Franken-season!

“I am by birth a Genevese; and my family is one of the most distinguished of that republic.”

With these words Mary Shelley begins the Victor Frankenstein narrated portion of her masterwork. 

Frankenstein is a book I know I read as a child, forgot about, then met again as an English Lit major at Michigan State and was swept away by. It’s also one of the books I can’t wait to teach to my students once I complete this whole grad school thing.

To this date, it’s second only to Jane Eyre on my list of all-time favorite books.

I even like the movie version - I like to call it “Kenneth Branagh’s Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein,” (Though I do take issue with how much wet, shirtless Branagh the movie features. But who doesn’t?)

I like to revisit Frankenstein in October, when pumpkin season is in full swing and sweaters and winter coats begin appearing on people on the street. It’s a thoroughly gloomy and creepy book for a thoroughly gloomy and creepy season. 

As I’m seeing The Hypocrites production of Frankenstein tomorrow night at the Museum of Contemporary Art, I figured tonight would be a good night to pick up the book yet again.

Go forth, my hideous progeny.

No rest(room) for the weary…

In the race pack for last weekend’s Trick or Treat Trot, there was the ubiquitious copy of Chicago Athlete magazine.

I perused it, mostly out of boredom, as I don’t consider myself anything near an athlete. However, I find marathons interesting, and am always on the lookout for a fun 5k.

I came across an article on tips for marathon runners – and the following sentence;

“If you’re qualifying for Boston (and plan on doing it by a narrow margin) or are being paid to run this race by a major shoe company, you’re allowed to pee your shorts. Just make it discreet.” (Chicago Athlete Magazine.  September/October 2009 issue.  Page 46.)

………..Really?

The notion that marathon and other long-distance runners would have to use the restroom mid-race was never something I even pondered, until I started running myself.

Granted, my longest race so far was an 8k which I finished in an hour and was not in need of a restroom during, but… on a 26.2 mile marathon, I can imagine you’d have to go at some point.

As an adult, I don’t think it’s ever okay to pee my shorts. I’m just sayin’… Endorsement deal or not,  don’t pee yourself. If you’re qualifying for Boston or being paid by a shoe company, you’re probably pretty damn fast and can finish the race in like 3 hours. I understand that running on a full bladder sucks, but seriously – how long does it take to relieve yourself? There are port-a-potties all over a marathon course.

I’d rather add 45 seconds onto my time than have to run in filthy shorts for miles.  Can you imagine? And in the heat of a summer race? It’s the stuff nightmares are made of!

runr26 recently wrote on the runnersworld.com forum – “you are going to look and smell pretty bad when the marathon is ending so just poop and pee on yourself. Sometimes during a training run i pop a squat and do my business and worry about the clean up later on after the run.”

………..Really?  Like, in the middle of a park you just… ? REALLY? (..Isn’t that illegal? It’s really gross, if nothing else.)

Dude.

Go before.

Go in a port-a-potty during.

Go after.

(In the interest of forewarning, both Bob and I googled this topic. You don’t want to know what images come up.)

My new goal as a runner: Never get to a point of being so obsessed that I can’t stop to pee.

Seriously.

Pumpkin Season!

Sometimes a girl just needs to carve pumpkins with friends.

Please note the unimpressed cat in the background. Magellan does not subscribe to holidays.

And, FYI, that’s a Buffalo Bill’s Pumpkin Ale I’m drinking.

the battle of the bus

Yesterday, around 5:40, I was in the middle of the longest bus ride home ever.

(I’m not sure what happens to Chicago drivers when precipitation hits the ground, but people seem to forget how to function behind the wheel of their vehicle, and this goes double for the CTA.)

Normally, I hop the California bus at like 5:05 and switch to the Diversey bus around 5:15 and am home by 5:45 at the latest.

I should have known it was going to be a sucky commute when at 5:25 I was sitting on an unmoving California bus that hadn’t even left my stop yet.

Blah blah, I finally get to the Diversey bus.

As I get on the bus, I notice it’s pretty full. There’s a seat I see right away, but it’s one of the seats in the front that face each other, and there are two people on either side of it – a guy, and a rather big woman in a yellow coat.

I’m pretty small, but I knew I would be squeezed and uncomfortable in that seat. So, I saw a seat in the back (next to a girl who looked JUST like Betsy, FYI) and went for that one. I put my headphones on and zoned out.

A few stops later, a rather big older man gets on the bus and plops himself down in that seat. I remember thinking “Huh,” but then zoned back out. It takes all kinds on the CTA, you know.

Suddenly, I hear screaming, and everyone on the bus looks. The woman is holding up her umbrella in defense while the man screams at her. From what I can tell, he’s basically been ON her, and she’d asked him to move over or at least move his arm off her, and he’d flipped out.  The man starts hitting her and yelling things like “Fat Pig!” 

There’s lots of yelling, and some young-ish dudes look ready to jump in and help out.  The people around them didn’t seem to know what to do, though a couple reached in to try and block the blows. The man finally reaches his stop and gets off the bus, after yelling “You got some nasty customers, man.”

Things calm down once he’s gone. A voice from behind me shouts “We don’t blame you, honey” to the woman, who looks humiliated and keeps her head down the rest of the way home. (I felt terrible for her. If someone had called me names in front of a packed bus, I would have wanted to die)

What I think was most interesting was that the bus driver didn’t even react. He didn’t stop the bus, he didn’t even seem to look back at what was happening. I realize bus drivers see crazy stuff every day, but seriously – a woman is being assaulted on the bus. People are screaming and shouting and it’s a dangerous situation, and you’re going to keep on driving? Really?

(It was Diversey bus 2202 at around 5:40pm yesterday. The man got off at the Paulina stop.)

This follows an incident a few weeks ago where Eric, Brent, and I were on the Diversey bus heading east around 5:20pm, and on the bus with us was a woman with probably six kids, all of whom were screaming at the top of their lungs, running around the bus, beating each other up, one was even crawling around on the floor under customers seats, and the woman couldn’t control them.

Even as these kids continued to run around the bus, bumping into people, screaming, the bus driver didn’t do anything.  The rest of us had to listen to them until they got to their stop.

I’d like to feel safe on the bus.  I generally already don’t feel safe much of the time. (It’s Chicago, hello) but I don’t want to be worried about some dude punching me on the bus.  If some dude were to punch me, I’d like to think that the bus driver would do something about it. Because really, punching guy should have gotten the police called.

Geez.

Be careful, and look out for yourselves.

‘Cause clearly, you’re the only one who is.

Trick or Treat Trotters

Hooray for the 2009 Trick or Treat Trot!

The race was really fun (As Capri Event races seem to always be) and we all completed the race.

(Special congrats to Kris for running his first 5k!)

My time was 34:40, which was slower than I wanted, but is a fine time nonetheless.

Next race, 6 days!

Plodders, unite!

The New York Times ran a super interesting piece yesterday.

Plodders have a place, but is it in a marathon? by Juliet Macur explores the sentiment among some more “elite” marathon runners that, basically, slower runners shouldn’t be welcome in marathons. 

Some of these runners seem to be even resentful that slower runners are allowed, like this lady – >

“It’s a joke to run a marathon by walking every other mile or by finishing in six, seven, eight hours,” said Adrienne Wald, 54, the women’s cross-country coach at the College of New Rochelle, who ran her first marathon in 1984. “It used to be that running a marathon was worth something — there used to be a pride saying that you ran a marathon, but not anymore. Now it’s, ‘How low is the bar?’ ”

And this person ->

In a debate on the Web site slowtwitch.com, someone posting as Record10 Carbon wrote that more than half of the people at a marathon are just overweight and “trying to get a shirt and medal … looking to one day tell a story about the saga and the suffering of their 11 minute pace ‘race.’ ”

This lady, too ->

Longtime marathoners like Julia Givens, a 46-year-old marketing director from Charlottesville, Va., still find ways to differentiate the “serious runners” from those at the back of the pack……  “I always ask those people, ‘What was your time?’ If it’s six hours or more, I say, ‘Oh great, that’s fine, but you didn’t really run it,’ ” said Givens, who finished the Baltimore race in 4:05:52.

Dear Ms. Givens, How dare you. “Those people” paid the entry fee, traveled to the marathon location, and hauled their tush the same 26.2 miles you did. They trained, they sweated, and they finished the marathon. How dare you detract from their success because of your own snobby qualifications? They crossed the finish line, too, and shouldn’t have to apologize for not being as fast as you.

Dear Record10Carbon, You know what? Many of the people at marathons have used running as a way to get in shape. I’m a Motivational Member of Sparkpeople.com, and I can’t even tell you how many pages I’ve seen where people turned their unhealthy lives around using running/marathon training as their workout of choice. Like you “elite” runners don’t run in part for the bragging rights. Shut up.

The article points out that it’s the slower runners who make up the bulk of marathon participants, and that their entry fees pay for a lot of the substantial costs of putting on a marathon.

You’d think snobby elitists like Givens would be pleased that THEIR entry fee is more affordable thanks to these slower runners.

Here’s the thing. I’m not ever going to run a marathon, and I’m fine with that. If I ever do a half-marathon, I’ll consider myself a champion of the universe and brag all over town until people tell me to shut up. But, I did some math.

Hypothetically, let’s say I run an 11.5 minute mile. (Good enough for me, even if Record10Carbon looks down on it.) A marathon is 26.2 miles. Assuming I kept that pace the entire 26.2 miles, I would finish in 301.3 minutes, or 5.02 hours. But that’s assuming I never slowed down. Or stoppped at a hydration station. Or took a bathroom break. (I’m sorry, but being one of those runners who loses bladder control while running is NOT on my list of things to do in my free time, thanks..)

I can see my race time coming in at 6 hours, no problem.

The New York City Marathon officially ends after 6.5 hours (though they keep timing until 8 hours and 40 minutes..)

I’m a Plodder, and I’m fine with that.  I’ll never come in first, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy running and feel a massive sense of accomplishment even at the end of merely a 5k.

A runner prepares..

Life right now is kinda all about running.

This Sunday, I have a 5k. Then the following Sunday there’s another one. And then 6 weeks after that is a winter 8k.

Whew!

So, here goes!

Sunday, I’m joining Eric, Bob, Lindsey, and Kris to run the 2009 Trick or Treat Trot. 

Bob, Lindsey, and I ran this Halloween 5k last year and it was a blast, so we’re doing it again this year – and that’s how traditions are born. Eric runs often, but has never run this race, and it’s Kris’ first race, which is so exciting!  I would hasten to say the Trot was the most fun race I’ve ever taken part in, so I’m looking forward to getting going on Sunday.

It’s a Halloween race, so I’m going to try and attempt to run as a Zombie 5k Runner, complete with a face full of makeup (which will probably be ruined from sweat by the finish line, but whatever) and ratted hair (though it has to stay out of my face as I run.) This part is still under development.  Photos, hopefully, to come.

I spent 20 minutes last night looking for a remix of “Monster Mash,” to no avail. However, I have “Thriller” and a punk cover of the “Ghostbusters” theme, in addition to a few other horror themes and the score to Bram Stoker’s Dracula, so.. rock and roll!

I’ve been training pretty hard for this race, and hope to come in at a good time, maybe even beat last year’s time of 31:52.  I’ve got one more afternoon run today, and then tomorrow will serve as a day of rest (especially since my trusty old creaky knee has made its presence known again) and I’m going to eat some carbs.

Woot! Here we go!!

today is strange.

Ok, I’m admittedly about as bitter a receptionist as they come.  I FULLY understand that most of the time, the receptionist takes crap from visitors and employees all day every day for very little money, and that it wears you down really fast.

Here’s what just happened to me.

Backstory:

My Dad lives in Alpena, Michigan.

He’s had 2 heart attacks.

He goes to both the Alpena and Alcona Health Centers for different tests, etc.

Today:

It’s 1pm.  I see I have a missed call from a “356″ number. That’s an Alpena number. I don’t have anyone left in the Alpena area who’s name wouldn’t come up if they called. I’m intrigued. I listen to the voicemail, and it’s from the Alcona County Health Clinic, and my heart drops.

BUT, it’s not about my Dad.

In fact, it’s about someone named Caleb, and how he urgently needs to get bloodwork done and how I need to do it.

I don’t know someone named Caleb. I’ve never known anyone named Caleb.

So, because I’m a good person, and because the voicemail sounds urgent, I call back and reach the receptionist there.  While I’m trying to explain that the voicemail was left for the wrong person, she keeps cutting me off and is very rude about it all. Like, I’m sorry I’m trying to let you know that someone isn’t going to get this urgent message that was left behind.  I even know the name of the person who called and what office they’re coming from, and she gives me attitude about letting me speak with that person.

I almost gave up, but at the idea that some kid named Caleb was in trouble for something got me through to the person who’d left the voicemail, who seemed grateful.

So, somehow, someone at the clinic my Dad goes to wrote the wrong number on a sheet. They wrote my number.

Small world?

I get calls constantly with people saying ”Someone just called me?” I get that you don’t know everyone, lady. BUT, when I know the name of the person who called me and left me the problematic voicemail, be nice.

Geez.

Tamara (2005)

In honor of Halloween’s fast approach, I thought I’d blog about a fantastic horror movie I watched last night with Mr. Dan.

We tried a few other movies first (“Beware, Children at Play” and “Stupid Teenagers must die”) but within 2 minutes of each movie, the terrible quality was driving us insane..

So we bolted.

And then we found…”Tamara.”

“Tamara” is a great movie, seriously. If you like your horror movies slightly predictable, very clever, quite gory, and like your leading ladies from the mold of Patty Duke in “Valley of the Dolls.”

Do you want your leading lady to chew down scenery?

Do you want her to absolutely own?

If so, this movie is for you.

Jenna Dewan plays Tamara Riley who, of course, is a high school nerd who fantasizes about her English teacher and practices witchcraft alone in her bedroom.  Her father is an alcoholic, and her life sucks, but she’s smart. When she writes an article for the school paper about athletes on steroids, she pisses off superjock Shawn, who gathers his buddies to play a prank on Tamara. Of course, it goes horribly wrong and Tamara winds up dead – and buried in the woods. It’s very “I know what you did last summer,” though, as Tamara (who they’ve buried) shows up for class on Monday, suddenly appallingly hot and ballsy too.

Dewan is a fabulous young actress. She gets exactly what movie she’s in, and owns it. While she’s endearing as a nerd, it’s once she dons the red skin-tight gear that defines Tamara that she really (pardon the bad pun) comes alive.  Her walk even changes from a sloppy shuffle to a full on trampy stamp, which Dan dubbed the “skank walk.” She’s all glaring eyes and tossing hair and waving hands, and it’s a grand, grand performance.

A few other players are solid as well. Matthew Marsden (who is actually NOT related to James, thanks IMDB!) plays the teacher who is the object of Tamara’s evil affection, and he’s great. He’s just dreamy enough to be believable as the cutest teacher in school, without being so hot that you think “He’s not a teacher, come on.” Claudette Mink plays the English Teacher’s wife, and rocks out her limited screen time.  We cheered for her as she got chased around her basement, fighting her way with every household item imaginable (shovel, screwdriver, letter opener, pepper grinder..) Katie Stuart and Chad Faust as Chloe and Jessie, the nice kids caught up by accident in the murder of Tamara, are also great. Dan and I were rooting for both of them to survive the movie. By the time Chloe, royally pissed off, gets her own “skank walk” on, you know it’s going to end fantastically.

There are also some bad performances. Bryan Clark, as Shawn, is kinda dreadful as the stereotypical angry jock. You’re not sad when he gets shanked by the Guidance Counselor (oops, spoiler! ) As his hot, bitchy girlfriend Kisha, Melissa Elias is pretty terrible. (“Omg. She can’t even play zombie.” – Dan) And in the utterly Ashton Kutcher role of Patrick (cocked trucker hat, etc, etc), Gil Hachoen is eye-rolling.

You can tell the crew had a great time making this movie. Jeremy Haft’s direction proves he knows this genre very well.  All the classic elements are there – a hospital chase, a chase through a kitchen, a chase through a basement, a million hyper-sexy shots of Dewan approaching menachingly, a scene on a roof, a scene at a house party. Haft knows he’s not making some super-serious Oscarbait film, thank goodness.

Michael Suby’s score is fantastic, creepy, and right-on.

It’s Halloween. Watch a scary movie. If you have Netflix, this one’s streaming free right now.

Go watch it.

GO!

the honest bride: girly underthings

When Aleisha was in town a few weeks before her wedding, we went on a city-wide search to find her bridal lingerie.

We failed miserably at Victoria’s Secret (as they seemed to be all about cotton oversized tees that day), we tried Filene’s Basement and TJ Maxx, we tried Macys, we tried everywhere, and finally just as we had decided it was hopeless, we stopped into a wedding boutique on Armitage and asked for their reccomendation. 

The nice lady handed us a business card for G Boutique.

http://www.boutiqueg.com/

The next day, we headed to Bucktown/Wicker Park/whatever the hell area that is, and walked into bridal lingerie wonderland.  Seriously. Corsets and panties and lace and pink things and tulle and all around all-encompassing gorgeousness.

Now that I know where to go, can I just say I am over the moon excited to shop for my own bridal lingerie?

What a silly, girly thing to be excited about, right?

I’m also getting excited to figure out my wedding perfume. Though perfume as a whole freaks me out – so many kinds, so many bottles – I am fortunate to lave Lady Fragrence herself, Miss Betsy Morgan, on my side. I love Nina Ricci, but theres a whole world of other perfumes out there, and Miss Thing and I are going to make a date to hit up Sephora and other stores to find just the right one.

And shoes – Oh man, I am looking so forward to finding my wedding shoes.

….Girly things! Whee!