Power Love

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23 December 2008


Did you ever play paper dolls? You get this cardboard cutout of a woman and then you get all these stickers of outfits and you can mix and match the clothes to make one bazillion outfits and there are blazers and skirts and pants and SHOES and even earrings, although if you were anything like me, you promptly lost the earrings because teeny tiny cutouts of earrings are like the last thing an impatient 6-year old should get hold of, but anyway, somewhere in the house I grew up in, there is a stack of missing cutout earrings for my paper dolls and let me tell you, my paper dolls never let me forget it. One cannot be a proper paper doll and do proper paper doll life activities without earrings. My paper dolls wore some killer outfits, too, so they needed earrings. I remember I had friends who were like, “My paper doll is named Jenny and she’s gonna pet puppies.” And others who were like, “My paper doll’s name is Samantha and she’s gonna grow flowers in her backyard.” And I was like, “My paper doll’s name is Kim, AND SHE’S GONNA BE THE BOSS.”

You can see how earrings would come in handy, considering my paper doll’s future.

Anyhoodle, as it turns out, I had to give up the paper dolls because apparently, when you arrive in your 20s, you are not supposed to play dress up, play with Barbie, or play with paper dolls. So I resorted to dressing up myself and drinking. But lo! I HAVE FOUND SALVATION!

It’s Polyvore.com. You know what you can do at Polyvore.com? YOU CAN MAKE UP OUTFITS. There don’t seem to be any paper doll bodies, but who cares when there are CHRISTIAN LOUBOUTIN SHOES! Good god, who’s the genius? It’s like, there are a select few things in life that prove genius exists: Levi’s for men, chocolate covered strawberries, fried Snickers, and now MAKING UP OUTFITS ON THE INTERWEBNETS. I will never be the same. Get me some vodka.

This is why the holidays suck:
1. Santa does not exist
2. No, he does not
3. Buying presents doesn’t show someone how much you care about them, it shows how good you are at finding the sale rack
4. Christmas carols were originally intended as a torture device, one in which the torturee gouged his/her own eyeballs out of his/her own head and therefore relieved the torturers of any responsibility for said torture
5. Snow is not your friend

This is why the holidays rule:
1. You only have to put up with them once a year
2. You only have to put up with them once a year
3. You only have to put up with them once a year
4. You only have to put up with them once a year
5. You only have to put up with them once a year

19 December 2008


The whole reason we went to New York in the first place was because I am a media mogul and I had to check in with my peeps and make sure they were buying up the media world during this trying economic time, which is having no effect on me whatsoever because I’m filthy rich and I own 75% of the world.

In addition, we were also going to New York because me and Margot and Bobby and Megan had pieces that we wrote that Bohemian Archaeology was performing on a stage at City Winery, a wine bar in Soho, or possibly another neighborhood. I read a lot of fashion blogs and all the stylish people seem to be just randomly walking around Soho in their fashiony garb and just, like, you know, randomly being fashionable and eating, like, bagels, but low calorie bagels, without cream cheese. Anyhoo, I think me and Margot were dressed fashionably, and hence, that is why I think we were in Soho. It might have been the West Village, though. Or, possibly, Spain. Also, Margot wore fishnets. I did not get a picture. I am kicking myself as I write this for not getting a picture of the fishnets. And I mean, actual fishnets. Not hole-y nylons. I mean, nets with which you catch fish.

The staff at the wine bar was way on top of the whole checking in/box office thing and they were most definitely “facilitating.” I was also “helping” with box office, but I must say, I was a bit out of my “element.” Usually when I “work” box office, it’s at a 2nd Story event, and there is a lot of paper around and a few pens and people leave me alone and that is where I shine, because then I can write notes about my cool alt rock country punk death metal band and also compose treatises on the state of the world wherein I elect myself Overseer of All and then promptly fire the mayor of Chicago and plow and salt the streets and then everyone lives happily ever after. However, in my capacity as Overseer of All, I probably will not plow and salt the streets in summer. I will pave them in gold for the many parades I will have in my honor, though, so keep an eye out for the press release on that.

Moving on. “Working box office” really meant “handing out programs.” Of which I had a pile to take home with me, but I was accosted by paparazzi on my way out of the show and they stole my programs and thank god that’s all they took because really what they wanted was my blood. And my tailor’s name (my tailor’s name is “Target”). The space of the bar was gorgeous—open floor, stage at the back, blonde wood floors, blonde wood four-top tables. Barrels in the back room to make wine and imprison beer drinkers. The bathroom was downstairs. I kept getting confused and walked into the men’s bathroom by mistake. Many times. They might want to reconsider their signage. I’m sure my confusion had everything to do with the signage and nothing to do with the wine.

The show: I am impressed by what I learn when someone else tells a story I wrote. Especially since the someone else who told my story was Jordana, who is so amazing to me, my frontal lobe explodes when I think about it. I think the audience was really into it. I also think the audience really loved the intermission when I got up on one of the blonde wood tables and did my interpretive dance to Michael Jackson’s, “Billie Jean.” Talk about shining! Wow!

After the show, we went to a bar. I talked with two Irishmen about Blago. They knew a lot about it. “We talk about politics at the dinner table in Ireland,” they told me, “not like you Americans here. No one talks politics here.” “Come to Chicago,” I said. “We talk politics there.” And then we discussed bangers and mash.

The night ended in the morning, which was awesome because travelling back to Chicago on three hours of sleep is just about the best way to travel ever. And while I love Chicago in a way that makes my heart ache, I can see how people feel the same about New York. We will be back.

18 December 2008


It started, probably, in Ohio. Or maybe western Pennsylvania. Considering I have no idea what our flight pattern was, it could’ve hit us first in Chicago. Anyway, what I do know is, it was rain and it was “pelting.” This is the meteorological term used to describe “rain that wants to kill you.” The reason I know it wanted to kill us is: Our descent into Long Island, New York, lasted about 14 days and felt less like an airplane descending and more like a rollercoaster to hell. We had some huge drops that felt like that awesome part of the American Eagle—the last drop, the one where there’s a pause and then you fall and it’s like, “YAYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!” But usually that happens in the summer, when it’s sunny, and you are waving your arms in the air, and you are attached to something. On our plane ride into Long Island we were not attached to anything. This is why the woman a few rows up from us barfed. It’s also why everyone on the plane was gripping their arm rests to the point where they were white-knuckled. It’s also why everyone applauded after we landed safely.

Things not to discuss while flying through air pockets at 20,000 feet:
1. “Lost”
2. Terrorism
3. The impossibility of an after life

Upon arrival at Long Island, we made our way to what we thought would be a taxi, but then realized that the shuttle that stopped running at 10:30pm, was actually still running. At midnight! Who knew! The driver’s name was not discovered, but he was there, “as a coidesy.” He was round. He told his mother to invest in Starbucks. He said, “You listenin’ ta me? You listenin’ ta me?” whenever he wanted to say something. And, he was very nice. Know why? He made us sit in the shuttle until the train to Manhattan came. Know why? “’Cuz one time, I had this girl, and I tell her, ‘Don’t go walkin’ around, awright?’ And what’s she do? She goes walkin’ off to the left over dere, and you know what? They took her luggage and her money and they beat the shit outta her.” And so, we were saved. Also, it was raining. “Cats and dogs.” This is yet another meteorological term that means, “Suck it, Morris, you shoulda brought your umbrella.”

Upon arrival in New York, we promptly made our way, via a cab that smelled of tremendously fried food, to the East Village. However, from Penn Station to the East Village, there were many things to see. Things to know about Manhattan at 2am:
1. From the door of the buildings to the curb of the street, there is much sidewalk
2. It wasn’t just the cab that smelled of tremendously fried food
3. Tremendously fried food is not a bad thing
4. There are no alleys in Manhattan, which I’m sure, Alert Power Love reader, makes you wonder: Where do the bike messengers go? Must they travel via streets with civilians? Blech.

The continuing saga of Margot and Kim Take Manhattan from the Muppets will continue tomorrow, after I drink more coffee. Or, you can go read Margot's account of the adventures on her blog.

17 December 2008


Well, last weekend, we went to New York. As you may know, Alert Power Love Reader, New York is very New York. The most important thing you need to know about New York is that people from Long Island say, "New Yawrk" and "Lawng Island." Here are some philosophical insights to keep you engaged while I figure out how to write about the weekend:

This is a lamp.

This is the Long Island Railroad (LIRR). It stopped for 565 days just before Penn Station because of a trespasser on the tracks. They cut the power to the third rail. Everyone on the train aged quickly. Also, I missed my Broadway debut. Unfortunate.

Margot has an iPhone. It's addictive. Like crack. It's a crack phone. iCrack.

At 2am, it's somewhat difficult to maintain the cool, business-like demeanor for which I am famous. However, with the help of my crooked hat, I was able to do so. This picture was taken right before my limo arrived to drive us to Manhattan. Public transportation is great and all, but really, I'm just not used to it.

11 December 2008


Also, now I'm Twitter. Now I will regurgitate words in 140 characters or less. As opposed to this blog, where I regugitate words in 140 words or more.

In addition, they are changing my gate as I write this and I am running down the terminal and typing BECAUSE I AM JUST THAT IN SHAPE.

That was a lie. I'm actually skipping down the terminal.


In today's episode, we are once again obscenely early for a flight. So, I've decided to sit by the gate where peeps are going to Archibald. Or maybe Norfolk? I can't really see the sign. Also, it's in Mandarin. Odd. Anyway, the customer that was just called to the desk is named Gucci so I, quite rightly, jumped up and said, "I LOVE YOUR SHOES!" Unfortunately, customer Gucci was not the shoe/designer person/fashion house; customer Gucci was a small woman with wobbly legs and gray hair and a very nervous look about her. Undeterred, I said, "THE GLADIATOR SHOES FROM LAST SEASON WERE TO DIE FOR!" Well, do you know what she did? She huffed at me! I am not making this up. And then she proceeded to the delineated area and was helped by an airline personnel person WHO ALSO HUFFED AT ME. And do you know what lesson I took away from this, Alert Power Love reader? That perhaps the Gucci gladiators were from TWO seasons ago. I am aghast.


Ha! The title of this post is a lie! I don't actually have a heart. Yuck, yuck. Actually, it's a lie because I am not going west, I am going east, to NEW YORK. Are you going to New York this weekend? Are you already in New York this weekend? May I suggest you do this, then? Yes, I think I shall suggest you do this, then. It will be grand. I will be the one at the show with the nonfunctional shoes. The one looking very Midwestern.

10 December 2008


White lights.

Blue lights.

Pigeon A: Blago's an arrogant idiot.

Pigeon B: No shit.