Tuesday, January 24, 2006

and it's only half over....

4 AM - Wake up to sensation of cat rubbing butt in face. Feed cat. Check E-mail. Nothing. Return to bedroom and close door tight.

4:30 - Bless-ed slumber.

7 AM - Hit snooze alarm.

7:06 - Hit snooze alarm again.

7:12 - And again.

7:18 - And again.

7:24 - And again.

7:30 - And again

7:36 - Wrench wretched self out of bed.

7:37 - Urinate. Notice that urine is too yellow. Drink water. Notice wrinkles on face.

7:43 - Step on brown cat-turd skidmark on kitchen floor. Disinfect foot. Clean skid and search fruitlessly for its source (ie; the fresh turd that got stuck to Kirby's butt, and which is hiding somewhere in the house).

7:44 - Wash hands.

7:46 - Close bedroom door so the cat can't defile the bed.

7:47 - Wash hands again. Begin peeling tangerines for fresh juice.

7:47 - Wash hands. Make juice.

7:48 - Drink juice and check e-mail. Click to feed an animal in need. Visit Ladyfriend Zine and overstay welcome.

8AM - Wash juicer and pop two slices of Ezekiel Bread in toaster oven. Sort laundry. Decide it's too late to practice at YogaNow.

8:10 Peel linens from bed. Wonder about mysterious brown mark on bottom sheet.

8:20 - Do toilette. Forget to moisturize.

8:25 - Spend some time deciding which thong to wear and finally get dressed.

8:35 - Don hat and jacket, shlep laundry downstairs and ponder whether the high volume warrants three loads. Decide two will do and start washing machine.

8:45 - Go around to front of apartment building and note that no one has stolen the newspaper yet. Collect papers and return to apartment.

8:50 - Smear peanut butter and honey on Ezekiel toast. Drink a cup of nondairy chai that's thisclose to going bad, and peruse The Chicago Sun-Times. Read about the testimony of the former governor's gambling moocher alcoholic son-in-law, Michael Fairman, an oxymoron if there ever was one, and also learn that Jude and what's-her-name are splitsville again.

9 AM - Start yoga practice on terra cotta-colored Jade Harmony II rubber mat, which collects every piece of dirt in the room (including skin) but has yet to start shredding.

9:20 - Inadvertently locate the missing turd while doing Uttitha Hasta Padangusthasana (standing side stretch) with one heel on the fireplace mantle. Fetch a disinfectant wipe and clean the mantle; wash hands long enough to sing "Happy Birthday."

9:22 - Continue yoga practice

9:30 - Ignore the ringing phone. Unknown caller hangs up when machine answers.

9:31 - Resume yoga practice.

10 AM - Heat chai and pour into travel mug.

10:02 - Eat toast while practicing reading aloud a new essay about health insurance.

10:05 - Dress for success in outfit not unlike one's own informal high school uniform; black cords, grey-and-black turtleneck, black hiking boots.

10:07 - Get in new (1992) Hondacar.

10:10 - Head down Lake Shore Drive. Neglect to look at Lake Michigan.

10:30 - Arrive at the bloated obscenity that is Navy Pier and make way to Chicago Public Radio reception area.

10:35 - Get ushered into studio; chat with producer.

10:40 - Get chided for neglecting to silence cell phone.

10:45 - Begin recording essay. Alternate awkwardly between dull monotone, fakey happy yoga teacher voice and cracking, confessional, pseudo-sincere cadence common to contributors to a Certain Famous Radio Show that records down the hall but is poised to pull up stakes and defect to NYC.

10:46 - Discover that spilt honey from breakfast causes script pages to stick together and make noise.

10:48 - Learn that one has been exhaling loudly through the nose, in such a way that "would be difficult to edit out." Picture self as Brenda Vaccaro. Kick self for being too afraid to use the netti pot purchased after recent illness -- and for not using the even scarier chemical-laden Walgreen's brand saline nasal spray recently gifted by Dorian Black

10:55 - Find out that the essay will air tomorrow (Tuesday) between 9 and 10 AM on WBEZ-FM (91.5).

10:56 - Search for creator of Famous Radio show to thank him for giving his apartment to the Evacugees last fall. Learn that his TV show has been picked up by Showtime and that he's not in the office today anyway.

11 - Return to reception area. Realize mitten is missing while covering self in winter burka. Fail to notice stunning view of Lake Michigan during frantic search.

11:01 - Beg receptionist to ring producer and enlist his aid.

11:02 - Find mitten hiding under a chair.

11:03 - Wave producer away. Feel sheepish.

11:05 - Return to parking garage and realize that urinating before leaving would be prudent.

11:06 - Enter Navy Pier complex and search fruitlessly for bathroom. Wind up in the not-so-fresh hell that is the Stained Glass Museum.

11:07 - Give up and return to car.

11:08 - Sit in car. Call home for messages. Learn that client has cancelled the evening's private lesson. Realize that peeing is the most important thing in the world.

11:09 - Resume search for restroom. Notice a sign announcing that restrooms are both to one's left and one's right. Fail to find restrooms but manage to locate Stained Glass Museum. Zero in on a store selling Bears merchandise and other ill-fitting, badly-designed, Chicago-related gift items that will wind up in landfill. Awaken clerk from her Sun-Times coma and learn that one has walked right past the restroom several times. Recall that tantrum five years ago at that Vegas casino, when it took OVER AN HOUR to find one's room at the sense-organ nightmare known as the Luxor Hotel.

11:10 - Relieve self. Sigh. Urine is still too yellow.

11:11 - Wash hands and refill water bottle. Drink half.

11:12 - Return to car.

11:13 - Plug in earpiece and call Dorian Black while heading to Targhetto.

11:20 - Congratulate self for successfully using tricky-to-access access road as shortcut from expressway to store.

11:22 - Target Therapy. Sigh.

11:45 - Return to car. Turn key. Nothing. Not even a click.

11:46 - Realize that someone left lights on after leaving the parking garage -- and never turned them off. Oops.

11:47 - Curse self for being too cheap (poor) to get Triple A. Start making calls

11:55 - Learn that everyone one knows is either not home, not available, not picking up or out of town.

11:56 - Feel sorry for self.

11:57 - Turn key. Car makes halfhearted attempt to turn over but fails.

11:58 - Feel sorry for self. Consider waiting 15 minutes and trying key again. Look at cell phone and wish it would ring.

11:59 - Consider leaving car in lot and going home.

Noon - Consider going to service desk and begging for help. Put $5 in pocket, and mentally prepare.

12:05 - Turn key. Ignition chugs but fails to turn over.

12:05 - Notice middle-aged African American man getting into the GM car parked two spaces down.

12:06 - Jump out and approach man, who is putting shopping bags into a trunk as messy as one's own. "Hey mister! Are you in a hurry?" He is not. "Can you jump my car? I have cables if you don't."

12:07 - Man is noncommittal but does not seem to oppose the idea. "I just got the car and it doesn't make a noise when you leave the lights on, and this is the first time this has happened, and...."

12:08 - "....So, would you mind doing it?" Noncommital nod.

12:09 - Struggle to open and secure the unfamiliar car hood while man walks over with small black box attached to two jumper cables and looks at engine.

12:09 - "Is the jump in there?" (pointing to box). Noncommittal nod. "Wow! I've never seen anything like that!" Man nonchalantly puts cables on battery and says to try the ignition.

12:09 - Car coughs for a second and starts.

12:10 - Profuse thanks; possible gushing. "Where did you get that magic box? I think I need to get one." Sears. For $40. But you need a new battery first. "What??" Your battery is old. Oh.

12:11 - More profuse thanks, followed by exaggerated waving.

12:13 - Drive home. Realize that cell phone is missing.

12:14 - Pull over on very busy street, engage flashers and search fruitlessly for cell phone. Wish fruitlessly that it would ring. Ignore honking behind car.

12:15 - Think, just for a second, "Well, maybe that helpful man took my phone."

12:16 - Return to parking lot.

12:18 - Scan pavement for cell phone. Nothing.

12:25 - Re-search car and realize that the phone is definitely not there.

12:26 - Feel sorry for self.

12:27 - Scan pavement for cell phone.

12:28 - Start looking in a giant grey greasy pockmarked snowbank.

12:30 - Locate wet, dirty cell phone perched in middle of snowbank.

12:31 - Return to car and congratulate self. Disinfect phone.

12:32 - Decide it's best to return home straightaway, and resolve not leave again unless absolutely necessary.

12:33 - Plug in earpiece and call Gridlife to share jump-story. Leave out part about phone.

12:45 - Arrive home. Switch laundry. Go upstairs.

12:47 - Sit on toilet. Read Ask Amy. Wash hands.

12:51 - While checking e-mail, inhale half-bag of "whole grain" and "stone ground" corn chips that have all the fat but not enough salt.

1 PM - Think about napping

1:15 - Eat lunch of rice and garbanzos with chilled steamed vegetables.

1:30 - Think about napping

1:45 - Return e-mails.

2:15 - Think some more about napping. Wash dishes. Curse cat.

2:18 - Think about going downstairs and switching laundry. Decide against it.

2:20 - Drink old, cold coffee. Resolve to stay awake until 5:30 asthanga class.

2:30 - Leave phone message for Hedge Fund Lady, who unilaterally canceled last lesson with no notice and no pay. Beg her to call back and confirm tomorrow morning's private lesson -- which overlaps with radio show (9-10AM on 91.5-FM).

2:31 - Reconsider napping

2:32 - Make halfhearted stab at overdue deadlines.

2:44 - Feel sorry for self.

2:45 - Work on blog.


5:10 - Look up and notice time. Panic. Put on yoga pants under cords and head out door.

5:12 - Turn key hesitantly. Car starts! Drive recklessly to Habitrail health club.

5:25 - Park car. Turn off lights. Check that they are turned off. Lock door. Check lights again.

5:26 - Enter club

5:30 - Ask front desk to turn down lights

5:30 - Enter studio and peel off layers of winter burka. Look up at stilll-bright lights.

5:31 - Mention that class will start after speaking again to front desk about dimming lights. Nice Pilates instructor pipes up and offers to do it. Accept. Lights dim almost immediately.

5:32 - Poll the class; no injuries and no beginners. Everyone has done ashtanga or, quote, power yoga before. Except perhaps for the woman on the squishy shiny black Pilates mat, who apologizes, puts it back in the wrong place and switches to a sticky mat.

5:33 - Begin teaching a Level 3-4 Ashtanga Class.

5:44 - Pilates Lady interrupts someone else's downward dog adjustment to gesture and mutter something. WHAT? Stop adjusment and put ear near her mouth. She thought this was a half-hour yoga class -- isn't it? "No, it's an HOUR and a half." Well then she will have to leave early and it should not be taken personally. OK. Thanks.

5:55 - Woman in back row starts waving and gesturing during Utkatasana (zigzag pose) -- just before the most heart-pounding part of the series. She explains that her hands are shaking and she's hypoglycemic and doesn't feel well.....but she doesn't want to stop. Order her into child's pose.

6:00 - Return during Paschimattanasana (sitting forward bend) and ask how Hypo-lady is doing. She shows her hands -- still shaking. "Are you dehydrated? Maybe you should eat something." She is quite thin. But no, she does not want to leave. Insist that she must -- that it's not worth it to pass out in class, there is food at the little cantina outside and she should do savasana first if possible. She relucantly agrees. Pilates Teacher watches with concern. Perhaps procedure is not being followed.

6:02 - Finally release class from Paschimattanasa. They are good sports....

6:30 - So good in fact that they're led through the first few intermediate series poses.

6:59 - Ring brass bell and end class. Write what they did in notebook. Chat with nice Ukranian girlfriend of nice Italian bass player friend of The Vexx, who was not nice at all.

7:05 - Put winter burka back on.

7:07 - Sign timesheet. Pick up check and W-2 form.

7:09 - Wash hands

7:10 - Urinate

7:12 - Wash hands again. Head to parking lot.

7:15 - Turn key. Car starts! Plug in earpiece. Call Dorian Black. Drive home.

7:35 - Park car. End call.

7:36 - Switch laundry. Get mail.

7:37 - Take mail and laundry upstairs. Hang wet yoga outfits in bathroom. Pour sheets onto bed.

7:38 - Wash hands.

7:39 - Fix blog

8:15 - Look at mess on desk. Shrug.

8:20 - Check e-mail.

8:30 - Call friends and tell them about radio appearance. Wash dishes

9PM - Make halfhearted stabs at cleaning office area and kitchen.

9:20 - Wash hands. Make dinner (large, very fresh salad followed by plain yogurt with maple syrup).

9:45 - Begin making large batch of chai and even larger mess. Wash dishes.

9:55 - Flip mattress. Start putting clean sheets on bed.

10:05 - Turn on The Sheild.

10:20 - Finish putting sheets on bed. Fold clothes.

10:30 - Commerical break; put away clothes. Stir chai. Add black tea.

10:32 - Draw bath

11:05 - Realize that the last hour has been a near-total waste of time. Pour chai into pitcher.

11:06 - Take call from Dorian Black. Realize you both are so clever you should have your own radio show.

11:06 - Do toilette

11:10 - Sit on toilet.

11:15 - Wash hands.

11:15 - Take bath. Shave legs and armpits not once but twice.

11:25 - Moisturize. Put on PJ's

11:28 - Fill humidifiers. Turn off lights. Lock doors

11:45 - Read new New Yorker movie reviews and "Talk of the Town"

12:05 - Turn lights out. Pray for a better day tomorrow.


  1. Mr. Gunn11:07 AM

    If my life was as tedious as you describe yours, in such excruciating detail, I would put a gun in my mouth and pull the trigger.

    Just kidding.

    My prescrition for you is to sell everything and move to Indai and live like a Yogi and find life!

  2. munkin12:14 PM

    Oh Wicky,
    what a day. I think I would pull all my hair out if my car died and I lost my cell phone.
    Missed the radio essay. Will it be available online?

  3. munkin-nots8:42 PM

    podcasting dammit.

  4. Just think, what did those poor sods do with themsleves when there were no cell phones, or worse, no cars back in the day??????????

    Somehow all of our ancestors made life work, without all of the crap we have nowadays, and now we all whine like 2 year olds when we have a few bad days.

    Oh, my cell phone, oh my car waon't start, oh, I'm hungry...