Chicago's Best Ribs

My favorite gift this Christmas was a slow-cooker. I was eager to break the seal on it so today I took it on its maiden voyage: pork ribs in a raspberry Chipotle sauce.

Honestly, these are the best ribs I've ever eaten in my life. My roommate Christine gave this glowing review: "I mean, I think you're a good cook and everything, but this shit is gourmet."

She gave me further RIBSPECT with her suggestion for the City of Chicago pay me to set up a booth in Millennium Park next summer.

I'd like to take full credit for it, but I just followed a recipe. Essentially you blend a can of chipotle peppers in adodo sauce with an entire 18 oz jar of raspberry jam. It took me 10-15 minutes to prepare and then cooked on high for 4.5 hours.

My only tip is to baste the meat every half an hour with the juice/sauce it's simmering in. I kept it moist throughout and it turned out incredibly juicy.

The recipe is available here.

D-O-R-O-T-H-Y

DOROTHY MICHAELS

Ron? I have a name. It's Dorothy. It's not Tootsie or Toots or Sweetie or Honey or Doll. 

RON

Oh, Christ. 

DOROTHY MICHAELS

No. Just Dorothy. Alan's always Alan, Tom's always Tom, and John's always John. I have a name, too. It's Dorothy. Capital D-o-r-o-t-h-y. 

Grad School

I've been behind on blog posts because just before Thanksgiving break I decided to apply to grad school. Since then, it has been a whirlwind of procrastination, list-making, note taking, and even **working** on the application requirements. 

The plan: to earn an MFA in screenwriting and playwriting from Northwestern University.

I've been working on a screenplay behind closed doors for over a year. As I was approaching the year mark, I took a step back to look at what I accomplished. It wasn't impressive. Like I'm about three hours of work ahead of where I was a year ago. When I realized this, I felt like sticking my head in a lion's cage at feeding time.

This realization catapulted me toward the decision to apply to grad school. I have all these dreams of the things I could create, but between working full time, writing sketch, acting, improvising, and being a normal person who makes her own dinner, there's no time to practice a craft, let alone master it.

So I've decided to go all in. If I am accepted to grad school, I will quit my full-time job, take out some loans, and kick grad school's ass. 

I don't have the money to do this but I'm not going to let that stop me. My current loans will be differed and if all works out, I'll have a better paying job on the other end. And if I don't, I'll deal with that. But I'm not going to let not having enough money prevent me from following my dream.

My concern is that if I don't take this time to invest in myself, I'm never going to get to where I want to be. And I couldn't live that way. I'd rather be eating Ramen noodles every day (not by choice) and being happy than slaving away on the upkeep at Millionaire Mountain.

I've enjoyed writing the essays. I compared the role of gender in Battlestar Galactica (1977) and Battlestar Galactica (2004). I pitched a sweet idea for a comedy about air guitar competitions. I read the screenplays to the Hurt Locker and Little Miss Sunshine. And I actually wrote 10 pages of the screenplay I've hardly batted an eye at over the course of 2012. I've done more in three weeks than an entire year and I feel more energized and confident than ever.

Even if I am not accepted, I won't leave empty handed; the process has taught me a lot about myself. I have clarified my values. I have found I exhibit grace under pressure, and I saw how much good work I'm capable of producing, even on a time-budget. And I know I believe in myself enough to take a financial risk.

Being accepted would be a tremendous blessing because it would be the gift of time (and other people's awesome knowledge) but either way, I'll ride this wave and focus on making something I'm really proud of.

Overheard: Shots

"I need a shot. I wanna get blackout drunk!" - Bro, at Of Monsters of Men concert. 

"So I Love this Weather but OMG... is our Planet Dying?!?"

(Start rant.)

Do you really think four warm days in early December are "evidence" of global warming?  Remember last week when it was 30 degrees and your flappy mouth was vomiting up complaints about how fucking cold it was?  Do you realize that we are still 17 days away from the start of fucking winter? Can your dum-dum brain understand that in parts of Russia, it's -60F and their snowmen's balls have turtled back up into their bodies?  Can your pee-pee filled mind comprehend that it's supposed to snow in Chicago next week?

Enjoy the nice fucking weather and stop killing my good-weather-buzz with your downer comment that a handful of nice days come at the price of our planet slowly burning to a crisp.

And if we are strangling the air out of Earth's throat, can you shut your idiot mouth so I can expire in peace?

(End rant.)

Timeless Themes

SUSIE and the OTHER TRAVEL WRITERS are working at their computers. Most have on headphone. LISA enters.

LISA

I got a book in the mail. I'm really excited.

SUSIE

Oh yeah? What's the book?

LISA

It's a book of erotic photography.

SUSIE

Cool. Does it have a theme?

LISA

I don't know...boobs? 


Fin.

When You Want to Look But Can't Take Your Eyes Off the Road

We drove back from Columbus this morning. Along the way, I witnessed one of the dumbest and most endearing moments in family history. 

Dad is driving and mom is in the passenger seat, browsing Facebook on her iPhone. She sees the above picture and laughs. She hands me her phone and from the backseat, I look and laugh and hand the phone back. She wants to share it with my dad, but doesn't want him to take his eyes off the road. So she describes the photo series frame by frame. 

Imagine you're my dad: you're a 57-year old computer programer driving through central Indiana on an overcast day and you could really give a shit about viral internet photos.

"So at the top of the photo it says 'How to catch a cat.' Step one: bring a box.' Then it says 'Step 2: Wait.' So there's a box that's on the floor and there's a white cat inside it. There's also a marmalade cat on top of the box. And the white cat inside is really filling up the box because the box is small. Next scene is marmalade cat inside the box with the white cat. Then the third picture has the two cats in the box and another cat on top of it, waiting to get in. Then in the final scene, the cat that was on top of the box in now crammed into the box with the other two cats. They're all really squished in there. The third cat can't even turn around because its so full of cats and you just see his black tail hanging out. And there's a fourth cat sitting on top of the box."

Thanksgiving 2012

I don't want to jinx it, but this might have been the best Thanksgiving I've ever had. There was no bickering, no accusations, no back-biting, and best of all, no flat-out fights. Everyone helped. We ate. We cleaned up. We watched a movie.

Maybe there are other families that are always like this; mine isn't. Since I was young I have assumed the role of peace-keeper and mediator and it can be stressful to spend time together. I find myself on high alert, listening for the minute tremblings of unrest, a subtle change even the most sensitive seismograph couldn't detect. So maybe I'm blowing it out of proportion, but it just makes me so happy when everyone gets along. I mean, last night we even joked about my sister's high school rebellious streak... something that's easier for my mom and dad to stomach now that Carrie is a married, a successful lawyer at the attorney general's office, and expecting her first child.

The day had a few nice moments, like my dad and I retreating to the den for solitude and being followed soon thereafter by my sister and mom who filled the room with their chatter. My sister and I catching up on our lives while we cut vegetables for the stuffing. Or when their kitten Rosie held my hand with her paw while we watched HUGO.

But the best part was dinner.

In our family, my grandfather gave the blessing. He passed away several years ago and was a really really great man. Like strangers showed up to the funeral who he had met at the grocery store and a 5-year old neighbor boy asked us where Carl was when we returned to his home after the funeral. We lost his wife, my Babcie, earlier this year.

Both my grandparents were involved in the church. My grandfather was an organist for years. We attended an Episcopal church where my parents sang in the choir, my mom was an organist, and in middle school, I was an acolyte.  But by high school, my parents relationship with the church changed - I'm not sure what happened but some sort of internal church politics seemed to get in the way of their faith. I was 15 and could care less about waking up early to sit through a stuffy service where people sang music they would never sing at home. It stopped being a part of my life.

In college, one of my teammates reintroduced me to God. She grew up in a church where the songs of praise where sung over rock riffs and the preachers jokingly said prayers for their sport teams. The environment felt joyous and people seemed genuinely happy to be there. They weren't perfect people, but they were trying to be better. I really dug the atmosphere. I still go to church when I can drag my ass out of bed on a Sunday and I pray every night for friends and family.

Now I'm the only representative of the faith in the family. In the past few years, we've sat down to holiday meals and stared at our empty plates, wondering if anyone was going to offer a prayer like Dziadziu used to. Sometimes I'm asked to pray and sometimes we just start eating. 

Tonight, my dad asked me to give the blessing. I can't remember what I said exactly, but I made everyone hold hands and I gave thanks. It wasn't the most eloquent -in fact, I used the phrase "cooking in Carrie's womb" to describe the fetus growing inside my sister's belly- but that's the fun of leading the prayer. You get to say what you want to say. It was emotional for me and my voice quavered. 

When I finished, everyone had tears in their eyes, too. Even my dad, who doesn't get all riled up like the women-folk. We all cried for different reasons, but whatever it was, the release honored the time we have together. I'm thankful so many of us are still here to hold hands around the table.

Face Cake

All last week my friend Lisa kept promising me a cake with my face on it. Today, it arrived.

The resemblance is uncanny. I hope no one tries to eat my face thinking it's the cake. 

Dream: Dating an Infant

My ex-boyfriend walks into my house on Austin Circle. We hug. We have decided to get back together. 

My mom and dad are skeptical and grill him on whether this the right choice. My mom asks "How will you fix the problems from before?" He replies, "We'll just be better about having meetings and filing reports." I think, wow that's a terrible answer. 

Then he slowly turns into an infant.  I'm sitting in an armchair, bouncing him on my lap. I'm so happy we're back together. He's just so cute and lovable. Then the age difference sinks in and I think, "Wait a minute. I really shouldn't be dating this baby." 

[Wake up.] 

You Can Be a Pig Big, Too! Oy!

Halloween is an important day because it’s the one time of year when it’s socially appropriate to dress up as the person you dream of being. That’s why there’s a whole skank-costume industry – marketers know there’s a whole class of women who are waiting to show off their bodies with no apologies. Hey, it’s just a silly costume, right? Plus, I was drunk so it was like whatevvverrrr.

As an introvert with too much self-control, I’m naturally drawn to sexy heroines who are unapologetically impulsive.  In past years, I've been Kara "Starbuck" Thrace from Battlestar Galactica, Lara Croft: Tomb Raider, and I keep toying with the idea of being "The Bride" from Kill Bill. But that’s mostly because Uma Thurman and I are both leggy blondes with bowl cuts.

This year, however, I took a break from my femme fatal theme and went in a whole new direction. I chose the lovable sidekick to the sidekick: Pumba from the Lion King.

To illustrate the difference between my choices, I pulled a few quotes from the movies.

 * Lara Croft: Right, so... Pretty much touch anything, and you get your head chopped off.  

* Starbuck: So life's a bitch. What do you want to do, cry about it?  

* Pumba: I'm a sensitive soul though I seem thick-skinned. And it hurt that my friends never stood downwind.

That being said, Pumba is charming, positive, and always good for a laugh. I saw Lion King in 3D earlier this year and I died laughing at all of his fart jokes and grunts.

Unfortunately, they're not making Lion King costumes these days. And the ones that are still available are all Simba/Nala, the two most boring characters in the damn movie. So I was left to create my own costume. 

There were a lot of considerations to take into account but I finally decided that a Pumba hat/mask was the way to go. So I ordered a tiger foam hat as a base to build my masterpiece on. The tiger was a great choice because it has a long muzzle and high-brows.

 Once the tiger mask arrived, I cut out cardboard pieces to make the warthog snout, mis-matched ears, and some high check bones. I used the tiger’s ears, which I had torn out, to make larger eye sockets. Then I Scotch taped them into place, papier mached the entire thing, and let it dry.

After it dried, I used acrylic paint to give it Pumba’s coloring.

For tusks, I tore the horns off a Warrior Dash Viking hat I earned two years ago and never parted with. I hot glued them into place.  

 

But even with the tusks in place, the whole ensemble wasn’t working together. The acrylic paint and flat surface of the hat was so different than the bottom of my costume, a very hair bear costume.

I solved the unity problem by trimming some hair off the bear suit – the suit is VERY hairy– and hot glued it to the tusks and ears. I then used the black fur from the afore mentioned Warrior Dash hat to make Pumba’s signature mohawk.

I was very proud of the final product. Not to mention, I had a fantastic Timon by my side to complete the ensemble. This might be the most charming couples costume ever.

Writing Writing (or My Writing Bootcamp)

Henry David Thoreau, you idiot. 

I was struggling to write Getaways copy for quite some time. This was partially due to the fact that the style changed nearly every month, and often by the week for an entire year. But worse, it was that I couldn't transition and hit the reset button like my team members. There was no flow in my words. I was frustrated and ashamed that I wasn't performing as well as everyone else. 

One of our managers took me under her wing and for a half-hour each day for one week, we met to discuss my writing.  Along with my daily sessions, I started transcribing live copy from the site to get a feel for the current language, style, and organization. Within just a few days, it started to get easier. I even earned compliments from our editors!

As an employee wishing to keep their job and an artist, I was ecstatic. I felt a huge transformation; I was reconnected with my brain again. 

The feedback sessions were incredibly valuable, but I attribute the brain surge to rewriting the copy on the site. Because when you're engaging with words like that, you get the feel of them coming out of your mind. It tricks your brain into thinking you're creating, even when you're regurgitating. So the question is - if you exercise your brain through this artificial "creation" process , will it eventually do it better when left to its own devices? 

Having read The Brain That Changes Itself, I'm lead to say yes, but I'm putting it to the test. I've dedicated a little time the past few nights to writing writing. Right now I'm working from Henry David Thoreau, the famed naturalist writer. I bought a copy of Walden last year and regrettably, could never get through more than a few pages of it. It's incredibly rich in detail and elicits fully formed, 3D impressions that are beautifully written. But when it comes down to it, it's hard to focus on because...well nothing happens. (Cut to me washed in the TV's glow while on-screen actors make-out while shooting machine guns.)  

This was tonight's passage. I wrote this by hand three times:

The wasps came by the thousands to my lodge in October, as to winter quarters, and settled on my windows within and on the walls overhead, sometimes deterring visitors from entering. Each morning, when they were numbed with cold, I swept some of them out, but I did not trouble myself to get rid of them; I even felt complimented by their regarding my house as a desirable shelter. They never molested me seriously, though they bedded with me; and they gradually disappeared, into what crevices I do not know, avoiding winter and unspeakable cold. 

Once I finished my transcriptions, I made a list of the words I'm not used to seeing. They're a part of my vocabulary, of course, but they're not something that's overly familiar in everyday speech or writing. But they could be. They belong. 

Word list: wasps, quarters, settled, deterring, numbed, swept, shelter, molested, bedded, gradual, crevice, and unspeakable. 

I'm aiming to pick a different author each week and hopefully 3-5 times that week, sit down and let their words play around my head. If I'm lucky, they'll stick and help me become a better writer.

**SPOILER ALERT: I've got a short story dropping next week AND I'm working on a project that comes in not one, two, or four or five parts... but three, count 'em, three parts. Keep clicking, my friends!**

Birthday!

My friend Lisa came into work today and said loudly, "Happy Birthday, Susie!" This started a cascade of my co-workers exclaiming "It's your birthday? Happy birthday!" Then I said "Yeah! Everyone clap!" And they did. It was the best.

Groupon Stock Photography, Part 2

I'm in another Groupon! 

Other things you could sell with this photo:

• Subscription to a Russian Bride-a-Month
• Bartending flair class
• Gymnastics apparel
• Group tango lessons 

Mentor/Mentee

A few weeks ago I signed up to be a mentor to a high school student from Chicago Tech Academy. The purpose of the year-long program is to connect high school juniors and seniors with professionals who can guide them on their paths to college or careers. 

Today I met my girl and we totally hit it off. The program leaders provided us with some "get to know you" questions, including "If you could live anywhere, where would you want to live?", "If you could have any one super power, what would it be and why?" and "If you had to lose one arm or one leg, which would you choose?"

Conversation flowed naturally and we found we have a lot in common. We both like blue and green. We would both move to California. We're interested in writing and acting and are terrible at math. And we know all the words to the "Just keep swimming" song Dorie sings in Finding Nemo.

The highlight for me was when we left school and were walking toward the bus stop. She told me how she joined the after-school robotics club because they have the best snacks. We joked around about how one day she'd win the Noble Prize and when people asked her how she got interested in engineering, she'd say, "Little Debbie honey buns."

I was really worried I'd get a dud of a kid, like just not interested in me or any advice I might give. But she was so lively, confident, and interesting. I really hit the jackpot. 

Roommate Bonding: Day 1

I had movers come yesterday. In two hours, they cleared my entire apartment, drove across town, unloaded the truck, and gave me a compliment on my peacoat. They were absolutely amazing. 

I've managed to get about 3/4 of things unpacked, including a photo of my Babcie ("grandmother" in Polish). When Christine came home, she saw the photo on my desk, picked it up, and we started our first great get-to-know-you. 

Christine: Is this your grandma??
Susie: Yeah! 
Christine: She's adorable! This is the most grandmotherly photo, too!
Susie: Haha, I know!
Christine: Where does she live now?
Susie: Oh. She doesn't.

Snatch vs Snatch

My friend Lexi sent me this real Facebook status message that, unbeknownst to her Cross-fit loving friend, has a deeper and more disgusting meaning than she knows.

P.S. How is your snatch looking today? #girl_problems

Groupon Stock Photography

Your third favorite blogger is now in the Groupon stock photography rotation! 

Other things you could sell with this photo:
- tampons
- panty liners
- birth control pills
- maxi pads

Overheard: Witches

From yesterday's kid improv class: 

Occupational therapist: What should I be for Halloween?
7-year old girl: A witch! Because of your hair.

Book Titles: U.S. vs Them

U.K. edition

Last month, Deepak Chopra interviewed Dr. Rupert Sheldrake on his podcast. Sheldrake has recently published a book that questions whether science has become its own religion, and if in the process, has lost its ability to make new discoveries. 

According to Sheldrake, the scientific community discourages people who think "outside the box" and question deep-rooted facts/theories. Scientists have been pushed out of jobs for holding alternative view points, creating a sort of "boys club" of modern science. But without innovative thinkers like Galileo and Darwin challenging the scientific conventions of their time, we wouldn't be where we are today. So what ideas are they labeling "unscientific" that could be the next big step for science? 

It was a fascinating discussion.  But why I was really inspired to write this blog post was because the Sheldrake's book was published in the U.K. and America under different titles that seem to hint at our national interests (or at least the Publisher's idea of what will catch our attention). The U.K. edition is called "The Science Delusion", while the American edition is "Science Set Free."

This isn't "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone" to "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone." This is big. Do Europeans like mysteries and deception? Do Americans like freedom? Are there any horse socks? Is anyone listening to me?

American edition

The Snozberries Taste Like Snozberries

I would say that 90% of my editorial co-workers are dressed like the children in the 1971 hit Willy Wonky and the Chocolate Factory.  

Seasons of Love

I just watched the episode of The Office where Michael leaves to move to Colorado. It was already sad, but then the scene where everyone sings a cover "Seasons of Love" from RENT came on and I lost it. So bittersweet.

I then added the song to my "Not Guilty Pleasures" playlist on Spotify...after listening to it 5 times in a row. But I stopped crying after the first two plays so does it really count? 

Lose Yourself

Look. If you had one shot, one opportunity 

To seize everything you ever wanted, one moment 

Would you capture it? 

Or just let it slip? Yo. 

- 10-year old rapping Eminem's song from 8-mile before the obstacle course at Wednesday's improv class. He then continued to rap the entire next verse before I asked him if he was ready to race.

His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy 

There's vomit on his sweater already, mom's spaghetti 

He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready 

To drop bombs, but he keeps on forgetting 

What he wrote down, the whole crowd grows so loud 

He opens his mouth, but the words won't come out 

He's chokin' how, everybody's chokin' now, 

The clock's run out, times up, over, blaw!

Spirits You Shouldn't Drink

I slept over my parent's house a few weeks ago, the night before leaving for a trip. Feeling a bit restless, I went for a late-night walk. Since they live in the South Loop, there's not a lot of nature to absorb, so I took a couple laps around a small fountain just a few blocks from their house. A pathway circled the fountain, which had a stone hawk as its centerpiece, it's wings stretched wide and washed in the fountain's spray. 

I had been circling the same stretch of pavement for 20 minutes, looping the fountain, before I noticed the white footprints on the asphalt. Eerie footprints jumping this way and that. I froze. When did these get here? What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On. 

Like an irrational and excitable human, my immediate thought was: a g-g-g-g-ghost!  

It had to have been a ghost, I thought, because they had not been there before. I'd walked this same stretch countless times and there was nothing of note on the ground. And no person could have been by here without me seeing them. I mean, I was RIGHT HERE. 

But to pretend I had a brush with the paranormal would be to miss the reality, which is (almost) as thrilling. And that's this: sometimes we aren't ready to see what's in front of us. Let's get real. Those prints had been there from the very beginning of my walk, but because there was so much other stuff I was "seeing" in my head, I couldn't see what was right in front of me.

Two "lessons" hit me right away: 1) I am way to quick to assume a "ghosts" explanation and 2) I'm too self-involved. The whole world plays out before you, and yet you only see the stories and desire of your own mind. If you're missing small, obvious things, what else are you missing? It was a great wake-up call.

Seriously though. It was a ghost right?