The Case for Uggs

Some scenarios:

1 - You have what is clearly a deathly bout of the flu.  You have been lying around and moaning for hours only to discover you are out of the healing nectar that is ginger ale.  You probably won't pass out on the street but you are also not putting on a bra. It is 20 degrees in Chicago. You throw on an extra sweatshirt and your fluffiest scarf and prepare to battle the elements with some seriously weakened humors.

2 - You have a busy day!  First you have to go to ballet/yoga/zumba then you have to play with some super adorable little kids who will inevitably demand that you watch them run around in circles outside. You hurt your shoulder (in a past ballet/yoga/zumba class) and are trying not to carry around a giant bag.  Luckily, you can take class barefoot - but hanging with the tots? Not so much. Its 20 degrees in Chicago (and if you think that kids don't run around outside in 20 degree weather in Chicago, you are missing the point of this assignment/do not know kids from Chicago).

3 - It's Friday night and you just got home from work only to discover that you are starving and there is nothing in your house.  Literally nothing because you just ate the last snack sized thing of pickles. You call your favorite pita joint and ask for them to deliver some chicken shawarma with a quickness.  They say it'll be about an hour.  You will be long dead by then.  You still have on all your work clothes but have kicked off your super cute but uncomfortable pumps in a symbolic gesture of throwing off the bindings of paternalist female objectivity...or whatever. You know that if you leave now you can be back on the couch in baba ganoush heaven in fifteen minutes. Its 20 degrees in Chicago as you get ready to put back on your coat but recognize that no amount of caloric necessity will get you to put those monsters from Aldo back on. 

The question at the end of all of these scenarios is (of course) - what do you wear on your feet?

And one acceptable answer for all of these situations is you wear your Uggs (or your bear traps or whatever my knockoffs are called - I am calling them Uggs because I can type it faster, but to be honest I love my $40 version far more than my o.g. pair of the real deal).  You wear them and it is totally fine.

So many blogs have been coming down hard on Uggs in the past few weeks, trying to explain that there are so many other less-ugly boot options, which is true, but every shoe has its moment and for Uggs it is all these moments.

Once you get to be a grown-up, it becomes socially unacceptable to wear your slippers outside, no matter how much you might want to.  You know you've seen that woman on the 10 PM news who just lit her cheatin' boyfriend's car on fire - she is always (always) wearing slippers.  You don't want to be her.  But why would you turn up your nose at the most slipper-like thing you can wear in public without having the Channel 10 news team chase you down?

I wouldn't recommend wearing Uggs on a date or a job interview but if you need tampons and a bottle of Little Penguin?  Sure. You're spending all day running around because despite the freezing cold, everyone is either getting knocked up or married and you have to go spend your life savings on gifts they will return for cash? Fine. You're about to go into the office on a god-forsaken Sunday because your boss conveniently did not scan nor email you the files you need before your presentation on Monday? Do it. Go.

Sometimes you just want to be comfortable and warm. And you deserve it.

Tug tug

I moved to Chicago in an October, which means I was here for almost an entire year before I got to experience a Chicago summer.  Its amazing I got through it, because Chicago winter is the worst, but Chicago summer makes it all worth it.

I loved my first Chicago Summer.  I don't remember very much of it, but I do remember spending a lot of time lusting after the boats in Belmont Harbor.

"Next Summer, I am going to make a friend with a boat." was my declaration.  Its a pretty ridiculous request, but not completely without merit.  There are a lot of boats in Chicago and they all seem to have owners.  Surely I would meet one who liked me enough to let me ride around and drink on his boat.

We are standing on the precipice of my fifth summer in Chicago and I have yet to make a boat friend.  I'm starting to get frustrated.  Much like my green river fears - I am terrified that I am going to leave Chicago never having had a friend who I share similar interests with and makes good conversation and also happens to own a boat on the Lake of Michigan.

There are many girls who feel like the conversation piece is not really necessary and while I can sympathize with the unspeakable urge for boating, it seems almost like very mild form of prostitution to not at least pretend like you want to talk to this person.

I know people who know people who own boats, but its not the kind of relationship where I can just wake up on a sunny Saturday morning and know my plans without even getting out of bed (honestly - if I knew someone with a boat I would probably never do anything else during the Summer).  Making these connections essentially useless, except for giving me a taste of the good life and then leaving me a cracked out junkie, crying for more.

I find the lake to be pretty gross and unappetizing as a swimming location (this is my East Coast snobbery coming out.  Give me the Atlantic or give me death, people) but for some reason the bacteria can't affect you if you enter the water from a water slide or even just a dive off the back of someone's pontoon.  I don't know how it works, but I'm sure there is some science to back it up. 

It's also really just my WASPy nature.  I am meant to be on the bow, decked out in seersucker and a souvenir captain's hat while drinking a Rolling Rock (pony bottle sized) and discussing the finer points of Bon Iver's new album.  Don't hate the player, hate the genetic game, my friends.

Just like all four years previously, as I've watched the boats creep back into their little boat nooks, I've begun scheming just how this is going to be my year to make all my nautical dreams come true.

I cannot make a personal ad not sound creepy (mid-20's girl ISO someone with boat to quote 30 Rock, talk about the New Yorker and drink local beer with...on your aforementioned boat), there are not-so-nice names for girls who sit around the harbor waiting for an invitation, and at this point, I don't really have the bikini body or the shameless self-promotion for that, and I've tried asking all my current friends, but they're all the same friends I had this time last year.  I should win bonus points for being a good and loyal friend, despite the fact that they have nothing to offer me from Memorial Day - Labor Day.

I'm left being nice to everyone I meet and trying to find something to talk about, just on the off chance that after we discuss our shared enjoyment of Margaret Atwood books they'll say, "Hey, do you want to come on my boat sometime?"

I find that this increasingly happy and friendly makes me almost completely blend in with my Midwestern surroundings.  And then I figured it all.  These people are only so nice, because they're just hoping someone will invite them out on their boat.

Well played, Midwest, well played.

Four more years

I think my love of voting stems from watching too much West Wing as a teenager, and assuming that if I voted enough times eventually Jed Bartlett would be president and Allison Janney would be my friend and everything would be perfect.

It hasn't turned out that way - but voting is still one of my most favorite things to do.  Up until this year, I voted absentee in every election, which is fun and convenient, but does not really hold a candle to actual voting.  Which is why I am probably one of the only 26-year olds who gets truly amped to head to my polling place.

And!  In the past four months I've gotten to vote in two different elections!  And they're not your run of the mill elections either, I am responsible for picking the first mayor in approximately 4 billion years who doesn't have the last name Daley.  Apparently, this is huge.  I've only been here for five years, but people say he was mayor when the only constituents were cave people, and his Dad was mayor of the Dinosaurs.  The Dinosaurs!

The last election did not turn out so great - because we apparently live in a country/state where everyone has lost their goddamed mind, or just quit cold turkey on caring about anything.  This was all fun and good in November when I could just be morose about the future, but now the future is here and I am angry.  For a million bajillion reasons, but mostly just - I am angry that people don't realize that they caused this...this funding of what's really important (NASCAR) and this refusal to fund the fluff stuff (Planned Parenthood, NEA, blah blah thing) - wait, strike that.  Reverse it.

Not voting in America is kind of like not drinking in Canada or another ex-British colony (or really anywhere in Europe).  They practically give the booze away when you're, like, a toddler, and you stick your nose up at it?  Wait, what?  Why?  There is really no reason.  "Oh, I'm not drinking because it'll take time out of my busy day of playing on facebook."  "I'm not voting because if I have one ballot I'll have to work out twice this week."

Anyway - so I'm all voted.  And I will be totally honest - I did not have time to make a fully informed and educated choice in my alderman election, which is distressing because its pretty important, but I was busy moving and knew that almost anyone would be an improvement over the current alderman.  So I voted with the person who had the funniest sign in their campaign headquarters window -

back story - there was a rash of window breaking in campaign offices back in the Fall.  I like that this guy had a sense of humor about it.  If nothing else, this ward full of gang violence, mismanagement of public funding, and disaster-crap needs a little humor - and probably more cops (also he kind of looks like Colin Firth).

I do feel like I made the best choice for mayor.  Its distressing to know that the person you're voting for has no chance of winning, but refreshing to vote for someone who has ideals that you agree wholeheartedly with (also - he's the ONLY person running who has not been or is not still a criminal - stay classy Chicago).

But none of it really matters - what matters is I did it.  Its so awesome that we live in a place where you get to vote.  And if you don't think that's true, look at the people all over the world who are fighting for that right, right now.

Musings on my walk home

If I ran the country:

- WIC/Link/Food stamps would only be redeemable at Organic Groceries, Farmer's Markets and CSAs. And also for the ingredients to make things (like yeast, flour, eggs etc). Naturally this would mean that you would need to get more money on your link card but that's fine because its going to farmers.

- 70% of the cost of every gallon of gas would be a tax. And the money from that tax would go towards funding public transportation, trains and bicycles.

- No one under the age of 14 gets a cellphone. Because I say so.

- For every prescription of viagra (or viagra-like pill) that they cover, the insurance company must also cover the cost of HIV medication for someone who cannot afford it and/or give money to rape crisis and counseling centers. I'm not above diplomacy and bipartisanship.

-All restaurants have two options - have a way of telling you exactly where all of the ingredients they use come from or putting warning labels on their food describing what sort of antibiotics/crazy business is in their food.

These are just a few things that I would change. You don't have to agree with them, but then again you also don't have to vote for me.

In other news - this essay made me want to buy Steven Thrasher a nice steak dinner. And then call him the next morning to see if he wants to get coffee or something.

Cutter

For the past week I've been teaching at a school. Its actually kind of awesome, there are some kids whose parents have to work during Spring Break, so they bring us in to give the kids something fun to do during the break. I really like it, and the kids (on a whole) are fairly awesome. Some of them remembered me from last year which is impressive because I meet people and six hours later have no idea who they are. And they're all about hugs. And who doesn't love hugs?

Anyway - they are a rowdy group, which is to be expected. They're 1st-4th graders, they come from rough home lives (some of them) and they're on Spring Break which is when they're supposed to be getting the nutty out. So normally I chalk up their insanity to you know, being kids. But there is one thing that drives me completely bonkers.

They have some SERIOUS issues with lines. Primarily the whole standing in them and the proper etiquette that surrounds that. We work with 60 kids most days, divided into 6 groups of 10. So at least six times a day (if not more)- I hear, "He Cutted!!" or some variation therein. For some reason, this bugs me far more than anything else they do including stuff that might get them super hurt or super hurts me.

I have developed my own way of dealing with it, which is to say that the "line" they are in doesn't matter - I am going to call on the person who looks like most interested in participating and is being the most respectful. This works for the most part, but they still find ways to get REAL.EMOTIONAL about the order in which they get to do skills (this is also so bizarre to me, because they all are going to get to go the exact same number of times no matter what and if it were me, I'd want to go last so I could make sure that I did better than everyone else...but I am pretty neurotic for a seven year-old.

Anyway, today I was thinking about this and how totally ridiculous it is but then I got to thinking about me, right now, and how I would lose my ever Pat Benatar loving mind if someone cut in line. Not so much for fun things, but like the bank. Oh man, if someone cut at the bank, I'd lose it. Not out loud, probably, but under my breath and for sure in a text message to someone. Its weird how focused we are on lines, and how I am probably jacking these kids up for life by rocking their world with this whole, "there is no line" thing. Because lines are an essential part of our culture - and not just dbag Americans, but people stand in line all over the word.

In retrospect, I should have just taught them all a valuable lesson about how cutting in line is wrong and its going to get you a lot of dirty looks when you get older...but instead I just make my own life a lot easier on a day to day basis. Which is probably a much more valuable lesson about the future.

The very first principle

While I am a great many things - I would never call myself principled. I have morals (no cheating, no killing, no white after labor day) but I don't really have principles. If that makes sense?! I figure there is a time and a place for everything, so I try not to limit myself...while I do love me some hyperbole I feel that saying that I am "never" going to do something is really just impractical, because with a drink or two and a "you won't" I can be game for pretty much anything.

Until today. I have found my one principle.

I refuse to buy tickets on Ticketmaster unless I absolutely have to. I understand that there are some festivals and what not that don't let you buy tickets at the door (or are so likely to sell out that trying to get them day of would be fool-hardy). But really, these exceptions are rare and for the most part I am now totally embargo-ing ticketmaster.

I am going to see the Joffrey's Cinderella in February with the lovely and talented Cindy Loo-hoo. This was my idea so it was my job to buy the tickets. No biggie - they're not that expensive for dress circle seats (although I did have a moment where I had to decide between dress circle - good view of everything, or far right balcony - amazing view of feet. I am such a ballet nerd). I even found a code online for 10% off the ticket price. Yippie! Hooray!

On Monday, while avoiding work, I logged in to ticketmaster and went about looking for tickets and after I did everything I noticed that there was a $4.50 convenience fee per ticket. Now, the tickets themselves were $37. And then 10% off, which means that the discount basically paid for (some of) the convenience fee. Well, that's kind of ridiculous when you get right down to it. And that doesn't include the tax that they added on for shits and giggles.

I decided to wait, thinking that I would just go buy them on my way to/from Hyde Park on Wednesday or Thursday, since I am going/coming from that direction anyway.

The rest of Monday happens and then some of Tuesday and then I am feeling stressed out and grouchy and lazy. Then I check the times for the Box Office and realize that they're only open until 6 PM. Which is fairly useless for me since I don't normally hit that neighborhood until about 6:15, unless I rush (which, in my lazy haze I decided I never do). So I decided I would suck it up and drop the extra money.

I decided that I would have the tickets mailed to me, because for some reason putting a 44 cent stamp on an envelope costs $2.50 LESS than me printing them out at home (really? really ticketmaster?) and that I would forgo any sort of insurance figuring that if the City of Chicago loses my tickets then I should probably take it as a sign and stop living here - because seriously, how do you live in a city that can't even deliver mail correctly).

Then when I'm all done and getting ready to give them my credit card I realize that there is another $3.30 fee that's tacked on at the very end. A 'handling' charge or something - I don't know what they're handling, but they need to knock it off.

At this point, my $66 worth of tickets has sky rocketed $79. Now I get that to all you rich white folks out there, $13 is not that much, but you have to understand that it is the PRINCIPLE of the thing (also, I am dirt poor).

How can they go about charging $13 of convenience fees??! And if I wanted the convenience of printing the tickets out on my own printer with my own ink and my own paper it would cost me an addition $2.50 (I don't know if that's per ticket...and really at this point it doesn't matter)...

Anyway - so this got me so enraged that I left work (this is all because my boss still isn't back from winter vay-cay and when you're your own boss...you get to do whatever you want including be an asshole on principle) took the train down to the theatre, had a conversation with an actual human being, picked out my tickets, handed them my credit card, and then was given a set of real tickets in a real envelope handed to me with a smile and a "Have a nice day."

You cannot BUY that people. And so now, I will continue doing stupid stuff because I live a mostly unprincipled life, except I will buy all my tickets in person...because that is what is really important.