31 January 2009

3 january: a (sexual) revue

"if i get a cape, can we have sex?"

"he calls me 'queen' and 'daddy' and all of these stupidly ridiculous names that tend to assume that, because i'm gay, i must be a vagina at heart."

"ok. moving on... that topic just comes with a big bag of judgment."

"my virginity has become oppressive."

"i do thank you for sharing. it's like watching an STD we nearly contracted infect someone else."

"oh, vaginal fluids!"

"yeah, dude, you are a douche. what std den did you roll out of?"

"ice skating is awesome. like sex, it hurts the first time then gets infinitely better."

"i didn't pay to see bush."

"kids' is the best song to come out in a long time. if i could, i would kiss it and thank it and write it a letter every week just to make sure it's doing alright."

"i never worried about any girl cheating on me because it never entered my mind that i'm not the best... at everything."

"there's always sushi..."

"good sex is pretty much a sinful thing, no matter if there is a wedding ring involved or not."

"how is your family planning situation?"

"we had a hilarious phone convo yesterday with me trying to calm her fears that facebook was populated by sex fiends who would seek out her profile specifically to harm her baby and have their way with her."

"i have very spertile firm... ahem... fertile sperm."

"you know, i've gotten really comfortable with the word 'vagina.'"
"how very unfortunate for all of the rest of us."

27 January 2009

3 tradition!

i'm a wee bit of a traditionalist. in my mind, if we do something one way once, it's a tradition and we must always do it that way again. for example, every election night from here on out should be spent with the crofts at rock bottom. partner and i should talk every monday. santa claus should always come.

i've argued this philosophy for years to much eye-rolling from my parents. but they've never really taken to it. this idea of traditions. despite all my endeavors at tradition-making, nothing ever really stuck. until now.

we wear funny hats at christmas. we didn't always do this. it started one pathetically sad christmas when my grandparents went to north carolina and left we three eatons to celebrate christmas by ourselves. it was only the second time we'd been left to our own devices and we were appropriately depressed.

somehow, in the midst of that, funny hats seemed the answer. (but then, aren't funny hats always the answer?)

the next year, my grandmother fell and broke her hip and funny hats were a necessity. now they have been seamlessly integrated into our christmas tradition. we eat the broccoli cheese soup, we open presents on christmas eve, we wear funny hats.

everyone whines and complains about it. they hate them. they don't want to wear them. about an hour into the present opening they invariably come off, only to be quickly donned again whenever the rebel's turn is up in the present rotation. there is an unspoken understanding that one's presents will be revoked if the funny hat is not worn.

we'd never really discussed the funny hats. they just kind of happened.

then i was talking to my grandmother the other day. she'd only just gotten to showing her christmas pictures around town and everyone had asked about the hats. she laughed and said, i just told them that's what we do. we have our christmas hats. she paused a second, as though hesitant to voice a horrifying thought that had only just occurred to her, then said, you'd better marry someone who's ok with that.

25 January 2009

8 headline news

i've decided my dream job- aside from writing biography or living in dubrovnik and doing nothing all day- would be writing tabloid headlines. because, really, can anything be more fulfilling? imagine the sense of accomplishment that must follow after penning a masterpiece like this:

JENNIFER LOVE HEWITT: Why She Called Off Her Wedding. The dress was bought, a date was set. How jealousy, fights, and her insecurities exploded at the last minute.

if i should ever be so unfortunate as to do anything warranting tabloid attention (dear God, please no), i would hope to garner a headline of comparable quality.

OLINE EATON: Why She Killed the Vieve. How dance parties, puking, and emotional eating destroyed their lives.

16 January 2009

6 wtf

we whine about this every winter. the cold. but this is different. and i think i even said that before in the deep freeze winter of 2007, but really. this is entirely different... you just don't know.

it's been cold before. chicago is supposed to be cold. i'm blessed/cursed with unsympathetic southern friends, whose automatic response is a reminder of but you're in chicago. it's supposed to be cold in chicago. no, people. it is not supposed to be this cold anywhere in the world. we chicagoans did not sign up for this.

we are hale and hardy, but there are certain givens that must be in place. we must be able to walk from the train station home. that is the key to our survival and we have done that many a winter. but 15 hours later, our sinuses and lungs should not still be feeling as though they are being pricked by shards of frozen glass and burned in fire. this is something new.

i'm pretty sure it's the end of days.

yesterday, it was the coldest it's ever been. -9. yes, you read that right. -9. that was the actual temperature (to say nothing of the windchill). 9 less than nothing. which seems like a mathematical impossibility but apparently isn't.

and we persevered through that nightmare because there was the promise of today. a new, warmer day, which we were told would top out at 6.

15 whole degrees more than yesterday. a positive number. a veritable heatwave.

it's hard to express my disillusionment with the weather channel and chicago and God and commonwealth edison and the meteorological sciences in general when i woke up in an apartment with no hot water and saw this.

13 January 2009

11 xoxo

so we need to talk about gossip girl. (i'm going to assume that all of my friends are as cultured and with it as me and likewise cling to the television set every monday night between the hours of 7 and 8 cst.)

last night's gg taught us many, many things. among them- that blair's boobs can best blake lively's. that alongside the on-going Ed Westwick Sir Laurence Olivier-esque Acting Extravaganza, all those other upper eastsiders appear to be rehearsing lines for a senior play. and that lily and rufus have learned nothing about the importance of abstinence (oooooh, the birth parents of our secret love child won't let us meet him. let's fuck.)

but overall, i think from these 39 minutes we can glean three fundamental caveats:

(1) never have a secret love child. not because it will destroy your marriage and indirectly kill your husband and send your pissed off step-son into a downward spiral that climaxes with him nearly tipping off a building and ending his life. and not because secrets are bad. no. never have a secret love child because despite living in a city of a kabazillion people, your future (non-secret) child will inevitably wind up dating the future (non-secret) child of the person with whom you had the secret love child and the revelation of the existence of your secret love child will create a huge big 17-minute existential conundrum of omg. we can't date now because it's all icky!

(2) never accept the gift of prostitutes from an uncle. it is but a clever ruse intended to reveal your clumsy inability to strip said prostitutes down past their underwear (are we seriously supposed to believe chuck bass would stop there?) and expose you to an unknown morality clause in your recently deceased father's will, thus preventing you from assuming your 60% claim in the family business and diverting the subsequent world domination to the clutches of your evil uncle, who did something- no doubt dirty, disgusting, and very very vile- to your girlfriend (sidekick? lover? wench?) on new year's eve.

(3) flowers do not solve everything. though a girl will perform in a speakeasy, surrender her virginity in the back of a limo, endure comparison to a horse ridden hard and put away wet, and rescue you from an 18th century opiate den, say the wrong thing and flowers (even when combined with slapping the elevator door like it's your little bitch) cannot make it better.

lessons to live by, people. lessons to live by.

08 January 2009

2 i think it terribly important that we dwell upon this

this is a recent photograph of courtney love.

look closely.

admire the sunglasses.
the reading material.
the haute nail polish.
the cute crocodile purse.

this is the rest of that recent photograph of courtney love.



this is courtney love. and it is 2009. and i know that by now we should be at a cultural point where nothing courtney love does is ever surprising. we, as a people, should be numb. but still, it's hard to remain unmoved by the sight of courtney love dressed as a leprechaun unicorn person escaped from a renaissance fair.

05 January 2009

9 27: the new 45

it was not the day to wear a huge-ass forever 21 $4 fake diamond ring. while standing at the copier, a co-worker cornered me to ask if i'd gotten engaged over the break.

in my ignorance, i first took this as a gross misreading of my character- that, despite my preponderance of $4 jewels, she had labeled me as the kind of girl who would demand a diamond the size of a cranberry rather than the kind who'd want a boy to just roll over in bed and put a ring-pop on her finger. i thought that was kind of obvious.

but no. that was not what this was about.

once her facial features had smoothed back into place and her breathing had calmed, she hit upon her main point, leaning in and saying in a hushed tone with the tiniest sliver of panic, well, you have to think about these things... AT YOUR AGE...

01 January 2009

11 the old year

le guerre des femmes (dumas)
consuelo & alva vanderbilt: a mother & daughter in the gilded age (stuart)
the ghost map (johnson)
heyday (andersen)
the count of monte cristo (dumas)
little women (alcott)
gone with the wind (mitchell)
it came from memphis (gordon)
the beautiful & damned (fitzgerald)
diana (bradford)
love & louis xiv (fraser)
twenty years after (dumas)
"rfk must die!" (kaiser)
summer @ tiffany (hart)
vive la revolution (steel)
scarlett (ripley)
to dance with kings (laker)
flapper (zeitz)
now face to face (koen)
at home with the marquis de sade (du plessix gray)
mistress of the revolution (delors)
casino royale (fleming)
live and let die (fleming)
then we came to the end (ferris)
michael tolliver lives (maupin)
the vicomte de bragelonne (dumas)
when blanche met brando (staggs)
liszt's kiss (dunlap)
brothers: the hidden history of the kennedy years (talbot)
queen of fashion: what marie antoinette wore to the revolution (weber)
athénaïs: the real queen of france (hilton)
georgiana, duchess of devonshire (foreman)
marilyn monroe: the biography (spoto)
louise de la vallière (dumas)
the man in the iron mask (dumas)
nixonland: the rise of a president & the fracturing of america (perlstein)
the silent woman: sylvia plath & ted hughes (malcolm)
passionate minds: women rewriting the world (pierpont)
which brings me to you (baggott; almond)
and the band played on (shilts)
them: a memoir of parents (gray)