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

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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)."