Monday, November 10, 2008

My two cents...

So given that Sasha and Malia will be moving into a Presidential fishbowl, I fully believe that they should be able to pick the puppy they've wanted for so long. However, just in case the Obamas weren't aware of all of the options...

(photo courtesy of Barbara Karant)

Retired racing greyhounds make wonderful pets. I currently have two (and would probably have at least a couple more if I had the room in my house); they are among the great loves of my life, and they have turned me into a greyhound adoption activist. The breed isn't for everyone, to be sure, but a lot of people either have just never considered one or have some misconceptions:

1) They won't necessarily eat your other really depends on the individual dog, and it depends on the dog's "prey drive." Some greys should not be around smaller dogs, cats, birds, small animals, etc. Other greys will be happy to curl up with your kitty or will even make friends with your pet rabbit, although with the latter, I would NOT recommend unsupervised conduct. They are a hunting dog and do have an instinct to chase. But again, it depends on the individual dog's temperament, and a good rescue organization will check to see if a greyhound is "small dog-friendly" or "cat-tolerant." My husband and I have two chinchillas. I NEVER leave them out of the cage, unsupervised, with the dogs. However, our dogs pay almost no attention to the chinchilla cage and will even take a nap in the same room without bothering the chins. Even Anubis, who wants to chase every squirrel and bunny he sees outside.

2) A greyhound's ability to get along with small children really depends on the individual dog...just like with every other breed. Through my work with Cleo and Anubis' adoption group, I've met many families with children and greyhounds, and everyone seems to get along just fine. A lot of it has to do with supervising kids' contact with ALL pets and making sure that a curious toddler doesn't molest a pet beyond its tolerance level.

3) They do not need any more exercise than any other dog. Some people believe that you need to walk greyhounds for hours and hours...they're racers, right? Actually, greyhounds are sprinters and can only maintain their incredible speeds (up to 45 mph!) for short periods of time. Greyhounds do need exercise and walks, like any other dog, but mine are happy with two 30-minute walks a day. They enjoy longer walks, of course, but they aren't bouncing off the walls if you don't provide them. Which brings me to my next point...

4) Greyhounds are LAZY. A lot of people, again, assume that because they are racers, they must have lots of energy. Well, from what I've seen over the past two years, greyhounds can sleep up to 20 hours a day, and what they most want in the world is a soft bed or couch to curl up on. The largest grey has a lot more in common with a housecat than a Jack Russell terrier, which really will bounce off the walls without tons of exercise.

5) They are larger dogs, but they have longer lifespans than many big breeds. 12-14 years is the average. Hopefully mine will live forever!

6) Greyhounds are quiet (except for Cleo, when she wants something), have short hair, and do not shed as much as other breeds (which makes them a better breed for allergy-sufferers) clearly, they would make good Oval Office companions. ;)

All that being said, there are two things I should point out:

1) Greyhounds must either be fenced in or MUST MUST MUST be on a strong leash. A runaway greyhound is much faster than a mere human can catch, and they could wander miles before they stop running. Also, a runaway greyhound is at serious risk of being hit by a car or other terrible injuries.

2) Once you get one, it's really hard not to get more. :)

If you have any questions about this wonderful breed, please leave them here, and I'll be happy to answer them!

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Free At Last, Free At Last, Thank God Almighty, We Are Free At Last!

I am so happy that I threw caution to the wind and battled the crowds at Grant Park tonight. It was a wonderful atmosphere...hundreds of thousands of people, standing together peacefully, huddled around various jumbotrons scattered throughout the park, watching the election results come in. As I am only 4'10", eventually I could only see maybe the upper corners of the screen, but I loved standing with so many of my fellow Chicagoans--young, old, white, black, Asian, Latino, men, women...I think there was a Scottish guy behind me--and cheering and applauding. The roar when President-Elect Obama took the stage was deafening, and his speech brough tears to my eyes. Especially when he started talking about Ann Nixon Cooper.

I wish that I could have done more for this campaign...two jobs and other volunteering obligations really took a toll on me time-wise (an evening of phone-banking and multiple donations was all I could personally muster), but I truly am in awe of everyone who gave so much of themselves to make this possible for our country. THANK YOU ALL.

I prayed and prayed that our country, having been shown the possibility of an Obama presidency, would choose it. And we did! Of course, we really do have a lot of hard work ahead of us. But I have confidence in this wonderful man who is now our next President. And I have confidence that he can motivate us all to do the work that's needed to be done and make all necessary sacrifices. Although President-Elect Obama is indeed intelligent, persuasive, personable, and charismatic, people who think that his movement was all an ego trip on his part--an exercise in celebrity, if you will--are sorely mistaken. It's not really about him. It's about the millions of people who were willing to move mountains for change in our government.

Oh, and I love his family completely unironically. I love them like a British granny with a collection of Royal Family tea towels. I love them all.

So yes, it was a beautiful day, as U2 would say. The day that "I have a dream" became reality.

In other was my intention to get a Happy Insomniac update up before the end of October. Like anyone gives a shit with the election!!! But still. I'm trying to be more punctual and reliable these days.

BUT...I really do have a good excuse this time...I've been stuck on jury duty for the past week and a half, which has required me to wake up at 5:45 in order to get ready in the morning and get myself to the Daley Center in good time. Which means that I'm NO insomniac these days. (Well, except for tonight, obviously.) So with my life on hold until tomorrow, at least, and with my raging election obsession, the next Happy Insomniac update will either appear this weekend or early next week. I'll keep y'all updated.

Good night!

Monday, September 29, 2008

Just in the Nick of Time--the Happy Insomniac September Update!

Hi readers! (All two of you...)

We've got some exciting new additions to Happy Insomniac this month:

Fiction: Noise, Part II by Luke Boyd
Fiction: Ben's Prologue by Annie Houston
Fiction: Day One by Jessica Maher
Poetry: Mr. Wrong by Alan Pritchard
Poetry: A Private Place to Read by Dawn Colclasure
Poetry: Just Words by Dawn Colclasure
Haikus: Haikus on Email Activism by yours truly
Essays: Rest in Peace, David Foster Wallace by yours truly, as well

Also, if you, like me, were extremely saddened by the tragic death of David Foster Wallace, I highly recommend this article on Salon, which damn near brought me to tears. Although of course I didn't know DFW personally, this article serves as a painful reminder to all of us that we need to take care of the people we love when they are in pain. (And DFW's loved ones did a tremendous job...their compassion and love even in the face of his suicide--when they would have every right to be angry--is heartbreaking and inspiring.) Depression is a hard disease for the unafflicted to understand. Even I, who am intimately familiar with it, can get impatient with the endless complaints and inactivity of those who are depressed. And depression is also impossible for loved ones to cure all by themselves, even as we fervently wish that we could magically fix all the problems. The best we can do is support each other and do our best to provide help to those who need it. How sad that such a wonderful mind was the source of so much joy to readers and so much agony to himself.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Travelogue--Punta Cana, Dominican Republic, August 2008

So right now I'm at a bit of a standstill at work. I've got plenty to do, and it's all very tedious and frustrating, but I can't proceed with my current project until a project manager fixes an error. Oh, how I miss being on vacation! So while I'm waiting, I can relieve my most recent trip to Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic:

So as some of you may know, Matt and I tagged along with his brother Steve and Steve’s friend Kitzel to the Dominican Republic. Steve and Kitzel were taking part in an annual tae kwon do conference, and why they always schedule these conferences on the equator in August, I don’t know. But Matt and I figured that we would join them in the Dominican, sit on the beach, and laugh at Steve and Kit as they proceeded to some punishing three-hour workout.

Flights to the Caribbean are always, for some reason, scheduled to leave at the ass-crack of dawn, so Matt and I actually departed at 3:00 a.m. Monday morning for our 6:15 flight at O’Hare. When we arrived, we were given the option to upgrade to first class on both legs of the flight, for some extra $$$ (but not as much as it would be to initially book business). We looked at each other and said, “Yes.” It was extravagant, and yes, I'm kicking myself upon viewing our credit card bill, but oh, it was soooooooo worth it. For a few hours in business/first class, one is treated like a human being, rather than loathsome cattle. And they feed you! Real food that you don’t have to pay extra for! We arrived in Miami, and later the DR, well, not exactly refreshed, but relaxed.

When you arrive at the Punta Cana International Airport, which is charmingly hut-like, as opposed to some impersonal concrete building, you are forced to take a picture with two women in traditional Dominican dress while a band playing what I assume is traditional Dominican music performs. You are not asked to purchase this picture upon arrival, which made me wonder, what is this picture for themselves or something? As it turns out, they magically know when you are leaving the country and ask you to purchase the picture then. Because everyone wants to commemorate the moment he/she steps off of a plane after being awake for 30 hours and taking a six-hour flight.

To enter the Dominican Republic, one must pay a $10/person fee. Then one is issued a “tourist card.” Matt and I thought, oh, maybe this tourist card will be valid for a certain period of time, or it will be a nice souvenir. But actually, they take the tourist card away from you approximately 10 steps later. We collected our checked-in bag and discovered that, unlike just about every hotel in the universe, our resort does not have a complimentary shuttle from the airport. That shuttle is reserved for the people involved in Sol Melia’s fancy-schmancy, quasi-timeshare “vacation club.” So Matt and I took a 15-minute, $40 cab ride to Paradisus Palma Real. But considering that our driver could have whisked us away to Haiti with us none the wiser, I’m not complaining.

The resort was standard for the Caribbean, beautiful lobby, very airy, everything is marble, fountains, huge pool, lots of columns, soothing music (Spanish-language ballads, called bachata in the Dominican, and jazz…no reggae here at all), gorgeous view of the ocean, palm trees, exquisite gardens, etc. All the rich food and fruity drinks you could possibly want (resulting in a 7,000-pound weight gain for me). Staff members were friendly but a little more reserved than the average Jamaican resort-worker. I found that my lack of Spanish-language skills were not a significant obstacle, as most people I ran into could speak English, and I did just fine with “Hola,” “por favor,” “gracias,” etc.

After we had been invited to a presentation extolling the virtues of the previously mentioned vacation club (which we were lucky to avoid all week, with some on-the-spot lies, “Have you been to our presentation?” “Yes, on Tuesday, with Antonio.” “Oh, okay.”), we were taken to our rooms, whereupon Matt and I fell asleep for about six hours. We had a late dinner at the buffet (tasty!) and took a walk around the resort and on the beach before going to bed. Our television included many American stations, but no NBC, so I was Olympics-starved all week.

Wednesday was the evening that Matt took the “all-inclusive” part of the experience a little too seriously and drank himself into oblivion fairly early. I warned him to not be too hungover for our scheduled horseback riding and Romantic Dinner the next day. Steve and Kit were going to be doing their three-hour workouts the rest of the week, so they would be complaining of sore legs and would walk like old men.

On Thursday, Matt and I went horseback riding. They advised us to wear long pants, but Matt and I only had shorts with us. We took a 45-minute open-air bus ride. On the side of the bus were painted the words “Feel the Nature!” I felt the nature in my eyeballs as dust flew into my contacts. We rode with several Americans, including Melanie and Joe, who were newlyweds. Melanie made sure to inform EVERYONE multiple times that she owned her own travel agency business WITH A WEBSITE and got some obscenely cheap deal for this trip. The other Americans were frat boy/sorority girl-ish, also there for some wedding, and I guess I understand why people hate Americans. They were loud and talked incessantly about money, fully living up to the stereotype.

Our horses appeared to me to be rather underfed, but I hope that’s not the case. They were very docile. Mine was tall and brown with a black mane and tail. He was named “Antoniosanto” or something like that, but I prefer “Reynaldo.” So my horse was temporarily re-named, by me, “Reynaldo.” He wasn’t terribly keen to take direction. If I tried to guide him with the reins, he would look back at me with this look on his face that said, “How many times have you ridden a horse? Three? I do this all day every day, and I’m following the others.” The horses didn’t seem to have very good depth perception as they would try to squeeze next to each other, trapping our legs between their bodies. They shat a lot, and I only asked for two things on this horseback ride: 1) that I wouldn’t fall off and 2) that horse shit would not touch my bare leg. We walked down to the beach, and the horses didn’t seem to enjoy the surf, as this is when many of them started to trot or gallop. I liked trotting, but galloping was pretty scary. I’ve always hoped that I’d be a natural horse-rider, but galloping caused me to cry, “Shit, shit, shit, whoa, horse!” But I didn’t fall off. My butt really hurt, though. Matt and I agreed that our asses had “felt the nature.” I now understand why they advise one to wear long pants for horseback riding, as the experience left me with chafed, chafed thighs. Very uncomfortable, but it was a fun experience, and I actually wouldn’t mind going horseback riding again soon. With jeans.

Friday was a complete wash-out in all respects. Tropical Storm Fay was a tropical depression, and it rained all day long. Although I did have a spa appointment…a facial provided by Marta who had an incomprehensible accent but very nice hands. Matt’s scuba diving was canceled. We were scheduled to swim with dolphins at Dolphin Island, but we sat huddled under a hut at DI until the trip out to the ocean platform was ultimately canceled. The rain was cold, and the wind was blowing branches off the palm trees. Our bus was once again an open-air bus, so on the ride back, low-hanging branches would reach through the window and smack me across the face. Painful! Later at dinner, I experienced dizziness and nausea and abruptly left for my room. So I watched a lot of “Monk” and “The Dog Whisperer” until I fell asleep. Not to be gross, but Matt and I found that diarrhea was a daily experience in the Dominican. We were careful to avoid the tap water, and our food didn’t seem particularly questionable, but perhaps they washed our veggies and such with the water? Who knows? Fortunately, the gastrointestinal discomfort wasn’t anything that confined us to our room. You have an attack, get a hit of Pepto, and you’re good to go. If you do travel to the Dominican, and I recommend it because it’s a beautiful country with wonderful people, bring LOTS of Pepto and Immodium. LOTS.

On Saturday, the weather was perfect once again, and Matt finally got to scuba. I went to breakfast, and my waiter, Francisco, was strongly indicating that he could help me get my groove back. I found this unbelievable, as I hadn’t showered from the night before, and I felt cramped and tired and chafed. I would see Francisco periodically until we left, but he wasn’t as friendly when Matt was around.

Our dolphin trip was rescheduled for Saturday, and we actually got to go! They took us by boat to a floating platform in the ocean, and for about 15 minutes or so, we were in the water with the dolphins, touching them lightly if they came by. No fingers in the blowhole! After that, they had us snorkel with stingrays and nurse sharks. We were all wearing lifejackets, so no diving to the bottom to touch the rays and sharks. Afterwards we chatted with Eddie, a guide who could give dolphin-related directions fluently in English, Spanish, French, and German. And I held a couple of parrots. The whole Dolphin Island trip was definitely fun and worthwhile and was a key moment for Steve and Kit who had unsuccessfully tried to do similar dolphin swimming events three years in a row.

I spent some additional time in the hotel pool and had a wonderful time, but when I saw someone in the pool with a *naked baby* (not known for their control of their bodily functions), I took that as my cue to leave. Later Matt and I met up with Steve and Kit and the tae kwon do people who were already very drunk in the casino. When tae kwon do nerds get drunk, it’s both awesome and terrifying.

On Sunday, Matt and Steve and Kit and I went snorkeling, and that was kind of an intimidating experience for me. I hadn’t snorkeled before, except for a bit of practice in my swimming class and at Dolphin Island. And something about open ocean just freaks me out. But I was relieved when I saw that we could wear lifejackets, and after swallowing about half a cup of seawater, I eventually got used to the snorkel. Some guys were feeding the fish something or other, so all kinds of small, colorful reef fish came swimming up and around us.

So it was actually pretty awesome. Afterwards, we all sat in the pool drinking fruity drinks, and here is where I made a fatal error: failing to reapply the sunscreen. So I burned the shit out of my shoulders, adding to my omnipresent intestinal discomfort and chafed thighs. After that, Matt and I made a trip to the nearby shopping mall to get some souvenirs. I fell in love with larimar, the national stone of the Dominican, and wanted a bracelet. The man working at the shop didn’t want to take my credit card for the $60 bracelet, but he would take $40 in cash, so I guess we successfully haggled, although I hadn’t intended to. We also bought a bachata CD from our bus driver, who made the music himself. We like to support local music, after all. Sunday and Monday morning were pretty low-key since we had to pack and prepare for the journey home.

Ugh. Although I was ready to go home and see the puppies and chinchillas and get my digestive system back in working order, I wasn’t looking forward to spending the entire day in airports and on planes. Sadly, we were given no option to upgrade.

All I can say is, Matt and I are NEVER EVER EVER going back to the Miami International Airport. Not even if we’re going to Miami. There’s a reason their initials are MIA.

It was a bit harrowing touching down in Miami with the crappy weather, but we didn’t crash-land, so that was good. Customs and security were nightmares (making Matt all cranky in that guy way that DOESN’T HELP), but the real kicker is that they kept us on the ground for an HOUR because they couldn’t figure out how many people were on our plane. (I think the count differed from their log due to a computer glitch). And even with this hour delay they couldn’t get our checked-in bag on our plane, so we waited at O’Hare til about 12:30 a.m., hoping it was on the flight just after ours. But no. They finally found the bag the following morning and delivered it to our house yesterday, but what a nightmare! Oh, and I later found out that they charged us $20 for the privilege of delivering our bag about 12 hours late. God, I hate American Airlines.

And as my project manager buzzes my phone and drags me back to reality, I must once again leave the flawless white beaches of Punta Cana in the Dominican. "La Isla Bonita," as I believe Madonna would say. It was great to spend so much quality time with the husband and brother-in-law, and I'd much rather be there than here.

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

Sound familar?

My good friend "Ridleygriff" has put together an interesting little ad w/r/t the upcoming election. I think it's quite pertinent and answers the frightening question...what's the difference between a pitbull, a hockey mom, and President Bush?

Check it out and spread the word!

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Since when is "community organizer" a laugh line?

I had no intention of watching any part of the Republican National Convention. Watching rich, smug, entitled white assholes pat themselves on the back for ruining our country and clamor for even more power is my personal vision of hell. But unfortunately, our washer and dryer died as a result of our continuing electric problems, and I was forced to go to a laundromat, which is depressing enough, but then they had the RNC on.

I watched about 30 minutes of ignorant-ass Giuliani, and you know, I expect punches to be thrown...both parties freely engage in that. But last night, I saw the Republicans hit a new low (if that's even possible anymore). Last night, I saw thousands of Republicans LAUGH at the idea of being a community organizer. And specifically a community organizer on the South Side of Chicago.

Tell me, what's so hilarious about being a community organizer? Seriously. I'm waiting. Leaving aside the fact that they act like community organizer was the ONLY thing on Obama's resume, I just want to know what's so goddamned funny. The South Side can be fact, I'm willing to bet that most of the mocking faces last night wouldn't drive through that area in their BMWs with their doors unlocked, let alone actually work there to help people.

To Rudy Giuliani and Sarah Palin, I dedicate Spoon's "The Underdog":

"You got no time for the messenger
Got no regard for the thing
That you don't understand
You got no fear of the underdog
That's why you will not survive."

I'm still too pissed to even contemplate this shit anymore. If McCain/Palin actually win, I think I'm either going to have to emigrate or stick my head in an oven.


Saturday, August 30, 2008

Sorry for the language, but fuck this fucking shit.

Oh my God, it's so fucking hot in here. My house has magically transformed into an OVEN.

So at the beginning of last month, July 31, to be exact, I was in Super-Busy Productive Mode. I was preparing to host out-of-state guests, my dear friends Laura and Shawn, for Lollapalooza, and before they arrived, I was going to attend my book club meeting in the city, for which I had baked homemade cornbread FROM SCRATCH. (We were all doing a dramatic reading of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, so it was appropriate.) I arrived home, planning to quickly walk the dogs, grab the cornbread and head out. Except my garage door opener, my usual method of accessing our home, wasn't working. I realized that our power had probably gone out, and I suspected the heavy storms earlier in the day. And a housesitter misplaced our front door key, which we didn't really mind before because we planned to get a new front door. Eventually. The point being...I was locked out.

So I called a locksmith to get into the house. And let me tell you people, that's a sweet gig. It's literally about five minutes of work, and you can charge desperate people whatever the hell you want. $160, and I was finally in the house.

When I got in the house, I realized that our power was approximately 50% of our home. I called Com Ed, and they sent two technicians over. The technicians informed me that the problem wasn't on their was the wiring between their meter and our house. So we'd have to call an electrician.

At this point, I cancelled book club and lay on my couch catatonic, thinking of the thousands of dollars this would cost and wondering how I was supposed to entertain guests with no TV, internet access, fridge, and...worst of air conditioning.

The next day, we got an electrician out who informed us that we need to fix the whole set-up outside. The wiring to the circuit-breaker was shorting out because the conduit had settled. Or something like that. He explained that he could do a temporary fix (in the realm of $440) but that all the equipment out back would have to be replaced with the help of Com Ed's technicians (in the realm of an additional $490).

So the permanent fix is scheduled for next Friday morning, and the temporary fix was working just fine, til our air conditioning died again. We're pretty sure it's related to our electrical difficulties because if you try to turn the thermostat off, all the power goes out upstairs. (Huh?)

So yeah, now we are ROASTING. For an entire week. I'm so hot, I'm, like, ANGRY. This ought to be an interesting marital experiment.