Pardon the Cliche, but, there's no place like home...

Year two in Kansas.

And I still want to get out of here.

Now, before the Kansan Purists start shaking their fists at me, I suppose I should clarify: Kansas just isn't for me. I used to say that I wanted a slower way of life, with friendly people & less noise but the truth is that I really preferred that in-between balance that was the western burbs of Chicago. It was slightly slower & quieter than the city but had just enough from each category, being a bedroom community, to make it worthwhile.

Is it odd that I miss paying more in taxes on everything from gas to groceries to cigarettes and everything in between? Is it odd that I miss cramming myself onto a crowded Metra train in the morning just to head downtown & cram myself onto a crowded street just to do some mild shopping?

(thought I was going to work, didn't you? It's ok...I made that mistake once also)

This will be my final year of grad school (fingers crossed) and I can't wait to sit down to a $100 seafood meal at Ron of Japan again. Where will I acquire this $100? I was hoping someone else had that answer for me...

Don't get me wrong: I still think this is a lovely town and some of the people I've met & friends I've made have been wonderful but I do feel out of place. I miss Team Rahm & Blago's hair & North Halstead & the White Sox & Old Navy Jesus Man & the CTA & complaining about Marshal Fields becoming Macy's & Adler/Sullivan & Burnham/Root & above all, my family.

I can't wait. I'm coming home, guys.

The writer gets her groove back

*the opening paragraph to my story. tell me: does this opening compel you to read more?*

Her glittery gold heels dangled over the side of the balcony, legs crossed at the ankle, the anchor tattoo still healing after being etched into her skin only two hours prior. The concrete felt cool under her thighs, her glittery gold sequined party dress riding up higher each time she fidgeted or uncrossed and re-crossed her ankles, forcing her to constantly fix it. Her black satin clutch sat next to her, the beeping of the cellphone indicating that she had a message waiting for her muffled by the tissue and crumpled bills and makeup and keys surrounding it. The late night traffic of Lake Shore Drive started to become more sporadic as the hours went on but there was always traffic. Cars and taxis zipped along much faster than the posted speed limit, oblivious to the dark, mysterious waters of Lake Michigan, with the flashing red light of the buoys reminding people of the lake’s presence. Scarlet remained transfixed by that flashing red light as she took another pull from her Marlboro menthol. This was more than just a cigarette break for her; this was a way to avoid Paul, whom she was told wasn’t even supposed to be at the party but had miraculously showed up anyway. She knew she couldn’t avoid him forever and, since it was her fault that they ended so horribly, she should at least own up to it and face him. But she wasn’t prepared. Not yet.

Hair!

I am a woman of particular tastes. No, not particular. Peculiar. There we go. I find beautiful things in and about everyone. My boyfriend in the 8th grade had full lips-soup coolers, to my friends-and dark circles under his eyes but I adored the mess out of him. So much so that I actually pursued him since the 5th grade before he finally came to his senses in the 8th grade.

But this isn't going to be an ex-boyfriend tell-all. I can't afford the lawsuits.

The latest source of my affection goes toward the intelligent, informative Dr. Sanjay Gupta and his amazing head of hair. I first laid eyes on his amazing hair follicles while perusing Anderson Cooper's website (another extremely beautiful man...he gets a post later). Dr. Gupta was discussing something or another but all I could concentrate on was his head. Something was drawing me in and I couldn't figure out what it was. My eyes then shifted to his hair, which was perfectly sculpted and shiny and just looked...so...silky. I thought to myself, "his hair looks sooooo nice." Then I said to Halbastram, "Come look at Dr. Gupta's hair. Doesn't it look amazing??"

Halbastram rolled his eyes. "My hair looks better."

I mentioned that I'd like to put the shoe on the other foot and ask to touch his hair. This is a reference to all of the people I encountered in college who, when I had a blowout afro, wanted to touch my hair. What they thought it might feel like, I have no clue. But I indulged them. My biggest hair fan was my freshman year roommate. She was always the first to see the afro and as a result always got first dibs on touching it. I never complained, since she always had a cheese platter readily available in the mini fridge, courtesy of her parents back in Wisconsin.

So I want to know what it's like to touch someone's hair. What's the sensation like? I imagine that touching Dr. Gupta's hair is like putting on a warm shirt right out of the dryer.

Or maybe it just feels like hair.

Either way, I very much find his hair nice to look at and hope that he keeps up the good work.

Yak-yak-yak

It's not easy being a genius. I'm guessing, since I'm far from it. But I know it's easy being a complete tool parading around as a genius. There's a dude I know from the way back machine, from my old neighborhood, who just talks...and talks. And I think he believes that by talking at length, something will stick and therefore, he's on the path to being a smartie. Psh. More like a smartass. I know our parents tell us to have confidence in everything that we do but there has to be a line between confidence and being humble when we might be wrong and smugness and never assuming anything we say is incorrect. I get the feeling that my future career in the politics will only get me more of the latter, but I think I've put in enough time and gained enough experience to know how to handle the talkers. However, I won't argue with you (especially if even I don't know the answer but can clearly smell your b.s.); my mother taught me the "smile and nod."

My mother is a peculiar person: she's got road rage that has clearly been transferred over to me and will come down on customer service reps like the angry fist of Sasquatch if she's not getting the answer she's looking for but if you're in her face talking some nonsense and she knows it, she just smiles and nods and goes on her way. She won't waste her energy on your silliness; she saves that for our game of "How Many Incorrect Answers Can We Throw at 'Jeopardy!' Before One of Them Is Correct?" If you just smile and nod and act as though it's no big deal, people will more than likely decide to stop talking to you, which is the main objective. Let them go spout their nonsense to someone else who gives a damn. Sure, it doesn't solve anything, but at least they're out of your hair.

Unfortunately, the smile and nod can backfire and people may take your motion as a gesture to "go, on: keep talking"...and they do. There was one fella during my undergrad years, had a crush on me, who would unload about his day and his random encounters and would pull me out of other conversations, mid-sentence, I might add, to talk to me about anything and nothing at all. And all my smile and nod did was encourage him. What to do in those instances? Fake a hearing problem? Be blunt? Ah, add to the smile and nod combo: the look-away. I let him finish his sentence and then I'd smile, nod and turn my head, to look at the wall, the clock, the window shade. Either way, the conversation is over.

I'm not a mean person and I'm far from anti-social but I think fewer and fewer people are employing the "think before you speak" rule and there should really be classes/seminars on the topic. Now, this isn't to say that everything I have to talk about is relevant. But I evaluate my audience before I open my mouth. I think, "would my classmate whom I've only had one fleeting encounter with like to hear about the clogged up shower? Hmm, probably not. Maybe she'll want to discuss British Parliament instead."

I save the clogged shower conversation for the shower itself; that way, it doesn't complain or talk back...unfortunately, it doesn't unclog either, which doesn't help. At all.

British Love

An insanely nerdy part of me watches British Prime Minister's Questions on C-SPAN Sunday nights. That David Cameron is every bit as charasmatic as he is a serious leader, even when he is cracking jokes at the expense of the leader of the Labour Party.

(have no idea what I'm talking about? it's ok...again, this is the insanely nerdy part of me speaking.)

In high school I had a slight obsession with British culture: aside from discovering Oasis in the 90's, I stumbled upon a random British teen magazine and became so enamored by it that I paid $30 a year (insane import prices and whatnot) for a subscription. When I ran out of money (or became an adult...whichever came first) the subscription stopped but little bits and pieces of the former obsession remained. It makes random appearances, such as when I'm watching British Parliament and I have this conversation with Halbastram:

Me- I want to work for British Parliament.
Halbastram- I think you're missing the key component, which is being British.

Well, an ambassador, perhaps?

I told Halbastram that when I was in high school, I always assumed I would either marry a baseball player or a British man. While I ended up with the former, I still find some members of the latter adorable (i.e., David C.).

Anyway, this blog has no purpose. Although, if you're bored and start thinking, "I wonder what that Cameron fella is saying to that Miliband guy today," tune into the P.M.'s Questions. It's a fun time of the nerdiest variety...and there's nothing wrong with that. You'd be in good company.

Love,
Tiny Elvis

Starbucks at Tiffany's

I am a girl. And with that said, I loves jewelry. And who sells jewelry? Tiffany's, that's who! Girls love Tiffany's. I think. Although, I almost gave up on the jewelry store many years ago after an unfortunate incident. Shortly after my college graduation, Halbastram, Momma Halbastram and I were out and about in downtown Chicago on the Mag Mile. Passing Tiffany's I insisted that we go inside and have a looksie, even if we were flat broke. From the moment we passed through the revolving door, the security guard stared us up and down and even followed us a bit. I guess we were dressed in our especially lower-class garb to inspire such scrutiny from the police academy reject. So after about 2 minutes I didn't even care about looking anymore and we left the store. This, of course, tainted my love for Tiffany's for a while.

And then I went to Kansas City and Halbastram encouraged me to go to the Tiffany's at the Plaza. Talk about a polar opposite! From the moment we walked in, the sales lady was not only super cordial, but she offered us Tiffany Toffee even after it became apparent we were not in jewelry buying mode. Every visit to Kansas City from that point on required a stop at Tiffany's. The last two visits resulted in purchases...inexpensive purchases, but purchases nonetheless. I didn't get any jewelry but oh to have that Tiffany's box! The first purchase was a day planner for my bestie for Christmas. The second was a gift from Halbastram. He saw it and said, "now this is absolutely you. And we're not leaving until you have it."

The Box

The Prize

Ta-Da!!

It's a beautiful cut of glass but boy is it heavy. You'll be getting in shape while guzzling down your deliciously cold hops and barley. I've only used it twice, as I'm afraid to take it anywhere near the kitchen for fear of breaking it. So it sits on the bookshelf in between my dvd of "Did You Hear About The Morgans?" and "The Complete Fifth Season of Saturday Night Live."

Oh, and Starbucks is across the street from Tiffany's. Almost forgot to work in the title.

"Dude, you just dropped a hard 'J'..."

Last night I received 5 hours of sleep, albeit slightly interrupted, but sleep nonetheless. And it was apparently enough fuel to get me started on my day. I've already started laundry, taken out the trash, made the coffee, read my email, prepared my materials for my final exam and started writing this blog. All in about an hour or so.

Seriously, Wednesday, when will you get here?

Wednesday answers, "be the fuck patient."

Well played, Wednesday.

In other news, Halbastram and I have been planning our summer run-through our hometown, the great and wonderful Chicago. Luckily, I received a few extra pesos to help pay for my mid-month trip back home for the mayoral inauguration. I have the biggest Big Girl Crush on the mayor-elect and I absolutely must meet him. It might have something to do with the Jewish Factor...

The Jewish Factor and Tiny Elvis: a couple of nights ago, I was listing the people who inspire me on Facebook and three of the six or seven people I listed first were Jewish: Jerry Seinfeld, Larry David, Rahm Emanuel. Jerry and Larry are my absolute comedic heroes and Rahm, well, that's my Big Girl Crush. He's tiny, but a very powerful politician. He has widespread appeal and he's got the mouth of a sailor at an old school Andrew Dice Clay show. Furthering The Jewish Factor is the fact that I have Neil Diamond's "The Jazz Singer" LP on constant rotation and one of my former closest male friends was 1/8th Jewish but I insisted on calling him "Rosenberg" (not his real name, btw). Why the obsession? Who knows. But it might be interesting to state that I have never heard a Barbara Streisand song or watched any of her movies. In fact, the only thing I really know about her is that she's married to Josh Brolin's dad.

Anyway, I have to satisfy my Big Girl Crush and will be spending $180 and 9 hours on the Amtrak to go and join the party. I don't think my mother is too fond of the new mayor but I'm dragging her along with me. I'll take her out for beers and oysters afterwards. This may turn into the most expensive random trip I've ever taken. And if I do come face to face with my *hopefully* future employer and object of my Big Girl Crush, I hope that I don't punk-out like I did when I saw my journalistic hero standing on the street last year (see "Shy Gal" blog). I promise not to grab his junk or anything, but I would be grateful to receive a handshake. After all, it is a Big Girl Crush: crushes for the grown ups. I won't act like I'm backstage at a Backstreet Boys concert, circa 1997. Since everyone has camera phones and whatnot these days, I don't want to ruin my future political career before it even has a chance to blossom.

This blog explores conversations that I usually only have with Halbastram, as ethnic and political discussions usually lead to losing friends and alienating people. Please read with caution and an open mind...oops...too late.

(The blog's title comes from an episode of "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia"...I use that line everytime Halbastram and I discuss anything Jewish related and I think he may have dropped a hard "J".)

Insomnia

I'm going to step away from my music blog for a moment to comment on how I don't handle pressure. Finals are coming up this week and it seems that in the last two weeks, I think I averaged 3 hours of sleep a night.

I get nervous about a paper or an exam and so when I lay down to sleep, my mind is racing and I can't get my body to rest. The smart approach when this happens is to get up and do some studying/writing, right?

Not for me. Here's the problem: at about 12-1am, my brain shuts off. After a while, the words on the page stop making sense and are just, well, words on a page. And since I'm more lucid in the daytime, I figure that stopping there and getting up early after 5-6hrs of sleep would be the best solution. So even though I can't sleep, I won't necessary get any work done either. I'm in limbo.

The term ends on Wednesday for me and it seriously cannot come soon enough. I miss my sleep. And it misses me.

Music is my...

My childhood was all about gangster rap and the best Duran Duran mixtape in all of the Southside of Chicago. My mother was versatile in her musical tastes: she grew up on blues and r&b and funk music in the 60's and 70's. Somewhere along the line, she picked up a strong love for progressive rock and early hard rock: Pink Floyd, REO Speedwagon, Led Zeppelin, The Who, etc. The list goes on. In fact, it was this love of rock music that brought her and my father together. Imagine: being two black kids in high school on the south side, in the heart of Englewood, bonding over a "Dark Side of the Moon‟ LP. Pretty fearless, I must say. And I have the two coolest parents to ever step foot in Lindblom High School.

And then they had a kid. A relative joked that said kid would come out “white” because of the parents' musical tastes. Psh. I say that relative was just jealous of my parents' awesomeness.

In 1993, I got my MTV. And it was good. It was all R.E.M. and Blind Melon and Smashing Pumpkins and Stone Temple Pilots. Who needed fresh air and cruel kids making fun of you when you had Kurt Loder and John Sencio and every other MTV VJ from the greatest decade of the 20th century?

Long story short, I have a soundtrack for just about every event in my life. Name any 90's song (preferably a top-40 hit, pop or rock…I was a tween, after all) and I can tell you where I was and how I was feeling. I grew up and went to college and it freaked me out. And I needed a release. When I wasn't drinking cheap vodka or “bitch drinks” I was laying in my crappy dorm room bunk bed listening to music. There were six albums I had on constant rotation those four years of undergraduate studies and whenever I hear these albums, these songs, it takes me back and reminds me of how I was able to keep it together. A big test? No worries: Jimmy Eat World is there for me. Project due yesterday? Just take a deep breath and pop in some Incubus. In no order of preference, those albums were:

Room for Squares- John Mayer
Morning View- Incubus
Clarity- Jimmy Eat World
Gold- Ryan Adams
Is This It- The Strokes
Long Gone Before Daylight- The Cardigans

Yes, at first glance, it is a very mainstream, vanilla mix of music but the impact they‟ve had on my life goes beyond what anyone thinks of John Mayer and his infamous “penis” remarks or Jimmy Eat World and their “emo” label.

Following my breakup from Mr. Always Late Man, I immersed myself in John Mayer, listening to “St. Patrick's Day” on my headphones in the dark until I fell asleep…or until my adorable guy friend Pink came to my door, demanding that he give me a piggyback ride to the campus radio station at 1am.

My best friend mentions that she's interested in the Strokes and by chance I receive a copy of their album in the mail the next day. So it became hers. And it soon became one of our many freshman year soundtracks, along with Ten Yard Fight, “Love Gun” and the “Granola Bar” song. We would also ponder why anyone would go to Wichita while walking to the train station, since Jack Black proclaimed that he was going there in “Seven Nation Army.”

When I had to walk to the train station solo, it was me, Brandon Boyd and his “Aqueous Transmission.” It took me a while to get back on the Incubus train, as an unfortunate encounter with my first roommate ruined their sweet poetry for me. I played “Aqueous Transmission” during the first few days of our living together and she admitted that she liked the sound; several days later, she became the biggest c*** on the planet. Suddenly, I wanted nothing to do with Incubus. But I was glad to rediscover them, as one of the girls down the hall was quite possibly the world's biggest Incubus fan and we now had something to talk about.

Ryan Adams came into my life during my senior year of college but I didn't fully appreciate him until I suddenly found myself spending many weekends alone, even when Mr. Always Late Man and I were still dating. There were some days when I just didn't want to pay for gas just to get him to come and see me. So with my best friend off with her man and my 2nd roommate watching “Third Watch” (which would soon become our show, every night at 9pm on A&E), Ryan Adams and I would make a date, singing “The Rescue Blues” and bidding “Goodnight, Hollywood Blvd.”

The Cardigans didn't come into my life until my junior year. I had discovered a new music service on the interwebs and it was one of the bands recommended to me. “Couldn‟t Care Less” was the first song that I played from “Long Gone Before Daylight” and it's so haunting and beautiful and depressing and soothing that I found any reason I could to listen to it. However I discovered that the absolute worse time to listen to it was while I was drinking, as all of those qualities that made me love it suddenly became my worst enemy. I‟d go from singing along to sobbing uncontrollably, even if I wasn't depressed enough to identify with the lyrics in the song. Halbastram and I were in our first year of dating and everything was wonderful, so the song meant nothing too personal to me. But it has that effect to make you feel it deeply no matter what, and I still feel the same way to this day.

For the remainder of my college days I wouldn't find any music that would have a huge impact in my life, although I still enjoyed discovering new music and rediscovering my old favorites. However, the first few months of Grad School would remind me of the importance of music during some of my most stressful and depressing and even exuberant moments.

To be continued…

When life was sweet...

I’ve been here for about eight months and I haven’t fully adjusted to the Kansas lifestyle. Just what that entails, I have no idea. I suppose it means that I haven’t gotten used to the lack of public transportation and classy dining options and better shopping options. Does this make me a snob? Perhaps. But regardless of how screwed up Chicago is policy and expense wise, it’s still a world-class city and still the place that I still identify with, despite the fact that I lived in the ‘burbs for eight years after graduating from high school. It was refreshing to know that whenever I needed a getaway from the SUVs and spoiled kids and American Eagle hoodies, I could hop a Metra train and go spend a ton of money in touristy-trap downtown Chicago with my mother and little sister.

Our downtown visits had a pattern: we’d arrange to meet around noon, since we had to plan around the Metra’s arrival time (which ran every hour and took about an hour and 15 minutes to get into the city from my town). I find my mother at her bank’s Gold Coast branch, she’d hit the ATM and then we’d head over to Carson’s. Once Carson’s closed (a move that deeply upset my mother), we had to find alternative department store pickings. So to Macy’s we’d go. There we’d spend way too much money on designer underwear and shoes and then decide to find a place to lunch.

And then comes the problem: after spending our hard earned dollars on our designer underwear and shoes, we’d be low on funds and therefore unable to dine at the classier establishments. As a result, we’d find ourselves having to choose a chain restaurant, a move that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, considering that we could pay less for the same food outside of the city center. Bennigans? Always a good choice, until they closed. Friday’s? That usually works, although it’s so far down the Mag Mile that we’re usually exhausted by the time we get there. Popeye’s? Always solid.

Following the food, drinks and laughs we’d head back out to do more shopping, preferably at a music or book store. We’d stock up on cds and/or magazines and realize that it’s soon time for us to depart, as I have to catch the Metra on its own cuckoo schedule.

(For anyone who is thinking of stalking us, please be aware that we’ve since switched up our routine. Shazaam.)

But despite the monotony and the routine, I would gladly give up this Kansas lifestyle to have it back. I miss the diversity, the rudeness, the Tina Turner impersonators, the homeless people who would get angry if you only gave them change, the hookers riding the train and so much more. Well, I could do without the hookers on the train, since I’m confident they weren’t wearing any underwear and I didn’t feel comfortable sitting anywhere they might have been sitting.

Grody to the max.

All in all, Chicago is a great town. There’s something for everyone and if you have a strong desire to blow through a ton of money, it’s definitely the place to be.
I’ll see you soon, you awesome city, you.

Restart 1.2.3.

It's been almost a year...a whole year. And so much has gone on. I said so long to Illinois, so long to Chicago, so long to that bus-driving business and hello to my new life in graduate school. Studying political science is indeed as stressful as you might imagine. It's hard to keep personal ideologies out of objective studies but it always makes for interesting classroom debate. This large campus environment is still pretty alien to me but it's great for people watching, but not in that creepy BluBlockers sunglasses-wearing way. The term is almost over and I got a shiny new computer so hopefully I can keep up with this writing business. Shazaam.