Jake's Pizza

As you know, I’m weathering Soderlund Construction 2010 at Grandpa's house Franklin Park while Bernardo is wintering in St. Petersburg. As a resident,it’s my job to check out the sights and local eateries. My parents insisted this include Jake's Pizza.

So, after a longer than usual day at work, I decided to order a pizza and a small salad tonight. Twenty-five minutes later, me and the Corolla are on our way down the block to pick up dinner.

Jake’s is on Grand Avenue, and there is only street parking available. Actually, there are two spots on Grand Avenue available to park in. For those of you not familiar with Franklin Park, parking on Grand Avenue would be like parking on Lake Street or parallel parking on Coliseum and Coldwater in Fort Wayne. Luckily, there was a space.

I walk into Jake’s, and I immediately question whether Jake’s sells pizza or is more equipt to dry clean my clothes. You walk in, and it's just a counter. Not a counter with pictures of the pizza or a menu at the top; just the front of a cream tiled, white walled room with a ledge. Total hole in the wall.

A man comes out and tells me my pizza will be ready in a couple minutes.
"What kinda pop you want?" he asks
"I get a pop?"
"Everybody gets a pop."
"Uhhhh..."
Alas, I see the Helen of Troy of pops for me: Squirt.
"I'll take a Squirt."

So, I'm standing there, ready to ask for a menu to take back to Grandpa's, when I notice the menu. To the right of the counter is a single white piece of paper, with the menu typed from a typewriter. I guarantee the same one has been there since my parents were ordering pizza there in the 70s.

The guy comes back out with the bill and says he might as well ring me up while I'm waiting. I hand him my debit card, and he cringes.

"I don't do enough business to keep a credit card machine, honey."
"Do you take a check?"
"Do you live here in town?"
"Yeah, I'm living on Emerson."
"Oh fine."
"How much is it?"
"$14.50. Oh just give me $14."

He takes the check, which, if he read the address would say Roselle instead of Franklin Park, and walks to the back. I then notice the sign above the counter that says "Due to the unethical and unscrupulous practices of the credit card industry, Jake's only takes American currency." Classic.

The pizza was freakin' fantastic. My parents, who said they used to split a large every night and demanded I bring Jake's the next time I come over, were right. Super simple, thin crust and just really good. I'm not a huge crust person but this was some of the best I've ever had: flaky and flavorful at the same time.

Jake's has an average five-star review on Yelp (OK only two people reviewed it but this place has enough word-of-mouth where I didn't need to go on Yelp to prove my point).

And whoa ... as I'm writing this, I discovered something really cool. There's an article from the Chicago Tribune hanging on the wall in Jake's. It features a comedian named Monte who writes a food blog and named Jake's his top pizza place in Chicago. I Googled the article so I could paste it here and stumbled upon Monte's blog. Turns out he was at Jake's ... today! Bonkers!

The article is here: http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2009-10-22/entertainment/0910200292_1_monte-food-network-lincoln-square

Monte's blog is here: http://monteism.blogspot.com/

Celebrity skin

When you work in the media, you’re bound to come across some celebrities. When you work for a small or mid-size daily newspaper, the celebrities you meet and interview are usually B-list or less. Regardless, I’ve always thought it was cool to meet in person the people you see on TV, the big screen or in magazines.

I’ve seen or met a couple celebs in my non-work life: Mike Ditka (buying baseball hats at the Bloomingdale K-Mart after playing golf at Indian Lakes); Jerry Springer twice (once when I saw “The Jerry Springer Show” and once in Cancun when he was the judge of a bikini contest at Le Boom); David Spade (outside of the same Cancun club, where Lauren had to be physically restrained by the bouncer after she tried to jump the velvet rope to go talk to him); Brandy, Gabrielle Union, some guy from “ER” and a couple of sports stars (playing in a C-list at best poker tournament in Vegas); The Fridge (who I would have not even known was The Fridge if there wasn’t a sign above him with an arrow pointing down that said “The Fridge is here.” He was signing books in Vegas); and Bill Rancic (winner of the first season of “The Apprentice,” who was at the grand opening of Sprinkles cupcakes).

The above were just sightings, no real conversations involved. But as a reporter, I got to interview a few.

*Hilary Duff: She’s a spokeswoman for Blessings in a Backpack, which is a national program that provides backpacks full of food every Friday so low-income kids can eat on the weekend. Duff visited a Fort Wayne elementary school to announce it would be added to the program. My first impression of her was that she is itty bitty in person. When I saw her picture in magazines, by no means did I think she was fat, but she was definitely an actress I thought had some meat on her bones. In “real life” she’s super short and super skinny. And much prettie. I’m gonna go a little gay here, but she really did have mesmerizing eyes. Substance? The verdict is out. I interviewed her for about five minutes (see picture above where I look like a sewer troll next to her), and I got very packaged and rehearsed answers about the program. I was tempted to ask her if she was jealous that her ex Benji Madden was shacking up with Nicole Richie, but I remained professional.

*Jack Hanna: I’ll get right to it: he stared at my boobs the entire interview. Jungle Jack was very interested in the mammal before him. He was in Fort Wayne to do a fundraiser for Black Pine Animal Park, which houses retired circus animals or wild pets. He talks very fast, and I think if I didn’t have boobs (nice ones at that), our interview would have been shorter than it was. My favorite line was when I asked him why he did the fund raiser and he very snarkily said “Because they asked me,” and walked off.

*Alfre Woodard: Gave a lecture in Fort Wayne, and I observed when she worked with a class of drama students at Indiana University-Purdue University Fort Wayne. I don’t have many memories of this. Sorry.

*Marlee Matlin and Henry Winkler: These two also did a lecture at IPFW. Apparently they’ve been friends for 25 years, so they go on the lecture circuit together. Matlin was very pretty and very tiny in person. The Fonz was very short, 5’6” at best. They’re cute together, kind of have a brother/sister vibe and play off each other well. The Fonz had a lot of sincere and heartfelt advice for the acting students.

*Sandra Day O’Conner: I didn’t get to personally interview the former Supreme Court justice, but I had a nearly front row seat when I covered her lecture. Talk about a saucy lady! During the Q&A portion, she had absolutely no patience for questions she deemed stupid and either wouldn’t answer them or mocked the person who asked them. A lot of people thought she was a bitch, but I found her quite entertaining.

*Cheech Marin: The nation’s top pot smoker gave a lecture on Chicana art. Apparently he’s a huge collector. I don’t know about you, but I could care less what Cheech has to say on the subject. But he was very nice during the press conference and answered all my questions about his entertainment career and what he had coming up.

*Marie Osmond: Marie was the keynote speaker during a women’s event in Fort Wayne, and I had the opportunity to interview her before her speech (Thank God because her speech was one of the most disorganized and rambling I’ve ever heard). Again, she was very short and tiny and had gorgeous hair. You could tell she’d been in show business her whole life, because she was “on” the entire time. I brought my mom to the event because she adores The Osmonds. During our interview, people started taking pictures with Marie, and the photographer with me asked my mom if she wanted her picture taken. She stood there like a deer in the headlights and just shook her head. It was like watching Alex P. Keaton on “Family Ties” when he freezes during the game show.

*Clinton Kelly: Prior to meeting him, I had never seen “What Not to Wear,” but I knew the premise of the show. So obviously I was very concerned about what to wear for the interview. I kept it simple with a white shirt, tan pants and some brown, crocodile peep-toe heels, but I’m still convinced he was judging me the entire time. I chickened out on asking him to evaluate my outfit, in fear he would reduce me to a puddle of cotton.

*The Kerry sisters, Cate Edwards and Andre Heinz: These four were stumping for the John Kerry/John Edwards ticket during the 2004 election and did a rally at East Carolina University when I worked in North Carolina. They were about an hour late, provided minimal information during the rally and spoke to the media after. I didn’t have any interaction with Cate but had some interesting moments with the rest of them. Alexandra Kerry, the older filmmaker sister, seemed like she was on drugs. The younger one, Vanessa, mistook me for a handler at one point. Someone brought her a coffee, and she complained out loud that it had Sweet and Low instead of sugar, and I told her I also did not like fake sugar. She responded with “No sweetie I’m fine, I don’t need anything else.” Excuse me? This was all made up for when Andre came up to me. We shook hands, and he held on way longer than was socially acceptable. Then he started talking to me about 7-11 and Krispy Kreme donuts. (This is love people). All the while I’m figuring out how I will explain to my editors that I cannot write this story because the heir to the Heinz ketchup fortune has whisked me away on the Kerry/Edwards jet. I wrote the damn story.

Soderlund estate=Ground Zero

My parents have been unsatisfied with our house since I was probably 9 years old. We moved in when I was around 3, they paid about $68,000 for the house, and it’s since appreciated to probably the mid-$200Ks (yay expensive Chicago housing market!).

Jan and John never intended to stay there for 26 years. They even tried to sell it at one point, but since my dad refuses to take anything less than what he thinks the house is worth (usually an extraordinary amount more than what it’s actually worth) you can see why they got nowhere.

Periodically, they abandoned the idea of moving and zeroed in on putting an addition on the house. It started with the idea of building on to the back of the house but because of a “Communist Roselle” rule that your house can only cover a certain percentage of your property, the Soderlunds had to take to the village board. In the early 90s, the village deemed the plan too grand and the plan was aborted.

Earlier this year, they decided to revisit the idea but put a twist on it: they’d build on to the front and side of the house instead of the back. Again, the Soderlunds stormed village hall and asked for a variance. After a little finagling, some stern looks to crotchety board members, they were granted their wish minus three feet.

The moral of this story is that construction began on said addition last month and Chach and I have had an unwanted front row seat for the action. Living in Ground Zero was not on the terms of the lease we signed when we moved home in March. But being good little soldiers, we decided to endure it for the sake of the cause.

I’m having a hard time conceptualizing the project, but I’ll try to explain: downstairs will have a new powder room, utility room for the washer and dryer, living room, dining room and large family room. A master bathroom will be added upstairs and they’re also completely gutting and redoing the kitchen.

Lovely right? Once it’s done, yeah. So far, the workers have built the frame of the addition, and it hasn’t affected us outside of some dust, strange men in our front yard and people slowing down to gawk at our display. The workers arrive at the house after I leave for work and leave before I get home, so I don’t really care.

Chach is a different issue. Anyone who knows Chach knows he needs his kitty sleep during the day. He can usually be found under the covers in the bed in his “his room” (guest bedroom) or in my parents’ bed. He likes it quiet, and he likes it dark. (For example, I overslept today so I interrupted his morning bedtime by having the lights and TV on in my room. In lieu of a kitty mask, he slept under the bed until I left). So the noise has greatly disrupted the prince’s sleep. Anyone who knows Chach also knows he is the personification of a scaredy cat. So when he sees people outside, he heads for the hills (a.k.a. the nearest bed with blankets).

The outside part is done, and the workers are ready to storm the inside. What this means is our living room will become uninhabitable. My dad’s “Real Housewives of New Jersey” marathons will have to be watched elsewhere since we won’t have power, and the furniture and TV will have to be moved somewhere. At some point, we also won’t have water downstairs. Scratch Laundry Saturdays and cooking dinner (power will also eventually be gone in the kitchen).

Once they start tackling the upstairs master bathroom, my parents will be evicted from their room. Their tentative plan is to move their mattress into Chach’s room (guest bedroom) and sleep there. That means Chach’s toys and his litter box have to be moved into my room.

There’s talk of us possibly relocating to my grandpa’s house in Franklin Park while he’s in Florida. This would be great for me because it would lessen my train commute by 30 minutes. I’m on board with this plan under two conditions: 1.) Just me and Chach go; and 2.) There is DVR and Internet available. However, I am concerned about the dinner situation since my mom has been making me dinner since I moved home (Spoiled? Yes, and proud of it). In all seriousness, I suppose if the slumlords/roommates came with it wouldn’t be horrible.

In the end, it really will all be worth it. Although I think Chach and I are going to discover a new meaning of the word roommates when it comes to my parents. Ugh.

Covering a presidential candidate

This post is less to make me seem like a showboat and more to get on paper my memories of covering Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton during the 2008 election. And I don't really care if you think I'm showing off. Maybe I am-it's really freakin' cool to cover a presidential candidate. Even cooler to cover a sitting president, which I'll expound on in a separate post. And the coolest visitor was, of course, Ted "Sam Malone" Danson.

The Democratic primary dragged on a lot longer than many wanted or anticipated. Mostly because Hillary would not give up. I gots to give props to my soul sister not only cause she was representing the XY sisters but because the primary season went on long enough to make Indiana important.

I was the education reporter at The Journal Gazette in Fort Wayne, Ind. when Obama and Clinton started realizing they had to start kissing some Hoosier ass to get some electoral votes. Fort Wayne is Indiana's second largest city, so it wasn't a stretch for them to pass through. Northeast Indiana played host to not only Barack and Hilary but Bill Clinton, Chelsea Clinton, Michelle Obama and Ted Danson (besties with the Clinton's).

I had the opportunity to cover Hillary, Obama and Ted.

Hillary: She chose a tiny diner as the venue, which maybe fed into her goal of seeming like a "small town gal" but made it very difficult for the visitors and the media. I went to the event with two other reporters and got the lucky assignment of covering the crowd outside of the diner. We arrived a couple hours before she was even scheduled to arrive and while the other two reporters made themselves at home at Sara's Family Restaurant, I was stuck outside in 40-degree, windy weather. But I didn't care. I got to see the Secret Service bring the dogs in to sweep the restaurant; listened to the cops' walkie talkies for updates on her arrival; and saw a local TV anchor pull his compact out and put makeup on. About 600 people crowded in the small parking lot outside the restaurant, waiting for a chance to get a glimpse of Hillary. She was about an hour late (not surprising based on what I've heard about the Clinton's-Bill is supposedly worse) and prior to entering the restaurant, she stopped on a stage outside to give a five-minute speech. So I got to see her from afar. She's short. If you want to read the story that came out of this day: http://www.journalgazette.net/article/20080329/LOCAL/803290319.

Obama: He held a rally at a Fort Wayne high school and nearly 3,000 people showed up. Everything you've heard about the energy that this guy created during the campaign-it's even bigger in person. That gym was electric that day. People were chanting and singing and cheering for him even before he entered the room. I had heard before he took the stage, he was shooting hoops outside. People went absolutely bonkers for him. I wasn't in the restaurant when Hillary entered, but I was outside with a larger crowd, and the energy at the Obama rally vs. her event was incomparable. This time, I got to see the national press corps that traveled with him, making me uber jealous. An interesting fact: if you ever see a candidate on TV and there's people sitting in bleachers behind them, they are hand-picked by the candidate's handlers. It looked like they tried to get a diverse batch of people. I don't know how else to say it other than it was really cool to be a part of such a magnificent event.

Danson: Now we're speakin' my language. Yeah, I can write political stories, but my home is with the celebs. Danson visited a neighborhood Fort Wayne bar called The Green Frog to stump for Hillary. It was a Saturday, and I fought tooth and nail to get the assignment. The Green Frog really is Fort Wayne's version of Cheers. The mayor's wife owns it and most of the people who hang out there are regulars. Danson arrived early, said a few words, confirmed he'd be on "Damages" again then posed for pictures. He agreed to do a one-on-one interview with me outside so we talked for about 10 minutes. You'd be able to hear it if The Journal Gazette maintained any type of decent website (I recorded it and posted it online with the story: http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:XhvfyOWimfkJ:www.journalgazette.net/apps/pbcs.dll/article%3FAID%3D/20080420/LOCAL08/804200323/1002/LOCAL+kelly+soderlund+ted+danson&cd=1&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us).

But they're cousins ...

A meeting of the minds occurred last night. Or should say, a family meeting took place.

Chachi and Pickles finally met face to face.

For those who don’t follow my life chronicles, or creep my mom’s Facebook page, Chachi is my cat, and Pickles is my brother’s new kitten. Cousins.

Ever since Danny brought Pickles home, I’ve been dreaming of a play date. I figured they wouldn’t like each other at first, but after about five minutes, they’d be wrestling and snuggling. I forgot that Chach and Pickles are CATS. Not babies. Not even dogs.

I grew up with a dog. I’m still in the mindset that Chach will act like a dog. But time after time he knocks that notion out of my head (i.e. the infamous attempt to take him for a walk).

Pickles is about 12 weeks old and rocks the long and lean look you get from Pilates. Chach … well it’s been suggested he has a weight problem. But he’s had a belly that has dragged on the floor since he was a kitten, so we like to say he’s just big boned.

I brought Chach over to Danny’s condo in his kitty carrier. Danny and my mom went in first to make Pickles comfortable, while Chach and I waited in the laundry room. I brought him in and just let them look at each other through the cage. Pickles was very curious while Chach tried to pretend she didn’t exist.

Then I took him out and held him while Danny held Pickles. Still, Chach would not acknowledge her. At one point I said, “Maybe Chach is blind?” So Danny and I moved closer and closer until Chach finally looked at her, and they gave each other some Eskimo kisses.

Don't be fooled. This was not love at first sight.

Then Chach wanted to get down, so I put him on the floor, and he was wandering around. Meanwhile, Pickles continued her curiosity and just followed him wherever he went. Then, she turned into a bad ass and started hissing at him. Chach ignored her for awhile but finally went behind the couch and hissed back. Then he hissed at anybody who came near him. This was interesting, because he has NEVER hissed at me.

I put the kitty carrier near the couch, and he walked right in, “I’m ready to leave now. I’m uncomfortable.” I then put the carrier on the kitchen table, and my mom held Pickles so she could look in. Tough Girl started some shit again, and chaos ensued. Chach had had enough and freaked out hissing and swatting in the carrier. It was time to leave.

In the end, Chach remains a cat with no friends but a knack for revenge. I woke up this morning and a metal tray full of papers that was sitting on top of the fridge was on the kitchen floor. Payback.

Nothing mystic about it

I’ve always been a cross between Snow White’s mousy, loud-mouthed sister who gets the kitty cat and not the prince and someone who’s so flushed I look like I’ve been drinking all day (which sometimes is actually the case).

I’m always the girl who gets sun poisoning on the fourth day of vacation, which forces me to either move inside or find another activity besides baking. I’m also the girl who should buy stock in aloe vera gel and has taken many an apple cider vinegar bath (sooths sunburn). The picture above is a good illustration of sun bathing gone bad.

But today, I actually look tan. I’ve been “tan” before. I spent a summer in Florida and fit in a Hawaiian vacation during that time (rough life), which culminated in a nice glow. But my natural tan from the sun is more of a red tan. For me, it’s tan. But when I put my arm up to my parents, who, in this instance look like a couple who took in an abandoned albino child, I still look red.

I’ve done the tanning bed thing and HATED it. I come out with a decent color but also with added claustrophobia. A lot of people find tanning beds relaxing and fall asleep. I spend the entire time plotting an escape and checking the timer. Music doesn’t relax me, and there’s no way in hell I’m falling asleep in there. Singing my body and tempting skin cancer is not my idea of relaxation.

So I got a spray tan yesterday. I’m in a wedding next weekend, and the dress is green (a cross between lime and clover), and I would look much better with some color. I wanted to first try a spray tan before doing it the day before the wedding, just in case I had a Ross Gellar episode (“Friends”). Tuesdays are $10 mystic tans at Ultramax, so I gave it a shot.

For those who have never done it, here’s how it works:

-You’re totally naked. My chichis and my cupcake were in on the fun.
-You put this lotion on the palms of your hands and your nails and on the tops of your feet and your toenails.
-You put on a hairnet (I’ll get to this in a bit).
-You walk in the booth and push a button and stand in place. You spread your arms and your fingers, close your eyes, and it sprays your front for about 12 seconds.
-You turn around and it does the same, then you’re done.
-You step out and wipe your hands on one towel and blot yourself with the other.
-You can’t shower for four to six hours afterward.

So I’m standing in the booth, and, to quote Lauren, “feeling like I’m about to be gassed in a concentration camp,” and I realize I forgot to put the hair thing on. Meanwhile, I’ve got my eyes closed and my mouth closed, and I’m not breathing, bordering on hyperventilation.

I rush out and try to blot my hair, which, luckily, was tied in a bun so it really didn’t get anything on there. I raced home and washed my hair in the sink just to make sure I didn’t have a streak of bronze highlights.

I was pretty dark last night and felt disgusting, like I hadn’t showered in a day. Today, I’m a little blotchy at parts but overall, I’m satisfied.

Dizzy Up the Girl

I may have a filthy mouth and a crude sense of humor, but I’m really a delicate little flower. I get dizzy. A lot.

It’s kind of become a problem in my life. There are things I can’t do, because I get dizzy.

I took ballet when I was 4 years old. I promptly quit, because I got dizzy. At the mature age of 9, I thought my problems were behind me, so I joined jazz class. Too many turns=dizzy girl. I quit.

The infamous teacups incident at Santa’s Village proved I cannot go on spinning rides. I can ride any type of roller coaster, but put me on a spinning ride and you better be ready to leave the theme park. Again, I thought I was over this when I went on the Mad Apples at the Schaumburg Fest. My friend Jeff turned into a maniac and would not stop spinning that damn wheel, despite my desperate pleas to stop.

Now, a lot of people get dizzy on carnival rides. Here’s where the delicate flower part comes in.

I also get nauseous during movies. I had to walk out of the theatre during “The Blair Witch Project.” I was breathing heavily in the Sony Theatres lobby (after sneaking into the movie of course) trying to get it together to see the end of the movie. When I saw “Speed 2” at Tradewinds (RIP), I had to sit on the floor in the back of the theatre. I left “United 93” early.” “The Bourne Ultimatum” ruined my night.

It’s the handheld camera effect that gets me. I honestly do not understand why directors use it. You’re not making anything more realistic, because I can walk down the street and not get dizzy, thank you very much.

I even got sick during “Avatar” during the 3D.

Oh, and I also get seasick. When my family went to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, we chartered a boat for the guys to go deep-sea fishing and the ladies to be dropped off at a beach to go snorkeling. Turned into the ghetto sea ride of the year, since the boat wouldn’t go faster than 12 mph, and the beach the captain dropped us at was lined with guys holding machine guns, people selling burritos on the sand, and water that was over your head after two steps.

Back to me. On the boat, all the captain had to drink was Coca Cola, so I downed a bunch of those before throwing it up over the side of the boat. I suppose being 16 years old and a little hung over didn’t have anything to do with that …

The latest bout with nausea came this week when this big shot commuter made a mistake on the train. The Metra train (which goes from the suburbs to the city) has seats that you can flip so you’re facing one another. I got on the train after work and sat in one of those, in hopes it would discourage others from sitting by me. As soon as the train pulled away from the station, I realized I was facing the wrong way! I had to decide whether to tough it out or become super awkward and sit next to the lady sitting across from me. Remembering my train etiquette, I decided to ride it out. But I still had to close my eyes for the remainder of the trip.

I sound like a hoot, huh?

The cut-throat business of breakfast

Last Sunday was besties, babies and brunching. I met Moogs, Heather, her son Ean, Lauren and her son Santino (Sonny to his close friends) at Eggstacy in Oakbrook. It. Was. Delish.

The menu was overwhelming. And they had a full juice and smoothie bar with at least 30 different choices. I ended up getting the caprese eggs benedict (egg, tomato and mozzarella on a ciabatta bun topped with pesto sauce) and a banana smoothie that had whipped cream and drizzled caramel on top. But those were hard choices considering they had carrot cake French toast, chocolate velvet French toast, etc. sweetness, etc.

It was a little pricey for brunch (my bill was about $20) but, as I always say, I’m worth it.

This was a controversial trip, because I usually eat with the Breakfast Club on Sundays. This group consists of my parents; their friends Paul and Gail; their daughters (and my friends) Janine and Adrienne; friends Ron and Janet; their son (also my friend) Greg; and new addition, Janine’s son Owen Wilson (really it’s just Owen, but you know the Soderlund’s have to give everybody a nickname).

Every Sunday at 9 a.m., they eat at Brunch Café in Roselle. This was not always the case, as they had a long-standing table at Sunny Side in Elk Grove. But everybody grew sick of Sunny Side’s food, and Brunch Café recently opened with a fantastic and creative menu, so the Club gave it a tryout.

By most accounts, Brunch Café was doomed to fail.

First off, we had to wait for a table. When we went to Sunny Side, they knew us, so they always had one waiting. But, after only two visits, Brunch was willing to take a phone reservation and have a table waiting for us every week.

Next, there was no vanilla cream on the table. The Brunch staff shortly rectified that by bringing it out from the kitchen. Now the Club members were really sweating.

The final test: what brand of tomato juice do you serve? Now, I don’t know the answer, but I do know it was the right one for my dad and Paul.

You may think these are minor things in the scheme of one’s life but, believe me, Club members take these aspects very, very seriously. Alas, Brunch Café had prevailed, and the Breakfast Club made the switch.

My friends asked if the Club would ever try something different, such as Eggstacy. I said, “No freakin’ way.” If it’s not within a 10-minute radius, they’re not interested. I asked my parents this question, just to see what they’d say and got horrified looks in return.

“That’s crazy talk,” my dad said.

Miscellaneous Windy City notes

*It’s really really windy downtown. They’re not kidding when they say “cooler by the lake.” The meteorologists will never say how much cooler, tWhen I get off the train in the suburbs at the end of the day, it feels like I’ve driven 300 miles south.

*One of my roommates, we’ll call her “Manice” to protect her identity, let my two black tank tops dry on the bottom rung of the drying rack. Well, the Tank Top Bandit struck again. We’ll call him Shachi, to protect his identity of course. Somebody’s belly is filled with two pieces of black camisole straps. “Can’t we just sew them back together?” Manice asked as she pieced the broken straps together, forming a loop the size of my wrist. “Does your arm fit in that?” I asked.

*I think I’m assigning celebrity faces to regular people. I thought I saw Kelly Cutrone from Bravo’s “Kell on Earth,” walking into Bloomingdale’s today. Nah, just a regular girl. Then I thought Suze Orman got on the elevator at the ADA. Wrong again.

*I’m amazed at the shoes girls wear in the city. Don’t get me wrong, I love shoes, and I’m a high heels kind of gal. But I’m allowed to wear gym shoes to work, and I take full advantage of it. Would my outfits look better with some kick ass stilettos? Of course. But I would not be a fun girl to be around by the end of the day. You do A LOT of walking when you work in the city. I’ve worn heels twice since I started here and both days I went home cursing.

*Chicago has its advantages and Fort Wayne had its advantages. But it’s time for a story that will award a point to Chicago. Purses. The girls here have better, more stylish purses. I can say this with full authority, because I am a purse slut. The purses many girls carry in Fort Wayne are just ugly. Mostly because they all think they’re super stylish because they carry Vera Bradley. I know some people be hatin’ on me because I’m calling out Fort Wayne’s darling but, in my opinion, 98.4 percent of the Vera Bradley bags are ugly. The solid color ones aren’t bad-I have a black one I like.

*When you do a ring check in Fort Wayne, odds are the guy is married. Switch that in Chicago. Awesome. Marriage is for chumps (Until I do it).

Choo choo

>

As you know, I take the train every day to work. Most days, I catch the 6:08 a.m. out of Schaumburg (freakin’ early right?) I get downtown at 7:03 a.m. and take the 125 Water Tower Express bus to Chicago and Michigan and walk half a block to work.

I just gave you a map for how to stalk me in the a.m. If you did, it would probably be the most interesting thing to happen to me all day.

I digress …

People on the train think it’s all about strategy. I’m here to say most of their “strategies” are bunk.

Train commuters will try to sit in the seats closest to the door. Even if there’s someone already in them and there are empty seats further back. They believe it will yield a quicker exit when they have to get off.

I, however, enjoy an empty seat for a stop or two, and I enjoy sitting by the window. Every morning I battle feelings of comfort vs. insecurity. I’d prefer sitting by myself, but sometimes find myself offended when people don’t choose to sit next to me. This apprehension was calmed yesterday when “The Smelly Train Guy” sat next to me on the way home. Not only was he “Smelly Train Guy,” but he was “Snotty Train Guy” and blew his nose all the way home. Oh, and he was “Chatty Kathy Train Guy” and yakked on his cell phone the whole way.

People will line up to get off at Union Station before the second-to-last stop (Western Avenue) just to ensure they can exit quickly. So everybody getting off at Western Avenue has to mow the Speedy Mcgee’s down just to get off the train. But here’s the catch, people will line up to get off, yet they’ll still let the people who are sitting down get in front of them when everybody’s getting off the train. They still allow the traditional “airplane exit,” where one row at a time leaves.

I lined up a couple times, but once I realized I had no more time advantage than the slackers sitting down, I decided to relish my last 15 minutes on the train and remain in my seat, reading my US Weekly or listening to one of the many NPR podcasts I downloaded (GEEK ALERT!!)

Train commuters also employ strategy when getting to their cars at the end of the day. By strategy, I mean literally running at top speed from the train to their car so they can get out of the parking lot quickly. It’s a funny sight, let me tell you.

In some train station parking lots, like Roselle, I can see the point. It’s a disaster trying to pull out without hitting anybody and even more of a catastrophe trying to make a left to get onto Irving Park Road. In Schaumburg, I find it fine to leisurely find my way to my car and exit at a normal pace. I’m only turning into a residential subdivision, and I don’t find it necessary to drive 45 mph through the parking lot (I wish I could employ this thinking while on regular roads).

These are my thoughts and don’t even get me started on the bus …

2012

On Dec. 19, 2012, it's all Soderlunds report to base. Apparently we'll have two days to drive each other nuts enough so when the end of the world comes, we'll welcome it.

My parents are among the crazies who really believe the end of the world is coming Dec. 21, 2012. We made the mistake of watching the movie "2012" on Friday, just to really drive it home.

Apparently the Mayan calendar doesn't go beyond Dec. 21, 2012, and people are taking it to mean the world will cease to exist after that date. The Mayans have a regular-guy 365-day solar calendar and also a 260-day spiritual calendar, but they also have a 5,128-year world calendar, that ends on the doomsday.

Apparently some pretty catastrophic stuff is going to go down, but nobody really knows what. Are we going to crash into another planet? I would find this weird since it seems like our nine (well eight now that Pluto punked out) planets seem to have a pretty good orbital gig up in space. Or is a black hole gonna show up and suck us all in? Or will the sun just start freaking out and raining down on Earth? NASA and NOAA have yet to sign off on anything.

Some people think it's not catastrophe that will occur but a spiritual enlightenment. The world will either change for the better or worse. John and Jan Soderlund (whose science accomplishments include cutting high school biology) have dismissed this theory altogether.

According to the countdown on the Web site December212012.com, which calls itself the official Web site for the Apocalypse, we have 991 days, 22 hours, 23 minutes and 35 seconds left. The Web site counts such celebrities as Mel Gibson, Montel Williams, Woody Harrelson and Lil' Wayne as believers. I'm dying to jump aboard the crazy train carrying those guys.

There's also believe that the Earth's magnetic field, which is apparently weakening, will shift and reverse the North and South poles or displace them. That doesn't sound so bad. It might cost some money to rewrite the textbooks and educate everybody on the switch. But if Wisconsin is the new South Pole, as it was in the movie, I can sign off on that. Wisconsin is really cold anyway.

Apparently the end of the world will be preceded by a slew of natural disasters. Thanks, Haiti and Chili earthquakes for solidifying this theory in my mom's mind.

Conspiracy theorists, like my godfather and uncle, Ron Raidy, believe there's a bunker underneath the Denver Airport meant to house the elite when this happens. Supposedly there's a mural in the airport pointing toward such a location.

I don't think this is going to happen. I think this is the new Y2K and instead of everybody thinking their VCR's won't make it to the Millenium, they think the sun is going to freak out and kill us all. If it does happen, my parents will surely be prepared with the appropriate provisions. We already have a minimum three cases of beer in the fridge; three cases of warm bottled water (It's never cold for some reason); an endless supply of A1, mustard, maple syrup and sardines; and enough brake parts cleaner to ward off anything bad.

Roommates

I walked downstairs on a Saturday night, and my parents and aunt and uncle were taking their blood pressure.

I'm home.

Apparently this is how they spend their weekend nights-taking their blood pressure with an electronic machine until they get a number they like. My dad acts as if his is perfect, omitting the fact that he's on blood pressure medication. So basically, he's not perfect; the medicine is just working. Instead of just rolling up his sleeve, my Uncle Kevin was half shirtless as this went on.

Moving back home has had its good and bad points. Mostly good. I come home from work every day and have a home-cooked meal waiting for me: salmon, steak and lobster, pork chops, chicken, etc. It's so nice to walk in the door after a nearly 90-minute commute and not have to worry about what to make for dinner. I'm still getting used to all the questions from my dad: "Where are you going?" "How much money are you depositing in the bank?" " Who called you on your cell phone this morning?" (Answering the last question is better than him actually answering my cell phone, which has happened many times). Then he can't hear the answers, so it takes two more times to repeat what i just said. It's also hard to have all my stuff in one room. I have a storage unit that's holding 90 percent of my stuff. But it's hard to have just every day things and papers confined to my bedroom. I've made a conscious effort to try and keep my stuff just in my room to avoid the notorious fights about my stuff being all over the house.

I've lived on my own since I graduated high school. So almost (vomit coming up ...) 11 years. But the temporary situation is worth it to save money, be by my family again and have dinner made for me every night.

What I'll miss about Fort Wayne

As everybody knows, I'm leaving Fort Wayne to move home to Chicago-finally! But what some may not realize is that I'll really really miss it here. I think Indiana gets a bad rap. Especially from Chicago peeps. People from Chicago, and New York, think where they live is the center of the universe. And anybody or any place that doesn't do things exactly the way they do, is ridiculous. I admit, I'm one of them sometimes. But I hope living in North Carolina and Indiana for the past seven years broke me of some of that. But I digress. Here's a list of things I'll miss about Fort Wayne.

*Separate checks. In Chicago, this never happens. And if you're the person who asks the waiter to separate the checks, you're the cheap asshole. But really, it's SO much easier! And doesn't require the extraordinary difficulty your server will imply. Unless you're with a group that understands it's kosher to split the bill evenly, which is how I was brought up, trouble will ensue. You always have people who don't put in for tax. Or who don't tip as much as the average bear. If you try to split the bill evenly, there's always the cheap-o who's secretly thinking "But I had water and everybody else had a pop. That means I have to pay for their pop. Why should I have to do that???" Here's a secret: order a pop. You're worth it.

*Short commute. It's never taken me more than 15 minutes to get to work. My new job will require a car ride to the Schaumburg train station, a train ride into the city and a bus to the ADA. This will be about an hour 20 each way. I've been told I'll get used to it. "You'll get so much done on the train!" I'm not sure what I need to "get done," but we'll see.

*Cheap drinks. Beers here cost anywhere from $2 to $3.75 depending on how fancy you get. I'll be paying more like $5 a beer in the Chi. And don't get me started on how much my Effen cranberries will cost.

*Restaurants. Despite an outsider's opinion, Fort Wayne has some really great places to eat. I think it has a nice mix of cheap and mid-range places. I'll miss the martinis at Club Soda and the outside patio. The fancy-pants beers at J.K. O'Donnell's (but not the round-the-clock Irish music and 24-hour soccer on TV). The chocolate molten cake at Catablu (which I may indulge in tonight). The gelato and chocolate float at DeBrand's chocolates. The fish taco's at Paula's. I really could go on and on.

*Living alone. I love it. I really really love it. I don't get lonely. I'm not the type of person that needs someone around all the time. When I come home from work, most nights, I don't want to talk to anyone. I like leaving my stuff wherever I want. I like not having to be accountable to anybody. I like things the way I like them.

*My job. The decision to leave Fort Wayne and newspapers was very difficult for me. I've been a reporter for almost seven years. And I love it. I think it's a pretty cool job, and I like that other people think it's cool. Granted, there is a lot of bullshit and very little respect that goes along with my job. But I like informing people about stuff that matters. I believe in the importance of newspapers in a Democratic society. Crap, it's the only job protected by the Constitution. I think people forget that without newspapers, they're not going to do know when shenanigans are happening among local officials. Those same local officials won't be held accountable. People forget there are a lot of crooked people at the helm of THEIR tax dollars. TV news has its purpose too, and I think they do the necessary service of boiling down complicated issues into sound bites for people who will never pick up a newspaper. But it's your newspaper reporters that can dig deeper and provide more detail and analysis. The resurgence of blogs has led people to believe that anybody can be a journalist. You start a blog, and you're a journalist. You don't have to adhere to any type of ethics or fairness or accuracy.

All of that aside, newspapers are going away. Less people are being asked to do more. And more and more and more. For less pay and benefits. I was sick of not making any money. Sick of not saving any money. Tired of working nights and weekends and not knowing when my day off would be that week or being sent home in the middle of the day and told to come back at night because I was "over hours." I was sick of not feeling like a grown-up.

*Friends. This could get really schmoopy really fast. So all I'll say is I've met some of the most intelligent, fun and amazing friends in Fort Wayne. I'm truly blessed.

Turning in his Hoosier card

My cat is from South Hanna Street. Sounds rough right? Kind of. For the Chicago people, lemme put it in perspective. Fort Wayne's southeast side is not as bad as the worst Chicago neighborhoods but a lot rougher than, say, Hanover Park or Streamwood. By far. A lot of poverty. Drugs. Just a shady neighborhood. But that's where the SPCA is, and that's where I met Chachi. He was turned into the SPCA after someone found him and his brother and sister in a paper bag, doused in kerosene.

Next subject.

I originally selected Chachi's brother, because he had a more angelic face (I know what you're thinking-my guy is the most handsome cat you've ever seen, how could there be a cuter kitty?) The SPCA makes you wait a day after you first pick out your animal to make sure it's a decision you really want to make. When I went back the next day, I decided to hold both of the kitty brothers, just to be sure. Chach's brother was cute, but he really had no reaction to me. Chach could not stop purring when he was in my arms. I made a last-minute switch and never regretted it. As the nurse at my vet always says, as she pets his cheek, "She saved you."

Now that I'm moving, Chach is going to have to give up his Indiana residency. He'll have "roommates" for awhile (aka, my parents). His toys won't all be in one place. He'll hopefully stop being a scaredy cat since so many people come in and out of my parents' house. Chach is an odd cat in that he actually likes to travel. He'll sleep in his cat carrier when we're at home. When he's in there, I like to think he's put the "do not disturb" sign up. So he likes being at my parents and exploring and having their attention.

So look out for Chach at the DMV, getting his Illinois state ID. Kitty cats don't drive, silly.

Things I'm breaking up with

So everybody knows I've broken up with boys. Or been broken up with. I'm not married, so the jig is up on that one. But in my 28 years of wise-ass-ness, I've realized there are a number of things I'm sick of pretending to like. I continue to act as if they need to be a part of my life and what I really need to do is cut them out.

THE LIST

*Potato salad: At any given barbecue, you'll see me spooning heaping piles of potato salad on to my plate. When this moment is occurring, I really do think I like potato salad. But then I sit down and take a forkful, put it to my mouth and realize: "I hate this stuff." It's mustardy. It's starchy. It has celery (one of my vegetable nemesis). Grandma Lil had somewhat of a redeeming potato salad in that it had hard boiled eggs in it. But all in all, I'd say potato salad and I are done for good.
*Cole slaw: Otherwise known as potato salad's younger, grosser sister. Again, I trick myself into thinking I like this crap. I think deep down, it's been psychologically burned into my brain that I must like potato salad and cole slaw, because my parents had it at every party we had. I outright rejected Italian sausage, but somehow the other two salads didn't make it into that category. Done.
*Candy canes: This also includes the circular mints you get at restaurants. I want to meet the person who has eaten an entire candy cane. If I'm eating candy, I'm rockin' Snickers or Hershey Kisses. If I need fresh breath, I'll kick it old school and pop some Spearmint or even go exhibition and sneak a Tic Tac in my mouth.
*Crowded bars: A couple weeks ago, I went with crazy college friend Neha to a couple bars in Wrigleyville. I hadn't been to Moe's Cantina since the Sangria incident (where Lauren was nearly banned from Bacchi pizza for "messing" up their bathroom). I haven't been to John Barlycorn's since my days of smoochin and runnin' (a lucky spot for me, I must say). But, I returned on the premises of a bar crawl. Big mistake. It wasn't necessarily the young crowds at these bars that turned me off. More the inability to move. I kept wanting to say "can we find a table so we can talk?" But I knew nobody would hear me over "Apple bottom jeeeeeaaaaaannnns ...booots with the fur (with the fur)."

My latest obsessions

I have a habit of finding things within pop culture and becoming rather obsessed. Previous victims have included "Jon & Kate Plus 8," profiles written in Rolling Stone and Vanity Fair, and the movie "Walk the Line," which prompted a separate obsession with Johnny Cash and June Carter.

There've been a couple new obsessions lately.

*"Grey Gardens": This began after Drew Barrymore won the Golden Globe and SAG Award for best actress in a miniseries. I've had trouble getting through the HBO movie, but after a friend sent me video clips of the documentary the movie was based on, I was hooked. "Grey Gardens" is based on Jackie Kennedy's aunt and cousin, who started out as rich socialites in New York but ended up living in isolation and squalor in the Hamptons. Grey Gardens was the name of their house, which would later be filled with dozens of cats, their poop and pee, cat food cans, raccoons, filth and just stuff. The mother and daughter had this sick dependent relationship that could only be summed up as cuckoola. What's my obsession you ask? I don't know. It may have something to do with their accents. A cross between a cockney/Boston/New England sound.

Visit http://www.life.com/image/78828047/in-gallery/24971/the-real-women-of-grey-gardens to see what I'm talking about.


*"Glee": This one only surfaced in the past couple days. Obsessed is putting it lightly. I started seeing articles about this show choir show before it began airing on Fox in the fall. It was the "It" show this season. Friends would tell me I HAD to watch it, but these were the same jamokes who watched "American Idol," "So You Think You Can Dance" and other jazz hand shows. So I didn't pay much attention. It stated getting nominated for awards, and I hate to be out of the loop when watching awards shows, so I set my DVR to record some reruns. AMAZING. It has just the right balance of show tune and contemporary music and a compelling storyline. There isn't an unlikeable character, and the musical numbers absolutely give me chills. I watched the mid-season finale last night and when Rachel sang "Rain on My Parade," I had to watch it four times. Then dowload the song to my iPod. And five others.

Rachel's performance. Tell me you're not downloading this Streisand classic after.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pj54q_fgk7I

*NPR: Or, National Public Radio to you cool people. I started listening more religiously when I was actually ON the radio. I was invited to be on a local NPR radio show to talk about education and, since I couldn't hear it live, was searching the Web site to find an archive of it. As a rule I hate how I sound on TV and the radio, but I wanted to see if I sounded as much like an idiot as I felt when I was talking. I actually didn't, so that was good. Anyway, when I was listening to the show, I was taken aback by how soooooooothing it was. Low voices, smacking lips, articulate words (until my nasal Chicago voice came in). It drew me in. When I lived in North Carolina, the school superintendent had his own TV show on public access where he interviewed people within the school district. The premise was mind-numbingly boring. But anyone you talked to who flipped by it on the TV was hooked. It had soft lighting and the superintendent's lips smacked when he talked, leaving a little bit of spittle on his lips. Add a Southern accent and you're done for. That's what NPR is to me.

Golden Globes Red Carpet: Hour Two

I'll stop when the awards start. Full disclosure: also chatting live with Moogs, my co-judger in life.

*Waiting for Stephen Moyer and Anna Pacquin to start doin' it vampire-style. I've been in a "True Blood" fog lately, so forgive me.
*I want to go on a double date with Will Arnett and Amy Poehler. My dad was quite proud of himself the other night by pointing out they were married when Arnett guested on "Parks and Recreation."
*I love how none of the women are wearing the Haiti ribbons on their dresses, because they don't match.
*Tina Fey FINALLY didn't wear black!!!
*Something's attacking Chloe Sevigny!! Wait, it's just her dress ruffle.
*I heard earlier that Jay Manuel, Mr. Jay of "America's Next Top Model," is 6'1". Wouldn't have thunk it.
*Penelope Cruz (aka Moth Face) keeping it real by holding her own umbrella. I'm going to officially remove the Moth Face label from her. You heard it here first. But I still think she takes herself too seriously. Lighten up lady. And also walk the red carpet with Javier Bardem. You guys are too hot to not be together all the time.
*Quote from my mom "(David Arquette) actually looks human." And if Courtney Cox wins for "Cougar Town" ... well I don't know what I'll do, but I'll be pretty freakin' mad, because she sucks on that show.
*Oh God. Mariah Carey. I hope she gets drunk again and gets to talk. Nick Cannon must have a no talking clause in their pre-nup.
*I love Robert Downey Jr. Kinda wish he'd wake up in his neighbor's kid's bed again, but I like him clean too.
*God dammnit Draper! You had to rock a beard!
*My night would be made if the "Jersey Shore" cast suddenly appeared on the carpet. GTL!
*Insert rage Lauren would have for Jennifer Garner here. Lauren hates Garner because she's "average looking."
*Draper's gf always annoys me because she's always trying to talk over him. He's the star, you guested on "Grey's Anatomy." Shut up.
*Taylor Lautner is shorter than Giuliana! He really is a baby!
*Where's A-Rod Kate? Heh. Heh.
*Giuliana is absolutely humiliating herself. She's screaming to George Clooney to come over while she's interviewing Anna Kendrick. The girl is mortified.

OK, quitting early but want to go get ice cream. Ciao!

Golden Globes LIVE blogging of the red carpet: Hour One

Chachi and I are front and center for the Golden Globes red carpet. Translation: He started out next to me on the couch, forced me to move my computer off my lap so he could lay there then bit me and got crazy eyes and is now sleeping. I'm armed with my second glass of pinot grigio and am ready to tell the world exactly what I think of celebrities I've never met. Unless Fonzie, Alfre Woodard or Cheech are invited, I'm writing about people I'll never see in the fleshness. Get ready for a series of random observations that have no relevance to anything important. I realize this and don't care.

*Why must Ryan Seacrest adopt a British accent when interviewing British celebs? Emily Blunt knows you are not from London. The jig is up.
*Is Quinton Tarantino in his PJs?
*Jennifer Morrison from "House" said her boyfriend bought her dress for her for Christmas, so she decided to wear it. She didn't seem to excited, and I can see why. Dress is uggo.
*Must. Watch. "Glee." Stars are so cute.
*Diane Kruger from "Inglorius Bastards" looks like she just got back from the prom. In 1987.
*LOVE Gabourey Sidibe from "Precious." The movie was so good but so depressing and it's so fun to see what a gregarious personality she has in real life.
*Ugh Mickey Rourke. New wife barely speaks English. Must be love.
*Sandra Bullock is the man. Even though "The Proposal" sucked. I need to see the back of her dress before I commit though. Eek, I just did. Not into sheer.
*Ugh, we get it Fergie and Josh. You're still together. He "didn't cheat on you with a stripper." Just wait until Rebecca Budig gets over her divorce from Bob the Bachelor. Then she can marry Josh just like when they were a couple on "All My Children." LEO AND GREENLEE FOREVA!
*Disappointed by January Jones. Looks like she put her headband on to wash her face.
*It's become quite cliche to say how hot George Clooney is. I don't care. I want to strip that beard off his face and rub it on me. Then we'll save Haiti together.
*Just saw Alfre Woodard. Her daughter is Miss Golden Globe. I'm legit now. I posted her pic above the symbolize the only celebrity there I've actually met.
*Moogs has just informed me via Facebook chat that George Clooney's girl has an arm tatoo. Rewind the DVR: ew yes. An awful looking tribal band.
*Official girl crush on Marion Cotillard
*First time ever I'm disappointed by the sight of Joshua Jackson. He's with the 1987 prom queen and his hair looks like Richie Rich.