31 December 2006
File: Home, Holidays
17 December 2006
File: Holidays
12 December 2006
File: Holiday Zombie Attack Gingerbread House
We bought the gingerbread making kit from Costco and started decorating last night. Matt's twisted mind came up with the Zombie-Attack Gingerbread House. I'm pretty proud of how it looks. (I should say looked. Matt already ate part of it.)
The front.
The poor gingerbread people attempted to signal for back-up. It never came.
The other side. It reads "No Z." Perhaps they thought they'd let the zombies know they weren't wanted. Unfortunately, zombies cannot read.
The back. Note that windows and doors are boarded up, in a futile attempt to prevent the zombies.
Close-up of fallen gingerbread men.
Oh, the horror. Mmm...brains.
The front.
The poor gingerbread people attempted to signal for back-up. It never came.
The other side. It reads "No Z." Perhaps they thought they'd let the zombies know they weren't wanted. Unfortunately, zombies cannot read.
The back. Note that windows and doors are boarded up, in a futile attempt to prevent the zombies.
Close-up of fallen gingerbread men.
Oh, the horror. Mmm...brains.
11 December 2006
File: Holidays
Both were delicious.
We also made a zombie attack gingerbread house. I'll post pictures of that one shortly.
09 December 2006
File: Oops!
I giftwrapped the template (about the only thing I'm giftwrapping around here) to reflect a certain December mood. Hooray for green, red, blue, and yellow.
So, this has been the week of parking woes. Last Saturday eve, Matt's mom came into town to help us with the new home. We decided to meet Matt's Aunt Pat for dinner near her condo in Evanston. It had been snowing pretty hard the day before -- some of my colleagues couldn't even get into work. So, we felt pretty lucky when we found a dug-out on-street parking space. We parked the car and continued down the street for dinner.
After eating a pretty good Asian feast, we were walking back down the street. My dad called to see how things were going, and I was chatting with him as we walked. Let me put you in the moment (and change tenses mid-paragraph): At the front of street, we see a bunch of tow trucks. Oh, I think to myself, what a shame. Some idiot parked in the wrong place. Then, I look down the street. There are tow trucks and police cars lining the street.
Alert to the idea that something may be wrong, I look beside me to see a blur of color racing past. A second or two later, I realize that blur of color was my spouse, yelling expletives. I put tow and tow together* and get that they are about to tow our car. Yikes. I hang up on my dad, and start running down the street behind Matt. (Note: this is an icy street.)
By the time I make it to the center of the flashing orange lights, Pip, our beloved Scion XA, is up on the towing doohick. Matt has successful convinced the traffic official to release the car. The guy was pretty nice about it, but ticketed us anyway, as a warning not to park on the street when the city declares a snow emergency. (A snow what?)
Cut to Wednesday evening. I'm due at the HowStuffWorks Christmas party at a downtown bowling alley called 10Pin. Deciding that I'm way too smart to park in the $30 garage below the House of Blues, I find a meter on Kinzie. I'm a little weirded out because it does say "No Parking - Tow Zone," but I figure, there's a meter. I had once gotten a ticket when I parked on Halsted for a similar offense. I contested the ticket and won because the meter and the sign were conflicting. I figured that surely the city had learned its lesson. Besides, I thought, there are guys valeting cars to this very section. A valet wouldn't put a car in a tow area, right?
I never got to find out. The abridged version: Matt attempts to find the car. He is unsuccessful. He arrives at the party to find out where I parked it. I give him directions. He arrives forty minutes later, very cold and pretty hot under the collar. He couldn't find the car. My group had effectively closed down the party and were ready to leave.
I had previously offered to take Alex, my co-worker, home. Ken, my boss, offers to walk us to the car. (A man with experience, he must have known that the car would be nowhere in sight.) The four of us leave and go to where I parked the car. In place of Pip is a silver VW Rabbit, as if Pip had taken the blue pill from Alice in Wonderland and shrunk.
--Um, buddy, I say. I think they towed the car.
--Are you sure you parked it here?
--Oh yeah.
We continued walking to Ken's house, and he was nice enough to drive all three of us home, despite living two blocks away from the fiesta. I expected Matt to more angry than he was. He really should have chewed me out, but didn't, really. He wasn't upset (that much) that I did a stupid and got the car towed. It was walking around in the cold that got him.
Oops. I have learned my lesson on that one. Sorry, honey.
I was able to retrieve the car the next day, again another nice thing that my wonderful boss did for me, as he insisted on driving me to what we found was the underbelly of the city. A lot of seedy workings from the city that works. My favorite episode: the website said that it would cost $100 to retrieve my car. When I called to make sure that my car was actually at the impound lot they said it would be at, the guy told me that I needed to bring $170. I replied that the website said it would be less. His pithy retort: "Your car isn't in a website."
Oh, how I love this city. And will be more protective about where I place Pip. In downtown Chicago, a $30 valeted parking garage is a steal.
*deliberate bad pun
So, this has been the week of parking woes. Last Saturday eve, Matt's mom came into town to help us with the new home. We decided to meet Matt's Aunt Pat for dinner near her condo in Evanston. It had been snowing pretty hard the day before -- some of my colleagues couldn't even get into work. So, we felt pretty lucky when we found a dug-out on-street parking space. We parked the car and continued down the street for dinner.
After eating a pretty good Asian feast, we were walking back down the street. My dad called to see how things were going, and I was chatting with him as we walked. Let me put you in the moment (and change tenses mid-paragraph): At the front of street, we see a bunch of tow trucks. Oh, I think to myself, what a shame. Some idiot parked in the wrong place. Then, I look down the street. There are tow trucks and police cars lining the street.
Alert to the idea that something may be wrong, I look beside me to see a blur of color racing past. A second or two later, I realize that blur of color was my spouse, yelling expletives. I put tow and tow together* and get that they are about to tow our car. Yikes. I hang up on my dad, and start running down the street behind Matt. (Note: this is an icy street.)
By the time I make it to the center of the flashing orange lights, Pip, our beloved Scion XA, is up on the towing doohick. Matt has successful convinced the traffic official to release the car. The guy was pretty nice about it, but ticketed us anyway, as a warning not to park on the street when the city declares a snow emergency. (A snow what?)
Cut to Wednesday evening. I'm due at the HowStuffWorks Christmas party at a downtown bowling alley called 10Pin. Deciding that I'm way too smart to park in the $30 garage below the House of Blues, I find a meter on Kinzie. I'm a little weirded out because it does say "No Parking - Tow Zone," but I figure, there's a meter. I had once gotten a ticket when I parked on Halsted for a similar offense. I contested the ticket and won because the meter and the sign were conflicting. I figured that surely the city had learned its lesson. Besides, I thought, there are guys valeting cars to this very section. A valet wouldn't put a car in a tow area, right?
I never got to find out. The abridged version: Matt attempts to find the car. He is unsuccessful. He arrives at the party to find out where I parked it. I give him directions. He arrives forty minutes later, very cold and pretty hot under the collar. He couldn't find the car. My group had effectively closed down the party and were ready to leave.
I had previously offered to take Alex, my co-worker, home. Ken, my boss, offers to walk us to the car. (A man with experience, he must have known that the car would be nowhere in sight.) The four of us leave and go to where I parked the car. In place of Pip is a silver VW Rabbit, as if Pip had taken the blue pill from Alice in Wonderland and shrunk.
--Um, buddy, I say. I think they towed the car.
--Are you sure you parked it here?
--Oh yeah.
We continued walking to Ken's house, and he was nice enough to drive all three of us home, despite living two blocks away from the fiesta. I expected Matt to more angry than he was. He really should have chewed me out, but didn't, really. He wasn't upset (that much) that I did a stupid and got the car towed. It was walking around in the cold that got him.
Oops. I have learned my lesson on that one. Sorry, honey.
I was able to retrieve the car the next day, again another nice thing that my wonderful boss did for me, as he insisted on driving me to what we found was the underbelly of the city. A lot of seedy workings from the city that works. My favorite episode: the website said that it would cost $100 to retrieve my car. When I called to make sure that my car was actually at the impound lot they said it would be at, the guy told me that I needed to bring $170. I replied that the website said it would be less. His pithy retort: "Your car isn't in a website."
Oh, how I love this city. And will be more protective about where I place Pip. In downtown Chicago, a $30 valeted parking garage is a steal.
*deliberate bad pun
08 December 2006
File: Home
Progress. Here I am in our bathroom. The wall above me is the last bastion of white. Matt's mom and I started painting this place lavendar last weekend. I finished it tonight. Hooray!
File: Holidays
I'm sitting in our new condo, waiting for food to arrive, as I contemplate the Christmas tree. I am a happy being.
I love going to Matt's folks in Ohio for Christmas. There's something magical about having Christmas morning at Nanny and Papa's. Nanny has so much joy for the day. It's great fun to have the whole gang troop over, gather in a large circle in the basement, and let the present-opening begin. But I know when I'm in Ohio, I'm not in Florida with my parents. There's over a dozen of us that gathers in Columbus. My folks just have us. (Okay, that's not entirely true, as my aunt and cousins come over too. My aunt's parents, who have been like grandparents to me, attend. Often, my friend Travis joins us for the festivities as well.)
I'm not saying what I want to say well. What I'm trying to say is that the holidays are now happy-sad, to use a Cabbage Patch Kids term. I wish I could split myself in two, three, or four (that's really what's needed: one of me with my folks, one with Matt's mom's folks, one with Matt's dad's folks, and one of me soaking in the Jacuzzi tub).
I am especially contemplative because we don't have any real traditions and I'd like to create them. Other than the putting the spinning dreidel on the roof (I'll try and post video as Hanukkah approaches), and the nine-foot menorah on the lawn (the one pictured below was the first incarnation and is only a six-footer), we mostly spent the holidays lighting the menorah and opening presents each night.
Christmas was spent celebrating my birthday, normally with my mom serving a baked ziti. It was great. Now, it's spent in a whole different way. My birthday, which is always remembered by Matt, is often an afterthought by the rest of the gang who are busy and stressed and just trying to make it through Christmas. (I can't really blame them, but I always miss a cake with my name on it and actual birthday paper. I realize it's awkward timing, a tradition I began at birth and continue to this day, but birthdays do get a little lonely for me.)
Hanukkah, too, isn't really mentioned, (not for any real reason, I think) but when I'm away and I don't light the menorah, I feel sad and like I'm not being true to my traditions. (Although last year, at Matt's dad's celebration, we lit the menorah. It was sort of awkward because we did it during the day, but also really cool that he thought of it.) The first few nights of Hanukkah fall while we're in Cleveland next weekend, celebrating an early Christmas. Maybe we can talk to Matt's dad about lighting the menorah again. That would help, I think.
It's ironic, because here I am blogging about the circumstances around an interfaith holiday, but the first thing I thought to do when it turned December was put the tree up. Our tree is beautiful, even though we phoned it in this year, and didn't put on all of the ornaments. It does have a string of Hanukkah lights as garland. I think our electric menorah finally gave up last year (it had been lit for as long as I can remember), so we'll have to get another one this year and place it next to the tree. I love how the menorah and the Christmas tree look together. It reminds me how special and lucky we are to have each other -- and each other's traditions.
I was reading URJ's magazine Reform Judaism, and they talked about how interfaith couples "do" the holidays. One couple asked their family to wrap their stuff in Hanukkah paper. Another family still did the big Christmas shindig, but also hosted a Hanukkah party for the family with potato latkes, dreidels, and much singing. We don't have anything like that yet.
I'm really looking forward to making our own traditions. We have one: the special ornament tradition. Every year since we started dating, we give each other an ornament. It's the last ornament we put on the tree. I can't wait until we spend more time together and create additional traditions that we can pass onto the next generation. (Is that little feet I hear?) And, maybe, one year, we'll just stay home for the holidays. My fourth self really loves the idea of that jacuzzi.
I love going to Matt's folks in Ohio for Christmas. There's something magical about having Christmas morning at Nanny and Papa's. Nanny has so much joy for the day. It's great fun to have the whole gang troop over, gather in a large circle in the basement, and let the present-opening begin. But I know when I'm in Ohio, I'm not in Florida with my parents. There's over a dozen of us that gathers in Columbus. My folks just have us. (Okay, that's not entirely true, as my aunt and cousins come over too. My aunt's parents, who have been like grandparents to me, attend. Often, my friend Travis joins us for the festivities as well.)
I'm not saying what I want to say well. What I'm trying to say is that the holidays are now happy-sad, to use a Cabbage Patch Kids term. I wish I could split myself in two, three, or four (that's really what's needed: one of me with my folks, one with Matt's mom's folks, one with Matt's dad's folks, and one of me soaking in the Jacuzzi tub).
I am especially contemplative because we don't have any real traditions and I'd like to create them. Other than the putting the spinning dreidel on the roof (I'll try and post video as Hanukkah approaches), and the nine-foot menorah on the lawn (the one pictured below was the first incarnation and is only a six-footer), we mostly spent the holidays lighting the menorah and opening presents each night.
Christmas was spent celebrating my birthday, normally with my mom serving a baked ziti. It was great. Now, it's spent in a whole different way. My birthday, which is always remembered by Matt, is often an afterthought by the rest of the gang who are busy and stressed and just trying to make it through Christmas. (I can't really blame them, but I always miss a cake with my name on it and actual birthday paper. I realize it's awkward timing, a tradition I began at birth and continue to this day, but birthdays do get a little lonely for me.)
Hanukkah, too, isn't really mentioned, (not for any real reason, I think) but when I'm away and I don't light the menorah, I feel sad and like I'm not being true to my traditions. (Although last year, at Matt's dad's celebration, we lit the menorah. It was sort of awkward because we did it during the day, but also really cool that he thought of it.) The first few nights of Hanukkah fall while we're in Cleveland next weekend, celebrating an early Christmas. Maybe we can talk to Matt's dad about lighting the menorah again. That would help, I think.
It's ironic, because here I am blogging about the circumstances around an interfaith holiday, but the first thing I thought to do when it turned December was put the tree up. Our tree is beautiful, even though we phoned it in this year, and didn't put on all of the ornaments. It does have a string of Hanukkah lights as garland. I think our electric menorah finally gave up last year (it had been lit for as long as I can remember), so we'll have to get another one this year and place it next to the tree. I love how the menorah and the Christmas tree look together. It reminds me how special and lucky we are to have each other -- and each other's traditions.
I was reading URJ's magazine Reform Judaism, and they talked about how interfaith couples "do" the holidays. One couple asked their family to wrap their stuff in Hanukkah paper. Another family still did the big Christmas shindig, but also hosted a Hanukkah party for the family with potato latkes, dreidels, and much singing. We don't have anything like that yet.
I'm really looking forward to making our own traditions. We have one: the special ornament tradition. Every year since we started dating, we give each other an ornament. It's the last ornament we put on the tree. I can't wait until we spend more time together and create additional traditions that we can pass onto the next generation. (Is that little feet I hear?) And, maybe, one year, we'll just stay home for the holidays. My fourth self really loves the idea of that jacuzzi.
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