Not As Bad As That Guy...

I'm not one for using other people as your yardstick, as my mother used to say (and, I suppose, still does), but I think I can make an exception in this case.

Yesterday my boss came in to work, and the first thing she told us was that on Sunday they found a body in the Kishwaukee River near Hopkins Park, the park everyone goes to to jog and ride bikes and swim at the public pool. It was a beautiful day here on Sunday, and everyone was out. Apparently a family walking two dogs and several children found a bloated corpse pressed into the weeds on the riverbank that had been exposed "for several weeks," as the radio kept reminding me all day.

At work we were speculating on who it could be. There have been two prominent missing people (prominently missing, not so much prominent people gone missing) around here in the last few years, a guy last seen at Otto's (palm tree tattoo on ankle and sun on back, last seen at the bar on the fabled gay night--read: homo) whom there is a $50,000 reward for finding, and a guy from Wisconsin who checked in to the Best Western after an automobile accident on the interstate and never checked out (last seen on Christmas Day leaving without his belongings).

The autopsy revealed that the cause of his death was drowning. And they identified him as the guy from Wisconsin. Case closed.

There is a legend here about how if you touch the Kish you never leave DeKalb. Case and point.

So, that's the news from my small corner of the world. And from that news, I can tell you that my situation? Not as bad as that guy's.

Out

Monday...

Ugh. It's a Monday.

Gloomy here in northern Illinois.

I'm at work, but I'm not even looking forward to going home. All that's waiting for me there is dishes and obligations for things I forgot to do this weekend.

Blah.

Out

About Flying...

The boy and I are going on vacation in July. He's got a GIS conference, and his work is footing the bill for a hotel for a week. So we're taking two friends and flying out to San Diego to kill a week and a half gallavanting around the city.

I plan on visiting the Nucleus Gallery while I'm there. I also plan on getting my picture taken in front of the National City, California sign for personal reasons. But my itinerary is subject to change until then. What isn't subject to change is my uneasiness with flying.

I wouldn't say it's fear. Flying just turns me in to an extremely religious person for a few hours. Every bump in the jet stream sends me into fits of prayer. To put my mind at ease, I do this little activity.

The first chance I get, I go to the bathroom. On my way there, I scrutinize my fellow passengers, count the children, look for nuns, look for people that may be murderers or rapists or Republicans. And then I make a judgment call. If the cumulative morality of all the passengers around me seems higher than normal, I feel safe. I think to myself, "God couldn't possibly knock a plane full of so many innocent chuldren and pious nuns and Jews out of the sky." If it looks like a bunch of nasty people who might as well all burn in a plane crash, I'm not so easy.

And I know it has nothing to do with their appearance or how many kids are on the plane...I know that a plane full of children and nuns is just as likely to go down as any other. But it makes me feel better.

And that, friends, is how I fly.

Out

Who Is Watching...

...The Watchmen.

The boy and I went to see Watchmen on Saturday night. I was fairly impressed with how closely it followed the graphic novel, having just finished reading that. They made some fairly stupid choices, though, such as changing Bubastis's color for no reason and blaming John for the nuclear blasts rather than banding the world against a different outside force. Although that one I could understand...

Anywho, I swore I wouldn't talk about the blue junk, but I can't resist. It wasn't really all that noticeable or distracting. Until. There was a scene near the end of the movie where he was walking towards the camera, and the realistic juggle animation was only slightly less distracting than Lori's coochie-cutting bodysuit. How'd you like to have been the guy who has to animate Dr. Manhattan's jiggling blue junk? Yikes.

As far as violence? It's an adaptation of a graphic novel, so it's what you'd expect: definitely gory, in a comic-book way. Be prepared to see some bone, some muscle, and some splatter.

I'd say, if you've read the graphic novel, fork out the cash to see it in theaters. If not, it may be a little dense for your tastes. Overall? I'd give it eight jiggling blue junks out of ten.

Out

Whatchu talkin' 'bout? Willis?!

Have you heard this one yet?

Apparently a company is renting a little over three percent of the Sears Tower (140,000 sq. ft.) for $14.50 a square foot. That's $2,030,000. And that's what it costs to rename a world landmark. Shameful, really.

Willis Group Hldings, Ltd. is to blame. And now...we have The Willis Tower. Boy, it has a nice ring to it. If you're deaf and stupid.

They said that they did it to show Chicago how committed they are to the city and how they think Chicago should be recognized as a center for commerce. Great plan! I can imagine the board meeting...

"How can we get them to love us?"
"I know! Let's rename their most beloved landmark with our company name!"
"That's brilliant! Bonuses for all!"

Ugh.

I haven't heard anyone say they're happy about this, and I most certainly hate them for it. Didn't take much. Great plan, guys. Great plan...

Out

Today...

Well...

The college students are all on spring break, so the bank is DEAD today.

That makes for a long day.

And what makes that long day carppy? Eh....typos that make me think it's raining bottom-feeding fish from the sky? No. What makes this day CRAPPY is that I just found out I was shorted a week's pay. Awesome. And there isn't anything they can do about it until my NEXT paycheck...which comes...on...eh...the 27th. Yup. And the reason? They say it's my fault for not submitting my hours. But, umm...pretty sure I just went back and looked and I had submitted ALL of my time. Because obviously I want to get paid.

But there's nothing they can do. So that means I'm going to be very poor for a long time. Again.

Bitches.

Out

Beginning...

As I sit here with the ache of cold in my hands, something I always feel when I use the computer or play video games, for some reason, I am longing for a time when I have to shut the windows to keep the heat out. This winter doesn't feel near as long as the last one, but last year (if you go back to read my older posts, you'll see my outrage) it snowed in early May. The fifth, I think.

I find myself standing in the horizontal stripes of brightness and warmth when the sun sneaks in through the blinds. I always feel like a cat when I hunch my back to absorb the heat, smiling and wishing the patch were just a little bigger so I could fit my whole body into it. I shouldn't miss the sun enough to want to bask this much.

Why do I still live in the Midwest?

It's a black hole. You never get away. My step-grandparents moved to Florida for thirty years. They're back, now. Must be senility...

It's hard to imagine you'll ever live somewhere warm enough when your boyfriend thinks fifty degrees is too hot.

Out