Ah Ha

I had a break down.

Saturday morning I was looking at the family calendar and noticed that The Child missed an orthodontist appointment last week. And I lost it. It was an internal "lost it". I didn't go all medieval on the family. But inside I was crying.

"You missed a damned ortho appointment," says you. "Come on now".

Sometimes in life, it's not the momentous things which teach us. That missed appointment clarified for me a simple fact: the only thing I'm doing well right now is work. At work I do not lose paperwork, miss deadlines or forget appointments. At work I get things done. That is much less true at home.

Aside from providing a necessary swift kick to the hind quarters, it also gave me a topic of conversation with The Child, who likewise did everything required of her for her participation in the play but who has slacked off on everything else.

At one point in our conversation she wailed about how hard it was to come home and not have me there. "I have to learn how to make myself do things without you to tell me". Well, yes. I pointed out that this was going to be more and more the case in her life and that she did have to learn to manage herself. "But more to the point," I told her, "I've been using that 'I'm learning how to have a job and manage the rest of my life' excuse, too. But the fact is, I've been back at work for over a year. It's really time for me to get it together".

Over the weekend I didn't entirely succeed in digging out from under the list of neglected tasks. But I did scrub the bathroom within an inch of its life. That's something.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

That's the sigh of relief I just issued.

The Child is done with her first high school play. It was very well received (they had to turn people away on Friday night...a first in her High School's history). She made friends. (Including a young lass named Rachael who is a senior and who drove her to the cast party after the show so I didn't have to...huzzah, Rachael). She had a blast.

But now it is over and we can get back to "normal". No rehearsals, no late night runs to pick her up after the show.

"Normal" will last for 2 weeks. Auditions for the spring musical are the first week of December.

I swear to God, when she gets her first Tony she better frakking remember to thank me.

Act II

You've seen those flash mob things on YouTube where, for example, people in a train station will suddenly start doing precise choreography to "Do Re Mi"? Or the Black Eyed Peas thing for the opening of this season of Oprah? Or even the wedding party that dances down the aisle?

Those are all very random and nice but this crazy play that started last weekend seems to be trading on that phenomenon, only without the wit or charm. I'm all for avant garde theater but this is getting ridiculous.

Today, out of no where, I was suddenly in the middle of Act II, Scene 1 of "NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME!" and it was all to do with the reasons why the main character is failing to meet her obligations, except all the reasons one way and another have to do with the mother in the piece. But the thing is that the mother basically can't win because if she takes an interest she's accused of smothering the child but if she leaves the child well alone she's accused of neglecting her. Once again the illogic of the piece left me completely baffled and wondering why they don't sell drinks in the lobby.

Oh. Wait. They do. Thank God.

Make. It. Work.

We begin this recap with a shout out to the delightful Ms. Amy Poehler for her charmingly bad impersonation of Tim Gunn on "Parks and Recreation" last night. It was a pleasant little amuse bouche before the big show.

Heidi greets our designers and the blondes are very giggly and Irina just smiles her secret smile. They have a few months now to work on their collection of 12 looks with a budget of $9,000. Tim comes out to tell them that words can not adequately express his pride in them and then he and Heidi march off to do a little silhouette dance.

As the designers are packing up there is still a fair amount of tension between Althea and Irina. Althea will "forgive but not forget" Irina's accusations of inspiration stealing. For her part, Irina is convinced that Althea and Carol Hannah are completely "intimidated" by her greatness. Irina tells us that she knows they are worried that she's going to bring her "big guns" to Bryant Park but what they don't know is that she's "bringing a tank". Someone call Hillary Clinton.

Tim's first home visit is to Carol Hannah, who has moved from Charleston to Huntington, NY. Driving from the Carolina's to NY, she stopped by Duke University and got a night-time tour. She was way inspired by the architecture and that's the basis for her collection. She's pushing herself; while gowns are her strong suit and plenty of evening wear is in evidence, she's also doing a pant, some tops and generally trying to break out of her mold. It looks to be a terrific collection. There is one particularly fun piece: a little number with a sculpted tulle skirt that has the look of a wine stopper. I love it. Carol Hannah wraps it with a blingy belt and the Gunn says, "Oh, no" and he poo poos a capelet for one of the gowns as matronly but basically he has nothing ill to say about her collection.

They roll off for meet and greet with her family and Mom puts Tim in a dorky apron and sets him to makin' biscuits. Talk about good!

Carol Hannah tells us she was a gawky, geeky kid (and provides photographic evidence) but fashion has freed her. Huzzah, fashion! Her family is all very lovely and supportive and as Tim takes his leave he and Carol Hannah hold hands in the snow and he tells her that she has "worked up a great collection".

Next up is Irina in Manhattan. She has a very yippy little dog with the shockingly original name of "Princess". Irina tells Tim that she is very inspired by Coney Island and wants to celebrate all things NY in her collection. She has some notion of these "boyfriend T shirts" with all these Coney Island images that are going to be incorporated into all her looks. I'm not actually getting how this will work; especially when she is also showing Tim all sorts of hand knit garments and talking about how the collection is "all about elegance". It actually looks terribly samey-same to me, perhaps because everything is black and grey and it's hard to even distinguish shapes. Tim seems underwhelmed and suggest that she "bracket this in your head: it must not look forced".

Tim goes to meet her family at a restaurant. Turns out that Irina and her sister are the great white hope for her parents, who left the Republic of Georgia to give their girls a shot at something better. Mom just knows Irina is going to do something stupendous with her life (no pressure) but is supportive. (Tim throws in that win or lose, Irina is a winner. Irina grimaces. Losing isn't in her vocabulary). But more to the point, she has daddy issues. Pops doesn't take her fashion thing seriously. She wants to win to prove to him that she's not a flake.

Finally, Tim is off to Dayton, Ohio to see Althea. He's all "egads" at her funky warehouse elevator. Turns out that Althea's collection is inspired by sci-fi movies and "strong women". 'K. She's worked up what I consider a very swell coat but Tim thinks it's too long and matronly. He has some pleasant enough things to say about some of her other pieces but believes she needs to "recalibrate; don't lose sight of who you are. Edit! Edit! Edit!"

They go off to dinner with her family, friends and corn fed boyfriend. Her dad opines that they always knew she was destined to be in New York and not stay in Dayton. Nice.

10 Days 'Til Fashion Week

Tim calls Irina to inform her that the producers (and more importantly, their lawyers) have decided she can't use her Coney Island stuff because the images aren't hers. Talk about recalibrating. And what an interesting turn for Miss "Everyone is stealing my brilliant ideas". (Insert Bart Simpson "ha ha" here).

Althea and Irina arrive back in New York and have a fake 'hug hug' moment because Althea still hates Irina. Aaakwaaard. There are some uncomfortable attempts at chit chat but Althea isn't playing. She doesn't trust Irina as far as she can throw her. So they sit more or less silently, tapping their toes and waiting for Carol Hannah to come break the tension.

But, oh no! Carol Hannah isn't coming! She's veryvery sick with a stomach virus and veryvery contagious (swine flu?). What can this mean? Oh, wait! Heidi sent up champagne! Never mind. While both the girls express some sorrow on Carol Hannah's behalf, they both have a glimmer of what a competition between just 2 designers might look like.

Next day they go to their big blue work room ("It's a calming space," says Althea) and note that it's weird to see Carol Hannah's collection and no Carol Hannah. Meanwhile, it's still awkward between the two women and Irina appoints Althea the "designated talker" to warm things up. Doesn't really work. Then suddenly, who should poke in her little head but Carol Hannah. No hugs for fear of contagion. Althea and Irina ask after her health but both are just a smidge disappointed to see her. Meanwhile, the poor kid is worn out and we're all wondering how she'll manage these last hectic days of finishing a 12 piece collection when she feels and looks like crap.

Tim comes to make another little tour of the collections. He uses the "matronly" word again with Althea, who is starting down a wicked spiral of self-doubt. Tim holds up 2 pieces and asks, "Is this the same customer as this?". She needs more cohesion. Irina smirks. Maybe because of the "borderline Hillary Clinton" comment Tim makes in reference to one look or maybe because zut alors! Althea has some knits. Later there is some skritching between the 2 about this because apparently Irina owns knits. The old wound opens right back up.

Carol Hannah, on the other hand, doesn't need to kick out pieces so much embellish what she's got. (Can you say "strong collection"?)

Tim is concerned that Irina's collection is "black black black" and she assures him there is a good mix of materials which make it interesting. She is struggling mightily with her finale look and as she and Tim discuss it Althea has her turn to gloat because while she may have some work left to do it is nothing like the sewing that still awaits Irina. Irina appears to be imploding. Of course, I reserve my giddiness. After 6 years of producer manipulation, I know that this may well all be manufactured precisely to make me think she's imploding. (Except, seriously, nothing is grabbing me out of her collection. And then I remember the Mariah Carey butterfly "holiday" dress she did for Macy's and I'm thinking, maybe she really is losing it).

I nap through the model casting.

Proving once and for all that they are neither dead nor the same person, Nina and Michael Kors come, at the same time in the same room, to visit the designers and offer their pearls of wisdom.

MK: "Show what exemplifies you as a designer".

NG: "If you've seen it before - take it out".

MK: "Take us on a ride"

NG: "Think about color - an all black collection is difficult".

And finally, "Go with your gut".

Know what Irina's gut tells her after the "all black" advice? She's going to ignore Nina.

3 Days Until the Runway Show
The designers are anxious about fitting their models as that inevitably will lead to even more work. Tim tells them that their "muse look" (the one that will be worn by their PR model) is the one that will go back to the judges for the final inquisition.

Heidi comes in with Tim for a little "gather 'round". Uh oh. She doesn't have any champagne with her. This is bad. Tim says, "You have demonstrated an ability to handle pressure. You'll need to harness that now....we have one final surprise".

Bastards!

The designers have to create a 13th look that must be cohesive with the rest of the collection and as well executed. Oh, and the "muse" model will cast the model to wear it. Oh. And they get helpers....the last 3 eliminated designers.

Even as the designers try not to cry, they chose their helpers. Althea picks Logan, Irina takes Gordana so Carol Hannah gets Christopher. 30 minutes to sketch, $200 to spend at Mood.

Althea decides to bring in a structured jacket. Logan is Logan.

Gordana sees her role as providing moral support for Irina so is big on the strokes and the "that's great" and "go fight win" cheerleading. Carol Hannah is focused on "whimsy" and Christopher intones that he isn't there to make decisions for her (thank God). She decides to go for a gown...it's what she knows and she feels she's adequately pushed herself in other areas of the collection.

They go to Mood to spend their $200 and there's a doggie named "Swatch". Cuteness.

Back in the work room we get busy. Gordana is hemming and trimming and generally engaging in whatever sweat shoppery Irina throws at her. Both Carol Hannah and Althea are hopeful they will get their basics accomplished and have very little finishing left to do on the morrow. The fateful "next day" should be drama enough but we get one more twist. The episode ends with poor Carol Hannah's head in a toilet. She's still very sick. How will she rally in time? (Those of you familiar with the enchanting Beatrix Potter story of The Tailor of Gloucester knows what will happen. Mice will come in at night and finish the gown).

Big finale next week. Someone hold back Carol Hannah's hair. I'll make her some tea.

And Yet My Desk Looks Like I Was Very Busy

My biggest accomplishment today was taking a bunch of leftovers and turning them into 2 Mexican casseroles.

I guess that's better than nothing, right?

Who You Callin' a Surrender Monkey?

Per our conversation the other day about haters on Facebook? 'K, so I was just reading through all the feeds for the day on my Facebook page. And I noticed something very interesting. A lot of my friends posted stuff about it being Veterans Day, most of 'em in fact.

Some didn't and that's cool. But interestingly, among those who didn't post a word about Veterans Day was every one of the Barack-Obama-is-Satan-liberals-are-driving-us-to-rack-and-ruin-and-not-only-do-I-think-George-W-Bush-was-the-best-president-ever-but-I've-totally-forgotten-that-it-was-the-Republicans-that-started-two-wars-squandered-a-surplus-and-drove-up-the-deficit Republicans.

Every. damn. one. of. them.

WTF?

I'm not beginning to suggest that ones patriotism is measured by whether or not he or she posts something about Veterans Day on Facebook. Let's be clear about that. But there is just something damned ironic (don'tcha think) about people who pop off at will questioning MY patriotism who can't spare 2 seconds to thank those who made it possible for them to freely come back at me with a "why do you hate America" every time their status quo gets rattled.

Man, if it weren't for the fact that there's an authentic deep dish Chicago pizza about to come out of my oven right now, I'd be plenty bent.

"In Flanders fields the poppies blow"

Last week we got a Presidential order at work to lower all flags to half staff through today, Veterans Day, in memory of the 13 killed at Fort Hood.

Yesterday one of the housekeepers and I were talking about it and he said, "What I don't get is we lowered the flag for them but the week before 5 troops died in Afghanistan. What about them?"

"I don't know if you've noticed this," I said, "but we tend to be a rather conflicted nation".

Certainly the lives of those who die in our wars are as worthy of flag-lowering as anyone. Strictly speaking, we should be in a perpetual state of lowered flags, certainly as long as any conflict rages and anyone is willing to fight in those conflicts. But we don't. The simple truth is that a soldier who died in Iraq or Afghanistan last week had already accepted the risks. It's not that we want anyone to die in a war but by its very nature, war kills. So troops will be lost. What made Ft. Hood so horrific is that it happened here, not in theater. You're not supposed to be taken out on base. (The fact that the shooter was a Muslim adds a whole other awful dimension to the tragedy; but I'm not going to get all Lieberman on you about it. That all needs to play out sans hysterics, if you ask me).

Today, as a proud employee of the Veterans Administration, I have the day off. And while it will mostly be spent doing all the sorts of things one does on a day off, I will also be remembering. For me, the memories will be of the vets I met during this last year as I served their families. Some of them died, many of them got well. Some of them are very young and broken in their hearts and minds, suffering from PTSD and still struggling to "come home" even though they've been back for a while. Some of them are in wheelchairs and still feeling angry and resentful at the loss of mobility. Others are in wheelchairs and set the standard for spirit, bravery and sheer gumption. I'll be thinking of all these men and women and what they have given for a nation that always seems to struggle to do right by them.

But I will also be proud to work for a government agency that does its absolute best to do right. The VA delivers some of the best and most cutting edge health care around. It works tirelessly to help troops re-enter civilian life. It continues to address the problem of mental illness and homelessness among Veterans. (About 20-30% of all homeless folks are Veterans). The VA doesn't do anything perfectly; human beings work there. But we sure as hell try. It's the least we can do.

Whenever MAB and I meet a Veteran we always shake his/her hand, look 'em right in the eye and say, "Thank you for your service". The other day we said that to a gentleman and he said, "I don't say that. Service is what is expected of a soldier. It's just doing our duty. What I like to say is, 'Thank you for coming home'. That's pretty powerful.

So to all among my bloggy buddies to whom it applies, "Thank you for coming home". And thank you for being willing to serve where others were not. And for those who didn't make it home, thank you. We remember.

Ha!

You thought I forgot to blog today. Wrong.

So a while back I said I'd write about my conundrum about haters on Facebook. I'll try that now. (Sorry it took me so long, Nic).

I have friends, actual people, who do not share my political persuasion. I can handle that. Each to his own and all. But it has put me at a loss when it comes to some of the things they post on Facebook. For example, I have a friend with whom I recently reconnected. I don't remember that he was a conservative of any stripe. Maybe he was and I just never noticed. (Although in the period during which I knew him I was about as radical as ever I was in my life so you'd think it would have come up). During the health care debate he was constantly posting status updates about "Obamacare" and skewing statistics and generally being fairly Glenn Beckish. And I never responded because, despite the wild inaccuracy of some of his stuff, I figure dude is entitled to his opinion. Except sometimes it got pretty outlandish. And what I really wanted to say was, "Remind me again who you work for?" Because he works for a giant insurance company. Hello? But I didn't do it because it seemed petty.

But it still bugged me.

I have another buddy who I really like on so many levels. In this case, I've always known my friend's political leanings and she knows mine. It's nothing to do with the core of our friendship so we let it lie. But sometimes she puts up stuff that is so outrageous that it makes my heart hurt. Seriously. Because, I'm sorry, when you start out a post with name calling that just tells me right away that we're not going to be able to have a civil conversation. Not to mention, it frankly disturbs me when someone who I know to be compassionate and loving sounds so damn hateful - there's no other word for it - when she starts talking about the President.

So what to do?

I think that if I have any charge to lay at the feet of the GOP, and I have one or two, it is this: when did y'all abandon civil debate and discourse. Let's disagree, sure, but can't we do it without the name calling and aspirsions and vitriol? Must we be so certain of our position that we can't entertain even a fair hearing of the other side?

Maybe social media - networking sites and blogs - have made it all too easy to spout an opinion without much risk of challenge. Typically, we all align ourselves with people who generally think as we do. Most of my friends on FB agree with my position about health care (and most other stuff). But it's not that there are people who disagree with me. Again, it's the sheer anger in the disagreement that leaves me completely confounded as to what to do.

In most cases, I don't do anything. I ignore the hateful posts and comment when they put up something pleasant. But that doesn't really do it for me all the time. Especially when the outrage seems so misplaced or perverts facts. But the few times I've come back with anything the response is just more outrage. And the only reason I feel compelled to respond in the first place is partly to serve notice that not everyone agrees with them but mostly it's to try and engage in civil debate.

And then I remember that civil debate isn't possible with someone who so hates this President that they call a health care plan he didn't write "Obamacare".

Oy.

Bottom line, I got nuthin'. And I think part of the reason is because I'm a Democrat. Because truth be told, one of the things Democrats take heat for is not being tough enough. And that's deserved. I mean, seriously, who do the Democrats have that could be even remotely compared to, say, Ann Coulter? No one. Maybe Jim Carville or Rachael Madow or Keith Obermann. But historically Democrats are not out there in front of issues setting the tone or proclaiming the agenda. Not like Rush and Glenn and all those dudes. And maybe we need more of that but it still has to be truth telling and record setting straight stuff. If we're just gonna get down in the mud and wrestle with the other side and see who can use "why do you hate America" more than the other guy we still haven't gotten much farther ahead, now have we? (And of course, my deep desire for the debate to be more civilized might prove the whole Democrats-aren't-tough-enough argument. But again, if by "tough" we really mean being ugly and playing dirty, I don't want to be tough).

Consequently, I'm guessing that more often than not I'm going to be letting that stuff slide because I don't want to engage when there doesn't seem to be a point in engaging.

But that said, there's one thing I have been thinking about, and it's something that may be employed. Let me go back to a time, a few years ago, when I was visiting the folks. Dame Judi has picture magnets plastered on her fridge. Each picture is of someone she keeps in her daily prayers and she puts them on the fridge because she goes there several times a day and it's a good place to house such reminders. So I'm looking at the pictures and there in the middle is one of George and Laura Bush. And I exclaimed, "Why is there a picture of Bush on here?" (forgetting, in my surprise, that she likely voted for him). "Because," she softly replied, "Scripture tells us to pray for our leaders and that reminds me to do so".

Oh.

And further more, yes. Admittedly, I didn't pray for George W. Bush as much as my Christian duty called me to do. But there's a lot of wisdom in the notion. First of all, if you're praying for someone, you really can't hate them. And hate is a bad thing. Second, my general philosophy of prayer is that you never know how powerful it can be. I mean, seriously, if every praying person in this nation was intent only on upholding the nation's leaders, whoever they might be and praying for them to be wise and good and focused and if we were doing that on a daily basis, who knows what could happen.

So I'm not going to be going head to head with most of my right wing FB buddies (who also happen to be evangelical Christians). But every now and again I may just leave a comment that says, simply, I Timothy 2:1-2.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!

You can feel it in the air, can't you? The tingle of anticipation, the look on the face of small children. It's in the lights and the decorations and, of course, the menu planning. Now the festive music of the season can be sung, the candles lit, the sport peppers sprinkled liberally upon the dogs...

Ahhhh....Iwanskifest.

That sacred three days when we celebrate the one and only, John Iwanski. The Box o' Gout arrived last week and tonight we will dine on Chicago style hot dogs (no ketchup, just a hint of celery salt) and sing Iwanski carols. Tomorrow night it's ribs, Wednesday we'll have deep dish pizza and then cheese cake to mark the occasion.

It is a time of good will, a time to focus on all things Chicago and the man who embodies, more than any other living person, the greatest that is the Windy City. It is a time to re-dedicate ourselves to the importance of intelligent smart-assery, wonkiness and wit...the gifts the great Iwanski shares with us all.

I just lovelovelove this time of year.

Dramatic Opportunities

I saw another theatrical performance this weekend. It was a pre-matinee show. To be honest, I couldn't follow the plot very well. It was about a girl and her fraught relationship with her mother...that much I figured out. And it started in a very prosaic way, as so much modern work does these days...with the mother asking the daughter to get up because they have to go to church.

The mother and father in the piece then went about doing ordinary things...drinking coffee, looking at their computers, showering. I wasn't sure at first what the playwright intended, unless it was to lull the audience into a false sense of domestic calm. Yes, that must have been it.

The mother had a line which she repeated over and over...."Get up, honey", "Get up, honey" and then, as the play built toward the end of Act I, the line became more hurried, less delicate. The "honey" was dropped as the urgency built. And then, the daughter entered from off stage, tousled and wrapped in a blanket. The actress, who was very good despite her obvious youth, immediately launched into a tirade against the injustices of parents, the weight of expectation, the exhaustion of being a teen-ager. "I can't go to church," she wailed. "I'm exhausted! No one understands how hard it is to be in a play!" (Was she breaking the fourth wall or was there a play within the play?) The character of the mother was, at this point, clearly left with no patience. "You knew the commitment you were making, you said you could handle it".

"I CAN handle it," cried the daughter. "I just can't handle being tired".

And this is where the scene devolved into a mess of illogical mystification. And shouting. Quite a lot of shouting. Although, I must give credit to the actress playing the mother, because she played this bit with a veneer of calm over a seething mass of frustration...so real it was palpable in the audience.

The first act ended abruptly and due to a variety of circumstances, the 2nd act of "NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME!" won't start again for a few hours.

I'll let you know how it turns out but to be honest, I'm not sure this is a work that I find particularly enjoyable. I was discussing the 1st act with a friend at church. She too had seen the play, many times, and noted that she has even seen it enacted with a 22 year old player.

I did not like the sound of that at all.