Today's interviewee would like to remind you that it's great to be alive. Late last month, 93.1 WXRT-FM  threw him a party to celebrate 20 years of rockin' morning broadcasts. He got his professional start as a DJ at Albany, NY's WQBK-FM in January 1977, where he worked for over seven and a half years. After that, he moved to XRT to work as Music Director for six years. During that time, FMQB named him as "Music Director of the Year" three of those years. After an interlude at Minneapolis, MN's KTCZ-FM, he rejoined XRT in 1991, eventually ending up as the morning host where he's been your best friend in the whole wide world ever since.

What's a group or style of music your listeners would be surprised to hear you're into?
We've gotten to know each other pretty well, the listeners and me.  They've heard me fall into raptures over the sound of bagpipes.  I've shared the mesmerizing musical mantra of John Fahey's American primitive guitar.  They may not know how much my brothers and I enjoy sitting on a porch together with David on banjo, John on mandolin, and yours truly on a 1972 Guild D-25 singing bluegrass and folk music.  You haven't lived until you've heard us butcher "The Johnson Boys."

What do you predict for the Cubs this season?
An enchanting season of stunted aspiration.

Who are some musicians you'd love to chat with but haven't had the chance to so far?
Bruce Springsteen and Bonnie Raitt.  I've never interviewed Bob Dylan, but I have the feeling it would not be much fun.

Who have been some of your toughest interviews?
Phone interviews are usually the worst.  I spoke with Lenny Kravitz on the phone once and I did not feel a love connection.  In those situations I always blame myself.  My interview last summer with Emmylou Harris went well, but it was tough because I like her so much.  I was in danger of fainting.

What are your favorite places in Chicagoland to see live music?
Metro, Park West, Old Town School, SPACE, Lincoln Hall, Schubas.  Small is usually best.

What was your favorite moment from your big 20th anniversary celebration?
When I walked into South Branch someone tapped me on the shoulder.  I turned around and my brother John had surprised me by flying in from Oregon.  While I was reacting to that, my other brother David came up behind me and tapped me on the other shoulder.  Only time in my life that anyone has pulled off the old surprise arrival on me.

Do you have time to listen to podcasts ever, and if so, which ones?
I don't even have time to listen to podcasts of my own Lin's Bins.

What's your process for listening to and keeping up with new music? Where and when do you listen and how do you access it? (IE is it sent to you, like homework?)
When I was the music director of WXRT in the 1980's, I would receive an unimaginable collection of recorded material to review.  I would listen from dawn to dusk and beyond.  These days I find it a little more difficult to keep up.  I listen in my office when I'm off the air.  I listen in my car when I'm not listening to the radio.  The challenge for me is finding time to listen to old favorites. I don't own an iPod.  Hate them.  I put CD's in CD players or records on turntables.

What have been some of your favorite Friday features?
Not by the Original Artist is a feature that gives me a chance to find some pretty weird stuff.  A whole day devoted to The Rolling Stones animates my soul.

Content or style aside, who are some of your favorite radio voices, past or present?
Jean Shepherd.  Alison Steele, the Nightbird. Ken Nordine. Dick Buckley. Karl Haas. Terri Hemmert.

What and where was the best restaurant meal you've enjoyed lately?
North Pond Café.  Chef Bruce Sherman works his magic in a beautiful setting.

Whether you're retiring or simply fade away in your sleep that following night, what do you think you'd like to be the last song you ever play on-air?
From the double album Live at CBGB's, The Tuff Darts "All For The Love of Rock and Roll" which features Robert Gordon on lead vocals.

Today, right at this moment, what do you love most about Chicago?
60 degree days at the end of January.  This is a tropical paradise.

How does it feel to be the 303rd person interviewed for Zulkey.com/WBEZ?
Had I been the 304th, I would have been miserable.  303rd person interviewed is just perfect.

PS On an unrelated note, you may like to check out an interesting discussion on the AV Club today on the topic of "Profoundest piece of comedy." And in case you are one of there mere 20 million people still tuning in for American Idol, I am covering that.

(AP/File)

It's election season. (Did you know that?) And what I hate most about it is how certain candidates throw around terms like "liberal elite media" and "lamestream media," and insist that journalists are full of lies and hate America and so on. How do we know this is what the candidates think? Because they come and tell us this via phone call, personal visit and email, of course. They would not be so hypocritical as to actually use the media to disseminate their anti-media rhetoric.

But maybe I'm just sensitive, as a member of the elite media myself. I wanted to see how my colleagues really feel about their role as members of the lameslime bleatleat schmedia. I hope you find the following survey enlightening: These are actual responses provided to me by actual writers from Chicago magazine, the New Yorker, Jezebel.com and, yes, even Fox News.
 

This week, my editor told me that my assignment was to destroy the good name and reputation of  ______.

• Weird Al Yankovic (it's a slow week)
• Ronald Reagan
• Anyone challenging the sanctity of Mitt Romney
• Michele Bachmann's sons' future boyfriends
  
   

I receive my orders directly from ______ in the Obama administration.

• the Secretary of Agriculture
• the painting of Jimmy Carter that hangs in the White House
• Michelle, obviously
• the sentient tip of Rahm Emanuel's severed finger

The biggest secret about Barack Hussein Obama that we aren't telling you in order to protect him is that he _____.

• is a perfectly reasonable fellow. (If we have you believing he's an evil socialist, you'll dream up all sorts of crazy stuff and not have time to form reasonable, cogent arguments against his policies which would prevent him from getting a second term.)
• is just who he seems to be: a hard-working man with ideas and flaws. If people found that out, they might judge him fairly, which might mean denying him re-election. It would be close. But in a world of moronically inflated rhetoric, it's just as easy to deny responsibility as it is to lob accusations
• is terrible at basketball. No, really-- that's why you never see him playing on camera
• is a super-advanced drone piloted by Paul Wellstone and Ron Brown, both of whom received extensive plastic surgery and are currently living in California as Ellen Degeneres and Portia de Rossi

The malicious lie I am currently working on spreading is that ______.

• Weird Al is responsible for Newt Gingrich's failed marriage(s)
• Sean Hannity is in fact a Maoist robot plant. His specialties are "tennis and family." That's what the Maoists wanted
• Singing Senators are reuniting if Ashcroft can work out his schedule
• Newt Gingrich's space colony will be for nudists

The reason I am spreading it is to distract the public from the truth that _____.

• Weird Al is a perfectly reasonable fellow
• Michelle Obama has quietly bought up stock in orange juice and lettuce distilleries. Is lettuce distilled? It must be. It tastes like it
• Ron Paul is a viable candidate
• there really is a gay agenda, and item one is socialized Vajazzaling

My favorite "gotcha" tactic is ______.

• running up behind someone and yelling "gotcha!"
• walking up to an unsuspecting Republican senator, snap his or her suspenders and then accuse him or her of hating the poor
• clipping the mic of anyone making a cogent point challenging my anchor's
  made-up feminist jargon

When I hear my colleagues and myself referred to as the "elite media," I feel annoyed, because the technical name for what we are is the ______ media.

• All-powerful Creative Omniscient Reactive News (ACORN) media. (That brand kinda got tarnished.)
• vanishing
• bridge and tunnel
• Jewish

The thing I hate most about ordinary hardworking Americans is how they _____.

• drink crappy beer
• care
• just don't appreciate how much we know and can teach them about how to vote
• stop black transgender lesbians from taking all their guns

I am currently high on the following narcotics: _____.

• booze and the new Katy Perry album
• organic meth (it's shark's bile cooked with large amounts of rosemary)
• catnip and caffeine
• marijuana, but I balance it with a steady nose diet of daily cocaine

I currently make ____ million dollars a year as a journalist.

• a ka-
• Romney
• 1 (as issued by the Confederate States of America)
• 2

What I love most about my job is _____.

• the people. And the booze
• being able to tell the truth in anonymous surveys like this and pass it off as humor
• the power, obviously
• all the virgins I get to deflower

Multi Grain Peanut Butter and Dulce de Leche Cheerios

I was super excited to try these, since the Apple Cinnamon variety of Cheerios pretty much changed my life for the better. Plus, I love caramel and I especially love peanut butter. if Cheerios could come up with a cheaper, lower-calorie version of Mother's Peanut Butter Bumpers, I'd be psyched. While I wasn't entirely disappointed, the new Cheerios didn't quite meet my expectations. These two particular varieties end up feeling much lighter and airier than your standard Cheerio, so I don't feel very full after a bowl of them. The peanut butter could stand to be peanut butterier. So the Apple Cinnamon continues to dominate when it comes to Cheerios and Mother's is still in charge in terms of peanut butter cereal.

Kellogg's Krave (Chocolate)

This looked like the cereal version of the dearly departed Magic Middles cookies and appears to be not-that-terrible for you, so I was excited to try this out. I think that these end up making a better snacking cereal than a breakfast cereal. They taste okay (definitely better than the fake chocolate offered in Special K  Chocolately Delight) but, well, it's not like eating a bowl of cookies for breakfast, which was what I secretly wanted. I think my hopes might have been too high for this one.

Kashi Whole Wheat Biscuits Cinnamon Harvest and Autumn Wheat

I've been burned by Kashi before. It looks so wholesome, filling, and the type of cereal that makes you a better person, but sometimes, it tastes and feels like a bowl of twigs. I was happy with these flavors though (although honestly, I'm not sure that there's a gigantic difference between Cinnamon Harvest and Autumn Wheat.) They're sweet enough so that you don't feel like you're just chewing on cardboard, but not SO sweet that you end up eating the whole box by the fistful like I do when I'm eating Frosted Mini-Wheats. And they're filling.

Kashi Heart To Heart Cereal Oat Flakes & Blueberry Clusters

This is my favorite of the new-to-me cereals. Sweet without tasting like candy and a nice filling mix of flakes and clusters. And the blueberries add a nice flavor but aren't a weird texture like the freeze-dried stawberries in Special K Red Berries. Good job, Kashi.

So there you have it. I know you've been waiting a long time for me to reveal what cereals I've been exploring lately. Please feel free to leave your breakfast cereal (or any breakfast product--let's get crazy) rants and raves in the comments. I want someone to tell me if UnCrustables is a suitable breakfast food, if Toaster Strudels are as good as I remember and if anyone else feels like Jimmy Dean D-Lites are a pretty good substitute for McDonald's.

Last month I introduced you to the flaw-free new concept Two Film T-Shirts, spearheaded by Chicago's very own Steve Gadlin. Prior two Two Film T-Shirts, Steve created the exciting project I Want to Draw a Cat For You. This past weekend, Steve appeared on the reality show Shark Tank to pitch I Want to Draw a Cat For You to various investors, and none other than Dallas Mavericks owner Mark Cuban believed in Steve enough to invest for $25,000 and a stake in the company. We should all be proud of Steve, not just as a Chicago entrepeneur but for his ability to stay calm and cool on-camera. No sweaty unflattering close-ups for him, which I could not say for some of the other contestants on the show. Way to go Steve! Check out his segment (he's the first contestant on) and then buy your cat and your t-shirt today.

This is pretty, in theory, but it also looks like a pillowcase, or rather, a swimsuit by Laura Ashley. Add the fact that white is a difficult color for many women to pull off in terms of swimwear and it's unsurprising that many women passed this item up. 

Watch any episode of What Not to Wear and you'll see, hammered home again and again: NO PLEATED PANTS. Pleated pants are every woman's enemy, unless you're one of those types who is so thin you can afford to wear purposefully unflattering clothes just to demonstrate how skinny you are ("I'm so thin I can wear pleated pants and not look awful!") These are described as "liberally pleated" which means "liberally marked-down." 

Let's face it, the vast majority of women can't pull these off, with myself taking up spots #1-#5 on that list. If you can rock these, good for you: now you can pick up several pairs at $5 each. 

Nobody wants to look like a horse--even a warm horse. 

Leather shorts! For when you want to look like you have a plastic bag cinched around your waist, sweat dripping down your thighs for all to see. 

This is one of those items that I think would be really fun to try on and twirl around in. It's lovely, in theory. But look at the beautiful model they have wearing it. See the look on her face? That's what she thinks of how the professionals at J.Crew suggest styling this skirt. This skirt is also from the weddings collection, and just from a bridal standpoint, I think a lot of soon-to-be-brides would be turned off by the idea of shopping for a "wedding top." Or "wedding t-shirt." 

Leather sweatpants with the words "goat" and "slouch" in the name. What could make a lady feel more elegant? Paying $800 for them, perchance?

Sure hope you check out Chicago's most favoritest and goodest literary reading series. Tune in around 9:30 AM to hear me chatting about it on 848 on WBEZ!

Today I chat with the author of the novel Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, a very compelling and provocative retelling of the story of the green-faced villain from The Wizard of Oz. And yes, that book was turned into a pretty popular musical. Wicked is just one in a series by Maguire, which also included Son of a Witch, A Lion Among Men and the recently-published final volume in the series, Out of Oz. He is also the author of many other novels and children's books and is the co-founder and co-director of the nonprofit educational program Children's Literature New England. You can find out much more about him here.

Gregory Maguire at a book signing for 'A Lion Among Men' (Flickr/Steven Tom)

How did you know it was time to end the Wicked series? If people were dying for it, could you add another one after Out of Oz or is that truly it?
Well, all stories have arcs, and since the first book was subtitled "The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West," I thought that even though the Witch was gone, it could be said fairly honorably that one's "times" extend into the second generation beyond one--into the lives of one's grandchildren, perhaps, because presumably they are molded and affected in part by how their parents were raised. So the Wicked Years had a natural setting sun aspect to it, but I wanted to leave the story opening up in the end, into the future, with all kinds of possibilities, rather than closed and finalized, all problems resolved, all happiness and peace restored.

How did you know how many books the series would run? Was it more of a contractual situation or when you began writing Wicked did you have an idea that it would take four books to complete this tale?
I didn't really know, but of course a trilogy is a customary thing. Once I realized there could be a sequel, I thought the ideas might support a trilogy, with one volume each to cover to lives of the Witch (WICKED), her son Liir (SON OF A WITCH), and her granddaughter (OUT OF OZ). But by the time I got to the end of SON OF A WITCH I realized some sort of amuse-bouche was needed. I intended A LION AMONG MEN to be a slight book at first, a kind of intermezzo, like a yodeler performing in the lobby during the intermission of GOTTERDAMMERUNG. But it fleshed itself out and roared before I knew what was happening, demanding equal time for the Cowardly Lion.

How does it feel to be finished with the series?
Sad, to be honest. A bit befuddling. I  am not quite sure in which direction I am headed now. But I feel, as Ursula Le Guin said at the end of TEHANU, her fourth and final EARTHSEA book, as if I have not left my characters safe, but I have left them free.

I read that you said that Wicked began as a meditation on the nature of evil. What big-picture themes or human tendencies fascinate you right now?
I wonder if big-picture themes are the province of younger, brasher, less-experienced writers? I tend to want to take a smaller look these days. I have an idea for a play, and it consists, so far, of two middle-aged women sitting in a waiting room talking. I don't know if it will be much more than a reflection on sanity and superiority, which is hardly a big picture theme, but more an exercise we all make as we try to navigate daily life, from gargling mouthwash in the morning to flossing in the evening.

On that note, in another interview you once said "I don't write any book that doesn't ask a deep question." Of the books you've written that address a deep question, which was the hardest for you to answer?
Oh, the interesting thing is that exploring the deep questions hardly ever turns up a decent answer, but it does make for an interesting story. I suppose in CONFESSIONS OF AN UGLY STEPSISTER, an exploration of the conundrum that beauty is not relative--you can't measure the worth of a gorgeous bloom against the worth of a gorgeous painting against the worth of a sudden shooting star in a black sky--but then, you might be able to say, "Yes, but charity is worth more than all of those other instances of beauty."

What are some of your favorite other retellings or re-interpretations of famous works of art or literature by other writers?
My touchstone is T. H. White's THE ONCE AND FUTURE KING. I recently read John Gardner's GRENDEL, at last, and while I quite liked it I wasn't blown away. P. L. Travers's fable of the animals at Bethlehem, THE FOX AT THE MANGER, is one of my favorites: swift and tender and raw all at once.

Do you read fanfiction, either from the Wicked stories of from other books or films?
No. I don't know how to find it online. I spend so much time at the computer doing my own work, minding my own business as it were, that I have little time to search for other things.

Before you published Wicked, what type of vetting did your publisher need to do to make sure that legally, you would have no problems with your version of what happened in Oz?
Oh, there were several banks of lawyers involved, on my part and on the part of the publisher, and then when the book was optioned first for Hollywood and next for Broadway, there were yet more lawyers involved. I had to attest to the provenance of every idea I used in the book--which names were original, which were from Baum, and from which books, etc. Luckily I had kept good notes.

When you write, how much of your book do you plot out ahead of time (and how do you do so?) Do you know everything that's going to happen before you write it, or do you discover as you go?
I usually have a sense of where the story will end up--not exactly what will happen, but what will constitute a final incident--but what happens between the beginning and the end is almost entirely unknown, and that's worth the trip: it's why I write, to discover as I go.

How do you know when a book is finished and ready to be sent to an agent or publisher?
I write cleanly because I don't start until I can't bear it any more. So I generally do three drafts before a publisher sees something, and then about four drafts afterward.

What do you believe you got from your PhD that you hadn't gleaned from earlier studies in literature and writing?
Because I took my PhD later than my earlier degrees, as is the custom, I was, according to the nature of the universe, older. I had a lot more confidence in trying things I hadn't tried before (like research, for one; like putting myself into the mental and spiritual mindsets of writers I otherwise had overlooked or dismissed, for another), and so I took from increased assurance at argument and research a challenge to reach for harder and higher goals in my own writing.

I've read that you're working on a play. What can you tell us about it so far?
Curtain up. Or is there a curtain? We don't know yet.

Apparently the play is about the ambiguity of certainty...

I've read that you enjoy traveling to Greece when possible. Have you gone there recently? How (if at all) does it reflect the recent economic troubles going on there?
I was in Greece in April on a private study tour. We read Homer and Aeschylus, we read the Odyssey and The Hesiod, we read nineteenth century poems and twentieth century poems and I talked to twenty-first century high school students about WICKED (which they had most of them seen in London). I hadn't been there in a few years and so I didn't have the apparatus to conclude what the economy was doing to the country, but I did think that the new Acropolis Museum, built just in time before the collapse, was simply magnificent.

What did you read, as a child, that most formed your tastes in literature?
Fantasy. Madeleine L'Engle, Jane Langton, E. B. White, and the great nineteenth century fantasists: J. M. Barrie, Lewis Carroll, L. Frank Baum (obviously). Among realistic fiction I was only ever enamored of HARRIET THE SPY by Louise Fitzhugh.

I read in another interview that, due to your Greek heritage, if you weren't a writer you could see yourself running a diner. What do you typically like to order from Greek greasy spoons?
Moussaka, especially if there are rivulets of orange tomato-tinged oil running along the bechamel plateau up top.

Some writers seem to think that because they're short, children's books are easier to write than other types of books: what would you say to aspiring writers with that mentality?
I stand a respectable five foot six. I don't know what you're talking about.

Oh, short BOOKS. You should have said. No, children's books are far harder to write than adult books, since children have much less patience than adults. In a children's novel, as in a poem, each line has to do quite a lot of work; syllable for syllable there is much more stress upon the language, generally. It takes a higher level of craftsmanship to make a wonderful book for children. (The new book about the writing of CHARLOTTE'S WEB is a great case in point, for those interested.)

You've been writing children's literature for a long time. Have you noticed any differences now in terms of what parents and kids want from when you started writing (or even reading) children's lit?
As children have matured--which is to say turned into creatures from another century than the century in which I was born--I recognize them as fellow human beings less and less often. The technology of the world in which they are born!--it boggles the mind. All parents want books to do several contradictory things: both to console and to challenge, to hearken back and to lean forward. I think the books are expected to do the same things as when I started reading and then writing children's books: it is just that as a child and as a young writer I could lean forward with much clearer vision than I can now. I hardly know where I am in 2012, cybernetically speaking; how can I pretend to children at the age of 10 to present to them a vision of the world in which they live? I don't even know how to change the font on this paragraph.

Do you try your children's stories out on your own kids? What type of critics are they?
My children are the best kind of critics. Dismissive. They have no interest in serving as my sounding board and therefore I don't bother them. I am free to follow my own instincts, which is how I began to write at the age of 8 and how I intend to end up, scrawling lines with my finger into the pudding spilled onto the plastic tray in my nursing home.

How does it feel to be the 302nd person interviewed for Zulkey.com/WBEZ?
I am speechless, dumbfounded, perhaps even actually and entirely dumb.

You may remember Steve Delahoyde from his sound-off last year on the Netflix rate hike. Or you may  know him for his funny short films, the likes of which he will be showing at Monday's Funny Ha-Ha. Today though I'm letting him go off on a Jaguar commercial that filled him with so much rage that he ended up writing a fairly lengthy discourse on how much he can't stand it. He does work in the advertising realm, so he knows of which he speaks, but really, I just think he was crabby when he sent this to me.

Outside of the Super Bowl or some live televised event that can't be missed, not many of us watch commercials anymore. That's unfortunate because, when done well, they can be instances of filmmaking at its best. Something beautifully shot, touching, well-cast and that tells a great story or a solid joke in under thirty or sixty seconds is pure art (considerations of bad consumerism and all that blather aside). I have, and likely always will be, more a fan of the short form beauty of a well-crafted commercial than I ever will be of any feature film. Unfortunately, because of our DVR and never having enough time, I don't get to watch spots very often. But when I do, like during a game, I get angry when I have to sit through a bad one. And this, I believe, is one of the worst spots ever made:

As its face, an innocuous, typically bland car commercial, yes. But let me break down its elements for you:

1) Let's start with the premise. Okay, the car is a Jaguar, which is also the name of an animal. And the shots, and the music, and the copy imply that what we're seeing is these cars acting like these jungle creatures having a good time. When you think of jaguars, the animals, do you think of them "playing"? Have you ever seen a jaguar "at play"? No, of course not. You probably can't really even picture what a jaguar looks like, other than it's a big cat. And the second thing that likely comes to mind is that all a jaguar does is sneak around and kill things.

2) The first three shots are stellar. We just see little snippets of the cars through a bunch of jungle. Ooh, and there's another car, this fancy blue one, coming to life! This is going to be an exciting, action packed commercial! What a setup! Except then, just a split second later, in immediately the next shot, the blue car is being chased by the other two. Way to kill that momentum. Go watch it again and see what I'm talking about.

3) Back? Okay, so how does that even logically happen? We've seen the other two cars already buzzing around the jungle, and then this blue one come to life while stationary. How is it, all of the sudden that it's in front of these other two? Imagine this scene being edited in another context. We see the bank robbers riding away from town on their horses as fast as they can. Then we cut to our hero who tilts his head up to reveal his face under his white cowboy hat. He pulls on the reigns and the horse flares up, on its back legs, Lone Ranger style. And then in the next shot...the bank robbers are chasing the good guy. What the hell?!

4) How did we get from the jungle to being around a bunch of warehouses? Are the jaguars/Jaguars done with their play and now they're going to work?

5) At :17 when we enter the big warehouse with all three, how did it suddenly become daylight (the bright light coming through the windows)? Didn't we just move from daylight in the jungle to nighttime in this urban setting? Does this planet, where cars act as animals, rotate around the sun every 8 seconds?

6) Why those zoom-ins on the cars when you put their names up? The edits don't line up and it's disorienting. I feel sick every time I watch it. At least use a star wipe after that cheesy digital zoom-in and get off the shot. Don't go back to the old footage like we can't see the editing trick you're trying to get away with.

7) Next, the typeface looks like it belongs in a spy film. It's very something-on-a-screen-that-James-Bond-is-looking-at. So you've set up that these cars are like playful animals, but then immediately you're taking me away from that with this poorly chosen font. In the final frame, "Welcome to Our Jungle" looks only slightly better than the abysmal "jaguarusa.com" at the bottom. This isn't a spy movie about Terminators in space, it's about jungle cats in non-jungle settings, and it looks stupid.

8) At the opening it reads "Location: Undisclosed" Why even include that? It's a jungle. What more do we need to know? Why add the mystery? Oh, that's right: because this is a spy film about animal cars.

9) Nice drop shadow on the text on the final frame there too.

10) Sometimes when a tagline feels like you've seen it before, that can be a good thing. But "Welcome to Our Jungle" feels like something the company had pushed aside in the mid-80s and found while cleaning out a closet. It would have maybe been fine back then, particularly with the song reference, or better still, had they gotten a Guns N' Roses licensing deal, but now?

The only thing positive I can say about this spot is that I like the music.

Learning that this spot is one of the first created by a year-old company, Spark44, that Jaguar has founded as its in-house ad agency makes perfect sense. It has the feel of too many cooks in the kitchen and design by committee (and all those other design-y cliches).

In closing, I will continue to spit on the ground whenever this comes on, the worst commercial ever made.

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By the end of high school, I was ready to graduate and get the hell out of Dodge. I didn't even have that hard a time of it during those years, compared to some kids, but the stress of figuring out who I was, what I really wanted to do, who my friends were, where I wanted to go to college and the ways I knocked myself out to get in had taken its toll. I was tired of seeing the same people in the same halls every day and was ready for a fresh start, not only with new friends but maybe even with a new persona.

(Flickr/NWABR)

Senior year ended more with a whimper than with a bang. Senioritis made classes seem interminable, prom was an overlong letdown after a stressful buildup, and the last day of school will be remembered not for hugs and yearbook signings but for a screaming match I had with a guy who had terminated our friendship. For graduation day, I cut off a big chunk of my long hair and wore a Georgetown t-shirt and gym shoes under my gown, almost to spite school: I wouldn't pay it homage with a pretty dress and hairdo.

There was one way though that my high school career could be salvaged, however, and that was by the Senior Awards ceremony.

If there was one thing I was proud of in high school, it was that I had figured out that I was a writer. Dropping badminton and volleyball for the student-run variety show was one of the best decisions I ever made. Between writing for a few theater shows, writing and editing student newspapers all four years of high school, tutoring students, receiving a NCTE award and scoring an 800 on the verbal portion of my SATs (on the second go-around) and being a National Merit Semifinalist, I figured I'd be a shoo-in to win the English Department Award. Then, at least, I'd be recognized for what really mattered to me.

At the awards ceremony, I remember this one particular teacher getting up to announce the award, listing the winner's qualifications.  He had never taught me, so I wondered how he knew how well rounded I was, how much I loved literature and reading. Then he started talking about good I was at French and soccer, and I realized that he was not speaking about me. (You idiots, an English award is not supposed to go to an athlete.)  

I lost to a girl who had also won Homecoming Queen, Prom Queen and Senior Leader, but the worst thing was that she was also a completely lovely person, smart and funny and kind, so I couldn't even find solace in hating her for stealing away my award. On the way home from the ceremony, I cried on my best friend's shoulder (she had suffered the same fate I had, only in regards to the Journalism Award.)

I don't know why this loss was burned into my memory so vividly.  It's not like I wake up every day gazing at the empty space on the shelf where that trophy should be. Clearly, I didn't need the award to confirm that I was and would be a writer. And while high school can be the pits, I realized that it's like that for most everybody at times, and I didn't even have it that bad.

But still! I carry that as a little chip on my shoulder. I was out with some writer girlfriends this summer and found myself jokingly bitching about losing the award. And to my surprise, a colleague of mine who's published three very popular books and is a beloved blogger confessed that she's still mad that she didn't win a poetry award in college.

I guess sometimes we need to hold onto these otherwise insignificant losses in order to maintain the motivation to do whatever it is we do. So please, in the comments, share your stories: even though we can all admit that we're adults now and aren't holding onto the past in a creepy way, let me know, is there an award, a role, a spot on the team that you didn't get that you're still the teeeeeensiest bit (jokingly) bitter about? Help me feel like I'm not alone.

Friend of Zulkey.com Jesse Thorn has revamped his excellent show The Sound of Young America for 2012, renaming it Bullseye. If you read this site, you probably already have a broad range of interest when it comes to pop culture, in which case this podcast is for you. The show features interviews with actors, directors, comics and musicians, recommendations from critics and guest-spots from artists where they talk about their favorite projects from their colleagues. It's earnest but not snobbish, and more than once has turned me on to a show or artist with whom I hadn't been familiar. The debut episode features interviews with members of the cast of Downton Abbey and the creator/star of the shows Angry Boys and Summer Heights High, amongst a few other fun features. I hope you check it out and consider subscribing.   

On a completely unrelated note, yours truly was quoted in the New York Times yesterday in a fun story about how furniture is so huge these days thanks to this silly piece I wrote last summer called "The People Who Live at Restoration Hardware." This once again proves my point that if you get on mailing lists, receive catalogues and make fun of them on a public radio blog, you too can get your name in the Gray Lady.

Nose

Ears

Mouth

Eyes

All at once

Sure, we all love winter when we have the holidays to enjoy and it's not that cold, but we all know what comes after January 1: about eight more months of Chicago winter. This January, why don't you come in from the cold, enjoy a beverage and laugh your cute butt off at the writings of some of Chicago's greatest literary/journalist/what have you talent? Chicago's favorite literary humor reading series is back!

Funny Ha-Ha: Welcome to the 2012

Date: Monday, January 23, 2012
Time: 7-8:30 PM
Place: The Hideout
1354 W Wabansia Ave
Chicago, IL 60622
(773) 227-4433 Featuring Readings and Performances By:

Chicagoist's Kim Bellware

BoyGirlBoyGirl's Edward Thomas-Herrera

Chicago Magazine's Scott Smith

Blewt!'s Steve Gadlin

Somewhat Tall Person and Short Filmmaker Extraordinaire Steve Delahoyde

Hosted by WBEZ Blogger and AV Club/LA Times Contributor Claire Zulkey

$5 suggested donation
Proceeds benefit the Neighborhood Writing Alliance

Have a wonderful holiday! Yes, these are my pets and I promise they are well-taken care of the rest of the time.

For him:





For her:

For the kids:

For baby:





For me:

For anybody else:

Many of you may heard about the latest salvo fired in the War on Christmas, this time by FOX Chicago's own Robin Robinson. (I won't repeat what she said, but if for some reason you read this blog with your tiny child, perhaps you should skip today's post.) 

I'm proud to say that my lovely cousin, Lauren Fritz, got not one but two opportunities to share her thoughts on the matter when Ms. Robinson asked her opinion while out in the field. As you can tell from the first clip (at 2:01), Lauren was obviously very familiar with the subject matter at hand, was prepared to talk about it and had very strong opinons on the topic. WFLD's editors recognized a firebrand when they saw one, used that incredibly valuable clip and then included a follow-up from Lauren at 2:34. You can see her moments in the spotlight below:

I wanted to give Lauren the chance to speak more about her experience:

Is Santa Real? FOX Chicago News Anchor Robin Robinson Apologizes For Saying He's Not: MyFoxCHICAGO.com

Where were you when you encountered FOX news?

I had just walked out of work and was on my way to the El with 3 bags and 2 rolls of wrapping paper in my hands.

Did you actually have an opinion at the time on the Robin Robinson/Santa thing?

Not really. I don't know what child watches the 9pm news with their parents anyway. If you still believe in Santa Claus then 9pm is probably past your bedtime. I do think it's traumatizing for a little kid to find out that there's no Santa Claus, but really, they're going to find out at some point eventually.

Which portion of your interview better reflects the real Lauren? Be honest.

The second part with the hand gestures. I'm big on hand gestures. 

Looking back, what could you say now to the Lauren Fritz of long ago who is speaking in that video?

I'd tell Lauren that if someone comes up to you with a video camera and asks for your comment, say no.

Would you say anything differently if you were interviewed today and had time to prepare? Also would you style yourself differently? (I like the festive red coat).  
I'd probably say "What?! Santa isn't real???"

I'd probably still wear the red coat, but I'd show the wrapping paper I had just purchased to prove my holiday spirit and I'd have my contacts in. 

And there you have it. Real talk from one of Chicago's most inflammatory, passionate talking heads. I hope you could handle it.

Dave Matthews (didn't speak but stood near him at Borders)

Jon Stewart (chatted him up at airport)

David Sedaris (reading)

Dennis Farina (didn't speak but acknowledged each other at film festival.)

Michael Jordan (autograph line)

Assorted White Sox players (autograph line)

Sarah Ferguson, Duchess of York (stood next to her in a magazine shop at O'Hare)

Michelle Williams of Destiny's Child (at a charity party)

Elvis Costello (waited after concert)

Michael Penn (met after concert)

Julia Sweeney (met after reading)

Norm McDonald (helped organize standup show he did at my college)

Anderson Cooper (spoke to through earpiece while being interviewed)

Blagojevich (met on Capitol Hill while shooting something for Dateline NBC where I interned one summer).

Geraldo Rivera (Dateline)

Katie Couric (Dateline)

Ira Glass (had a brief exchange about whether the sandwiches at a WBEZ-hosted event were vegetarian)

Peter Sagal (backstage at a reading)

Ivanka Trump (waited on her at a restaurant)

Rande Gerber (chatted him up drunkenly after sneaking into the VIP section at a hotel party)

Michael Ian Black (met after a show)

John Hodgman (after a reading)

Rahm Emanuel (at a campaign thing at a Jewel)

Now you tell me: who have you met, and where?

The store Anthropologie does an excellent job of selling an image to its customers. If you shop at Anthropologie, you like to think of yourself as funky-urban, comfy-sophisticated, whimsically haute. You look like you like to shop at resale shops but in actuality you pay nicely for the privilege not to do so. You may also sleep in a king-sized bed in the woods. All this has been illustrated very well by the humor site Anthroparodie.

But the way Anthropologie gets you is that even though their clothes may seem ridiculous and/or overpriced, some of us keep coming back. Just in case that perfect little thing turns up--that interesting dress or skirt that everyone will compliment.  You'll think "Dammit, Anthro! You've done it again. I guess I'll keep going to your store or ordering from the catalogue even though 19 times out of 20 the store will make me feel like a complete idiot." Because that's typically how the store works: whatever looks so delightful on the hanger or in the catalogue will often make you look too fat or too short or too boring to pull off. It feels like a personal failing, like you didn't make it into a special club. "I didn't want to belong to that club anyway," you say bitterly. Even though you keep applying.

I had a stroke of luck a few weeks ago when I ordered from the Anthropologie 50% sweater sale. "I like sweaters," I thought to myself, when I got the email about the sale. "And I like savings!"

I ordered two sweaters after reading the reviews carefully. I was thrilled with the first one, this nice bright pop of color with an interesting but not crazy collar. It makes me look brighter and happier than the usual dark colors I wear this time of year, while the neckline is vaguely 1950's-esque:

Here's a grainy picture I took of it in the ladies' room at the Hopleaf:

But then there was the other sweater. This sweater is almost enough to break my spirit.

In retrospect, I shouldn't have even ordered it in the first place. I'm a short, curvy person who is not meant to dress in dramatic drapes and swirls. But this sweater was on sale, you see. And it was Anthropologie. Since it was Anthropologie, I envisioned myself in an Anthropologie world. I would wear this sweater with leggings and knee high boots to brunch or to coffee. I would be warm and sophisticated. I would look interesting!

WRONG, ZULKEY. The second I pulled the sweater out of the bag and realized that the collar alone drooped down to my bellybutton I knew I had made a poorly-informed choice. The sweater made me look like a witch who was 11 months pregnant and had the added bonus of being too tight in the sleeves, so it cleverly concealed the natural curves of my body while emphasizing my arm fat. It had pockets too, I'm sure for placing all the phone numbers that guys and girls will inevitably be handing to you when you wear this sweater:

I'm really going to  enjoy returning this sweater.

A lot of stores are holding sales this time of year, and so let this story remind you to be strong in the face of savings. Do not take risks. Do not think this is a good time to take on a new look. Your old look was fine! You do not live in the woods. You live in the world. You didn't want to belong to that club anyway.

Julia Sweeney at a recent performance at 'The Paper Machete' (Photo by Erin Nekervis)I'm thrilled to be featuring today's interviewee on the site. She's a former Saturday Night Live cast member who in recent years has been known for her funny, touching autobiographical monologues like God Said Ha!, about her brother and her both battling cancer, and Letting Go of God, wherein she discusses her Catholic upbringing and eventual relinquishment of her faith (both monologues are available on DVD.) She's currently presenting live essays on parenting in preparation for her upcoming book, tentatively titled If it's Not One Thing, It's Your Mother. Catch her this Saturday at Space in Evanston or later this month as she performs stories with musical interludes from Jill Sobule. You can read more of Julia here on her blog. Oh yes, and she was also Pat.

How much input has your daughter had on your parenting essays thus far?  
Well, if what you mean by input is that she gives me direct ideas, ideas she wants me to write down, I would say very very minimal.  But many of my essays have been about her.  For the last ten years, my life has been dominated by my job as a mother, and so naturally that is the source of most of my ideas for writing essays.  

What have you wanted to add to the discussion of parenting that you think has been lacking?  
Well, I think every single person - and not just mothers and those thinking of becoming mothers, but absolutely everyone - should read Ann Crittenden's The Price of Motherhood. I have to say that reading this book has been up there with the books that got me to renounce religion - meaning, it has completely turned my head around about parenting. I guess I think most of the discussion about parenting - well, mothering, has been about these two erroneous ideas, that on the one hand the mothers who choose to stay home aren't really "doing anything that much." And those that go to work and further their career are cold and heartless and aren't putting their children first.  The truth is that almost all women want to be mothers and they want to have careers. Almost all mothers want to stay at home for the first five years of their children's lives and then work part time until their children go to college. That is overwhelmingly what most women want. But our society and government here in the U.S. makes this very difficult. I guess it seems like the discussion has been steering towards women against other women instead of women uniting for better conditions in the workplace - more time off with pay, more support, more time for fathers to have off as well. That kind of thing. I feel I have only recently become enlightened on this topic.

Prior to God Said Ha!, what if anything in your career had prepared you best for the storytelling/monologue format in which you've been working since that premiered?  
Well, it was all because of Kathy Griffin, actually. She made me get up and tell personal stories on stage. I hadn't done that before. I was at the Groundlings and she organized this night to get up and tell personal stories. Up to that time, I had only performed as an actress, in character, in sketches. But I began to talk about my personal life. It was fun. Then Kathy encouraged me to get involved with this group of story tellers organized by Beth Lapides called "The Uncabaret." That's when I began to go on Sunday nights and perform, again telling only personal true stories. That's how it all started.

In terms of improv or TV or characters, are there any forms of comedy you haven't practice professionally in a while that you miss? Do you think you'd get back to them?  
I really miss performing in character. I didn't think I did miss it, but after seeing Bridesmaids - which I think is just brilliant - they really hit a home run with that movie, I wanted to jump up on screen and start performing.  

How did you come to collaborate with Jill Sobule?
I was a fan of Jill's for a long time before I met her. In fact, I had written a pilot and wanted her to do the theme song. Our lawyers had talked to each other and everything. Anyhoo - I went to this TED conference in Monterey, and Jill was there, and we met! We were so happy to finally meet, this was like 10 years after we had acknowledged our mutual admiration through our representatives. We hung out at the conference and then realized that we lived only three blocks from each other in L.A. So we started to walk over to each other's houses and hang out. At some point, Jill had a gig at Largo in L.A. and she asked me to come and do some patter in-between her songs. I did and the Jill and Julia shows began. We've done them for years now, like five years? Yeah, about that. We're sort of winding them down - we have a New Year's Eve show, our third in a row, at Space in Evanston. We've gone on the road in the summer. We've had a lot of fun.

What other music have you been listening to lately?  
Oh, my god, I know this is not very unusual or anything, but I'm going crazy over the Black Keys new album and especially the new music video, "Lonely Boy."

I was listening to an interview with Penn Jillette last week and he provided one of the most lovely rationalizations for being an atheist that I've ever heard, which is that his own mother's love could not be surpassed by the love of a god because his mother's love was provable. It altered the way I used to generalize atheists as being know-it-all killjoys. I wanted to know, who are some other atheists (aside from yourself) who you think also provide gentle, optimistic explanations for their beliefs as opposed to the "If you believe in God you're a gullible yokel" tone?  
Well, I actually think Daniel Dennett and Richard Dawkins are gentle - okay maybe not gentle, but optimistic. I find them to be kind and filled with awe at the fact that we are all alive and that we evolved and oh my gosh, here we are. I would include Steven Pinker too, he is an atheist, but he is very gentle and kind and optimistic. I loved his book "The Better Angels of our Nature" which just came out.

Do you do anything for Christmas (or the winter solstice?)  
We totally celebrate Christmas, which I think is a secular holiday. We have a tree, and lots of old decorations that mean a lot to us. We have stockings on the mantle and we jump up and open presents. Some years we even attend Mass, in fact this Christmas we will definitely attend Christmas Mass since my mother will be with us. I love it all. I love the church and the ritual of the Mass.

How often do people you don't know either try to convince you there is a god or tell you your beliefs are wrong?  
Never. Really, it never even comes up.  

When you were working on Letting Go of God, did you have any inkling of how much and for how long you'd be associated with atheism?  
Well, am I?  To me, that is only known by a small number of people. Most people I meet and know - parents of kids at Mulan's school, for example, have no idea and think of me mainly as the girl who played Pat on "Saturday Night Live."

Why do you think it's so newsworthy when a person of note declares they're an atheist?
I think it's less so, now. Thanks to people like Seth McFarlane, and Kathy Griffin, and Roseanne Barr, and Dawkins and all the rest.  It's not such a big deal now, I think.

Which of the monologues you've brought onstage were the most difficult to put together and perform?  
Without a doubt, Letting Go of God.  That was the most difficult task, putting that show together and then putting the show up.  It's the thing I'm most proud of, I think it's my best work.

Have you found Chicago audiences to be very different than those in L.A. (or other cities?)  
I love Chicago audiences, in fact, I think - if I may generalize - that Chicago matches my own point of view the best. To me, they laugh when it's funny and they don't when it isn't and they aren't entering the theater with an agenda or a chip on their shoulder. I say that because I felt in New York, where I did love to perform, that when people walked into a theater they had a very skeptical "show me what you've got" attitude  In New York, I felt the audience wanted to laugh, but it was most important to be moved - to have something deeper happen. In L.A., people flat out just want to be entertained (again, a gross generalization, but still --) and L.A. audiences feel uncomfortable if you are trying to take them farther than just the laugh. Of course not all of them, I would find my audiences. But my monologues would all start out the same - people would show up wanting to laugh and then i could feel them squirming in there seats - a feeling of "don't get too serious on us, now..." feeling.  But in Chicago - I have to say it, it's just friggin' normal! They don't have some preconceived attitude about the show (my sense anyway) except they want it to be good.  

Has living in Chicago or on the North Shore inspired you as an artist in any particular way?  
Well, I am in love with the city. I am suddenly in a very women-central environment, as a mother and seeing so many other at-home mothers. That is really different. And it is what I'm writing about now in my book - oh yeah, did I tell you I'm writing a book. About being a mother. So, yes. It has inspired me.

What live shows here have you seen that you've enjoyed?  
I really loved Esperanza Spaulding, who I saw at the Chicago Symphony Orchestra a couple of months ago. I love the Looking Glass Theater. I really loved The Last Act of Lilka Kadison.  

What are some of your favorite post-SNL projects of your former castmates?  
Well, of my castmates? Hands down, it's Al Franken becoming a Senator.

What's the workday like for the consultant to a TV show?  
You go in and talk through story lines, give suggestions, hear people's pitches, and pitch ideas. It's a really fun job.

Looking ahead, what do you think your next monologue or one-woman show would be about?  
Ohmygod, I don't know. Maybe about how I fear for the future apocalypse. (Hilarious! Funny!) Or about how we should respect the work of care taking more than to assign it a minimum wage. (Again hilarious!!!!)

What's your favorite thing to order at Union Pizza?
The lamb pizza. So good, so fantastic.

How does it feel to be the 299th person interviewed for Zulkey.com?  
Completely honored!!!!

I know you already know Steve Gadlin as the genius entrepreneur behind I Want to Draw a Cat for You and Don't Spit the Water! Well now he's back at it with an amazing new opportunity. I'm sure you're sick of being restricted to wearing a t-shirt with the title of only one of your favorite films in it. Well fret no more, because now you can get a shirt with TWO names on it! Why hasn't anybody thought of this sooner?

Please enjoy this beautiful commercial that illustrates Two Film T-Shirts perfectly (shot by my husband, Steve Delahoyde, may I boast) and order all your Two Film T-Shirts right now for everyone on your holiday shopping list! YOU ARE WELCOME!

Two Film T-Shirts! from Blewt! Productions on Vimeo.

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P.S. Steve Gadlin will be at the next Funny Ha-Ha in case you want to shake his hand personally.

Labor and Delivery Nurse
 

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Grabbing life when and wherever I can

Actress

Good morning. This is the rant I delivered at The Paper Machete this weekend.

Every Christmas Eve my parents perform an annual rite. After we've escaped the children's Mass at church and enjoyed an extra-fancy dinner prepared by my mother and served to us on Christmas-themed china in the dining room, we all retire to the family room with the dogs to drink wine, listen to Christmas carols and open presents.

The present opening is an orgy of generosity and paper-tearing that wouldn't be complete without a bow being tied around the bigger dog or the smaller dog being placed in an empty gift-box. But the evening is not without its own particular brand of strife. Every year, my dad will lift a carefully-chosen article of clothing my mom has given him halfway out of the box, hold it up to his body, and say "Why did you get it in this size?" Then he'll gingerly lay it back into the box. "See how he doesn't even take it all the way out of the box? That means it's going back," my mom will announce. It's a little awkward, but I guess being married for 40 years means you get to do without the niceties of pretending to like something your spouse gave you or pretending like you don't see through your spouse's obvious hatred of your gift.

I see this little routine as being completely avoidable, but in the big picture, it's a small price of holiday tension to pay. I could be Amy or Anne Blagojevich, who may be spending their last Christmas with their father for a long, long time. I pity these girls in so many ways: for having a soon-to-be-absent father, for being thrust into the spotlight and for having jerk parents in general. Blagojevich, prior to his sentencing, used his daughters as a reason for why he should receive a light sentence. I, along with the judge and many others, said "If Blagojevich cared so much about his daughters, why didn't he think of them before he did anything wrong in the first place?" Blagojevich either lacked the compassion to think what exactly would happen to his family if he got caught, or, more likely, just figured he'd get away with everything forever, which is a wonderful lesson and attitude to pass onto your children.

2011 was a pretty good year for high-profile terrible parents. Lately, everyone's favorite Bad Mom is Kris Jenner, mother to Kim as well  several other assorted Kardashians and Jenners. Shortly after Kim's high profile wedding and even more high-profile divorce, Jenner was on the talk show circuit, promoting her new book and discussing her daughter's personal affairs. Just recently, on "Extra," Jenner was quoted as saying ""You can't judge anybody else," in regards to the public backlash her daughter has received. Coincidentally, it was announced on the same day that Jenner would serve as a judge in the Miss America pageant, so you can judge other people, just so long as you get paid to do so and it's televised. Not content for us to know the personal information of just three of her daughters, Jenner is reportedly hard at work trying to ruin the lives of her other daughters, pushing for a new reality show for her daughters Kendall and Kylie. Between Kim's divorce, Khloe's fertility issues and Kourtney dating the guy from American Psycho, I'm a little worried about what skeletons lurk in the youngest daughters' closets. I'm sure Kris will find a way of making sure we all know, talking about it and then shaming us for any sort of judgmental reaction.

Kris Jenner is simply picking up the mantle of Dina Lohan, the original Cool Mom who wouldn't let something as petty as her daughter's substance-abuse problems stop her from going out clubbing with her substance-abusing daughter or appearing on TV shows discussing her daughter's substance-abuse problems or talking about how much she loathes her daughter's substance-abusing father. Lohan has been fairly quiet of late, but she can be proud of the fact that her younger daughter, 17-year-old Aliana, is pursuing a career in modeling which is a field known for cultivating good self-esteem, healthy habits, a supportive peer group and long-term stability in young women. Dina has said publicly that she's still proud of Lindsay, whose career has taken her to the place every mother wishes for her daughter: flashing her talent in Playboy magazine because she doesn't have enough money left to pay her bills. Good job Dina. You are super-cool. My mom doesn't even have hair extensions.

Then there's Krista Keller, who's noteworthy for being the mother of Courtney Stodden. Stodden made headlines this year for being a 16-year-old girl who married 51-year-old actor Doug Hutchison, like it's 1958 and he's Jerry Lee Lewis or something. Stodden has also made a name for herself for her scandalous outfits, bizarre TV appearances (like a spot on Dr. Drew's show to have her boobs scanned to make sure they're real) and hilariously lascivious and alliterative Twitter account (a Tweet from Thursday night reads "Mr. Moist Saint Nick: As I magnetically dangle this magical mistletoe above my mere mysteriousness... I imagine your mouth smooching mine...")  Stodden's mother, who is the same age as her son-in-law, has blessed the union as well as Stodden's forthcoming TV show and has explained away people's issues with her daughter as jealousy.  I can't help but think where I was at sixteen. I didn't know who I was, and probably even shouldn't have been allowed to have a driver's license, let alone a husband and a house and a reality show and stripper-shoes. Assuming your sixteen year old is mature enough to get married means you probably thought your four year old was responsible enough to stay home by herself while you went out.  

And I would be remiss in talking about the worst parents in 2011 without touching upon Casey Anthony. So now I've done that.

I'm the proud survivor of good parenting and I've been happy to learn that many creative, successful people also came to a fulfilling adulthood despite having parents who supported them the traditional, non-televised way. In Bossypants, Tina Fey waxes about how her father is her hero, and in Is Everybody Hanging Out Without Me? Mindy Kaling talks about how her parents' marriage is her model for matrimony, seeing as how they're buddies and all. On WTF with Marc Maron last week, magician Penn Jillette described that one of the reasons why he's an atheist is because nothing was more provable to him than his own mother's love.

I wish that my parents would figure out how to avoid their annual present fight, but at the same time, if that's the extent of the annual Zulkey holiday drama, I can handle it. Because neither of my parents is going to jail. Because they would still tell me, gently, if they think I'm doing something that's unwise. Neither of them think it'll be a good idea if I publish my vagina in a magazine and neither of them is going on television to discuss my marriage. My parents being good parents may be what's holding me back from being famous, but you know what, I really don't mind.

I'm thrilled that tomorrow I'll be performing at The Paper Machete, which I think is one of Chicago's finest live performance/reading series. If you've never been, it's a lively, entertaining, thought-provoking live-magazine style show with the added bonus that it takes place in a bar. We all know that 3 pm is the new happy hour. I'm even more pleased to say that tomorrow's show will also feature two of my very favorite ladies in Chicago comedy, stand-up Cameron Esposito and Schadenfreude's Kate James. Details below:

The Paper Machete: 3 PM at the Horseshoe (4115 N. Lincoln. FREE!)

Madame Barker's Cabaret (Molly Brennan and John Fournier)
Art and Nancy Brennan (Occupy activists)
Chad the Bird
Cameron Esposito (Stand-up Comedienne)
Kate James and Steve Waltien (The Second City)
Claire Zulkey (Blogger/Funny Ha Ha)
Music by Baby Teeth

As a bonus, below please enjoy videos my husband, Steve Delahoyde, has made with each of these ladies. The Kate James video has a tiny NSFW moment at the end of it in the form of a bad word. 

Editor's Note: Besides hosting talented individuals like Claire, The Paper Machete podcasts on WBEZ here.

• Greeting followed by small-talk niceties and awkward overlapping dialog that comes with being unused to speaking on the phone in a while.
• "How was your day?"
• "What are you having for dinner?" (Presuming the talk is occurring after work but before mealtime.)
• "How was your week?"
• "What did you do last weekend/last holiday?"
• "How is work?"
• "How is your family/spouse/romantic partner?"
• "How is your house/apartment?" (If house/apartment is new or of note for some reason.)
• Talk about any immediate weddings or babies either between the conversationalists or close friends.
• Transition into gossip about other people, possibly cloaked as concern for their welfare.
• Brief reminiscence about something that happened 10+ years ago.
• Flow-interrupting call-drop due to bad reception/smartphone face-hangup.
• "How is your pet/child?"
• Light discussion of weight/diet/exercise/hairstyle/clothes.
• "What are you doing this weekend?"
• Excitement expressed for the next face-to-face meeting.
• Banal reason for ending call like eating dinner or spending quality time with spouse.
• Impulsive "I love you," or, to keep it more casual, "Love you!"

I feel like I know Cleatus the Football Robot so much better now after reading these wonderful stories below (I also contributed my own, humbly.) I had a difficult time choosing a favorite: I liked the hope of Sarah's tale, the ominousness of Todd's, and most especially the theory of Kyle's (I too have wondered what's up with all the pointing.) But I think I'm going to have to give the coveted Car Talk mug to Cullen, for truly telling a tale in a few carefully-chosen words. As they say in creative writing class, he showed without telling. Haunting stuff, all of it. If you missed your chance to send in your own Cleatus fan fiction, feel free to leave your own contributions in the comments. Great job, everyone. You are all uninjured first-string quarterbacks in my book.

From Sarah Davidson:

Cleatus F. Robot was born in the FOX marketing offices one day long, long ago. A young member of the team dreamed him up and the team agreed he would be a welcome member and so a scientist was brought in under the cover of darkness one night to put him together. He was to be your standard robot, doing robot-y things, but it was late one magical Sunday night, under a full moon. In the background, the NFL theme song wafted through the halls. All the stars aligned and when he sat up, not only did he have all the football moves and standard robotic programming, he also had a WONDERFUL personality! Skeptics say this was programmed just like the rest of it to bring the ladies into football, but the believers know the TRUTH.

He went about his job, getting warmed up, doing touchdown dances, pumping up the crowd. He was cute and friendly and awesome. The people loved him, though he definitely had his naysayers. There were heated Budweiser-fueled debates about his relevancy and his manliness. There were even questions about his possession or lack of certain man parts. But overall he was a crowd favorite. A beloved hero. There were action figures, fan sites, t-shirts and rumor has it a movie in the works.

And then. One stormy day, an angry marketing executive was hired by FOX. He marched in on a Monday morning on the dawn of a particularly "dark day in sports" -- footnote: credit for coining this phrase goes to my father, which, as it indicates, is when ALL of his teams lose in one day and his vocal chords are sore from yelling and my mother is not speaking to him... but I digress... The angry executive took swift action -- "Cleatus is either fired or he needs to more accurately reflect the true nature of the sport as it exists today. You decide." The team had grown to love Cleatus as a son and was beyond distraught. In order to keep him alive and not sent off to some robot farm up north, they made a few adjustments to his programming and he became the cold, menacing Cleatus you know today.

But everyone knows that football is fun. And as aggressive as those players are, they also do adorable and funny dances in the endzone. They jump into the crowd to get their heads patted. They take ballet sometimes... I believe that the real Cleatus is still in there and I believe, when no one is looking, he gets that twinkle in his robot eye and hopes for the day when the angry executive is overthrown and he can get back to his friendly, crowd-pleasing antics. Maybe it'll be soon. Maybe in time for his snowball-throwing and scarf-wearing... One can only hope.

Oh, and I almost forgot. The "F." stands for Football's FUN.

From Todd Totale:

Because nothing good can come from any of the Fox networks, Cleatus is an evil creation from the executive branch of Fox Sports to continue the conglomerate overthrow of America's free will.

Step one: send a message to the humanoid players of the National Football League that their days are numbered. No more talk about concussions, late hits or fair catch signals. Play with reckless abandon and risk your body in the name of higher ratings and better MMA lead-ins. And if these humans fail to entertain us sufficiently, we have a roster of robots to take over.

Cleatus cracks his neck during the warm-up sequence, suggesting a programmed vulnerability to get us to believe that his limbs are breakable and a retirement of Oxycontin and local AM affiliate pre-game shows are waiting down the road. But Fox doesn't tell Cleatus the reality that his titanium skin and carbon fiber tendons will all be stripped clean, like copper plumping in a great recession. There will be no call-in shows, no "Cleatus' Clinch Picks" and no Buffalo Wild Wings giveaway gift cards for the trivia winners.

He will be gutted like any other Fox talent that has overstayed their welcome.

That is why the eyes are beginning to glow.

Cleatus is starting to notice less zeal in Fox's programming efforts involving him and his calculating the infinite possibilities of Fox's exit strategy for his character. The glowing eyes signal an acknowledgement of a potential threat and they may even be part of Cleatus' own defense mechanism.

In any event, I don't think he has the engineering marvel that could lead him to defeat the executives at Fox.

Wake up, Cleatus. Time to die.

From Kyle Wilcoxen:

What is Cleatus pointing at in such feverish manner?  Have you seen him follow up his mild calisthenics and jumping around between commercial breaks with some fast-paced finger pointing?  What is he pointing at and why is he doing it in such a forceful manner?  I imagine he actually grew up as a nerd robot.  He once worked in a library as a card catalog system or as an early beta version of Google, but he was eventually marked obsolete and discarded.  Now he has hit the gym and ever since he started his job at FOX, he gets all the robot ladies with his big shoulders and piercing blue eyes.  I believe he is pointing at all the nay-sayers out there who said he couldn't do it and there was no way he could reinvent himself.  After a few "Workout for Dummies" books and some serious scrap parts from the local junkyard, Cleatus landed the sweet corporate gig as FOX Sports Robot.  Now he gets all the latest upgrades and even runs SAP (the best Sports Robots run SAP, just like the best midsized companies).  Cleatus is a force to be reckoned with and his determination to prove everyone wrong is why he points so feverishly.

From Cullen Crawford:

It was a cold Monday and Cleatus watched the sun rise over his farm's western hill. He sipped some coffee. It was too hot and it hurt, but he made no sound. He was alone. He stared out at the tall grass of the yard. Tall enough to obscure the posts' rotted bottoms. He sipped again. It was cold. He took his daily glance at the doorway. Crambo's little titanium sneakers, no bigger than a human size 10, lay scattered by the doorway. Servette had left them there. Three weeks ago. They were all she had left. Those and the guitar which sat dusty in the corner of an unmade bedroom. He turned away from the tiny, luminescent shoes. She had left them there on accident. He hoped. He looked back out the window. The papers sat unsigned on the patterned steel kitchen counter she had bugged him for. It was cold. He was going back to bed.

From me:

It's hard to say whether one should truly pity Cleatus the FOX Football Robot. He's in enviable shape, he's watched by millions on television, he's a hero to many red-blooded sport-loving beer-swilling men (note: if you love football and beer, even if you have a vagina you are still technically a man) and judging by his Twitter feed, he's a happy-go-lucky sort of bot. But look closer at the lights where his eyes should be. Do you see something there? A sense of emptiness? It's not just because his eye-lights have been replaced by energy-saving but less-soulful halogen bulbs. It's because Cleatus is not living the life he wants to lead. After graduating high school, Cleatus yearned to attend the University of Iowa to get his degree in poetry, but unfortunately, he was built to promote football, and went straight to the pros. Like Lady Gaga proclaims, he was born (or rather, built) this way, but he cries out in zeros and ones, was he meant to be built this way? Cleatus would rather be composing sonnets back in the Midwest in a small snow-covered house, a cat-android on his cold metal lap, but this is the life he is doomed to. The next time you compose a haiku, dedicate it to poor Cleatus, because while you may not be as famous or invulnerable as he is, at least you have your own free will.

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Real quick, before we get to today's content, I wanted to point you in the direction of my 'Dexter' recap for the LA Times and this piece I wrote for the AV Club on how much I enjoy the '30 Rock' Christmas episodes. And don't forget to submit your Cleatus the FOX football robot fan fiction: I will be running all the submissions on Wednesday.

******

I'm trying out an occasional feature here on on the site wherein I share interesting, or unique stories and theories courtesy of the dads in the world. You know how dads have tales and ideas that can only be described as Dad-like? Well, I figured it's time to honor the dads and their dad-like minds on a regular, official basis with a feature called Dad Talks. Today I'm kicking things off with a discussion with my own dad. We met up to chat about the merits of his three favorite types of animals: dog, horses and elephants.

my dad, me and a horse

First, he sent me an email spelling out what's so great about each of them. Then we followed up with an informal interview at Wildberry Pancakes.

Dogs are truly man's best friend. They really do try to please and protect. They are so varied more than any animal. Horses are the epitomy of majesty. Like the statue David and they also serve man but rarely provide affection like a dog. Elephants fascinate me more than any animal. I feel I know more about them than most but still feel I don't know enough about their intelligence. They are simply too big to manage. However, I have grown to admire them and wish I could get to know just one on a close basis. We can discuss.

CLAIRE ZULKEY: Picking up on our email, of all the animals you talked about, which is the animal you'd most prefer to have?

ED ZULKEY: An elephant.

CZ: Do you have a preference of Asian or African?

EZ: No, I don't know enough about the types to have a preference.

CZ: What's your favorite elephant story?

EZ: Dumbo, I suppose.

CZ: Well I remember you telling me some story about an elephant crying when he found out that his owner was dead.

EZ: Yeah, elephants are the only animals aside from humans that shed tears from sadness.  You know, I've come to know more about and be interested in elephants in the last ten years than before in my entire life.

CZ: Do you think that's partially due to the elephant sanctuary you donate to?

EZ: Yes.

CZ: Is that the only animal charity you donate to?

EZ: Yes.

CZ: So you prefer elephants to horses, huh?

EZ. Yes. But I like horses too. You know there was a Bill Murray movie where he had to take an elephant across the country or else it would get shipped back to Africa or something. I sort of envy Bill Murray in that movie. Also, is there anything cuter than a baby elephant?

CZ: No, definitely not.

EZ: You know, their trunks have millions of feelings in them. An elephant could pick up a quarter with it. But I wouldn't want to pick up an elephant's BM's. An elephant can wreck a forest in a minute too.

CZ: Yeah?

EZ: But an elephant is very dainty, too. They can't help how big they are. But you know how big people can still be very dainty? That's how elephants are. Their feet are so soft.

CZ: How do you feel about people who hunt for ivory?

EZ: It's horrible.

CZ: OK, let's talk about horses. What do you like about them?

EZ: They're magnificent to look at.

CZ: What's been your favorite experience on a horse?

EZ: We have some friends in Wisconsin and we went riding through a farm field and I actually got up to a gallop. I'd never done that before. Once you get up there, it's easier than a trot.

CZ: What's your favorite horse movie?

EZ: Well my favorite horse TV show is Mister Ed.  We'd watch it every day during junior year of college. Sometimes Mom would come over and watch it with us. One time Ed was playing baseball and he slid into home plate. Another time he was a stowaway on a boat and he had to find a place to sleep on the ship. Also, sometimes he answered the phone. You know, next to Barney Miller, Mister Ed might be the best TV comedy of all time.

CZ: Really?

EZ: I don't know if I have a favorite horse movie, but when the Lone Ranger met Silver, it was the most beautiful, touching thing of all time.

CZ: OK, now who's your favorite dog?

EZ: I couldn't pick one. I love Looey, Major and Jessie.

CZ: What was so great about Jessie?

EZ: It was nice that she liked to lay in bed with me.

CZ: What's a dog breed that you've never had before that you find interesting?

EZ: Aside from a greyhound?

CZ: Greyhound doesn't count, since you have partial share of one.

EZ: I guess a golden retriever, or a border collie. You know, at the beach the other day, Looey tried to herd me and these little kids that were there. He likes to go up and say hello to strangers.

CZ: OK, so to wrap up, if you had to pick a dog that's not yours versus a horse, who do you prefer?

EZ: The horse.

CZ: But you prefer the elephant to the horse. Interesting.

EZ: Yeah. You know one thing about elephants though, an elephant can't get in your bed.

CZ: That's true.

EZ: I forgot to mention, I like pigs too. They're smarter and cleaner than people realize. They just get hot a lot. I love that movie Babe. I love when that guy starts dancing for him. Who is that guy?

CZ: James Cromwell?

EZ: Yeah. What else has he been in?

CZ: Well, L.A. Confidential.

EZ: That's a good movie. What's that guy's name again, Krazer Something?

CZ: Dad, are you confusing L.A. Confidential with The Usual Suspects?

EZ: Oh yeah! I was watching L.A. Confidential the other day and was wondering when that part was going to come, at the end.

CZ: Yeah, those are two different Kevin Spacey movies.

EZ: He's good. What's that other movie he's in? American Dream?

CZ: No, it's not that. It's, um... God, why can't I remember?

EZ: Do you have one of those phones that you can look it up?

CZ: Yes...[looks up movie]: American Beauty.

EZ: Yeah. He's good in that sci-fi movie.

CZ: K-Pax?

EZ: Yeah. I like that movie but your brother refuses to watch it when it's on.

CZ: I never saw it. Hey, did I tell you that [my husband] Steve made fun of Seabiscuit for being stupid but then he cried when he saw the trailer for War Horse?

EZ: That movie looks good. Did you ever see the one where the guy is on the island with the horse?

CZ: Black Stallion? No, but I read the book. Did you ever see The Neverending Story, where the horse dies in the swamp?

EZ: Yeah. You know who reminds me of that dragon-thing in the movie? Looey.

CZ: You're crazy. If any dog is like Falcor, it's Briscoe.

Before we get to today's interview, I thought you might enjoy checking out this fun discussion at the A.V. Club about the worst Christmas songs. Also, soak in the football this weekend because your Cleatus the Football Robot Fan Fiction entries are due Monday at noon.

Today I chat with a colleague of mine from the wonderful world of live Chicago lit and wit. He's one of the most passionate, ferocious fans and producers of the genre, serving as the producer and host of the wonderful series Write Club, wherein writers thrown down like it's a boxing match. I read once and lost in the first round and hope to return one day, if not to win, at least not to pout like a jerk. He's also contributed to fine reading series such as The Paper Machete, the Encyclopedia Show and Funny Ha-Ha. Lately you can find him on the web blogging at the new advice site Irby + Ian. You can find out more about him here. He's an awesome kind of grouch, sort of like a younger, more handsome Louis Black, the kind of guy you don't want to cross but whose approval you do want to win.

Belknap at a recent 'Machete' performance

What are you working on right now?
I have a novel for middle readers that's moldering away nicely, as well as an idea for a play that, I sh*t you not, would win a Pulitzer if I ever wrote the thing. Mostly, I write stuff to read aloud - I whorishly do pretty much any show that'll have me. Chicago has an ass-kicking "live lit" scene and there's a ton of cool shows happening, so I'm pleased to be included. Or maybe I'm just afraid people will read my sh*t wrong unless I read it TO them.

What's Irby + Ian, and why was it begun?
irby+ian is a thrice-weekly advice column that's a collaboration between myself and National Treasure Samantha Irby (who requires both that I describe her this way, and that I capitalize it - our agreement is quite airtight on this point) for those among us who rankle when confronted by the damp, dewy, limp, Oprah-fied avalanche of tips-n-tricks that clog newsstands and your inbox all the damn time. irby+ian is advice for jerks written by *ssholes. New post by me on Mon, Sam on Wed, and co-post on Fri. If you like your advice unsparing, foul-mouthed, sharp-tongued, and most of all hi-f*cking-larious, irby+ian is your go-to source. You can write in with your burning questions to what all and sundry concur is the best email address yet devised by the mind of man: blackgalafianakis@gmail.com - just please, for f*ck's sake, do NOT expect an earnest or well-intended answer. Misspelled jusssssssssst enough to dodge a lawsuit.

At Write Club, how often do you have to deal with bad sports who were unhappy with the results of the competition? (Aside from myself.)
Never, really. The charity angle short-circuits that a bit, I think. There've definitely been people that have not been stoked about the outcome, but there's never been any John McEnroe-style vitriol. If anything, most are raring to go for another future round. This is what they tell me to my face. What they really feel I could not tell you.

I'm blatantly trying to start something here but how would you say Write Club is superior to somewhat-similarly-formatted Literary Death Match?
Space does not really permit me to fully enumerate the superiorities. But I can outline a few that I think are key:

• WRITE CLUB (all caps, please - WRITE CLUB is always yelling) is way more interested in cross-pollinating between forms (theater people share the stage with comedy people, and lit nerds throw down against improv and sketch people).
• LDM is a series of essentially static readings, with "wacky show stuff" between/around them and the competition element feels tacked-on to me, since the stakes are unclear; whereas WRITE CLUB is leaner, more tonally consistent, more mindfully curated show - the competition is not a popularity contest, it's a battle of opposing ideas, of the skill of the opposing writers, and the stakes are a share of the show's proceeds to a charity of the winners' choosing.
• LDM is primarily concerned with perpetuating/advancing LDM - WRITE CLUB is, too, obviously, but it ALSO has an abiding interest in doing good in the world. WRITE CLUB's donated about $5K to charity in Chicago, more in Atlanta, and its just launched in San Francisco. I have no idea what happens to the $ from LDM - I won it the last time it was here, and I didn't see a dime. I think Todd Zuniga, the impresario of LDM, pockets the money for capering around in his ironic jacket.
• I don't talk smack about the artists who have volunteered their time and talent to do my show, which can't be said about LDM.
• Zuniga seems in my view to substantially overestimate how funny he is.
• Zuniga as host - my opinion - seems kind of above-it-all. I play around with the audience, for sure, and try to grant them license to interact with me between pieces, but I am also intent on showing each person kind enough to consent to do my show to their best advantage. I also have designed a show that attempts to maximize audience good times - never more than 80 min; sometimes there's free candy; always ace talents on the bill. Plus I am actually funny.

There's plenty more, but that'll do for now. If he wants to throw down, I'm his huckleberry.

In general, what makes for a good reading, aside from quality performances?
I've talked with other pals in the scene, notably Robbie Q. Telfer of The Encyclopedia Show, and Christopher Piatt of The Paper Machete (names, dropped!) about the role of what I've come to regard as "curatorial intelligence" applied to booking a show. You obviously want the smartest, talented-est, charismatic-est individual writer/performers you can get, but you ALSO must consider the interplay between them, and the balance of the entire bill. I think there are some shows (which shall remain nameless) that don't pay sufficient heed to the arch and shape of the overall show, to create a cogent and satisfying evening, rather than just a laundry list of performers.

The stuff that I find most surprising and gripping involves novel ideas, and a degree of deftness - leapfrogging between ideas/tones/shades of emotion. I intentionally make no requirements of form - there've been poems, stories, personal essays all in the same show. One of the exciting aspects of the show is the degree to which a smart, engaging person at a mic can surprise an audience - it's what I'm after in watching any show. I want my ass kicked in a good way. I want a punch in the brain.

There seems to be another Ian Belknap around on the internet, one who also has dramatic experience. What do you know about him and have you made contact?
I found that poor bastard shortly after I joined faceborg. He's a theater director - seems a nice enough kid. Prior to coming to my senses and pursuing the dying art of literature, I logged a couple decades in the dying art of theater (between these, I did standup for a couple years, which obviously I had to stop, since people actually like and care about comedy), so I know a ton of people. This year there was a big national theater conference in town, which my wife - ace director Hallie Gordon - attended. She met him and he said he'd been getting "YOU'RE not Ian Belknap" all week long.

I tend not to read at Funny Ha-Ha because I can't handle the possibility that a performance at my own reading series might not bring down the house. What drives you to read at Write Club?
There is the mortifying possibility of tanking at one's own show, yes. But for WRITE CLUB to work properly, I feel it's important to have skin in the game. I lose WRITE CLUB bouts all the time. My record is atrocious. There's a couple reasons for this (assuming I don't totally suck, which I'll leave to others to assess for themselves):

• It's my show, so audiences are not as inclined to vote me victor.
• I always pit myself against the writer who in my estimation is the biggest killer of the bunch. It makes me better. I may not win, but it makes me better over time. And it makes a better show.

In recent memory, which of your own personal reading performances seemed to be most successful with the audience, and why do you think that was?
I brought WRITE CLUB to the Decatur Book Festival in Georgia, and there was a fair bit of excitement generated by my unsavory piece, which I think was inspired mostly by the fact that Georgia is a more polite place than Chicago, with sensibilities more prone to tweaking.

Last year, on my birthday, I was seized by the urge to write a manifesto, which I did. I posted it on my blog, then got invited to perform it at a benefit for The Neo-Futurists, where I used to work (administrative, not as an artist). I was really proud of that one, and it seemed to really land with the audience. Here's that one. I wrote a new manifesto this year, and held an invite-only reading at the Hopleaf, which was pretty awesome, too.

But the one of recent vintage that seemed to generate the hottest response was a piece I did at Paper Machete - - that really seemed to rally the crowd/tap into some barely submerged "yeah, f*ck that guy [meaning Franco, not, me]" energy that they may not have even known was there. This was borne out because it's probably the piece that's gotten shared/passed around by friends/others. I'm maybe at my best when I'm super pissed about something. And if James f*cking Franco doesn't piss you off, then you're not paying attention.

What have been some of the more questionable charities Write Club winners have donated to?
None. People take the charity obligation/angle of the show seriously. The only ethical question that's come up is sometimes combatants want to name a non-profit they work with. I say this is fine/admirable. I've worked in non-profits for like 10 years, I know how f*cking tough it is. Each of them needs all the damn help it can get.

What are your responsibilities at The Paper Machete and the Encyclopedia Show?
I have had to recuse myself from Encyclopedia - I just don't have the kind of time the show deserves. But for about a year, I was a member of the cast, in the role of Fact Checker, which is a foil/heavy for the hosts. I basically just listened to everybody's piece and said douchey things. I was like a cranky academic figure intent on pointing out fallacies, etc.

For Paper Machete, I'm an occasional contributor with the title Dean of Mean. I'll take a topic or trend or public figure and try my damnedest to tear them a new *sshole.

If money and family ties were no issue, do you think you'd stay here in Chicago or you'd explore your career elsewhere?
Chicago is a little frustrating in that there is this abundance of mind-blowingly talented people, none of whom make a living by making art. I know you can do tangentially related activities that can generate some income - actors doing voiceover, etc. - but there is no money to be had from making the work itself. Or if there is, I suck ass at finding it. It's not exclusive to Chicago, obviously, but it's more pronounced here than on the coasts. Part of the problem with the kind of work I specialize in (live lit? solo performance? raconteur?) is that there's not the same level of clarity about it that there is for other branches of the arts. You tell people you're a singer and they get it. You tell them you do personal essays that you perform live that are sort of in the vein of This American Life, maybe, a little bit, and you've lost them.

There's this selflessness on the part of Chicago artists - partly I think because improv is so ingrained here - that's both really inspiring, because people are always willing to make work without much consideration for money or exposure or any kind of "careerist" objectives. There's way less ego here than any other place I know about. Which makes it an amazing place to make work, but an abysmal place to try to earn any portion of a living. I moved here from New York City, and that place exerts a pretty potent draw on me still - the velocity and intensity of it I find pretty addictive. L.A. could crack off and drop into the Pacific tomorrow and I would lead the nation in a victory lap. When London fame comes a-knocking, I will answer the door, though.

But: school-age kids, wife who has an awesome job doing what she loves (she's Artistic & Education Director for Steppenwolf for Young Adults), etc. conspire to keep me here for the foreseeable.

Thanks to your titles at The Paper Machete and Encyclopedia Show, you occasionally wield a persona that's a tad gruff. In contrast, what's something that you get unabashedly squealy and excited about?
This will sound totally limp and cliche, but my kids blow my mind. My daughter, who's 8, collaborates with a classmate to write a weekly newspaper about events in their class. Not for an assignment. Just, I guess, to fan the embers of print journalism for the future. And she writes and illustrates books. That are awesome.

And my son, who's 10, started playing saxophone this year, and while he's obviously not Coltrane as yet - I'm hopelessly non-musical - but it kicks ass to hear him practice. And in the summers, I coach his baseball team, which is about the best goddamn way to spend a summer afternoon that I have found.

If you and I are sitting across a conference table for a staff meeting, my face is carved of stone. If you are a baby I encounter at the airport, I can easily become a rubber-faced spaz for your amusement.

And my wife does artistic work that is not merely beautiful - which it invariably is - but that has a huge impact.

And Louis CK. I would take a f*cking bullet for that guy. Some friends got together and got me tix to see him last year. Front row at the Chicago theater. Total chowder pants for yours truly.

What do you want for Christmas?
Louis CK to consent to do WRITE CLUB. Can you make that happen? Can you get his people on the horn? Because I would sh*t a cinder block if that came together. A cinder block of joy. Corn-speckled joy, but still.

Who would you have chosen for People's Sexiest Man Alive 2011? Serious answers only, please.
Not that Cooper clown, I can tell you that. I know the Gosling kid's got a lotta heat around him, but he's not seasoned enough for me. If you even try to float those vacant-eyed children from the goddamn Twilight movies, I will push you to the ground and call you a halfwit. I gotta go Clooney. I know - this choice wins zero points for novelty. But LOOK at the guy, man. He makes Jon Hamm look like a burn victim whose facial reconstruction was badly botched. Clooney is a full-on buffet of delish.

How does it feel to be the 298th person interviewed for Zulkey.com?
Good news for you, Claire: bottom of barrel reached. You may discontinue scraping.

Typically, WGN's chief meteorologist Tom Skilling addresses reader questions with his famous cheery aplomb, but thanks to our newly-acquired mind-reading powers, we learn what he's really thinking as he takes on weather-related queries.*

Dear Tom: What is Honolulu's annual precipitation? --Jimmy in Downers Grove
Hi Jimmy. I'm going to level with you: I'm not having a great day (I always get like this when the dewpoint really gets low) and I'm not really in the mood to take on questions like this that have nothing to do with Chicago. So, honestly, I don't know. Three inches? Thirty inches? Something like that. Next question.

Dear Tom: I remember a snowfall on March 31-April 1, 1975. Can you fill me in on the details? --Marie in Glenview
Like what, exactly, Marie? What you were wearing? What were the top grossing movies of the time?  This sounds like you're asking me to help you relive the past. I am a meteorologist, not some sort of repressed memory psychologist. It snowed, okay? It snowed and it was white and it was on the ground and it was cold and then it went away.

Dear Tom: Now that it's April, can I safely assume we will see no more snow until next winter? --Helen in Evanston
Helen, do you live in Chicago? Have you lived here for more than five minutes? Your only excuse for asking such a ridiculous question is that you've only just moved here and haven't thought to ask any other less-busy people about this.  The answer is no. It's going to snow for forever.

Dear Tom: Is it true that temperatures in excess of 100 degrees and fierce southerly winds preceded the 1871 Chicago Fire? --Keith in Lakeview
Keith, I'm going to give you some advice.  What you need is a girlfriend, and not an obsession with this "historical weather" nonsense. No one is impressed by this type of thing.. And I do know the answer, but I'm not going to tell you.

Dear Tom: What's Honolulu's average annual temperature? --Jimmy in Downers Grove
You again with your Honolulu. Were all the Hawaiian meteorologists busy today or something? Leave me alone.

Dear Tom: What are the odds of me going outside randomly and getting wet? --Linda in Hyde Park
Linda, the odds are 100%, because now I know where you live and I will be waiting outside with a hose.

Dear Tom: What cities in the U.S. lie close to the same latitude as Santorini, Greece? --Owen in Springfield
OK, this isn't funny anymore. Have people been giving out my email address as a joke? Do I look like the face of Wikipedia? You're not even trying to make this question about weather. Here's a question for you: are you proud of yourself for bothering a tired and irritable meteorologist with irrelevant questions? Are you?

Dear Tom: When you see the weather report and it says "partly cloudy" and then the next day it says "partly sunny"; what's the difference? --Moe in Lake Charles
I bet you think you're quite clever for asking this question, don't you? Clever little question-asker. What would you do if I told you that the difference between "partly cloudy" and "partly sunny" is actually a matter of life or death? You'd wonder if I was asking a real question, or just trying to be funny. Either way, it's not so pleasant, is it?

Dear Tom: Where were Chicago weather observation taken 75-100 years ago? --Richard in Lincolnshire
This is actually a good question, Richard, but unfortunately, all the shenanigans from the other readers have made me unwilling to answer anything else seriously today. Don't blame me: blame your friends who thought it would be so cute to write in about Honolulu and Santorini and send in trick questions.

Dear Tom: I'm getting married next weekend. Will it rain on my wedding day? --Lisa in Lincoln Square
Lisa, the more important question is: somebody's marrying you?

Dear Tom: What's your favorite weather condition?  --Julio in the Loop
Cloudy with a chance of shut the hell up.

Dear Tom: Has it ever snowed in Honolulu? --Jimmy in Downers Grove
Dear Jimmy: I'm going to punch you in the face.

Dear Tom: What is hoarfrost? --Hank in Aurora
The answer is: Your mom.

*Just to be clear, this is but a loving homage to Chicago's favorite meteorologist.

PS: The submissions of the Cleatus the FOX Sports Robot are rolling in. Don't forget to submit yours by next Monday! (You don't really have to watch football to join in.)

For several seasons now I've been intrigued by Cleatus, the FOX football robot. If you watch football, I probably don't need to explain who he is, but I will for those who don't. When the NFL on FOX gets introduced or kicks out to a commercial, an animated robot pops up on the side of the screen, typically exhibiting some football-player-ish behavior. He'd jump up and down to get pumped up or would stride in place, pointing to the audience in a "Yeah, what's up, we're all awesome!" manner. Sometimes he'd play the electric guitar (although, suspiciously, there was no strap and it wasn't plugged in.)

Originally I found Cleatus annoying. What does a robot have to do with football? And if he's a robot, why does he need to get loosened up or showboat to the crowd? Sometimes he even nurses a hangover, on New Years Day. That doesn't seem like robot-ish behavior. Who would build a robot that can drink alcohol, much less get a hangover?

But eventually I found myself fascinated by Cleatus, especially when he would dance (we all know this is the main purpose of robots.) Whenever he'd do something new, I'd call to my husband, "That FOX NFL robot is at it again!" I'd take his silence to mean he found this incredibly interesting.

Things seem a bit darker for Cleatus this season, however. He appears to have undergone a makeover and now his eyes glow menacingly as he flexes his robot muscles. I rarely see him dance or play guitar anymore.A Cleatus action figure will set you back about 20 or 30 bucks

What happened to Cleatus? Did he experience something sad in the off-season? Is the economy getting him down? Is he secretly a Decepticon? For the record, I asked Cleatus, via Twitter, what's up, and he protests that he still does the Electric Slide. Maybe I've got it all wrong. Maybe Cleatus is the same as ever and it's I who have changed. Anyway.

I was talking about this with a football-loving friend the other day and he wondered whether there is any Cleatus fan fiction. I don't think there is, but there should be. Cleatus is so fascinating yet such a mystery that I think it's time for his fans (or detractors) to start putting together some stories about him. And so once again it's time for me to ask you, the readers, to help me out.

Please send me your Cleatus fan fiction (it doesn't have to be longer than just a paragraph or two.) Some topic matter to consider is: Does Cleatus have a family? Does he have a speaking voice, and what does it sound like? Who made him, and why? Is he different this season, and if so, what caused that to happen? Who is his favorite team? Does he actually enjoy football or was he just engineered to do so? When the robot uprising inevitably occurs, will Cleatus be a benevolent or a tyrannical overlord? And how can he be destroyed?

I realize you may need to watch Cleatus in action before sending in your stories so please send them in by next Monday. The best stories will be published next week and the winner will receive a Car Talk mug (why Car Talk? Because cars are robots. And that's also the only thing apparently that's available as a prize. But you're getting NPR swag without donating! And that's beating the system.).

Shetland Sheepdog:

This is the Zulkey family dog. My parents had a Sheltie named Major for 16 years and now have a newer model named Looey. They definitely are...spirited. And vocal. But cute. They're vain, too, you can tell.

Smooth Collie:

I feel like the Smooth Collie has all the smiliness, intelligence and pep of a regular Collie but is at a major disadvantage without the long, flowing coat. I love an underdog.

Greyhound:

The Greyhound is MY dog so of course he deserves to win all the awards. They've basically got it all, as a breed: fascinating history, amazing athletic prowess, heartbreakingly sweet personality and the pity factor. If you want me to tell you more about why Greyhounds are the best, let me know.

Schipperke:

My in-laws like this breed, and since they have 11 cats, I am all about encouraging them to like an animal that is not a cat, so I am pro-Schipperke. It has an adorable name, a cute body like a little black bush, and is Belgian. Most things from Belgium are pretty great.

Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever:

Just look at that face!

Bedlington Terrier:

This is a controversial one in my house. My husband thinks this breed looks too weird. I on the other hand love how it looks like a little lamb.

Brussels Griffon:

I always like how peevish this little dog looks. He looks like a gremlin. The dogs that win Best in Show always look pleased so I'd be curious to see what a happy Brussels Griffon looks like.

Pekinese:

I'm not really into toy dogs but I love watching this one walk.

Great Pyrenees:

Just look at this dog. There's one in my neighborhood named "Aslan" which I think is an appropriate name for a Great Pyrenees: it's a leonine dog with undeniably Christlike characteristics. This dog will save us all.

Note: Pumpkin Pie picture is not 'The Ultimate Pumpkin Pie' (Flickr/Christopher Porter)Isn't it kind of silly when news outlets provide Thanksgiving tips and tricks a day or two before Thanksgiving? I don't know anybody who hosts the meal who decides mere hours before the meal what they're going to make. My mom starts weeks ahead, for instance, baking her pumpkin bread and strawberry sparkle muffins and freezing them before the big meal.

That's why it's this week and not next week that I'll share with you her recipe for "The Ultimate Pumpkin Pie" (via a 1993 Bon Appétit.) Before this recipe came along, I could take or leave pumpkin pie. Pumpkin often tastes like old people food to me (and you know exactly what I'm talking about.) I think it's the bit of apricot preserves that makes this recipe come alive, and the beautiful crust doesn't hurt either.

My cousin Regina, who is the ultimate Thanksgiving fan in my family, is absolutely rabid for this pie. Each year my mom makes Regina her own pie to take home just because her one-woman fan club for this pie is so vocal. My mom doesn't do this for everyone, you know. Not even her own daughter. Ahem. So if you want to check out the recipe that's driven one young woman so insane that the chef bakes her her own pie just to keep her satisfied, read on:

The Ultimate Pumpkin Pie

yield: Serves 8

(a note from my mom: "You might want to warn your readers:  it calls for a 16 oz. can of pumpkin but lately I've found that a can of pumpkin weighs just 14 oz.")

Ingredients:

Crust

• 1 1/4 cups all purpose flour
• 1/2 cup powdered sugar
• 1/2 cup (1 stick) chilled butter, cut into pieces
• 3 tablespoons whipping cream

Filling

• 3/4 cup sugar
• 1 tablespoon packed golden brown sugar
• 1 tablespoon cornstarch
• 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
• 3/4 teaspoon ground ginger
• 1/4 teaspoon (generous) salt
• 1 16-ounce can solid pack pumpkin
• 3/4 cup whipping cream
• 1/2 cup sour cream
• 3 large eggs, beaten to blend

• 1/4 cup apricot preserves

Below is a little something I wrote for The Hairpin, just because this particular website has been making my life so much better and I had to share it with the world. Maybe it'll help you out as well.

If there are at least two things having a group of girlfriends is good for, it's fun get-togethers and having a full inbox. Because one cannot happen without the other.

You know the drill. It's someone's birthday, or the gang hasn't gotten together in a while, and thus it's time to pick a date on the calendar for everyone to go out and drink some wine and crush some guacamole and catch up and talk some shit while the guys sit at home wondering why they never go out and have fun like this with their friends (it's because they're not organized the way we are). But then the emails start:

LADY A: "Hey girls! It's time for us to get together and I thought I'd throw some dates out there. I'm free on the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 28th and 29th!"

LADY B: "Hi there! Fun! Of those dates I'm available on the 3rd and 28th!"

LADY C: "I can do the 2nd!"

LADY B: " I can do the 2nd, but only in the morning!"

LADY D: "Argh! None of those dates work for me! But you guys go ahead and have fun without me. I'll join next time."

LADY E: "I'm free on the 27th!"

LADY C: "Noo, we can't get together without you, D!"

LADY A: "Well, crap. Should we try for 2012 then?"

LADY B: "I can't in 2012!"

After much wrangling and clarifying, eventually something works out and it's a lot of fun until it all starts up again and then you remember the upside to staying home and reading magazines.

This is why I would like to endorse Doodle, a service that's valuable when herding up a bunch of people to meet at one place and time. It's not complicated: Lady A enters the dates when she's available and sends out the email with the unique link to the poll. All the other ladies go in and check off the dates that they're available, and the best-looking date wins. It's sort of like a one-time-use Google calendar.

I should say that I'm not receiving any compensation by recommending Doodle, I'm just excited by how much it's improved my social life. Since I've started using it, I've noticed a decrease in inbox volume and shorter turnaround time between the concept of getting together and actually pulling the trigger on the date (as well as hypothetical annoyance, but I'm never annoyed by my girlfriends. Never!).

See you at dinner! First pitcher of sangria's on me. Please don't talk about me when I go to the bathroom.

My brother Jack, some girls, MJ and me, circa 1990

Charles Barkley

Getting into the Bulls when they start looking good for the postseason and only then

Hating the Heat and the Lakers

The Luv-A-Bulls

Having a sport to watch when hockey and football are over

Having a reason to hear "Whoomp! (There It Is)"

Thinking about the '90's in general

Charles Barkley again

The following is a story I published recently on the Hairpin. I hope you don't lose too much respect for me after reading it.

I spent my junior year of college studying in Italy in a program that encouraged us to travel as much as possible, so after a field trip to Naples, many of us made plans one weekend to tour southern Italy.  After seeing the ruined city of Pompeii, three friends and I checked into a hotel in Sorrento.  We were excited because our room, which had two sets of bunkbeds, had a miniature patio attached to it. My friend Chris and I posed for photos on said patio before we headed out to carouse with our other friends.

I wasn't feeling well that night so we stopped in a Farmacia to find some cold medicine. My Italian wasn't strong enough to discern whether my meds were the type one could drink on, but Chris, who I should mention was kind of an a-hole, told me not to be a pussy and go ahead.

So, we drank several bottles of wine at dinner, and then we drank more afterwards at a bar with some friends.  In fact, we all got pissed. I remember sweet little Iona, who hailed from New Jersey, going berserk when we met an Italian guy who asked us the following joke:

"What's the difference between trash and a Jersey Girl?"

"Trash gets taken out once a week."

It was on the way back from the bar that I realized something was wrong.  I very quickly went from feeling buzzed to feeling very, very intoxicated.  However, I was with a bunch of people who were also very, very intoxicated so nobody seemed to notice or care. There was a party in our room, everyone screaming and yelling, which was fine, until I suddenly realized I either had to go to bed or throw up and everyone had to leave. Immediately.

We tossed everyone out of the room which we needed to do anyway since we had to catch the hydrofoil to Capri early the next day.  We all headed to bed, me putting on the hospital scrubs I used for pajamas and climbing up to the top bunk.

I tried to sleep for a while when suddenly it became apparent: I was going to throw up. It was imminent. It was just a matter of when. The problem was that Chris, the a-hole, thought it would be funny to remove the ladder from the top bunk of the bed. I'd have to yell to him to wake up (hence waking up Iona  and our other roommate Emily in the process) or jump down.  However, there was no way I could hold my barf, jump down, and then make it to the toilet.

For some reason I decided to be polite at this moment in time: I held my shirt away from my body and vomited into it.  ThenI jumped down.  Everyone was still passed out, so my plan of being unnecessarily polite was working.

There was no way I was going to travel with a set of pukey pajamas, so I threw the soiled scrubs onto the patio we had earlier enjoyed so much.  I wasn't so clean myself, so I washed away my shame in the shower.  Afterwards, I was spent and dehydrated, so I re-got ready for bed, gratefully gulping down some glasses of water that were on the sink.

Finally, I fell asleep.

The next morning we needed to hustle to catch the hydrofoil but I wasn't feeling bright and alert, so I stalled as long as I could before leaving bed. Iona and Emily packed, and somewhere in the haze I heard Emily complaining about how she couldn't find something, but my brain was a black hole and I couldn't focus.

"Y'all, I can't find mah contact linses," Emily, who hailed from Mississippi, said again.  None of us really paid attention.

"I had 'em right here on the sink," she said.  Then she told some story about how she couldn't find her contact lenses case the night before, so had stored her contacts in two drinking glasses.

Suddenly it occurred to me. But I didn't want it to be true.  I liked Emily a lot. She had never done anything wrong to me. She was no Chris. And as a nearly-blind person myself, I knew how lost one could be without their lenses.

I scrunched down in the covers. "Emily?" I said. "I have to tell you something. This will be funny in several years, I promise."  I told her the story of the night before.

"You drank my contact linses," she said, a statement more than a question. I don't think she was even that angry, just amazed.

"How did you drink saline solution and think it was water?" asked Iona, and I had to explain that when you're so sick that vomiting inside your own pajamas seems like a good idea, anything is possible.

Here's a little something I published recently on McSweeney's Internet Tendency:

Maureen Searcy is a friend I made back at Northwestern's Masters in Creative Writing program. One of the reasons I like her is her gleeful and comprehensive knowledge of the horror genre. I asked her to share her love with you today, the most horrific of days. You can read more of her at her blog LOLHorror!

Do you really want to know why I love horror movies, or do you just want me to make the list? People always want the list, and I get the request all throughout the year, but especially around Halloween. You want the cheat-sheet.  You want to know how to get the best scare without putting the work in, without having to watch the boring, cliché, laughable, stupid, and on occasion indefensible* movies that come out. Well, lucky for you I'm a completist and also perpetually single and lonely.

But because I do love lists and long clauses separated by semi-colons, I'll give a quick run-down on what I personally get from horror movies: simple adrenaline rush; escapism; social mores; controllable fear to help quash the anxiety I feel every day; psychological self-testing in hypothetical situations; a stand-in for religion and the desire for there to be an after-life; camaraderie with fellow horror fans**; extremism; a way to feel viscerally alive; a way to fight gender stereotyping through female horror fandom; costume ideas; the darkness.

Disclaimer: When I was very young--let's say 6-10 years old--my parents would rent movies for my sister and me to watch while they went to night school. Anna wanted to watch The Breakfast Club, but they refused because it was rated R. I, on the other hand, gathered handfuls of horror movies that were rated UR.  My parents assumed "unrated" meant so innocuous they didn't even need a warning. These were the most depraved, gory, violent, sinister, sexualized, brutal movies lining the shelves. A few years ago, I decided to try and track down one of the movies from which my most vivid (though flawed) memory came: a man in a trench coat slaughtering a woman in a 70s era Cadillac, her cherry-red blood spewing down a yellow dress. My best guess was Lucio Fulci's The New York Ripper, and a few minutes into the film, and certainly after hearing the killer's duck-voice, I knew without question I had seen it when I was a kid.  I can't even link the trailer here because it is so NSFW. I tell you this not to indicate in any way that those movies scarred my psyche, but to explain that from a young age I learned to distinguish shocking from scary.

So without any further ado, some of the movies and/or scenes, in no particular order, that make me leave lights on, check the closets, and watch at least 30 minutes or 4 musical performances from Glee before hitting the sack:

1. The Orphanage (El Orfanato) 2007

The Orphanageis beautiful, creepy, and scary, but what sets it apart from most horror movies is that it's genuinely sad.  Like, someone's chopping onions and burning ragweed in here sad. Character development in horror is rare and magical, and it makes the fear even sharper. Also, burlap mask.  It's never good for a child's self-esteem.

2. The Others 2001

I almost never have nightmares, but I love when I do. It's like actually being inside a horror movie.  The Others gave me nightmares. It, too, was very sad.  Now that I'm making this list, I see a pattern; there's at least one more heartbreaking film.  Apparently I like to cry while I cringe. The premise of this film, which I won't spoil, is revealed at the end and will likely make you feel sick to your stomach because it's a little too real for our modern lives, despite being a period piece. Also, marionette.

3. Lake Mungo 2008

Last sad one on the list.  Might as well get them out of the way. This Australian horror mockumentary was released in the US as part of the After Dark Horrorfest, 8 Films to Die For, which I highly recommend because each year, I've found at least one amazing film worth watching multiple times. This one feels like a real documentary and will keep you wondering how it all turns out.

4. Pet Sematary 1989

Most Stephen King adaptations are awful.  The Langoliers, anyone? But Pet Sematary will always freak me out, no matter how many times I've watched it, in broad daylight, with tons of people in the room. This scene in particular is the worst, even worse than Gage slicing through Herman Munster's mouth, because you can't really see where Zelda is until she turns her pasty face away from the wall and runs towards the camera.  I also get a Hoarders vibe from the room.

5. R-Point 2004

How do you make a war movie more horrific?  Add ghosts.  Or how do you make a ghost story scarier?  Add war.  "You got your peanut butter in my chocolate!"

6. Audition 1999 (graphic clip)

Most horror fans have at least heard of if not seen work by Takashi Miike. He has made a name for himself by making the most disgusting and offensive films out there, including the infamously banned Masters of Horror episode "Imprint." This film is not one of my favorites, but this scene, where the female protagonist "feeds" her prisoner, is one of the most nauseating few minutes I've ever watched.  Just finding this clip made me queasy.

7. Gravedancers 2006

Another film from After Dark.  This one gets a mention for having big scares amongst terrible acting, unbelievable characters, and a ridiculous premise. Bear through the first embarrassing 20 minutes to get to the good stuff.

8. Martyrs 2008

The French are on a tear to make the most jaw-dropping horror movies in theaters today.  I also recommend Inside (À l'intérieur) and Them (Ils). Martyrs is a grab bag of horror styles, but they seem to work synergistically. Some might tell you this is torture-porn, but that section is so short that it doesn't define the movie. Overall, it doesn't make much sense, but that doesn't really matter here.  It's an experience--not a story.

9. The Descent 2005

I literally held my breath through much of this claustrophobic spelunking horror film. When this came out, it had been a while since a good, scary monster movie had been released, and I told everyone who would listen about this. The sequel holds up pretty well, too.

10. The X-Files, "Home" 1996

Most people just call this the "inbreeding" episode.  After it aired, it had such a negative response that it rarely re-aired, and then only after 8pm. This, of course, guaranteed its cult status. It also guaranteed that the Johnny Mathis song "Wonderful! Wonderful!" will always raise the hair on the back of my neck.

*E.g., A Serbian Film--the only movie I knowingly refuse to watch.

**This list was discussed with and vetted by my sister in horror-arms, Autumn H.

HER:
I can't tell, is this demeaning or not? On the one hand, this is actually a tasteful outfit. I'm covered up, I'm warm, and nobody can tell that I'm four months pregnant. On the other hand, I am basically embodying a human-sized vagina. Then again, this whole conceit is rather clever, since plugs are referred to as male and female. Once I get home and smoke some PCP, I won't have to worry about this anymore.

HIM:
I can't believe Ernest Borgnine is my father and this is the best work I could get in the entertainment industry.

HER:
Hey, this costume is pretty fun! I have a cute bow in my hair! I have nothing to not-smile about! Oh, wait, nevermind.

HIM AND HER:

If we had known we would have been modeling the Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum costumes, we would have gone for the pancakes at breakfast this morning the way we really wanted to. Way to waste our hotness, costume company.

HIM: When are the people in charge going to put me in my costume? And my big stupid full-sized brother, does he get a costume as well?

HIM: It's not the fact that my parents thought it would be funny to dress me as one of the world's worst dictators that's giving me emotional trauma: it's that my tiny brain is working so hard to think of a way to get back at them when I'm old enough that's giving me blinding headaches. Either way, this "ironic" costume will turn out to be not-so-ironic one day, believe you me. Yum this juice is good.

HIM: I'm going to pee in your shoe! You may trust me because I look cute, but you shouldn't, because I'm just a stupid cat! Meow meow meow!

My lovely colleagues at WBEZ were kind enough to tape last week's Funny Ha-Ha for me, and so today I present to you one of the highlights from the show. Shame That Tune's Abraham Levitan closed the show by taking an audience suggestion for a historical operetta, so he ended up writing a three-part musical about a frisky grandma active in the labor movement sometime in the 1920's. It was very educational. Enjoy.

Usually I put up interviews on Fridays but I'll be honest with you: the availability of interview subjects is directly related to the economy, so I'm doing my best to scrape some together. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this song/commercial/short movie by songwriter Wakiza Gamez and local filmmaker Steve Delahoyde (who I may or may not be married to. We'll see how things go. He plays the bongo player/Death.) It's an homage to the planet's favorite dairy/pasta dish, set to a tune from an old television promo. Enjoy, and sing along if you like:

Why can't I sleep?
Why am I so nervous?
Why can't I turn off my mind?

Should I take pills?
Should I drink bourbon?
Should I count sheep in the sky?

Oh I've got to get rest and be at my best
Presentation tomorrow at three
But my cat has been ill and some milk has been spilled
And my pictures are talking to me

And what should I do with these knives
That are following me?

Kraft Mac and Cheese
It's clearly the answer
The solution and savior for all

It comes in a box
It sedates the nerves
It squelches my hunger to maul

I can throw it in space rub it all on my face
I can make it write books for me
I can eat it in bed it can talk to the dead
And it makes an outstanding chablis

And oh by the way did you know
That it controls the time?
Divine!

Kraft Mac and Cheese
Kraft Mac and Cheese
Kraft Mac and Cheese in the sky!

Kraft Mac and Cheese
Kraft Mac and Cheese
Kraft Mac and Cheese from on high!

Kraft Mac and Cheese!

I hope you come to the Hideout tonight for the latest installment of the literary humor reading series Funny Ha-Ha, this time featuring hosts of other reading series! It's basically an All-Star game of readings.

Date: Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Time: 7-8:30 PM
Place: The Hideout
1354 W Wabansia Ave
Chicago, IL 60622
(773) 227-4433 Featuring Readings and Performances By:

"The Interview Show" host and WBEZ blogger Mark Bazer

"The Kates" host Kelsie Huff

"Paper Machete" host Christopher Piatt

"Reading Under the Influence" host Amy Guth

"So You Think You Have Nerves of Steel?" host Jacob Knabb

"Shame That Tune" host Abraham Levitan

Hosted by Claire Zulkey

$5 suggested donation

Proceeds benefit the Neighborhood Writing Alliance

Look what Amy Dickinson read at last month's Funny Ha-Ha:

Megan Stielstra is a writer, storyteller, and literary director for 2nd Story, Chicago's urban storytelling series. She's performed for the Goodman Theatre, the Chicago Poetry Center, and National Public Radio. Her writing has been performed by the Serendipity Theatre Collective, Theatre Seven of Chicago, and Bohemian Archeology in New York. She teaches in the Fiction Writing Department at Columbia College and is a lecturer in creative writing at the University of Chicago. Her first book, Everyone Remain Calm, just came out last week. You can buy it here and learn much more about Megan here.

Megan Stielstra at Grayscale Studios (Photo by Julie Sadowski)

"Thirty is the new Twenty," Bridget told me on my Thirtieth birthday. We were having brunch at one of those very hip places, with honeydew mimosas and servers who are really fashion models. Makes you wonder, how do they not spill honeydew mimosas all over their expensive designer clothes? Why do they wear expensive designer clothes to serve breakfast? Why do people wear expensive designer clothes to eat breakfast? Even Bridget had on an electric pink Juicy jumpsuit. And a spray tan. Which made her look orange. Pink and orange. Which is maybe the new black, like Thirty being the new Twenty. Bridget turned Thirty a couple months ago since then she's developed a few--how should I say this?--quirks. The spray tanning, for one. A particular fondness of the word asshat (as in, "Of course we're having brunch on your birthday, Diane, don't be an asshat!"). The Valley Girl accent is another. She sounds like Julie in the movie Valley Girl: Encino is, like so bitchin'! Twenty is, like, the new Thirty! which apparently Bridget found comforting, but not me. I was in no hurry to replay my Twenties: the indecision. The self-loathing. The dating.

On my last date, the guy talked about camping in Wisconsin, and I made a list on my napkin.

How This Guy and the Last Five Guys I've Gone Out With Are Exactly the Same:

1) They camp in Wisconsin;

2) They listen to the Foo Fighters;

3) They drink imported beer;

4) They have complex relationships with their mothers;

5) They have responsible corporate jobs;

6) I had sex with all of them (about which I could write a whole other sub-list titled: How This Guy and the Last Five Guys I've Had Sex With Have Sex in Exactly the Same Way).

"Happy birthday!" Bridget said. She ordered two more mimosas from Kate Moss and handed me a card. On the front were tiny pictures of different men, each about an inch wide so several could fit onto the paper. Over them was printed: For your birthday, I wanted to get you thirty hot guys! I opened the card and read: So I DID! and beneath it, in smaller writing: Fastdater, Incorporated.

Bridget was smiling, waiting for me to rush over and hug her. In our Twenties, she and I hadn't been the hugging kind of friends, but now we were in our Thirties, which were the new Twenties, and I was supposed to hug and wear shimmery lip gloss and know what Fastdater Incorporated was.

"So I got the idea 'cause I was dating Lance who was a total asshat and this girl I work with Stephanie said, Come with me speed dating! and I went and was like, Wow, and I know how shitty it is to turn Thirty and be alone but this is so much fun!" and then she jumped up, ran over, and hugged me. She smelled like the entire Marshall Fields counter, and I wondered how a number--a three and a zero--could turn my seemingly normal friend into this orange huggy thing. Would it happen to me? Come midnight, would I also turn into a pumpkin?

"Bridget," I said into her hair. "What exactly is speed-dating?"

*

"This is how it works," said Tina. She was addressing the sixty Fastdater customers crowded into Leopard Lounge, a dark, smoky bar with--surprise!--leopard-spotted upholstery. The candle-lit tables had been lined up in rows around the room, each with two chairs and a number, one through thirty. "Everyone has a badge," said Tina. Hers said Hi my name is Tina. Mine said #12. "You'll meet your first date at the table that corresponds with your number, and you'll have three minutes until I ring this bell." She demonstrated: ping ping. "Then, women stay seated and guys move one table over, again and again 'til everybody's met everybody. Everybody ready?"

Initially, I wasn't going to do it. But since my birthday, everything had sucked. Not because something had happened; because nothing had happened.

How Every Day Since I Turned Thirty Has Been Exactly the Same:

1) Traffic sucks;

2) Edit copy;

3) Corner Bakery/chopped salad;

4) Edit more copy;

5) LeanCuisine/America's Next Top Model;

6) Can't sleep/Sominex, an over-the-counter sleeping pill which knocks you out, but keeps you in this perpetual half-sleep stage. You move slowly. Colors are dull. In conversation, the other person says murp murp mrrrruuuup.

I needed something to wake me up, a bowl of ice water in my face. So far, Fastdating was doing the trick: the Technicolor leopard print. The vodka tonics. The overwhelming possibility.

I sat at table #12 across from a good-looking guy in his mid-Thirties; expensive suit, bourbon on ice. Nice, I thought. He's got all his hair.

ping ping

"Bruce/divorced/tax attorney/scuba," he said, all one word. "What's your lead?"

"My what?"

"Lead, lead, you've got to have a lead-in question, like What's your favorite book, What music do you listen to, Do you like sushi, whatever, something to jumpstart conversation or else you're going to waste our whole three minutes."

"How many times have you done this?" I asked.

"Look, we've pissed away a full minute already. You got a lead yet?"

"Uhm--"

"Let's go!"

"Uhm... What's your favorite book?"

He groaned, like I'd asked the stupidest thing in the entire universe, and then talked nonstop about The Seven Effective Habits of Whoever until the bell rang. On the table in front of us were pencils and paper. He grabbed them and started writing.

"What are you doing?" I asked

He groaned again. "You write what you think of the date next to their number. When tonight is over, you enter the numbers you like on Fastdater's website, and if we both entered each other, then we go out for real."

"Oh," I said, taking paper and pencil. Next to #12 I wrote: Asshat.

ping ping

#11--Tall, Stubble, Polo shirt--sat down across from me and extended his hand. "Eddie," he said. "I'm a copywriter."

"Me too!" I said. We shook.

"What music do you listen to?" he asked. "I like the Foo Fighters."

Next to #11, I wrote: He likes the Foo Fighters.

ping ping

"Hi," said #10. "I'm James. What music do you listen to?"

#10, I wrote: Also Foo Fighters.

ping

#9: Foo Fighters.

#8: Foo Fighters.

#7, 6, 5--

ping ping

"Isn't this weird?" said #4. "Meeting people like this?"

"I know!" I said.

"My brothers got me a certificate," he said. "They thought I needed to get out more."

"My friend bought one for me!" I said. This was looking up. I checked him out: older, past Forty maybe; in good shape, like he had a personal trainer. "It was a birthday present," I told him.

"Yeah?" he said. "Which birthday?"

"The big one," I said. "Thirty."

"Oh," he said. "I don't date women over twenty-five. Too much commitment."

#4, I wrote. Asshat.

ping ping

"My favorite book?" said #3. "The Harry Potters. I think she's developing a global community and--"

ping

"A Million Little Pieces. I'm an addict myself and--"

ping

"My favorite book? Why, the Bible of cour--"        

ping ping ping

"Nice to meet you," said #30. He was very thin, in a suit and fuzzy winter hat. We talked for a while and it was good. I could see this guy again! I thought, and he said, "I should tell you I have cancer."

Oh.

"I was diagnosed a couple months ago."

Ohhhhhh.

"I have a hard time talking about it, so I do speed dating to practice. You can say anything to a stranger, you know."

PING

At that point, I was done. This was ridiculous, it was bullshit, me and my Sominex are outta here! I thought, standing up to leave at the same time #29 sat down.

ping ping

This guy was--first--black--and second--big, wearing a two-sizes too-big baseball jersey and a backwards baseball cap. He had a thin stubble moustache over his upper lip, and around his neck were four or five thick chains with different things dangling from them. He was like no one I'd ever seen in person--this guy was a music video or an album cover--a total one-eighty from every guy who'd sat across a table from me.

"Wassup," he said. His voice was deep and scratched. "I'm Tone."

"Hi, Tony," I said, sitting back down. "It's really dark in here, why are you wearing sunglasses?"

This guy leaned forward across the table and beckoned me closer. He spoke low, like he was telling a secret. "I don't want to be recognized," he said.

"Are you hiding out?" I asked, thinking The feds?

"No, baby! I got fans, you know, and I don't want to be bothered with all that right now."

"Okay then," I said. "What's your favorite bo--"

"Okay," he interrupted. "You really want to know who I am?"

I nodded, and he reached up and lowered his sunglasses so I could see his eyes. We stared at each other for a minute--me searching my memory, searching, searching, nothing--and he put the glasses back. "See?" he said.

I shook my head.

"Okay, okay, listen," he said, and he picked up a pencil and held it like a microphone: "And we go a little something like this, hit it!"

He sat back, giving me this look like Uh-huh! but I still didn't know.

"Were you living in a barn in '89? Didn't have a radio in the house?"

"I was fourteen in '89," I told him. "I listened to Debbie Gibson."

He slumped back in his seat. Through the candlelight and the vodka, I thought he looked sad. I thought I could make him feel better. "Sing a little more!" I said.

"Naw," he said. "I can't."

"Please!"

"Naw."

"Come on!" I said, and before I could even get the words out, this guy whipped a boom box out from underneath the table and pressed play.

As the bass and drums got going, he stepped first onto his chair and then the table. I was eye-level with his knees, his baggy denim and hiking boots stepping side-to-side with the music.

"Hey," I yelled up at him. "Is that a cowbell?"

He looked down and grinned as a spotlight appeared out of nowhere and locked on him.

All around us, the Fastdaters stared. Some were embarrassed and looked at the floor. Some tried to continue their dates as through nothing was happening. Some scowled and others laughed, it was all so completely ridiculous: Tone on the table; the three minute dates; this relentless, sometimes desperate search for love. Still, we were all here. We'd always be here, because--if we're really being honest--is there anything more important?

That's when #30 stood up. Remember #30? The fuzzy hat? The cancer in his bones? He was just one table over so I had an excellent view: he moved his body, slowly, side-to-side. He lifted his arms, swirling them in front of him like treading water.

Dancing. He was dancing.

"What's he singing?" asked the girl next to me at table #11.

"Funky Comedina," said her date.

"What's a comedina?" I asked.

"A medina is the oldest part of a North African city," #11 said, and, in answer to my look: "I'm a geography teacher. But I don't know what a comedina is, maybe a--"

"Cold Medina," said her date. "Funky Cold Medina."

"Coming up," said the bartender.

"Excuse me," said the girl on my other side; #13. "I take issue with this song. He--" she gestured at Tone, dancing on the table-- "is advocating the use of GHB, also known as the date rape drug. He slips this--" she put up her fingers in air quotes-- "'medina' into women's drinks in order to--" again with the air quotes-- "'get them on their back.'"

For some reason, I felt the need to defend him. "The only ones drinking medina in the song are dogs and a lady named Sheena."

The bartender set shot glasses down on our table. "What's in them?" asked the guy at 11.

"Vodka, Southern Comfort, Blue Curacao and Cran," said the bartender.

"Here," I said to the girl at 13. "Have a shot. Loosen up." And then I did the shot.

And then I did another. And another, and everything became surprisingly clear.

"Everybody!" I called out, "Have a drink! Medinas all around!"

That was the beginning. By the end, we were all up and dancing: the Asshats and the Foo Fighters, all the girls in lingerie tops and expensive jeans, one of us looking so much like the other.

I know three people who have never gone camping in their entire lives, so this is for them. Maybe you've never been camping before either, in which case this is for you, in case you wanted to know what's up with it.

When my husband and I were dating, he always talked about the two of us going camping together, which was a possibility I blew off with vague affirmations. "Oh yeah, sure, sometime..." It wasn't that I was opposed to camping, but based on my experiences, it was a major hassle. Aside from a few overnights we'd take while I was in summer camp, I went on one serious camping trip in my youth, through the McGaw YMCA.  I was about 16 or so, and our group drove up to Canada, put in at the Wenebegon River, and camped for two weeks. The trip was lots of fun and I have some wonderful memories from it (like making pancakes one morning with wild blueberries on a tinyisland we stayed on) but I'll also never forget how onerous it could be at times.  Pooping in a hole in the ground and using leaves as toilet paper wasn't even that bad, for instance--having to canoe from said blueberry island in order to take a poop on another island because the island we were staying on was too small to safely poop on (and falling out of the canoe on the way back) was an entirely different thing. Decontaminating water for giardia, unpacking and repacking the canoes each time we had to portage across a spot we couldn't paddle: these were all parts of camping I wasn't terribly anxious to revisit.

"Oh no, it's not like that," Steve said, when I confessed my worries, and I didn't quite believe him until he actually took me up to Governor Dodge State Park the summer before we got married.  He comes from a camping family, but the type where his parents owned a pop-up trailer, so they actually technically slept indoors when they camped, and had a stove, and used a shower.

At Governor Dodge State Park, I was happy to realize that there actually are toilets and showers (although the showers aren't really my favorite part. They're a level of public showering that's probably one or two steps more public than at your average mid-priced gym). No hole-digging required. Heading to and from the bathrooms is kind of pleasant because, like hiking, it's one of those activities where human beings say hello to each other, as opposed to avoiding each others' gaze (make sure you bring a flashlight, or even better yet, a hands-free one, if you need to make nighttime bathroom runs.)

If you just go up for one weekend, which we do, it's kind of like you're playing house outside. Our first time up, we didn't have a tent, so we actually slept in the back of our car. Since then we've purchased an air mattress, which I make up like a bed, so we're not even really doing the sleeping bag routine: it's like sleeping on a regular bed, only much closer to the outside (as for wildlife, it's nothing worth being nervous about. I see chipmunks, one time on a hike I startled a snake, and we heard some coyotes howling last weekend although they weren't nearby and I don't believe coyotes are interested in entering human territory.)

(WBEZ/Claire Zulkey)

There is always the old fear of "What if I get murdered in my sleep?" but I soothe myself by thinking that a.) You need to check in and pay in order to camp at the Park, which I like to think provides some level of security b.) Dodgeville Wisc. is a small town out in the country, but it's not scary rural. It's not Scream middle-of-nowhere.  In fact, before this year we didn't know exactly the best way to make coffee while camping, so Steve would just drive off and get some for us from the gas station. c.) You can get murdered anywhere, anytime, just about.

Speaking of not being in the middle of nowhere, there is a Wal-Mart near the campsite. Say what you want about Wal-Mart, but I love this particular Wal-Mart. I get excited when I enter it just because I get very titillated when I'm near any shopping center where the possibilities are endless. I love how at WalMart you can get good produce, a huge hunk of Muenster cheese, something called Snoballimus, camping equipment, DVDs, a child's bicycle, shoes, a rifle. So when we camp, we bring up some odds and ends from home, usually foods that we need to use anyway, but we always stop at the WalMart and load up our cooler with basics (cereal, milk) and ingredients for at least one al fresco feast. This year we did Polish sausage and corn and peppers on the fire, along with baked cinnamon apples. I find I like the routine of making s'mores more comforting than s'mores themselves, and in the end you just feel sick and then have all this chocolate and graham crackers and marshmallows that you have to figure out what to do with.

(WBEZ/Claire Zulkey)(WBEZ/Claire Zulkey)What do we do when we camp other than sleep and eat? Well, we drink beer (New Glarus, to be specific). But also, we walk (you could say "hike" but I think "hike" has unpleasant connotations, so let's just say walk). We take photos. We swim, if the beach is open. And we read a lot.

(WBEZ/Claire Zulkey)

(WBEZ/Claire Zulkey)

(WBEZ/Claire Zulkey)

(WBEZ/Claire Zulkey)Also, we talk. This weekend I remembered how little time my husband and I spend together that's not compromised in some way by company or computers or the TV. I think it's good for the ol' eyeballs to relax for a few days without looking at a screen or computer, but off in the distance at some trees or at the fire (the fire kind of becomes the de facto TV when you're camping. It's strangely hypnotic and we both obsess over it, whether it has enough fuel or air.  I kinda love coming home and having my clothes and hair smell like campfire.) Also, ladies, I think it's good to go a few days without wearing any makeup.

I know we're not hardcore campers, obviously. We probably play at camping more than anything else, but I like to think of camping as our corporate retreat, only with way fewer dumb team-building exercises. Also, on the way up, we stop at Ian's Pizza in Madison. There they have macaroni-and-cheese pizza, which is a good way to get me to do anything.

What you are about to read may shock and surprise you. It's not meant for people who believe everything the "lamestream" media tells them, so please close this window unless you have an open mind.

I've never been a conspiracy theorist, although I've always been fascinated by people who don't go with the flow when it comes to major events: the moon landing, the Holocaust, 9/11 and so on. I wouldn't go so far as to say I admire those who believe that the majority of the world has been living a giant lie, but there is something intriguing about conspiracy theorists' passion and the way they string together their bits of proof to form a cogent-seeming argument.

Well, I'm excited to announce that I have finally found a conspiracy that I can get behind, and it's this:

Beyoncé Knowles is not really pregnant.

I had heard some rumors that there was something fishy going on when Beyoncé announced her pregnancy at the VMA's a few weeks back: there were grumblings that it seemed odd that she had such a large baby bump (obligatory 'ugh' at that term) for being relatively early in her pregnancy. But I didn't pay much attention. I've never been pregnant, and who knows with baby bumps. They're mysterious: perhaps maybe they grow and shrink or look different depending on what you wear.

But now the scales have fallen from my eyes. I am convinced that the bump is fake, thanks to this video, which seems to show Beyoncé's baby bump folding in and collapsing on itself as she sits down for an interview (and some people claim that the singer displays a panicked expression on her face as she sits down, as if she knows her entire life is a lie and it was just displayed on TV):

I am ready to get on-board with this conspiracy. I'm pretty sure that this "Occupy Wall Street" stuff has just been a smokescreen thrown up to distract us from the fake baby bump (because does anybody really know what those protesters are after? I don't.) Why are we not talking about this? Why is it not scrolling news along the bottom of CNN? Because we're afraid of the truth.

There are some theories as to why Beyoncé would fake a baby bump or pregnancy, a popular one being that she's not actually pregnant, but has a baby incubating in a surrogate (further Beyoncé-hating theories speculate that she's doing this because she's too selfish and vain to put her body through pregnancy, as we all know any woman who isn't quick to embrace all the swelling, weight gain, fatigue and discomfort of pregnancy is a terrible person). Beyoncé doesn't  want to admit that she's using a surrogate, and so is faking her pregnancy until the surrogate delivers the baby.

Beyoncé has of course refuted these ridiculous claims, but some say, if those claims are so ridiculous, why address them in the first place? "Doth protest too much", meet "lady."

There are others who claim that Beyoncé was photographed recently displaying a nude baby bump while she was at the beach recently, and that can't be faked, but this is where my own expertise comes in. Feed me a big dinner and I can show you a stomach that looks at least seven months pregnant, if not ten or eleven. Plus, anybody who watches Arrested Development knows that realistic false baby bumps do exist.

So, yes, based on the folding in of the belly and the fact that I think the bikini photos could be faked, I'm going to go with this conspiracy. Why? Because this conspiracy is fun. If it turned out to be true, how crazy would that be? Those of us who believe in it would all look like geniuses. And if it's not true, isn't it so much better to think it is than to contemplate what's going on in Greece, or how the Bears are doing, or that the days are getting shorter and shorter? This is so much more fun to think about than real life! It's my new religion, basically is what I'm saying.

As for my own theory, I think that Beyonce is wearing the fake belly in order to keep snacks in there at the ready. It's as good a reason as any.

I want to believe.

Halloween Candies I Used to Hate But Now Like (or Tolerate):
Peanut M&Ms
Mounds
Almond Joy
Almond Hershey's

Halloween Candies I Used to Like But Now Realize are Useless:
Peanut Toffee in Black and Orange Wrappers

Halloween Candies I Still Don't Like:
Skittles
Candy Corn

Halloween Candies That Always Get Eaten Last:
Tootsie Rolls

Halloween Candies That I Suspect Don't Exist Outside the Context of Halloween:
Krackel
Mr. Goodbar

I'm not just saying this because I'm reading, but I highly encourage you to check out Witty Women at the Book Cellar (my favorite bookstore in Chicago) tonight. You'll be entertained by wonderful local writers Jen Lancaster, Stacey Ballis, Amy Guth, Wendy McClure (and yours truly as well.) If you haven't been, the Book Cellar is a great place to catch a reading for the following reasons: a.) It's cozy and fun b.) They serve booze c.) They serve food d.) It's in adorable Lincoln Square, where you can find plenty of other cozy fun places that serve booze and food after the reading. This show fills up so get there early for a seat!

Frank Lesser is an Emmy-winning writer for The Colbert Report who lives in New York. He studied fiction and film at Brown University and edited the school's humor magazine. While growing up in Columbus, Ohio, he was tormented by the monster under his bed, a situation that only got worse in high school when the monster stole his girlfriend. His new book, Sad Monsters, brings to life humorous stories about the undead ... and the unloved. Here is an excerpt.

Succubus in search of physical relationship--
No strings attached--(Lower East Side)
Saw you sleeping last weekend when I was drawn to your
bedchamber by your darkest desires. But the timing wasn't
right--I had just gotten out of another nocturnal visitation.
Please write me back. I'm desperate to enter your room
while you slumber, have my way with you, and spawn
human-demon hybrids with your seed. And then maybe
spoon?

I want you inside me--(Williamsburg)
Sorry I called that exorcist. I don't know--I think I just
freaked out because things were moving so fast. Specifically,
my head around my body. Willing to give it another shot, if
you're not already seeing the insides of someone else.

Basement of the Metropolitan museum--
(Upper East Side)
You: Rugged archaeologist, with Indiana Jones-meets naughty-
priest vibe. Me: Introverted demon of unspeakable
evil, lurking within ancient artifact forged in the furnace of a thousand shrieking souls. Saw you yesterday in the storage room and immediately wanted to inhabit your
body, but was too shy. Interested in dinner? I'll cook,
if you bring the still-beating human heart.

Monkey's paw needs helping hand--
(Jackson Heights)
Swami, where are you? You only used one wish, then
disappeared the next day. Was it something I said/granted
in an unexpectedly horrifying manner?

Great timing, bad aim--(Chelsea)
I have called to you ceaselessly through your waking
hours, through your dreams, drawing you to the curio
shop's mysterious object in which my black soul is forever
imprisoned so I could meld with your personality and
reinstate my rule on the plane of mortals. But I accidentally
melded with the shopkeeper, Christopher, who was
standing next to you. If you're still interested in what I
have to offer (eternal life, dominion over the pitiful few
who survive my Return), grab Christopher's hand while
chanting "Chigurraesth qliphoth og-godash," and then
decapitate him. You complete me, and also you complete
my plan to rule the world of the living from this land of
shadows.

Re: I want you inside me--(Williamsburg)
Sometimes, Diane, I wonder whether those were tears in
your eyes, or just holy water. But even with that exorcism, it
wasn't just the power of Christ that compelled me to leave.
Sorry. If you want your memories back, e-mail me at
dorothydrimnel@yahoo.com. (Dorothy's nothing serious--
just a friend I'm staying in.)

Missing U--(Woodlawn)
I miss you so much. Since you left, all I do is sit around the
house all night wailing. If you read this, don't think
something terrible will happen if you write me:
SadBanshee@gmail.com.

Ouija board, Beta Alpha Delta sorority--
(Long Island University)
Tell me if I'm misinterpreting what happened last night, but
after you levitated the board and made Marcy speak in
tongues, you spelled out "I LIKE YOUR SKIRT" and
moved the planchette in my direction. Were you flirting with
me? I didn't catch your name, since Susan freaked out after
you told her she was going to die before second semester.
Something with a C? You can find me on Facebook.

Re: Re: I want you inside me--(Williamsburg)
I hope I'm not intruding, but I wanted to say that Diane
treated you wrong . . . and also that you sound cute. :) I just
ended things with a Japanese fog spirit (I always felt
suffocated), but would you like to meet up? I know an out of-
the-way desecrated church with great Communion wine
spritzers. Oh--and feel free to bring Dorothy in case you
want to corrupt the trinity . . . :)

Not ready to be Rosemary's Baby-Daddy--
(Upper West Side)
Dear R.--I'm sorry things ended so abruptly. I guess I kind
of just freaked when you showed me the ultrasound and I
saw it had my horns. I know, I know--this is what I said
I always wanted, and I thought that after ageless eons of
existence I was ready to be a father of something besides
lies. But I guess I was only deceiving myself. Ironic, huh?

Jad Abumrad

Stuart Dybek

Atul Gawande

George Saunders

Jennifer Egan (just the Pulitzer)

(Not related to geniuses in the least, but "Pop-Up Video" is back, and I reviewed it here.)

Hi! If you enjoy the show "Dexter," you may like my recaps over at the L.A. Times.

There are lots of fun, possibly ridiculous events you can attend with your dog if you live in Chicago. We've taken our greyhound to Dog Day at US Cellular Field, participated an Easter egg hunt, marched in the Sycamore Pumpkin Parade and met Santa Claus at a local bar. We don't even bother telling ourselves that these events are for his enjoyment: we just like to go places with our dog and show him off and are the type of people who get a kick out of humiliating celebrating our dog.

So there wasn't too much discussion over whether or not we'd attend a pet blessing this weekend. I've been to one of these before, a long time ago, and it was very sweet. I'm not exactly an intensely religious person, but I have a soft spot in my heart for the saints, especially Francis. He's the patron saint of animals and the environment (I've always thought of the Franciscans as the hippies of the Catholic world.) Like the Easter egg hunts and pet parades, a pet blessing is kind of silly but, if you're an animal lover, is quite endearing as well. The blessing is like a holy heads up that animals are God's creatures and are many humans' only companions, so they deserve a little spiritual love.

My dog had a bit of a tough week, though. He stayed with my parents recently, and his internal clock got reset, so let's just say that he got used to getting up and doing business in the morning at a certain time and continued to do so back at our house even when it wasn't time yet. A good amount of Nature's Miracle had to be deployed. Did Briscoe actually deserve to be blessed? On the other hand, maybe a visit to church would set him back on the right, pee-stain-free, path.

Yesterday morning it was gorgeous and sunny, a clear sign from above that it was a good day to get your dog blessed. We walked down to The Episcopal Church of the Atonement and took a seat on their lovely lawn. Briscoe's ears perked up as the bells rang, signaling the end of Mass, and the lawn filled up (we were allowed to take him inside for Mass if we wanted to, but ours is a dog who likes to mark his territory a lot, and I think you get a one-way ticket to hell if your dog pees inside a church.) Briscoe is miniature-horse-sized, so he received a lot of attention, which he soaked up.

I'd say at least 15 dogs were in attendance, and a few cats as well (including this one who had no eyes, which just melted my heart--and I am pretty stony-hearted when it comes to cats, thanks to one in our house who has made a steadfast resolution to pee on the floor and nowhere else. We didn't even consider taking her to be blessed, since she is a lost cause.)

At the first pet blessing I attended, the priest blessed all the pets in one shot, but this time each animal got its own benediction. Briscoe got sprinkled with holy water and stood still and didn't embarrass us. "He needs this," I confided in the priest. "Oh, look at him! He's a saint!" the priest said. I may need to become a parishioner of this church, even though I'm a Roman Catholic. I'm just that easily swayed, when it comes to my dog.

I'm not going to thank God for the fact that Briscoe hasn't peed in the house since then (God is too busy helping people win football games and Video Music Awards), but I bet the blessing didn't hurt. If you're like me and enjoy toting your pets around town, or simply want to check out something new/weird/sweet/funny, there's still time to get your pet blessed in (and around) Chicago. It might be just the thing to do for your dog before you do something to him like this.

First, a tiny plug: tomorrow I am running the Chicago AIDS Foundation 10K and am trying to raise a few bucks for the cause. In case you have a few dollars left over after the WBEZ pledge drive and want to feel like an extra-good person, go here.

Tom Skilling

Today's interviewee is WGN-TV's chief meteorologist and has been with the network for over 30 years.  You can catch him weekdays on WGN Midday News, WGN Evening News and WGN News at Nine. Since 1997, he has masterminded the weather page in the Chicago Tribune and more recently readers can interact with him on his oft-updated Facebook page. His passion for weather led to a daily column and his own weather page in the Chicago Tribune and a weekly series on WGN News, "Ask Tom". Tom is a member of the American Meteorological Society (AMS) and the National Weather Association. He serves on the AMS nominating committee and holds the AMS's Television Seal of Approval and for over 30 years has hosted an annual tornado and severe weather seminars at the Fermi National Accelerator Lab (Fermilab) in Batavia, Illinois. He may also be the nicest, most enthusiastic person I've ever interviewed.

If you weren't a meteorologist or journalist, what career do you think you'd pursue?
Quite honestly, I can't imagine pursing a career path other than the one I've pursued. The weather's intrigued me my entire life and there's not a day that passes that I don't thank my lucky stars I've been able to pursue a career in a field I've always found endlessly fascinating. I've been lucky to do so in an era in which the advancement of our understanding of the atmosphere's complex workings has exploded. We've come farther in the science of meteorology over the past 50 years than in all the time before that back to Aristotle!

What's a weather phenomenon the average person might not care that much about that you completely geek out over?
The range of weather phenomena which cause me to geek out is pretty wide. I just shake my head in amazement at times watching a snowstorm or tornadic squall line come together. I've always been struck by the number of atmospheric elements that have to come together in just the right way for them to occur! That our numerical modelers, the geniuses who have devised the means to mathematically simulate these events so we can see them unfolding on supercomputer simulations before they actually come together in real life, is something over which I marvel on a daily basis!

What have been some of the most interesting questions you've received from readers in "Ask Tom Why"?
The range and quality of Ask Tom questions my staff and I receive and examine is amazing. It makes you realize there are MANY bright people who watch the weather very thoughtfully and with inquisitive minds. I would image we receive on the order of 100 to 200 great questions weekly and that number hasn't ebbed in the nearly 15 years we've been doing the Chicago Tribune weather page.

Some of the more interesting questions have been inquiries of how tall waves have grown in storms on the planet's oceans, whether global warming is actually occurring (it definitively IS) and questions on how some of weather events our readers have personally observed have come together.

Which are the hardest to answer?
The most difficult questions we receive are the ones which ask about the anticipated weather on dates far in the future.  We get those about upcoming weddings or family trips which are months away. We're not able to accurately forecast the weather at such time ranges, but some think we can and we have to break the bad news that we're unable to look that far into the future.

What's the craziest weather phenomenon you've ever seen with your own eyes?
My WGN crew and I produced a series on the revolution which has been underway in meteorology, a series which included a tornado chase out to Kansas and Oklahoma with veteran extreme weather photographer and storm chase Jim Reed the spring before last. We encountered a multiple vortex tornado while filming in northeast Oklahoma. It chased us down Highway 10 there at 60 mph--and was gaining on us!  It developed suddenly, there was little warning, and it was nearly on top of us when it turn out into a field and expanding to a swirling mass of rain sheets nearly a mile across which ultimately hid the twisters.

To look out the window of our chase vehicle while moving at 60 mph and see a series of tornado vortices (funnels) and rainshafts swirling within a much larger tornado ranks right up there with events I've personally experienced. But, conditions at the height of last February's blizzard were stunning in their own way as was a mammoth ice storm which hit while I was working in Milwaukee in the 1970s. The storm had dropped 5" of rain fell into 29-degree air before 60 mph gusts hit. When the sun emerged the next day, it illuminated what looked like a war zone covered by downed 100 to 150 year old trees sparkling in the sunlight as far as the eye could see. The scene was surreal!  The ice build-up knocked out power to 600,000. The State of Wisconsin worked furiously to get generators our to dairy farmers who relied on electrically driven milking machines.

Another weather phenomenon which has always caught my eye during trips to Alaska  is "hoar frost"--a thick, shimmering layer of frost which adheres to all outdoor surfaces in periods of bitterly cold air.  You don't see that very often in Chicago but it is an amazing thing to witness firsthand--- as are "light pillars"--vertical beams of light which extend vertically into the air from light sources (i.e. street lights, the setting or rising sun, etc.) during periods of bitterly cold sub-zero temperatures.

Either because of breaking news or general craziness in the studio, what's the most you've ever had to scramble on-air?
Oh my, there have been many instances of fast-breaking weather situations in which, in order to get news of serious weather out to viewers quickly--and to do so accurately, we've hit the air in what might be described as a state of "organized chaos". There was a fast-moving squall line which swept our viewing area producing damage from one corner of our viewing area to another back on August 4, 2008. This squall line, known in the weather profession as a "derecho", forced fans to evacuate to the lower level of Wrigley Field. It generated 11,000 cloud to ground lightning strikes in a matter of hours and knocked out power to thousands as it crossed northern Illinois.  We had to scramble to get warnings out on in that storm because the situation literally changed by the minute.

But there have been other instances in which the computer graphics system we rely on to visualize the weather on our programs and on which we work for hours preparing the graphics we show viewers during weather segments, has died moments before we've hit the air.  Having no graphics to illustrate the developing weather situation is a moment which can only be characterized as life at its lowest ebb for a television meteorologist.

People often blame meterologists for either weather they don't like or weather that was mis-predicted (I'm thinking of a particular day earlier this summer where we were promised extreme heat but it was gusty and cool instead.) Is this type of scapegoating ever appropriate?
People make plans which are thrown off course by erroneous forecasts. The outcry when a forecast fails is understandable and I can tell you that that these are the lowest moments in a forecasters working life. But let's put these in perspective. No forecaster approaches the preparation of a forecast with anything less than 100% accuracy as his or her goal. Forecasts aren't always going to be perfect.  You're dealing with one of the most complex natural systems known and, by any measure, predictions have improved significantly and will continue to improve.

Predictions of our weather at Day 5 have the accuracy of predictions 2 days out in the late 1960s. The mammoth January, 1967 blizzard--to this day, Chicago's worst, literally struck without warning. A storm of that magnitude is not likely to strike without warning again.

Our February blizzard was spotted a week ahead of time and each of the deadly swarms of tornadoes which ravaged places like Tuscaloosa, Alabama, Joplin, Missouri and St. Louis this past spring, were predicted hours in advance--the general severe weather situations which produced them were identified as much as a week in advance. Errors in hurricane tracks have been cut in half 5 days out--more in the short term. Hurricane Irene, for all the criticism of media coverage of the storm, actually tracked as predicted fours days ahead of its devastating romp up the East Coast. It's historic rains were predicted and as was its intensity.

A little perspective is called for in these situations. That a forecast goes badly off course on occasion--and the operative words here are "on occasion"--- is a testament to the atmosphere's complexity and also the trouble we still have will certain atmospheric processes, like the flow of air out of thunderstorms. In general, the smaller the atmospheric event, the harder it is to forecast. The bust you've described in the heat forecast, occurred in meteorological terms, on the scale of about half a state. Heat DID occur but, cool winds out of repetitive t-storms which traveled down Lake Michigan, deterred its advance into the city and Chicago's suburbs (though 90+ temps did make it into western suburbs).

Certain thunderstorms can cause forecasters trouble when, as happened with the failed heat earlier this summer. We had predicted near 100 degree temperatures and unexpectedly persistent thunderstorms, which had been expected to flare farther east then move on early in the day, allowing heat all around us to surge into Chicago. Instead, the storms kept firing over Lake Michigan. This sent cooling outflows into the area off chilly Lake Michigan waters the entire day, blocking the advance of hot air.

Heating DID occur to Chicago's west and--and it actually surged into the area following day. But on the day in question, temperatures held to the low 70s. A forecast like this is a meteorologist's worst nightmare. We devote long days in our effort not to let such a forecast happen. But for all the criticism unleashed in such a situation, forecasts busts of that magnitude are hardly the norm--they actually occur quite rarely.

How many weather records have you seen broken during your career in Chicago, and which was the most exciting or frightening?
I've been witness to many daily temperature records being broken over my 45 years in the weather profession, but some of the really significant records I've witnessed have include the four biggest snowstorms in the city's history (1967, 1979, 1999 and 2011), the record for the deadliest heat wave ever which included the city's highest heat index on record (124-degrees) in the deadly 1995 heat wave, the biggest statewide rainfall ever (the 17" cloudburst in July 1996 centered on Naperville and Aurora), the coldest daily temperatures ever (-26 in 1982 and -27 in winter 1985), the biggest seasonal snow on record (89.6" in the 1978-79 snow season) and the area's worst tornado outbreak on record April 21, 1967.

I used to be terrified of lightning and while I still don't love it I've gotten over it to a certain extent. Does this lack of fear now make me more likely to get struck? Actually, my real question is, are you less likely to get struck by lightning in an urban area than in a rural one?
What a great question. A great number of lightning fatalities have involved men and have occurred in outdoor work or sports situations--in both rural AND urban settings.

Construction workers, farmers, golfers and hikers have suffered a disproportionate number of lightning related injuries over time. But mariners or anyone outdoors can be at risk and, the fact men have been victims of lightning strikes more frequently than women, shouldn't be interpreted as an indication women aren't just as threatened by--and indeed have suffered--- lightning injuries as serious as any involving men.

Regarding the lightning risk in urban vs. rural areas, the fact that its sometimes harder to see storms approaching in urban settings than in the open country surrounding, may offset the fact there may be more tall objects/buildings for lightning to strike in cities compared to rural areas. And it should be noted that it doesn't necessarily follow that because there are tall buildings which seem easier lightning targets, that lightning can't find a way down to street level where it can do harm in cities.

What's a weather phenomenon you've never seen that you'd like to in real life?
I've never witnessed "red sprites" or "blue jets"---colorized lightning discharges which emanate from the tops of towering cumulonimbus clouds (thunderheads).  There's been fascinating research on these done by the University of Alaska in Fairbanks and they have been spotted here in the Lower 48.  I've never seen them and would like to.

Do you use a weather app on your phone or Ipad? Which one?
We have a new WGN Weather Center iPad app which is quite good and getting better.  We've just upgraded the radar imagery and other real time weather data on it.  

What tips do you have for actors or broadcasters who find that they have to perform with puppets?
My advice regarding performing with puppets is go to it and have fun if you're so inclined---but NOT on the weather show! 

Who are some of your favorite broadcasters, local or otherwise, past or present?
I have so many favorites and I know I am going to miss some, but here goes: on television, Harry Volkman, John Coleman, Jack Taylor, John Drury, Rick Rosenthal, Pat Harvey, Len O'Connor, Bill Frink, Denise Cannon, Steve Sanders, Dina Bair, Mark Suppelsa, Micah Materre, Sean Lewis, Bob Jordan, Jackie Bange, Mike Hamernik, Larry Potash, Robin Baumgarten, Jim Ramsey, Lourdes Duarte, John Callaway, Geoffrey Baer, Joel Weisman--and so many others! On the radio side, WGN's Garry Meier, Steve and Johnnie Putnam, Dean Richards and Greg Jarrett.

What's your favorite parade?
Some favorites because of the energy and enthusiasm of those involved and attending: The Bud Billiken, St. Patrick's Day and Pride Parades. We have MANY great parades in this city!

Between the blizzard, the extreme rainfall, the heatwave and what I perceived to be an extremely unpleasant spring, how does this year compare so far to others when it comes to most eventual weather years in Chicago?
This year has had its weather moments to be sure! The February Blizzard was one of only three here to produce more than 20" of snow. Summer was the area's third wettest in 141 years of weather records!

How does it feel to be the 294th person interviewed for Zulkey.com and now WBEZ?
I am absolutely THRILLED to be the 294th person to be interviewed for Zulkey.com!!!  THANK YOU so much for including me!

When I graduated from my small, K-8th grade Catholic school, I won the not-coveted "Most Likely to Do Her Homework Ahead of Time" award. Obviously, there was only one way to celebrate this achievement before heading off to high school: summer camp.

I got to spend one final year as a camper before old age forced me to become a counselor. We campers mostly already knew each other from prior summers together, but that year, there was a new kid in the group I'll call Dylan. It seemed strange that he would even be there, by the looks of him. He wore all black: leather jacket, black jeans, Converse All-Stars and a fedora over the long, greasy hair that fell limply over his birdlike frame. I was so used to the hale boys of eighth grade who played Bombardment with abandon that Dylan's rebelliously bony body was somehow exotic.

Most guys at camp were the usual suspects: the quiet dorks; the outgoing jocks (one of whom I accidentally punched in the eye when he goaded me into hitting him the shoulder to prove how weak I am); and the frightening misfits, who were usually sweet when they weren't bragging about how much trouble they got into with the police.  Dylan, however, fell into none of these stereotypes. He was new, and new was intriguing.

Misfit campers seek guidance from David Hyde Pierce's Henry in 'Wet Hot American Summer'

What I did know about Dylan was that he was the bane of the counselors' existence, largely thanks to his asking about the point of each campfire or hiking trip.  At 14, Dylan, like many of us, was cool enough to question authority, but not enough to resist being packed-off to camp. Dylan pulled his usual routine one weekend when our group took an overnight tubing trip.

"Why are we doing this?" he asked once again.

"TO HAVE FUN," Counselor Dave practically screamed.

We drove down to the river, dropped black rubber inner tubes in the water, squeezed our butts into the donut holes and sailed downstream. We paddled with our hands in the water, hurrying to catch up with friends. We floated in doubles or groups and sang songs, passing time in a way that I cannot comprehend now that I'm old enough to drink.

Unexpectedly, Dylan drifted beside me in his black swim trunks.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi," I said. My heartrate picked up at this captivating line.

The current quickly pulled him away from me, so we grabbed onto each other's wrists.

I don't remember the rest of the conversation, but I still remember his hand on my wrist, just because the majority of boy-girl touching in my life prior to this was mandatory, like the square dancing in music class and even then some of the guys opted not to hold hands (they used a mysterious "force field" as an excuse.)

When our collective rear grew numb from the chilly river water, our group set up camp on the riverbed. I was lodged with two other girls in the group: Anna, the belle of the camp who boasted an enviable mane of curly red hair, and her cute friend Elsie. Elsie and Anna traded J Crew bikini tops and bottoms throughout the camp session, which filled me with envy.

After dark, Dylan crawled into our tent. While boys and girls usually visited each other's large, army-surplus tents back at the main camp, we now found ourselves in cozier accommodations. We spent the night gossiping, learning crude words and trading backrubs.

This was the closest and longest I'd been next to a guy in my entire life. And this was a new guy, a guy with issues. He talked about his parents' divorce and how he didn't like his stepfather and how he though Christianity was bullshit. We talked about dreams and music and God. Eventually, Dylan fell asleep in our tent. For a while, I watched him. I was amazed by his pale skin and dark hair, as I lay wedged between him and the tent wall. What a damaged soul, I thought.

The intimacy I felt while watching Dylan sealed my crush. It never occurred to me that maybe he used his tortured-guy persona to work his way into our tent. After all, we would have never let the rowdy jock or the scary violence-prone kid into our space, and the quiet nerd was too shy to attempt a break-in. We all fell for Dylan's perfect ploy.

In the following days, I thought that if I exemplified my own deepness to Dylan, he'd see that I too was sensitive, and that he'd want to hang out with me. However, nobody approached me as I lay on top of a bunk bed outside my cabin, listening to the Indigo Girls on my Walkman. I tried to appear poignant, possibly even sorrowful. Everyone probably just thought I was sleeping.

As our camp session came to a close, my feelings for Dylan grew more intense. We were starting high school soon, and who knew what that would bring? Who knew how much time I'd spend on homework and playing volleyball? And if I played volleyball, would Dylan still think I was deep while I ran around in kneepads? I had never cared about a guy like this, much less cared so much about what he thought of me.

On the last night at camp, I decided to proclaim my feelings to Dylan. I needed to show him that I was as serious about my life as he was. The unbearable tension of my camp crush, not to mention the mosquito bites, pheromones and dirty laundry, were all too much to handle. I had to make a move.

"Can I talk to you?" I asked when I found him. We walked a ways.

I went with the basics. "I think I like you," I said.

"Oh," he said. "That's cool."

I felt ridiculous. I didn't say it right, which was so important when it came to impressing somebody like Dylan. Mainly I wanted him to know that underneath my proverbial school uniform, I was a person who understood him--and perhaps he understood me too. I wasn't just Most Likely To Do Her Homework Ahead Of Time. I was Most Likely To Be Unexpectedly Deep.

Later that night, I saw Dylan kissing Anna. They weren't exactly hiding it: they were making out while sitting on top of a picnic table. Then later on that evening, other campers buzzed about seeing Dylan stick his tongue down Elsie's throat. Suddenly everything was clear: Dylan was perhaps more sensitive than the average teen boy, but not too sensitive to work it to his advantage. Dylan was a player, but just not in the typical skin. I remember hearing once that he would place a playing card in the band of his fedora to indicate his mood. I wondered which card could possibly represent this moment: "The King of Over-the-Shirt Fondling"?

I found out later on that a lot of other girls freshman year of high school liked Dylan too. This disturbed me on some level, because I realized I wasn't the only one to discover my esoteric diamond in the rough, the first to board the Teenage Angst train. By liking the guy who everyone thought was hot for going against the grain, I actually was going with the grain. This was my first taste of why everybody hates high school.

Before I promote my stuff, let me promote some more of my stuff: If you enjoyed the show The Big C, you can read my writeup of the finale here at the AV Club.

1.) 

2.) Witty Women at the Book Cellar on October 6 at 7 PM:  Featuring: Jen Lancaster, Stacey Ballis, Claire Zulkey (me!), Amy Guth, and Wendy McClure. Eat, drink, and laugh with some of the best writers and humorists Chicago has to offer. Seating is limited so come early!

3.) 

I enjoy beer. In fact, I'm not particularly picky about beer. Sometimes a simple Miller High Life can be as satisfying to me as a Belgian import made by special monks. It was fun when beers suddenly became the new wines, with waiters and waitresses helping you make exactly the right choice when it came to color, taste, style, what your mood was and what the weather was like outside. I like sampling and savoring my beer as I would a wine. And now that it's fall, I look forward to those tasty pumpkin-flavored brews that come out this time of year.

But enough's enough, Chicago restaurateurs. I would like to call a moratorium on further restaurants opening up with beer lists that are several pages long that are impossible to read because the print is so tiny so as to fit all the beers on there. Ordering your drink shouldn't be more complicated than ordering your food.

I don't object to already-open places that specialize in awesome beer lists (the Long Room and the Hop Leaf are two beer-heavy establishments of which I'm particularly fond). But as a dining trend, it's getting tedious.

First, I don't think there's enough waitstaff in Chicago to handle all this beer knowledge. When I was a waitress five hundred years ago, I think there were perhaps 13 beers on tap that I needed to memorize, which in retrospect seems like a pretty good amount. I've been to recently-opened restaurants in Chicago where the waitstaff has no idea which beer tastes like what, whether it's available cold or even available right now. Nearly every time I've been to a new gastro-pub-ish establishment a waiter has come back to me, apologizing, because he thought he had the beer we ordered but didn't.  When this happens I'm not annoyed about not receiving the beer I wanted but just think we could have all just saved some time had there been enough beers for the waitstaff to keep track of. Although I guess I prefer an apologetic forgetful pub-waiter to one of those guys with the ironic waxed handlebar mustache who rolls his eyes at me when I order an ale when I should be getting an IPA to go with the $5 small plate of warm nuts that I ordered.

(Flickr/Ian T Edwards)The other thing is that when you see the fancy beer list, you feel compelled to order something special, and the conversation quickly becomes arduous. I say, "What should I get?" and then the waiter says "What do you feel like?" and I say "What do you like?" and the waiter says "Well it depends on what you like." I don't know what I like! I like a beer that doesn't taste like an incredibly bitter milkshake, OK? Just something that's not like that. You know what, just bring me a martini.

Beer is good. Let's not play out beer by making it tedious. Let's keep the places that we already go to for extensive beer lists and stop making this a "thing" by adding even more. Restaurants, most of us can make do with 13 or so draft beer choices, so don't be afraid to keep it relatively simple. Then you can focus on more important things, like your food or whatever.

Several years ago I learned an important lesson: don't write anything about a person online that you wouldn't feel comfortable saying to his or her face. I was typing up a review of Dancing with the Stars for a newspaper and criticized the show's co-host, Samantha Harris, whom I considered inept. I wanted to compare her to another TV host who people seemed to loathe yet embrace at the same time. Originally, I went with Ryan Seacrest, but my editor said, "People seem to like Ryan Seacrest. How about somebody else?" I can't remember if she suggested Seacrest's replacement or if I came up with his name, but I subbed in the name of another good-looking TV host, one who is related to a former President or two.

Imagine my surprise when this host saw my piece and dropped me an email on it, calling me out on my snark. I was shocked: I couldn't believe that anybody famous read what I wrote, nor could I believe they'd care what I think. But moreover, I was embarrassed, because I didn't really mean what I had written.  It would have been different had I made an accurate criticism of this person that I could back up, but I couldn't really defend myself. I'm a critic, and I'm not afraid to criticize people even if it means getting some blowback (you should check out the comments here when I suggested that it's possible that Lady Gaga was over-the-top this one time). But ever since that incident, I try my hardest not to say things on the record that I don't believe are fair or that I couldn't defend.

Kim Kardashian and host Mario Lopez confront a 'H8R'

Being a person who writes online I've had a fair share of rude things said about or to me from anonymous sources, usually based on really important topics like what I thought about the last episode of Saturday Night Live or something like that. So I've been on the receiving end of blowback from anonymous people who are bored and just want to be mean and probably don't give a second thought about what they say. This is an interesting topic, anonymous drive-by rudeness, and so there's a nugget of valid interest in the new upcoming show H8R, wherein celebrities confront the people who've said mean things about them online and try to convince them that they're all right.

However, the show seems like it goes about this phenomenon all wrong. I chose to write online and having to deal with the occasional mean comment is part of the territory. I don't love it, but I've learned to deal with it and ignore it or get over it when I have to. People like Kim Kardashian and Snooki have chosen their h8er-intensive careers in a much more dramatic fashion: their jobs are contingent on people watching and talking about them. Their job, basically, is to be talked about. If people didn't have strong opinions on them, they'd be out of a career. If, as a piddling freelance online writer, I'm willing to take a certain amount of guff from the peanut gallery, surely a person who makes hundreds of thousands of dollars for appearing on-camera to do nothing but be herself has to have made some peace with the fact that not everybody loves her--and you know what they say about good and bad press, anyway. It seems like the pinnacle of egotism to be rich for being infamous and then also demand that everyone love you as well.

The bigger issue with me is that H8er says that it's an anti-bullying, anti-hate kind of show, and that's why I hope it crashes and burns (I'm h8ing on H8er before I've even seen it, so I guess I'll probably end up on the show). The reason why bullying and anti-bigotry has become such a more high-profile topic lately is because of stories about kids who were emotionally and physically traumatized, kids who were drawn to suicide or murder or who were attacked and filmed on cell phone cameras. These are the victims of bullying that anti-bullying laws and the Its Gets Better Project have in mind. Not rich girls with extensions who are mad that some middle-class single mom in the midwest wrote a rude comment about her on Perez Hilton's website.

I am all for encouraging people to think before they type (and that includes myself.) But for any celebrity involved with H8er to say that he or she has been "bullied" is a slap in the face to anyone who has actually been victimized and moreover was helpless to do anything. You're famous for being on a reality TV show or a sex tape and you're angry that people say rude things about you on some blog? Turn off your computer. Go on vacation. Start a new project. It is not the same thing as being forced to face your attackers every day and not being able to do anything about it. To suggest so actually makes you legitimately h8able.

Thanks to all of you who weighed in earlier this week on what exactly is in my tiny blue and white ceramic house, how I can access it and how to best enjoy it. I actually heard from the horse's mouth (the mouth being the KLM airlines Twitter account) on what's up with those houses. Unfortunately the news wasn't what I wanted to hear:

The liquor is a traditional Dutch Gin called Jenever and it is produced by Bols. It is quite taboo among collectors to drink this. However if extreme circumstances require that the contents must be consumed they can be accessed by breaking the top of the chimney. Jenever (Genever is also correct) has a special way that it's drank by the Dutch:

On the one hand, I was happy to finally have this clarified, but I'm sad that I cannot access my special house-booze. Thanks to other bottles of liquor in the house (some of which are also mysterious and may require reader input), I cannot in good faith say that I am in 'extreme circumstances,' plus I don't want to break off the little chimney of my adorable little house.  At least the mystery has been laid to rest. I believe it is time to move the house from our liquor shelf to our adorable-but-useless-knickknack shelf.

My parents went to Amsterdam earlier this year and they did not bring me back either pot or wooden shoes. They did, however, give me this little souvenir from KLM airlines:

Isn't it cute? It's a little Delft house. My brother got one that was slightly different and when they were lined up next to each other on the counter, it looked like the beginning of a little village. I'm not going to lie: I am 32 years old but I wanted to take my brother's tiny Delft house so I could have both of them. I was strong however and refrained from stealing his.

But it's not just a little house. It's apparently a little house filled with booze. The important question is, what kind of booze, and how do I drink it? All I know is that the Blue Delfts were made exclusively for KLM by Bols Amsterdam, which is a liquor company. But I have no idea what type of liquor is inside.

I'm going to guess that it's some sort of nice sipping dessert liqueur, the kind that only first-class (or maybe business-class) people enjoy while their fellow homo sapiens in coach angrily watch the tiny computer plane make its slow crawl across the computer map.

I'm also not sure how you would drink this on the plane, as I believe you need to melt the wax off the little chimney in order to access the booze and how do you do that on a plane? Unless secretly you're allowed access to lighters and fun fireworks and that kind of stuff in first class?

I have no idea. I did a tiny bit of research on these houses and read one site that says that there's actually gin in that thar house. Gin, in a tiny ceramic house? I don't know. I've grown attached to my theory that it's some syrupy after-dinner beverage. I don't know what to think.
So I'm reaching out to you, the readers. Does anybody out there a.) know what is in this tiny house b.) how I can access it (if I melt the wax off the chimney, isn't it going to set the whole thing on fire?) and c.) How shall I best enjoy my well-deserve mysterious cocktail? Here is a photo of the house for scale:

Thank you in advance: I will let you know how it all goes down.

This weekend my husband and I went out with my friend Sarah to celebrate her husband Keith's birthday. Naturally, when the cake was brought out, we all felt that inevitable inclination to sing.

Starting the "Happy Birthday" song is one of the most awkward and tedious social conventions there is. Nobody really enjoys singing "Happy Birthday," yet we all feel like we have to do it. There's something about that first note, that labored "Haaaaa" that makes it feel like a dirgelike obligation.

Fortunately, however, Sarah and I remembered something. We don't sing "Happy Birthday" on people's birthdays. We sing the theme to Greatest American Hero.

I'm not sure how we made this discovery about how the GAH theme is superior to the "Happy Birthday" song. I think we were just talking about how great the song is, were joking about how it should be everyone's theme and realized it makes a fantastic birthday song. As opposed to the dragging tedium of the "Happy Birthday" song, the GAH theme is uplifting, with a sense of wonder. You--yes you!--have a birthday! Who could believe it? We're going to celebrate! Plus, it's much easier and much more fun to sing:



Now, I know we're not exactly the first people to co-opt the GAH theme song for other purposes, so let me pay diligence where it's due:


But why should George Costanza have all the fun? Next time you're at a birthday party and feel yourself drawing in that horrible breath to begin "Happy Birthday," try something like this on for size instead:

Believe it or not,
Claire's walking on air.
She never thought she could feel so free eee eee.
Flying away on a wing and a prayer.
Who could it be?
Believe it or not it's just Claire.

(Actually it's even better if you can somehow have your name modified so that it rhymes with "be," so the last line should be something like "Believe it or not it's C.Z." or "Believe it or not it's Claire Z.")

I'm positive that this will result in many a better birthday celebration, and probably make people start looking forward to turning a year older, as opposed to dreading the inevitable march towards the grave.

You're welcome.

The next time you're at a party, try this fun ice-breaker: ask people what their first concert was. It's always a delightful conversation topic, and typically the more cringeworthy and one-hit-wonder acts are more fun to discuss than the "cool" bands (if your first show was U2, that's cool, but Vanilla Ice is almost more special.) I put the question out on Facebook: what was your first concert? Feel free to add your own in the comments.

Me: Indigo Girls at the Arie Crown Theater.

Justin: Public Enemy & Anthrax at Aragon!

Joel: Starship and The Outfield, somewhere in Virginia (but not Wolf Trap...). It was 1986 and I was on a teen tour, so maybe that can be my excuse (heh).

Kate Z.: Janet Jackson

Nora: Peter Gabriel at Rosemont Horizon.

Jane: 1988: INXS

Marly: Menudo. I wish I were kidding. They were playing in el Poliedro, in Caracas.

Cheryl: John Denver. ACC Arena. 1974 or 5. Also not my idea -- but when your mom drags you to a concert, you kind of have to go

Rebekah: Liz Phair at the Vic. Fall 1995.

Daniel R.The Monkees at the Rosemont Horizon. Their reunion tour. 1986. I went with my church's teen club. I quit the club after that night.

Andy: Fishbone at Mississippi Nights. It was the nutmeg nineties.

Jonathan: Meatloaf: Rockland Community College, summer of 1978.

Elizabeth J.: Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine at Poplar Creek. I think I was nine. AWW YEAH.

Leonard: The first concert I ever went to was a Beach Boys outdoor show. My best friend's dad took us and someone threw a can of beer at my head. This would have been sometime in the late '70s. The first concert I ever went to of my own choosing was, embarrassingly, Quarterflash. Arizona State Fair, 1982.

Elizabeth M: R.E.M. (opener Throwing Muses), Market Square Arena, Indianapolis. Also the first time I smelled pot (thought it was the smell of tour t-shirts, and said so very loudly until poked by companions). Brought a bag of Dum Dum lollipops to share with everyone. Probably a connection between those last two things.

Tera: Supertramp when I was 6 (1985) at Maple Leaf Gardens.

Jeff: Soul Asylum at the Aragon.

Daniel H: My folks took me to see Neil Sedaka, but I was too young to remember it. I saw Phil Collins on a date in '93, though should that count if you're just trying to impress an attractive Phil Collins fan? The first show that I went to with friends because we loved the music was Q101's first Twisted Christmas in '94. The line-up was: Bad Religion, Dinosaur Jr, Weezer, Veruca Salt, Killing Joke and Hole. Great show too.

Mark: Marky Mark & the Funky Bunch. Six Flags Great America. (Quickly followed by INXS at The Aragon, which methinks redeem me).

Maggie: With my mom- Prince Purple Rain Tour at the Rosemont Horizon.

Katy M.: Amy Grant at Poplar Creek. Aw yeah.

Amy R: ‎1998, age 14: Goo Goo Dolls at the amphitheater in Tinley Park. My mom dropped off me and 2 of my friends, went to dinner with a friend and then picked us up. Freedom!

Juli:e Counting Crows. 1994. The Riv. Everyone was pissed because they refused to play Mr. Jones, the only Crows song anyone knew at the time. Frente opened for them. My friend Erin and I wore accidentally matching jeans, Doc Martins, and flannel shirts. Her uncle picked us up in his squad car after the show.

Marty: I think it was Johnny Mathis at Chicago's Shubert Theater. Bo-o-oring!

Maureen: ‎1985, I was 7, Reynolds Coliseum in Raleigh (I think): Whitney Houston. My dad took me. The next concert I made him take me to was Poison. My dad was the biggest sport ever.

Kevin: Beach Boys with The Steve Miller Band

Sarah L.: indigo girls! no idea whether it was Arie crown or Rosemont.

Kate I.: The Chameleons UK at the Cabaret Metro.

Jil: Rancid at 327 in Nashville.

Susan: Ooh, Violent Femmes in Chapel Hill.. 93, I think.

Anne: Simon and Garfufnkel Reunion concert, general admission seating The people on the stadium ground behind us (from the era of Simon and Garfunkel first time around) asked us to stop dancing so that they could remain sitting on the ground and still see.

Samuel: I honestly think mine was New Kids On the Block...

Sarah R.: New Kids on the Block. My best friend had the crush, not me. We went with her mom's lesbian lover.

Ann: Either Eric Clapton or Peter Gabriel - can't remember which came first!

Chad: Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band - The Against the Wind Tour. I was 15. Great show too.

Lisa: Technically it was Robert Hazard, but no one knows who he is and it was at a community college down the street from me and I was 13 and didn't want to go but was dragged by my brother. For reals: Bon Jovi at the Phily Spectrum. Cinderella was the opening act.

Tracy: Lollapalooza '93

Carrie: Dan Fogelberg, circa 1989- because I was BFs with his niece and we had a limo and backstage passes. Poplar Creek, I think.

Josh: Aimee Mann at UT Austin in 2006 or so. Teitur opened.

Katy H.: Marilyn Manson, Hole, and Nine Inch Nails, 1994 (14) at the UIC Pavillion.

Hey! If you want to see someone ask me questions, they selected me as the Crush of the Month over at the Sun-Times. Of course I got a short month.

Today's interviewee has been contributing to The New Yorker since 1989, writing the very funny shopping pieces. The first woman elected to The Harvard Lampoon, she has written for film and TV (including Saturday Night Live and Rugrats) and is the author of several humor and children's books. Most recently she's the author of the novel Starting From Happy, which is "made up of hundreds of chaplettes, clever illustrations, and darkly funny commentary on getting together and staying the course." (None other than Woody Allen blurbed it.) 

Tell me about the Starting From Happy book cover. Was it your concept?
I like to think I invented the color blue, but other than that, the terrific designers at Scribner did it all by themselves.

Do you know what your next big project will be? Or is the current project promoting the new book?
Everything's a big project for me, even getting up in the morning.  As for work, I have lots of next big projects. That's why I'm a nervous wreck. For instance, I'm finishing up a one-act musical and I have plans to write another novel and also a humor book.

Do you think you'll return to humor or children's book writing in the future?
For sure, especially if my answer above can be trusted. I love writing children's books, so I hope I haven't written my last. Depends on when I die, I guess.

Which of the books that you've published took (or felt like it took) the most work?
They get progressively harder because my skills for self-criticism are ever-improving.

I read in another interview that you love coming up with fictional names. What are some of your favorite names you've invented that you've either used in writing or have yet to see the light of day?
I know I have some great ones, but I forget what they are.

What's your favorite thing you've read lately, long or short?
I'm liking Gary Shteyngart's Super Sad True Love Story, but that doesn't mean I know how to spell his last name.

I've come to think of you as the shopping writer for the magazine. How did you come to secure that position? How did it begin?
The shopping column, On and Off the Avenue, has been in the magazine since its first issue. In the ten or so years previous to my writing it, it had been discontinued, I guess because they couldn't find writers shallow enough. Then, I came along. I don't really know so much about shopping, but I like stuff and I'm not too bad at walking around.

The shopping pieces you write for the New Yorker are incredibly fun to read but seem like they're secretly a lot of work, especially in terms of fact-checking. On your end, what's the most onerous part of working on those pieces?
Walking around in cold weather is painfully awful. The hardest piece to fact-check was the one I wrote about Shanghai because so much commerce there is illicit. When the factchecker called many of the stores I covered, she was told that there was no store on the premises.

What are some of your favorite souvenirs from these excursions?
I have some great dresses and eyeglasses from Shanghai, a hat from Texas, and really great pin-striped jeans from my back to school shopping piece.

Would you say you're fun to shop with? Who are your favorite shopping companions?
Fun to shop with? I'm not fun period. My favorite person to shop with is Phoebe Cates, who, by the way, owns a fantastic store, Blue Tree (on 92nd and Madison Avenue). She has the best, best, best eye--and she's a blast.

What are some of your least-favorite fashion trends right now?
Next question.

You'll be teaching screenwriting at Princeton this fall. What do you think will be the easiest lessons to impart, and which will be the bigger challenges?
Ask me in December.

How do you plan on refraining from making the Princeton students feel bad for not attending Harvard?
I plan to grade them according to how much they like me. That is not an answer to your question, but I felt like telling you that.

How much does your mother read what you write? Does she give you a lot of input? Has she influenced your writing at all?
My mother reads everything I write, and after it's published, she often points out grammar mistakes I have made. She is a very honest critic, for better or worse, but mostly better.

Which SNL sketches did you write that were your personal favorites?
The only one I can remember is a parody of a breast self-exam. I wrote it with Doug McGrath, now a wonderful film director.

It doesn't seem like you're on Facebook or Twitter. If that's correct, what's kept you away from social networking?
I just joined Twitter! What's kept me away from social networking is that I'm very good at coming up with ways to waste time and am reluctant to sign up for more ways.

I know you're friends with your colleagues Susan Orlean, Nancy Franklin and Roz Chast. Do the gals at the New Yorker tend to stick together on principle or it's just lucky that you like your colleagues?
I think I might have been friends with those three before I wrote for the New Yorker. Besides, who wouldn't love Susan, Nancy, and Roz?

Who (or whose writing) makes you laugh most consistently?
Steve Martin, Dmitri Martin, but not Dean Martin.

How does it feel to be the 292nd person interviewed for Zulkey.com (and now WBEZ)?
I feel like the first.

This is a piece I posted over at the Awl last week:

Recently, several GOP presidential candidates have been quite vocal with their opinions on evolution vs. intelligent design. If Rick Perry sees evolution as a theory with "some gaps in it" and Michele Bachmann maintains that there can be "reasonable doubt on both sides" and Ron Paul, as a creationist, simply "doesn't accept" evolution occurred, you may well be curious about how they view other scientific theories and phenomena. Here's a primer we recently uncovered!

Gravity: The force that attracts a body toward the center of the earth, or the weight pressed upon each of us by a thousand angels sitting on our heads? You decide.

Centripetal force: Some say this force is what makes a body follow a curved path, but there's enough reasonable doubt out there to allow for another theory, which is that God's just giving you a great big hug.

The Law of Conservation of Mass: Proof that abortion is wrong.

Periodic table: You may have been led to believe that the periodic table is something a bunch of fancy pointy-headed scientists came up with, but deep down in their hearts, many know that it's actually a long-forgotten appendix to the Bible.

Plate tectonics: Large-scale motions of Earth's lithosphere or the Earth doing a happy dance to celebrate its creation? Both can be true.

Black holes: Baby Jesus' cute dimples.

Speed of light: Light travels at 299,792,458 meters per second--which, incidentally, is exactly the amount of time it takes a phone call from Earth to reach Heaven.

Thermodynamics: A branch of physics concerned with the complex effects of work, heat and energy on a system? Or is it God's sweet warm breath? You're smart enough to know which one is right.

Theory of Relativity: None of our business.

(Flickr/Infidelic)If you enjoy the show Curb Your Enthusiasm, I covered it last night for the AV Club.

I was pretty sure I knew where I lost my wallet, and it was not in a dignified manner. Steve and I were playing nine holes at the Frank Govern golf course in Evanston yesterday, and since I was sucking anyway (who would have thought that you had to, like, practice in order to be decent?) I decided to pull out my Droid and be a smart aleck after spotting a bit of very personal trash on the course. My wallet most likely fell out of my bag as I pulled out my phone, and in the grand scheme of things, I probably deserved it, for rudely cell-phoning on the course and also being juvenile.

I didn't realize that I lost my wallet until several hours later, though. The search began with me emptying my golf bag, which was a little exciting in and of itself (I found, in addition to balls and tees, three used gloves and one glove still in its packaging, an assortment of packaged and loose napkins and tissues in various states of use, sunscreen, bug spray, two epi-pens, a bobby pin, a sunglasses case and a tube of lip gloss). Then I decimated all the piles that had accumulated through the house over the course of the week, hoping it was perhaps hiding beneath a magazine or newspaper. Finally we drove back to Evanston so we could retrace our steps.

On the way, I had a feeling I would get my wallet back. I lose little things (I have a graveyard of lonesome single earrings that will die widows and widowers) but typically the important things come back to me through my sheer force of wanting it. Once at summer camp I realized that the St. Clare of Assisi medallion my parents had brought back to me from the Vatican had gone missing during free swim, and I sifted through the sand on the beach until I uncovered it. When I was in  junior high, I brushed by the volleyball net while chasing around the dog in my parents' back yard and realized that I had lost a pearl earring. These happened to be the earrings I was ceremoniously presented with when I turned 13 and finally allowed to get my ears pierced, so they had a lot of sentimental value. "I thought you might wear them when you get married," my mom said wistfully. "But it's okay." That guilt trip sent me on my hands and knees in my parents' big back yard, searching methodically between every blade of grass until I found that tiny earring. Later in high school, my friend Tracy and I went driving around one night and found some delightfully huge piles of leaves on a Winnetka street. We threw ourselves into the pile and jumped around and went home, until the next day I realized that I was missing my wallet. Typically I took the bus to school but my dad must have been out of town that day, so I had a car. I ditched symphony to go off-campus to find the street that Tracy and I had stopped on, find the leaf pile (presuming that it hadn't been disposed of by the city yet) and then find the wallet in the leaf pile. And you know what? I found that damned green Kero Kero Keroppi velcro wallet. In college once, while waiting tables, I found that the stone had popped out of a ring I was wearing and managed to find it on the floor despite the fact that it was the lunch rush at an already-busy restaurant. I'm very lucky and somewhat determined.

As Steve and I combed the golf course (sticking close to the woods on the right-hand side, which is my favorite place to lose balls), asking people to keep an eye out for it, I clung to this hope that if I wished hard enough, I'd get the wallet back. Of course I didn't want to cancel all my credit cards, get a new drivers license and CTA card and all that. And I hated feeling like that idiot who loses her wallet. Plus, Steve and I tend to take turns losing things that the other gives them and I didn't want it to be my turn quite yet (he got me this wallet while in Brooklyn and I quite like it, although the next wallet I get I think I want it to be neon pink or something like that, for spotting purposes, because I knew finding a wallet that looks like nature--in nature--would be hard.) The phrase "There it is!" was on the tip of my tongue, because I really wanted to say it and for it to be true.

But alas. We headed home and I tore through everything again but couldn't find it.  I resisted calling Citibank for a while because I was lazy, and because I just wanted to wait a little bit longer, just in case.

I even went Catholic on it. "Who's that saint you pray to when you lose something? Vincent? Jude?" I asked out loud. I had to google it to find out: Anthony. I'm really not the most diligent Catholic these days, but maybe St. Anthony didn't know that. I offered him a quick shout-out in my mind.

I imagined the people who picked up the wallet and who were spending my money, benefiting from my lack of financial responsibility. They were probably buying lots more condoms to use while having sex on the green.  It was time to get real. I looked up the Citibank number for reporting lost or stolen credit cards and was immediately sent to phone hell when the automated system asked me for my credit card number. Well of course I didn't have my credit card number. I did nothing, hoping the system would sense my helplessness but of course it said, snottily, "I didn't quite catch that!" I hit 0, which should be considered "SOS" when it comes to automated dialing situations, but Ms. Citibank said "I'm sorry..."

Just when I was starting to get angry with a robot, my call-waiting beeped. I switched over and heard "Is this Claire?" It was the golf course, reporting that some kind soul out there had found the wallet and turned it in. Everything seemed to be intact, cash, cards, even the ratty strip of stamps I keep in there. The Good Samaritan didn't leave a name or number but I'm going to make a conscious effort to be kinder to strangers for a while after this incident. And I'm going to be more careful with my belongings. And I'm going to go to the driving range. And I'm going to stop Twittering so much on my phone. And if I see a used condom, instead of making fun of it, I will try to find some way of disposing of it (isn't that really what golf clubs are for?)

Anyway, even though I didn't deserve it, once again St. Anthony, or luck, or my willpower helped something I lost come back to me. Now you tell me: do you have any amazing tales of things you lost coming back to you, despite the odds?

If you missed Funny Ha-Ha earlier this month, you didn't get to see the following funny short films from Chicago filmmaker Joe Avella. These are NSFW (language) so use your headphones if you're at the office.

The next Funny Ha-Ha is October 19 and features hosts of other great Chicago readings and shows! Mark your calendars for Funny Ha-Ha: Heavenly Hosts.

If you can't wait that long to see me, come check me out this Friday at the Book Cellar as I make my debut with The Kates! This is a seriously funny show at my favorite bookstore in the city so if you can't make it this week, you should mark your calendar for a future show.

Today's youthful interviewee joined Salon as a senior writer last spring after serving as the politics editor for Gawker and before that editor of Wonkette. So he knows a lot of about writing all snappy-like when it comes to fast-moving online stories, with recent pieces that have titles like  Is Mitt Romney actually weird? and If Rick Perry is seriously a presidential front-runner there's something wrong with all of us.

What were the biggest adjustments you had to make moving from Gawker to Salon?
Ok, this is probably an answer that is of no interest to anyone not involved in internet publishing, but by far the biggest adjustment was the Content Management System (the blog-publishing software, for normals). Gawker has this spare, super-fast proprietary one that allows you to throw a post up in like ten seconds. Salon's CMS was crafted by ancient Internet druids in the days before Movable Type and until recently there were like ten separate steps involved in adding YOUR BYLINE to a post. (We will be switching, soon, to WordPress.)

An unintended consequence of this awful ancient architecture is that I sort of immediately began writing longer.

What do you miss most about working at Gawker or Wonkette?
I was going to say "using swears in headlines" but I wasn't really supposed to be doing that at Gawker, either. (And I honestly don't miss it that much.) What I miss about Wonkette is working with Ken Layne, the world's best political blogger who hates politics and doesn't want to be a political blogger. What I miss most about Gawker is working out of Soho, where a person can get a civilized lunch and where there are tolerable places to get beers after work. (Soho was otherwise pretty much awful in every respect.)

What are some of your favorite journalism scandals, either recently or from days of yore?
I love everything involving the Washington Times. Like when their HR director got caught in an underaged sex sting and it also turned out that he'd fired someone who accused the managing editor of sexual harassment/assault -- and weirdly the Washington Times was also the only newspaper that covered the teen sex sting bit? There was also the editorial page editor who sued them in part for forcing him to attend a mass wedding.

But of course the fun media scandals are about a newspaper owned by a weird cult leader who thinks he's Jesus. Most media scandals are actually kind of boring, even when I get really into them. No regular people care about plagiarism unless someone they don't like is accused of plagiarism. Then it's fun.

Oh, also, the time Joan Rivers sued Ben Stein for libel! Because what? Why wasn't this covered in my high school AP American History course, I ask you.

Do you read or participate in the comments very often? How often do you allow yourself to delve into them?
I would NOT describe the Salon comment section. Seriously, it's a nightmare. It will be different and better soon! (There is this like 15-year-old in-house debate about anonymity versus pseudonymity versus a real name policy and I have opinions about but my number one opinion is that comment sections for any website reaching more than a self-selecting niche audience are awful unless there is a person or persons dedicating their time to policing them.) But right now it's your basic local newspaper-style comment section of antisemites and trolls and old cranks and a couple precious, wonderful smart people, and I don't really know what they're doing there, actually.

I don't participate right now (I know I should) and I only go back read comments on my posts like once a day. There is something anxiety-provoking about comments! I am completely inured to hate mail and attacks from right-wing blogs but those damn comments just make me want to do anything other than read them.

You're a transplant from Minneapolis: what do you miss most about your hometown, or the Midwest in general?
Cheapness in general. Availability of second-hand clothes not sold by people who know how much stupid young people would be willing to pay for them. The possibly imagined ease with which people can devote all their energies to doing unprofitable arty sh*t like being in a band or putting on art/music/theater shows only for your friends and while not worrying about being able to afford your lifestyle. (Though this can lead, I guess, to utter aimlessness.) Don Shelby.

Are you still smoking? What's your brand? What's the most satisfying smoke you've had of late?
I am still smoking! I smoke American Spirits (yes, I know, but they burn twice as long as other cigarettes) -- regulars (blue pack). I had a really great (ILLEGAL) smoke on the beach the other weekend. With a Modelo Especial that had gotten slightly warm, drunk out of a thermos. VERY satisfying.

Do you ever experience the last-minute-second-guess scramble after posting something online, where you worry what you posted was entirely wrong or badly worded? If so, how often does this happen and if not, how do you stave that off?
ALL THE TIME. I tend to sort of throw a post up and then purposefully step away from my computer for a minute or two -- to have a smoke or just get a glass of water -- and often I imagine that I will come back, in two minutes, to like six emails saying I spelled every single word of the headline wrong, and also that great joke I made about something dumb someone said was based on my completely misreading what they said. I have no idea how to stave this off. Switch to magazine writing, maybe, and then just blame everything on editors.

What's the first media that infiltrates your day?
New York 1. I mean I check my email, in bed usually, to make sure there's not something I desperately need to cover right away (not that I do much "breaking news" but like sometimes there is a Richard Cohen column or something I need to be on top of, because if I don't police him WHO WILL?), but then I watch NY1 for one cycle (weather, in the papers, road and rails, Roger Clark reporting from somewhere weird or awkwardly interacting with children). New Yorkers can be annoyingly precious about NY1 (do I need to explain it? It's a 24-hour local news channel owned by Time Warner Cable) but it is superior to most local TV news and any national morning show, and it's nice to have a slightly wry Canadian show you the front page of the Post every morning.

Which news outlet do you think is closest to getting it right?
It's more about individual people than "outlets," these days, I think. (Look at me, I'm Jay Rosen over here.) But! I like to think Salon is very good! Reuters does financial news without a lot of the awful institutional habits of most outlets that do financial news. al-Jazeera English really is very good. Also Russia Today. (Lol j/k.)

What are some of your favorite (or most entertaining) things you've read about yourself online?
Oh man I don't even know. Someone called me "typical Jew blogger," at some point. (For the record I'm not actually Jewish.) Obviously Andrew Breitbart's single greatest contribution to our culture is labeling me an "Appletini Partyboy." I actually don't have a Google Alert set up for my name -- which I think might be slightly unusual for a blogger -- though I do vanity search myself regularly, which I tell myself is just to see how much "pickup" my stuff is getting. I am always most pleased when random guys think I am a lady and say that they have a "crush" on Miss Pareene.

Of the various online publishing platforms you've used, which is your favorite and which is most irritating?
Haha wait I answered this question first, accidentally. Again, Gawker's proprietary publishing platform is great. But can I say, about Tumblr, it is a very limited and often infuriating platform, but once I started getting paid to blog I never updated my "personal" site anymore, until Tumblr came along, and now I actually put things on the Internet that I am not paid to put on the Internet, which says something about the attractiveness of that platform. (It's probably just the stupid stimulus-response aspect of instantly receiving hearts and seeing your "reblogs" and sh*t, unlike the old days when you had to go to Technorati to see who'd linked to you.)

You're an opinionated writer: what's a topic you think you're most likely to change your mind about as you get older?
Maybe I'll get rich and I'll need a tax cut? This is a hard one, because I am RIGHT ABOUT EVERYTHING. I dunno. I believe strongly that third parties are a dead-end idea in a nation without coalition governments -- and the only hope for social democracy is to improve the party that actually has a liberal wing -- but I can see giving up on any hope of changing the direction of the Democrat Party. There may be some day in the future when I feel horrible for not ever really feeling horrible about eating meat, too. I can't imagine ever changing my mind about full legal equality for LGBT people, or ending drug prohibition. Also I will always believe that "New Day Rising" is better than "Zen Arcade" and "Batman Returns" is the best Batman movie.

What do you do when you feel burnt out and suicidal from stress?
Drink. And stay up all night feeling anxious. When it gets bad I disconnect from the Internet and watch soothing childhood nostalgia TV, which generally means Star Trek: The Next Generation or MST3K. But I dunno, the burnout just tends to come and go in cycles, so I try not to, like, quit my job, because I can usually get over it in a week or so.

What's your method for managing your inbox?
I am horrible at managing my inboxes. So, so horrible. Priority Inbox is lovely, because now I can just ignore a bunch of it, and watch unwanted automatic notifications pile up for months. I put stars on the stuff I need to reply to and then I forget about it all until I get panicky at the end of the day and go through and respond to everything. This is also sort of how I pay bills. (Which I get emails about, too.)

How does it feel to be the 288th [Ed: actually, 290th] person interviewed for Zulkey.com (and now WBEZ?)
I have surely taken long enough completing this interview that I am now at least the 290th person interviewed for Zulkey.com, right? [Ed: right!]  But it is an honor! I hope I come off better than Mystery. [Ed: You did!]

I'm running the Rock n' Roll half marathon on Sunday (and scared out of my shorts about it.) One thing I need when I run is frivolous pop, the sillier and more booty-shaking the better in order to trick myself into thinking that I'm not actually running but dancing in a huge public nightclub. Below, see some of my most necessary recent additions, and the reasons why my rational brain knows why I shouldn't like the songs. What are your guilty pleasures for working out, i.e. songs you normally wouldn't admit listening to? Leave 'em in the comments section!

Katy Perry's "Last Friday Night (TGIF)"

Why I shouldn't like it:

• Glorifies illegal activity, promiscuous sex and binge drinking
• Katy Perry's singing skills are questionable
• Do we really want to support the return of the sax solo?
• She was in the Smurfs movie

Why I do:

• It's got a light, innocent '80's vibe that I like
• It makes me happy and want to party, which is an unusual feeling when I'm running
• It makes me want to chant "TGIF!" while I run
• The sax solo is mercifully short

Ke$ha's "Blow"

Why I shouldn't like it:

• Glorifies disillusioned party culture
• Ke$ha's singing skills are questionable
• Do we really want to support the popularity of auto-tuning?

Why I do:

• Good beat for running
• Building crescendo that's ideal for building up running fortitude
• Dance party in my head

Lady Gaga's "Born This Way"

Why I shouldn't like it:

• Potentially rips off Madonna
• Arguably offensive to cholas and "orients"
• Arguably offensive to GLBT people who don't appreciate having an official anthem foisted upon them
• Lady Gaga is occasionally just annoying in general.

Why I do:

• Good beat
• Has a tendency to come on towards the end of my runs, when I most need something uplifting
• Mention of being "on the right track" coincidentally ideal for running
• Occasionally makes me sing out loud when I'm running

Anything by Britney Spears

Why I shouldn't like it:

• Question of whether I am actually supporting Britney Spears or the little person who lives behind her face and who operates her body via a succession of complicated gears
• Britney's singing skills are questionable

Why I do:

• No self-respecting workout mix is complete without Britney

From the Aston Drake Galleries

You Are a Huge Cubs Fan
I can understand that it's tough out there for Cubs fans right now and that finding the right way to express your love for your team might be challenging. Might I suggest, instead of buying this doll, attending a game? Or listening to one on the radio? Or buying a Cubs hat? Or just thinking happy thoughts about baseball? Your precious doll here costs almost $100, which is money you could be spending on a ticket and one beer. And not to shame you or anything, but what if, for some reason, your favorite Chicago Cub (let's say Jeff Samardzija) came by. "I'm a huge fan!!" you tell him excitedly, and then gesture to your most adorable Cubs collectible ever. How do you think Jeff Samardzija would react? Do you think he'd say "Oh my god, I have him too! Don't you just love him? I call him my Designated Cuddler." Or do you think he'll back out of the house, slowly?

You Love Precious Babies
Fine, okay, some people love precious babies. However, I think there are healthier ways to channel your love of precious babies than purchasing a creepily realistic fake version of one. For instance, have a precious baby of your own. Can't get a baby? Make a friend who has one! Encourage your children to have some! Or, volunteer at a place where you can actually help and hold real babies. My worry for you is, if your friends know how much you love precious little babies and they come over and see this doll, they will think you kidnapped a real live baby using a baseball mitt and tried to disguise it in a Cubs uniform.

You Collect Realistic Sleeping Baby Dolls
I do not think you should do that.

You Are a Huge Cubs Fan Who Loves Precious Babies Also Collects Realistic Dolls
Congratulations! Apparently you are not alone. Who would have thought those three Venn Diagram circles would intersect beyond a mere touch? Not me. In this case, you should treat yourself to two of these dolls, to keep each other company.

Next week: Reasons Why Babies Don't Know What Sunday Night Football is, Nor Do They Really Understand the Passage of Time, Nor Do They Impatiently Look Forward to Sunday Because They Get to Watch Football and Thus Why This Did Not Need to Be Captured in Doll Form Plus Why, Of All Things, Does the Baby Protect Itself Against the Glare of the Sun But Not Any of the Other Dangers of Football.

From the Aston Drake Galleries

Every few months or so I host a literary humor reading series I put together called Funny Ha-Ha that features some of Chicago's best funny writers, or Chicago's best writers being funny, or Chicago's funniest people sharing things they've written (I think you get the idea.) There are also short funny films and occasional Powerpoint presentations and songs as well. All this goes down at the legendary Hideout, so Tuesday I encourage you to come out, have a beer, meet some old and new friends and laugh your little tushie off. Here are the details:

Date: Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Time: 7-8:30 PM
Place: The Hideout
1354 W Wabansia Ave
Chicago, IL 60622
(773) 227-4433

Featuring Readings and Performances By:

"Ask Amy" columnist and "Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me!" Panelist Amy Dickinson

Bitchesgottaeat Blogger and Sunday Night Sex Show Contributor Samantha Irby

Write Club Overlord Ian Belknap

Comedy Central's Indecision Blogger Dennis DiClaudio

Comedian James Fritz

Jezebel Blogger Erin Gloria Ryan

Filmmaker Extraordinaire Joe Avella

Hosted by Claire Zulkey

$5 suggested donation

Proceeds benefit the Neighborhood Writing Alliance

I would just like to do all of you a favor and point out that this weekend is Pierogi Fest. If you'd like to know how I feel about Pierogi Fest, IE Christmas But Better, go here.

Today's interviewee lives in New York and edits a little publication you may know as The Onion (along with several of its books and other related projects.) Earlier this summer you may have caught him on TV discussing the Onion's campaign for a Pulitzer. You can learn more about him and follow him on Twitter here.

How many unsolicited Onion pitches do you receive a week from family/friends/strangers? What percent of them actually have potential?
Strangely enough, I've never really had to deal with this. People will sometimes say, "This [actual news event that is mildly strange or ironic for reasons specific to my personal beliefs or lifestyle, but which would in no way fit into the Onion's tone or apply to a broader spectrum of society] would be perfect for the Onion!" But generally they're all pretty respectful about it. That or they don't know or care what the Onion is, which comprises a surprisingly high proportion of my family. More often than not, though, someone will send me a text or email about a story they particularly liked.

Evansung.com

Do you have any sources you try headlines/stories out on who aren't co-workers?
If I'm writing something specific to a friend's area of expertise--like a story about hedge funds or sports statistics or something--I'll ask them to look it over for factual correctness and general feeling-like-it's-real-ness, but other than that, not really. Nor do I get to write nearly as many headlines or stories as I'd like these days.

What are some of your favorite stories or headlines that never saw the light of day?
We are still batting around a spec OpEd I wrote about Muhammad that would probably inflame the entire fundamentalist world. It would be much worse than those little Danish political cartoons. I don't tend to hold on to ideas too much. It'll break your heart if you do, Claire. It'll break your f*cking heart.

What are some stories published or milestones the Onion reached that you're proudest of?
The China Takeover issue, the 1783 issue, and the 2008 Election are probably among my proudest moments. I thought our Michael Jackson coverage was good, and I got to write the story about JD Salinger's death, which was special because he was so influential on me growing up. I was also an editor on 'Our Dumb World' which was just amazingly ambitious and crushing and funny. Our new book, which we're writing now, is in many ways even more ambitious, and I am already extremely proud of the comedy in it. I've also overseen a lot of the incremental migration from print to digital, and I think we've done a really good job. I can't think of anything else good I've ever done in my life right now, sorry!

Outside of the Onion, what are some examples of things (movies, books, TV shows) that people seem to find hysterical that you just can't get into?)
I don't really get too much of a kick out of the misanthropic protagonist paradigm which seems to dominate a lot of American comedy right now. That said, I love Larry David and Kenny Powers, so maybe that's not totally true. I just think that's too easy and not very inspiring. Hmm. What else should I bash in a public forum? I didn't see that Jeff Dunham thing, but I'm sure it was really bad, too.

When I first started reading the Onion it was a funny weird paper I picked up in Madison. Then it expanded to other cities. Then it came out in book form. Then in film and TV and now there are calls for it to win a Pulitzer.  I'm not sure I can imagine where else you can go from here but what are some potential directions for the Onion to expand?
I think there are natural limits to just how much a small, independent, subversive publication like ours can grow while remaining small, independent, and subversive, and that's what we're figuring out right now. Our character is this all-knowing, omnipotent corporate monolith, but in reality, we're a small operation with a Midwestern sensibility. Certainly there's room for us to do a lot more in terms of online videos, expanding the kinds of comedy we offer through platforms like YouTube and the like, and I think we'll be able to do some really great work in TV, both under and outside of the traditional "The Onion" banner. Plus novelty mugs!

Of the celebrity pitches for the Onion's Pulitzer, which are your favorites, either in terms of content or the source?
I hate to say it, but Glenn Beck's must be my favorite. It was just so bizarre to watch him say those words with the same passion and intensity with which he usually calls for armed insurrection or the liquidation of Ft. Knox or the destruction of all Lithuanian people, or whatever comes out of his mouth. We all had extremely mixed emotions about it, and so did our audience, but that's what made it great. And, honestly, he was one of the most professional people on the whole thing: We sent him a script and about two hours later we had the video, and he didn't flub a single line. As our Head Writer Seth Reiss said at an event we did in Dallas recently, "If you hate him, doesn't it kind of suck even worse that he did such a good job?" He's a performer and he's a brand and he understood that it would look good for him to do something for the Onion.    

Ira Glass mentioned, with chagrin, how it felt for This American Life to be sent up by the Onion. How often do you hear back from people who were written about, and typically are they happy or not to have been mocked?
Most people are flattered and will send a note saying so. Drew Barrymore sent us a nice card and some chocolates after we did an ONN video about her. The producer of the Spider-Man show on Broadway wrote me an email after we ran a story about a nuclear bomb actually going off during rehearsals saying it made his day. Et cetera. But I guess you have to say that you love being made fun of in the Onion or you kind of look like an *sshole, right?

Who are some high-profile fans of the Onion that you wouldn't have expected to be readers?
I know Bill Moyers loves us. Al Gore supposedly. Grover Norquist. Peggy Noonan knew a surprising amount about the Onion when I met her at a press event. I'm just going to go ahead and say that former National Security Adviser and cofounder of the Trialateral Commission Zbigniew Kazimierz Brzezinski is also a huge fan. Reads us every day.

You used to work for Mark Burnett. What reality TV shows do you watch now?
Well, here comes the answer everyone my age is supposed to give: I don't watch that much TV. It's true though. We got rid of cable late last year and we watch everything through Netflix or Amazon on our Roku. I also have a 2 ½ year old son, so in the past 2 ½ years my TV consumption has gone way down. My wife and I are trying to catch up with a lot of the stuff we've missed, but in terms of reality TV, we used to watch 'Project Runway' and 'Top Chef' every week, and we do miss those.

You talked in another interview about not loving that line of work so much: what about it did you like least?
Everyone was working their asses off 16 hours a day, six days a week, as if it were the most important, most vital work in the world, and at the end of the day, it was all to promote Donald Trump. I had a lot of fun, and the people were extremely creative and hard-working and awesome--really, I didn't have to deal with too many monsters, and I worked very closely with multiple producers. But, ultimately, I just wasn't that into the final product and it felt like a bit of a scramble to work your way up. And all they had to drink in craft services was f*cking RED BULL AND I HATE RED BULL.

In my opinion the Onion's foray into fake TV news and sports reporting has been delightful: did you have any input in the transition to TV, and if so, how did you utilize your experience in broadcasting?
The TV staff was, by and large, independent. I gave notes to the EP, Will Graham, on the early scripts and submitted ideas, but I was busier working on everything with the paper and website.

What's your first source for news every day?
Twitter.

What's the last thing that made you laugh out loud?
One of our contributors, Dan Klein, did this hilarious web series called "The Jerry Seinfeld Program" in which Seinfeld has been on the air for 21 years. He and another Onion friend, Arthur Meyer, play Jerry and George, and it's just brilliant and sick and surprising. I watched all 21 episodes this morning, in fact, and laughed out loud multiple times. I think my favorite is Ep. 3 "Agoraphobe." I highly recommend it.

How does it feel to be the 286th person interviewed for Zulkey.com?
How can a man express with words an emotion he has never before experienced?

I originally published this piece earlier this week over at The Awl.

Just because an agent approaches you doesn't mean you have a good book idea.
The agent may have heard of you and figures that if you've written a million words online, you might be willing to publish 60,000 of them in a book. But the things you wrote might not make sense for a book. While the agent might love you and your voice, she might not be so hot on your other ideas, which can be confusing. Didn't the other ideas come from you and your voice?

Just because you write most of a book doesn't mean you can finish and sell a book.
Doesn't it seem like if you can do most of something, you should be able to finish it? Like, if you run 23 miles of a marathon, you can walk the last few miles. If you eat 3/4th of a pizza, you can cram in that last quarter. But you cannot, it turns out, walk the last three miles of your book.

Just because you write all of a book doesn't mean you can sell a book.
This seems strange, because people (including agents) have told you how great you and your voice are. Now you have a manuscript. Why aren't you rich yet?

The process of writing, editing, selling, editing and publishing a book is agonizingly slow, perhaps even slower for the blogger who is used to the immediate gratification of seeing work published immediately.
A book can take a full year (sometimes a year and a half) to be published after it's been sold. This can be hard to explain to your father, who wants to know why it takes so long and you realize you're not sure you know exactly, even though it's been explained to you. Incidentally, your father may have offered to publish your book himself if you couldn't sell it, which is heartbreakingly touching and frustrating at the same time.

Just because you wrote a book doesn't mean people want to buy the book.
Even if you tell every single person you have ever emailed about it. Even if you get out there and ask people nicely with pleading yet polite eyes.

Just because you wrote a book doesn't make you immune to comments like "How come I haven't heard of your book?" and "Does it bum you out that your book wasn't a bestseller?"
Even if you are murdering them with your eyes, you still have to say things like "I don't know, I guess it must not be very famous!" and "Well, yes, of course, but..."

Just because you wrote a book doesn't mean your editor will offer you a contract for future books.
This is especially tough if all your other writer friends have signed contracts for future books, and they complain about their deadlines for future books and you think, "I wish I had deadlines for future books."

Just because you wrote a book doesn't mean you are immune from bouts of jealousy regarding your more successful friends.
This is a hard envy to quash because unlike some other writing goals you may have set that were competition-induced, such as, say, publishing in a certain magazine or website, you'll realize that book publishing is less in your hands than other forms of writing, which should be a freeing thought, actually, but it's not. Fortunately most of your successful friends also have experienced this malaise and will talk to you about it over drinks.

Just because you wrote a book doesn't mean your editor is interested in your future books.
You can keep trying, though.

Just because you wrote a book doesn't mean other editors will be interested in your future books.
This could make you sad if you really liked your editor, just because you might feel like you let him or her down. It will also just make you sad because, you know, you wrote another book and you'd like it to be published and now you have to find a new editor. You think back to all the "shortcuts" you had with the first book (like an agent finding you) and realize that this process takes only slightly less time than evolution. On the upside, maybe you will grow a fin by time your next book is published.

Just because you wrote a book doesn't mean your agent will think all your future book ideas will be great.
But you need to keep trying. Even if you're wondering if you'll ever have a good idea again.

Just because you wrote a second book doesn't mean your agent will think it's great.
This seems disloyal somehow, even though it's just business. Shouldn't the agent be able to tell you a quick fix to take your book from unsellable to great? Like, maybe a font change?

Just because you wrote a book you don't become immune to the self-doubt and agonizingly slow pace of writing another book.
You're going to get mad at yourself and think, "I did this already. I should know how to do this! It should be easier this time!" You kick yourself for once joking that you hope it takes less than the ten years it took to publish your first book to publish your second book, because even if it does, nine years is still a really long time.

Just because you wrote a book you don't necessarily what you're going to do next.
You may jokingly say, "Maybe I should just go to law school" except that joke isn't funny because you would hate law school and you already know plenty of lawyers who hate their jobs and their lives. So you can't even stick the landing on a stupid self-pitying joke. Maybe you should just have a kid. Or keep trying to write. Or both.

Back in high school I was a film photography enthusiast. I loved the weight of a camera in my hand, the deliberate click of the shutter, the way taking photos made any walk a potential art project. I sat in my closet in the dark to practice spooling film and pored over contact sheets. I loved taking and developing pictures and the way being a photographer made me feel, which was artistic and cool. But then the age of digital photography came about, and pictures became something you just snapped in a hurry at a bar at college to prove to other people how much fun you were having with your cute friends.

Then I married my husband, who was as interested in digital photography the way I was in film photography. I bought him a nice SLR camera for Christmas a few years ago and eventually grew even more passive about photos. I stopped bothering to take a camera on vacation or to weddings because what was the point? My point-and-shoot pictures always looked bad and I didn't know how to use a nice camera. Last year though, Steve upgraded his camera and the camera I gave him went unused. I complained for some time about how it was such a shame that I now had this nice camera to myself but didn't know how to use it.

This year, in an act of thoughtfulness and also probably to shut me up, Steve got me a certificate for classes at the Chicago Photography Center so over seven weeks this summer I learned how to use my camera, how to compose digital photos, how to manipulate them in Lightroom and how to print them out. I definitely feel more comfortable with my camera and more importantly, got back in touch with that feeling that a camera can make a boring old walk interesting.

But for every good picture I took for class I probably took at least 30 awful ones and as as special treat for you, I am sharing some of them here:

Hey, it's a blurry rib truck. Bet you never imagined a picture of a rib truck could be taken at an angle like this! Did I alter your sense of reality?

If you hate people's faces or complete sets of information, this picture is for you

And then there are these things. These things are important.

Either this building has a hair on it or my camera sensor needs cleaning.

A really probing portrait of my friend Gina

The back of two heads and a hand in front of someone's face

The thing with the El is that it tends to move

My gorgeous husband

This is either my friend Julie or a ghost

Escalator...at sunset?

This is my artistic interpretation of a bunch of cars on Lake Shore Drive.

Not just some guy smoking a cigarette, but apparently he's doing it during a solar eclipse

Handle in flight

Group shot of only 50% of the people in the room

A wall, at high speed, with a hair on the lens to boot

Something yellow

My friend Hatface

This is a picture I took using my camera phone of my dog with a cat sticker on his head . In case you couldn't tell, this is the best photo I have ever taken in my life. Thanks, CPC!