmas was the preparations for Santa, as it seemed not so long ago that my sister and I eagerly awaited his arrival, staying up as late as we could and swearing the next morning we could hear the reindeer's hooves on the snowy roof.

Have A Holly Jolly Christmas!

2009-12-24T14:30:00.004-06:00

And don't forget your ugly Christmas sweater!

Sonic Accountant

2009-12-18T09:31:00.007-06:00

Before I got into tax accounting, my vision of an accountant was this:

-Big eyeballs behind bigger glasses
-A lot on the heavy side, especially in the lower extremities
-Very, very unfashionable clothing
-Very, very bad sense of quirky humor
-Greasy sausage fingers
-Crusty eye boogers
-An overly active ego
-A cheesy, wood panel office with smoke stains on the ceiling

By golly, I think I have described my first boss (the accompanying photo was found by googling "nerdy accountant" images, seriously!).

Anyway, as a result, I have worked super hard to be the antithesis of my vision and I think I have achieved this, except maybe the humor and the ego part. My friend, Paul, also an accountant and just as gorgeous as me, suggests I change the name of my practice to Glam Tax, and to be honest, I am seriously considering this.

Every year I have to have so many continuing education credits to keep up my license, like most professionals. Attending these day long lectures about tax law is about as exciting as watching paint dry. And when you walk into a room of accountants, the smell of fast food hits you like a Big Mac truck as you are greeted by all those big eyes behind big glasses.

Yesterday, however, the mundaneness of my tax class was replaced by hilarity.

The lesson of the day was built around economic troubles, and while relavent, it was depressing. We had two speakers, Larry and Tim(ster). Larry kept calling Tim(ster) "Handsome", which was confusing, as Larry sounded a lot like Woody Allen, but also talked about his wife and two kids and Jewish mother. It made me a little worried what goes on behind closed hotel room doors. Especially since as we took our first break, Tim(ster) and Larry had something that resembled a lover's spat about how Tim(ster) wanted Larry to tone down the endearing references.

At Larry's defense, Tim(ster), I suppose, could be handsome.

Anyway, Tim(ster)'s voice was about to go out, so he clipped a small microphone to his tie so that everyone in the room could hear him. About half-way through the morning, everyone was complaining about how hot it was in the room (we were in the basement of a Wyndham Hotel, which is so awesome all on it's own), so he left to go get someone to adjust the heat. Meanwhile, Larry began his lecture on the History of Credit, and all of a sudden, we hear this curious sound.

It sounded like, well, like someone draining the main vein. Amplified. Over the loud speaker.

We all looked at each other in shock, with our disbelief soon confirmed believable by the sound of a zipper and the powerful flush of a commercial-use toilet. The Tim(ster) had forgotten to turn his microphone off.

I swear, I almost died laughing. And when Tim(ster) returned, everyone still laughed, for at least another fifteen minutes. One thing all us accountants, big or small waisted, nerdy or hot, could agree on is that, thank God he didn't have to take a dump. It was a Breakfast Club moment, sorta.

Instructional Videos And Silver Surfers

2009-12-13T15:15:00.003-06:00

Harbor Contemplates Ice

2009-12-10T16:38:00.002-06:00

This cold morning...