Re-jected!

So, yesterday I got my rejection letter from a certain "artists colony" I'd applied to for next year, therefore eliminating my Escape from New York Plan A. I was a bit wary of the program, anyway, as I suspected it was one of those touchy-feely "let's fingerpaint with our own menstrual blood and howl at the moon" kind of things.

Besides the death of Plan A, though, there is one thing that bothers me about the rejection letter (well, two: my name was misspelled. Wait- could it have been intended for someone else??)

I actually used to write rejection letters for a small publication. Each letter did include some kind of feedback (based on the editor's comments, not my own) to the tune of "you need to work on X" or "while your Y was good, your Z was a bit lacking."

Now, I knew in advance that they were "not able to provide individual critiques," but it didn't occur to me until I had the letter in hand that this meant that, to all appearances, my work was as soundly rejected as the badley poorfread stori abut sadd kittenz.

Ack. On to Plan B I guess.

Why I Hate Shopping

Let's just say I did not go shopping today. Not necessarily because of Buy Nothing Day, but because I was scared. Scared for the sake of my own mental health that is.

I hate shopping. No, you don't understand. Let me say it more clearly. I. Hate. Shopping. I HATE SHOPPING! The very act is a sure, slow death by psychic exsanguination. Here's why:

1. Shopping, like driving, brings out the worst in people. Making a mess while rifling through the sale rack looking for that one size 7 blouse, shooting each other over Playstations - need I say more?

2. Nobody looks like they're having fun while they're shopping, which is strange, because people seem to do it a lot. If I am in error, please take a picture of someone who looks like they are having fun shopping and send it to me.

3. Even if the shopping trip was successful - and it is almost never succesful, because the retail environment is not set up to help you find what you want - I always come home with a nauseous headache and an empty feeling resulting from a combination of sensory overkill, psychic residuals from angry, greedy people who aren't having fun, and the suspicion that whatever I bought is just going to fall apart soon anyway.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Christmas List

According to Wikipedia, Santa doesn't exist, so I'm going to ask the universe for some things for the upcoming year.

Dear Universe,
I would like the following:

1. A job opportunity outside the NYC area. Please make it in an office-type setting where I work independently on finishable projects and don't interact with too many people. Please make my coworkers all at least ten years older than me. If this last part is not possible, I'll settle for five.

2. A place to live where the walls (and floors, Universe, and doors too) are thick, the rooms are cozy, and the building is largely unoccupied.

3. The type of neighbors who own (and read) books and have large enough vocabularies that they do not, in everyday conversation, need to insert variations on the "f#@k" and "sh**" theme, where a more educated person might insert "indubitably" or "soporific."

3a. Families are OK, generally, because they go to bed at respectable hours. Decent families, that is. Keep this in mind, Universe.

4. Writing-for-pay opportunities.

5. Socks.

Thank you in advance,
Your friend,
CB.

Fair Weather Friend

I'm probably making too much of this, but after a day spent in mild bliss about the loss of Ohio's, er, "rosy hue," I can't help but feel a little icky.

I looked at Craigslist for a long time last night, fiercely debating the pros/cons of Market Square (yes - the West Side Market, but no - I dislike "open plan" apartments and am wary of the types of people who might live in them) vs. Shaker Square (yes - farmers market, but no - East Side).

And I started to wonder if I wasn't just a fair weather friend, determined to flee Ohio while I perceived it to have problems beyond my control, but as soon as things started looking up, I'd come running back and expect it to hail my glorious return with a ticker tape parade, the Ohio State Buckeye and the Cleveland State Viking proudly escorting me down a Euclid Avenue paved with golden bricks.

Victory is Mine!

Although frankly, I don't think much is going to change, I did feel a ripple of excitement to see a Blue Ohio last night.

The thing I'm happier about, actually is the downfall of soon-to-be ex-Senator Conrad Burns (R, MT) who, back in the late 90s, publicly referred to Arabs as "ragheads," yet kept getting himself elected. How grotesque and shameful. On the upside, the raghead comment did eventually spur my political sweetheart, Brian Schweitzer, to victory. (I dream of an Obama-Schweitzer ticket....)

And now ladies and gentlemen, Jon Tester. During the campaign, Conrad Burns ran an attack ad on Tester that went like this:

It features a barber who says, "Fella comes in for a trim on his flattop because he's running for U.S. Senate. Guess he didn't want anybody to know he opposes a gay-marriage ban. Thinks flag burning is a right. And supports higher taxes. So I told him, 'You're gonna need a lot more than a haircut to cover up all that' ... Didn't leave much of a tip either." from Time

I'll be glad to see Burns slither back to the bottom of the Berkeley Pit, where he belongs.

The Answer May Surprise You

If you had to choose one food to eat for the rest of your life, barring all other foods, what would it be?

Mine would be cabbage.

I love winter because you can start eating the type of hearty, Eastern European-influenced foods that I grew up with in Cleveland. Cabbage and noodles. Stuffed cabbage. Sour cabbage pierogi. Cabbage and kishka.

Lately I've been making fried cabbage with onions and apples (Rome - they're not too soft and they impart a lovely rosy hue), seasoned with Penzey's Russian sausage seasoning, and maybe a bit of beer. Luckily I've been able to find Mrs. Miller's kluski here, albeit at absurdly inflated prices.

If you're in Cleveland, please do go to Sokolowski's University Inn for me, and chow on their cabbage rolls until you're able to flatulate in oom-pah-pah rhythm. They really are worth it.