Filed under: General on October 10th, 2005 | 28 Comments »

Some of you may recall a rough patch I hit earlier this year when, in a span of just two months, a) my apartment was burglarized, b) my dad smashed into my car, c) my storage facility forged one of my checks, and d) half my hard drive on my work laptop was deleted.
Needless to say, I was a bit concerned this morning when I turned on my laptop at work and was met with a blue screen and some sort of FATAL DISK ERROR message, prompting me to scan my hard drive for viruses and/or replace it. I just had it replaced two months ago. Are my hands made of acid? Is it my magnetic personality? Why do I destroy all that I touch? Which one of you gypsy mofos has some sort of grudge against me?
I had to leave the office this afternoon for an off-site meeting, so I don’t yet know if the PC/LAN gods were able to retrieve any of my files from my now corrupt hard drive. I may walk in tomorrow with a clean slate. A fresh, shiny, like-new rehabbed computer sitting on my desk. One that does not contain any of the three thousand files I need in order to complete the nine thousand projects I am currently working on.
Like the trooper that I am, I’m going to look at this as an opportunity. I won’t let the possibility of having to rebuild my entire career from scratch get me down. As my momma always told me, “Jenny, when life hands you lemons, wait until it’s asleep and hit it over the head with a frying pan.”
I never totally understood what she meant by this, but it did teach me the importance of having a lock on the inside of a bedroom door.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that I will sleep with the entire IT department of my company if they are able to retrieve even 50% of my hard drive. And that’s got to be worth something these days.
**URGENT UPDATE!***
Hard drive retrieved intact! And I didn’t even have to sleep with the entire IT Department! (Come to think of it, perhaps it was this threat alone that made them leap into action.) I did, however, have to make a slightly different commitment as payment for services rendered. On that note, does anyone know where I can get an Uhura costume? Seems I’m accompanying some folks to a Star Trek convention next month.

Filed under: General on October 6th, 2005 | 18 Comments »

“Lil’ Jenny, surround yourself with people who inspire you creatively, and you’ll live a happy life,” my grandfather once said to me, as he watched me methodically trace copies of Donald Duck and Goofy from the pages of my well-read comic books.
Okay, so perhaps my grandfather never actually told me that – he mostly just asked, again and again, if I combed my hair with an eggbeater in the morning, to which I would reply, “Yeah, good one, Grandpa. What smells like limburger?” – but I’ll bet someone’s grandfather told them something along those lines. And that grandfather would have been right.
Somehow, though, I instinctively heeded the sage advice of this phantom grandfather, and through the years have been fortunate to befriend a multitude of creative and intelligent and inspirational people who constantly remind me how essential art is.
And now I’m so thrilled to be able to brag about one of these people – my dear friend Jen Benka – as her long-awaited book of poetry has finally been published. (I say ‘long-awaited’ because I pre-ordered my copies on Amazon like, four months ago! Damn, girl – you know I don’t like to wait!)

Aside from being blessed with my favorite name, Jen is a woman of many talents: poet, musician, activist, actor, humanitarian, philosopher, ornithologist, cartographer, and given the right combination of microbrews and music, she can invent all sorts of new dance moves. But mostly, she’s an amazing friend, and someone who continually inspires me to be better. And if that doesn’t make you want to own a copy of her book, then perhaps this synopsis and excerpt will:

A Box of Longing with Fifty Drawers: A Revisioning of the Preamble to the Constitution
A poetic exploration of the Preamble to the Constitution that consists of one poem (in sequence) for each of the 52 words that comprise it. Benka takes us on a re-imagining that cuts through the psychic landscape of America and explores the United States as “a box of longing with fifty drawers.” She delves not so much into the growing cynicism of Americans as to the deep bewilderment and sadness of us. She asks the deepening question of what is happening to core values such as economic justice, civil rights, a humane foreign policy, freedom and a decent life for everyone — and below that, what is happening to the individual psyches within a nation that has lost faith in itself.
America
an unsolved mathematical equation:
land plus people divided by people minus land
times ocean times forest times river.
escape and the delusion of discovery:
across the mad ocean to the rocky shore
step foot onto land call it yours.
promised land lemonade stand.
auction block stew pot.
the dreams:
of corn field wheat field tobacco field oil
of iron cage slave trade cotton plantation
of hog farm dairy farm cattle ranch range
of Mississippi Mason-Dixon mountains
of territories salt lake lottery gold
of saw mill steel mill coal mine diamond.
topographic economic
industry and war.
a box of longing
with fifty drawers.

When I inventoried my bookshelves and discovered that my literary collection was sorely lacking in US Constitution-inspired poetry, I immediately ordered seven copies of this book. So this means that six of my friends can expect autographed copies for Christmas, but I’m not saying which six of you, so you should all still buy your own copy. Then if I give you one of mine, you can give that other one to someone else, and it will kind of be like Amway. Ultimately, as with any good pyramid scheme, I’m the only one who will get rich.
Oh yeah – Jen is returning to the welcoming embrace of the Midwest in a couple weeks to do a few readings in Wisconsin, so maybe I’ll see you here:
Broad Vocabulary (Milwaukee, Oct 12, 6:30pm)
or here:
Wisconsin Book Festival (Madison, Oct 13-14)
Congratulations, Jen – first round in Madison is on me!

Filed under: General on October 4th, 2005 | 10 Comments »

I’m not sure if I forgot to set the alarm, or if I just didn’t hear it go off, but when I finally woke up on the morning of my flight to LA, I was feeling completely disoriented. I shuffled into the bathroom, flipped on the light, and saw an unfamiliar image in the mirror. When I fumbled for my glasses, I realized that I was face-to-face with someone who looked a bit like Liza Minnelli after an all-night bender.
Why did I have these enormous black circles around my eyes? Why was my head pounding? Why did my hair smell like an ashtray? And then I remembered – Natasha’s birthday party.
A few weeks ago, Natasha, Dee-Dee, Nat’s little sister Baby G, and I all went out for dinner and drinks to celebrate Natasha’s birthday. In order to squeeze the most out of her birthday, we started off the evening early by meeting at Natasha’s house for the pre-party, which involved drinking wine from giant juice glasses and nibbling on a tray of crusty French breads, expensive Italian meats and exotic cheeses, followed by Chex Mix and peanut M&M’s.
I was sitting in Natasha’s living room watching the end of some cooking show, when I heard a commotion coming from the bathroom. I grabbed my wine glass and a handful of M&M’s as I got up to investigate further. I saw Dee-Dee sitting on Natasha’s commode, while Nat hovered around her with some sort of waffle iron type implement.
“What’s going on ladies?”
“I’m flat-ironing Dee-Dee’s hair. Hey! Let me do yours next, Jenny! You can wash your hair right away if you don’t like it. Just let me do one piece!”
“Nat, we’ve been through this before. You are never, not now, or ever, going to flat-iron my hair.”
She pointed the steaming flat-iron in my face and yelled, “It’s my birthday and you’ll do what I say!”
My cheeks burned from the heat of the iron, and Nat had an intense look in her eye that bordered on crazy, so I could see that arguing wasn’t going to work. Instead, I tried distraction: “Is there any more white wine, or should I crack open the red?”
Behind the newly flattened locks of hair that fell in front of Dee’s face, I could see her eyes widen a bit as she said, “Ooh – open the red! I think it’s going to be a really good one!”
After filling up my glass with red wine, I retreated to my comfort zone, which was in front of the platter of cheeses and cured meats. Just as I was sampling a French triple crème that was not unlike eating butter, Baby G came over, carrying what appeared to be a small suitcase.
“Hey Baby G! We thought you got stuck in traffic.”
“No, I just had to go back for my makeup kit. Nat said she and Dee-Dee wanted me to give them smoky eyes for tonight.”
Baby G, although ten years our junior, had always been highly skilled in the area of makeup application, particularly when it came to creating the perfect smoky eye. I witnessed many a New Year’s Eve preparation that involved lines of women waiting outside Natasha’s bathroom to receive the ultimate Baby G sultry look. She had developed quite a reputation among our circle of friends.
As the three of them giggled and clinked glasses and spritzed in Nat’s bathroom, I sat alone on the couch, picking at the aged cheddar and popping an occasional red seedless grape into my mouth. I started to feel something in the pit of my stomach, but it wasn’t hunger. Was it jealousy? That was odd. I had never wanted to get all gussied up like that before, but hearing them all bonding in Nat’s tiny bathroom made me want to be a part of something.
I peeked my head into the bathroom and saw that Baby G was just finishing up with Dee-Dee’s right eye.
“Hi girls. Whatcha doing?”
“Giving Dee smoky eyes. Doesn’t she look sexy? I’m almost crossing her over into trampy!”
I shoved my hands into the back pockets of my corduroys, shrugged my shoulders up a bit as I looked at the line of eye shadows on the sink, and asked shyly, “Can I get smoky eyes, too?”
Natasha, who had been leaning into the bathroom mirror, trying on different shades of lipstick from Baby G’s kit, suddenly froze.
“Jen – what did you just say?”
I looked at the ground, smiled a little and mumbled, “Maybe I want smoky, trampy eyes like Dee-Dee, too. Can I get whore eyes?”
Natasha clapped her hands together wildly and screamed, “Yay! Jenny’s all grown up! Jenny gets whore eyes! Jenny gets whore eyes! It’s my birthday, and I say we all get whore eyes!”
When it was finally my turn to get made up, I felt an energizing rush of excitement mixed with a little fear. As a kid, I wasn’t one of those girls who played dress-up or tried on makeup with her girlfriends. We didn’t do each other’s hair and talk about boys, well, because no one really knew what to do with my hair. So this was finally my chance for a do-over.
Baby G sat me down on the toilet, grabbed her kit, and selected the perfect shade to bring out my natural tramp. “Are you ready?” she asked.
“I’m ready. Eyes open or closed?”
“Closed.”
I tried not to flinch as she brushed and smudged and patted layer upon layer of sparkly eye shadow onto my lids.
“Are you done yet? Do I look good?”
“Oh, we’re getting very close. Okay, now open.”
I opened my eyes and she came at me with a fat stick of eyeliner. I looked up, then down, then to the side. It was almost like being at the eye doctor. Although scared, I somehow felt safe in her gentle yet skillful hands.
But then she brought out the mascara, and I got a little nervous. “Is that a new mascara? Did… did you just use that on Nat’s and Dee-Dee’s eyes, too?”
“Yes, we’re all using the same one. Don’t worry, we always do this.”
Even before she touched my lashes, I could feel my eyes start to itch and burn, the first signs of pink eye setting in. I distinctly remember learning in health class that girls should never share eye makeup with each other, yet here I sat, eyeballs ready to be contaminated. I convinced myself to look at this as a sort of initiation – a rite de passage, as the smoky-eyed French whores say. So I just took a deep breath, and let her go at it.
When it was all done, I looked around the room at my lovely friends and felt such unity. I was one of the girls. The girly girls. And we all had whore eyes. We put away the cheese tray, took one last look in the mirror, and headed off to continue our evening of birthday fun.
In order to protect certain members of our party who got a bit more intoxicated than planned, I will cut short the final details of the evening. However, I can say that it involved a dangerous combination of the following drinks:
(4) Key Lime Pie martinis
(4) Margaritas
(2) Bottles of wine
(1) Singapore Sling
(1) Sidecar
(1) Champagne Bubbletini
(1) Neon Bluetini
(1) Strawberry Something-tini
(1) Kir Royal
[I know you’re all wondering – Singapore Sling? Sidecar? Were you out with your grandmother? No, that was me. I’m on a classic drink kick, what can I say? Don’t even get me started on Old Fashioneds.]
Dinner was excellent and as I recall, it involved meat of some sort. Or maybe squash. But it was delicious, I’m sure. As the evening came to a close, the group of us walked past a Salvation Army donation box while searching for a cab to take us home. In a move that will haunt me for at least a few more weeks, a particularly inebriated friend of mine offered me $50 to try on some of the donated clothes that were lying in a giant heap of dirt outside of the drop box. When I laughed off this absurd offer, she grabbed an enormous pair of old jeans that had some suspicious stains located in the buttocks region, and held them up to herself as if to model them.
We all screamed as soon as she did this, yelling at her to drop the toxic pants and step away from the clothes pile. She just laughed and shouted, “It’s my birthday and you’ll wear what I tell you to wear!” (Oh wait – did I just reveal the offender? My bad.)
My last clear memory is that of being chased down the street, as she threatened to touch me with her contaminated hands. I squealed and ran, until she finally caught up with me. I told her that she was going to get a disease from those nasty pants, at which point she covered my mouth with her hand and said, “Shhhhh.”
“Okay, you did NOT just touch my mouth with your crappy pants hand! Tell me that you didn’t just do that!”
“Well, Jenny, I could tell you that, but I think we both know what we just saw.”
“Dammit Nat! Now I’ve got e.Coli! I caught the e.Coli from your poo jeans! Really nice!”
The evening ended with some incoherent yelling at a cab driver, late night cheese consumption, and apparently no makeup removal, or I wouldn’t have awoken looking like a tweaked out former Broadway star with conjunctivitis and a possible case of Dirty Pants Hepatitis. I guess I had to learn the hard way that the rapid descent to rock bottom apparently begins with whore eyes.

Filed under: General on October 3rd, 2005 | 15 Comments »

To the person who found me by Googling “Jenny is really fat:”
Oh yeah? Well, then maybe… maybe you’re just dumb. Boom! Snap!

Filed under: General on September 28th, 2005 | 5 Comments »

Dear Vivian –
You know how you’re always promising me that if I come to New York, you’ll find me all kinds of celebrities to stare at? Well, I think that I might need to move to LA because get this! In a span of less than 24 hours, I not only sat next to the adorable and charming “Cockroach” from The Cosby Show, but on my return flight, guess who was sitting behind me in the gate, waiting to board my same flight? Guess! Okay, you’ll never guess.
Larry David from Curb Your Enthusiasm! Hello? Um, like, bazillion time Emmy nominee Larry David? Yes, that Larry David. I know! Can you even stand it! He didn’t sit by me like Cockroach did, mostly because Mr. David was in first class, and I was in Aisle 38, but he seemed really nice, too. Really nice, just like Cockroach, except he wasn’t wearing any suede that I could tell.
In LA, things are different than New York. In New York, it always takes you a long time to point out a celebrity to me, and then when you do, it’s usually the back of someone’s head, like that time we saw that anchorwoman from CNN. But in LA, the stars are just like you and me. They’re not always running somewhere. They wear suede. They spill cranberry juice. They sit in gates for delayed planes. They’re good people, Viv.
I’m thinking of moving to LA now, or at least flying there a lot. I think if I started to see some of these people on the planes a couple times, maybe we could become friends. Like, if Larry David saw me again on that same flight, I bet he might talk to me. Or maybe he would even ask me my advice on a joke he wrote.
“I think it’s pretty funny, but maybe you’re trying a little too hard. Just let the humor flow organically – that’s when you’re at your best, Larry!”
“Hey, thanks for the advice Jen! You know, the first time I saw you in LA, I just knew you would be a good sounding board. Here’s my cell phone – call me anytime you want to talk.”
Anyway, just wanted to fill you in on my trip. I can’t wait to go back!
Love,
Jenny

Filed under: General on September 19th, 2005 | 10 Comments »

Celebrity Sighting #1:
Carl Anthony Payne – aka “Cockroach” from the Cosby Show
That’s right, one Mr. Carl Anthony Payne (II) sat next to me on the flight from Chicago to LA. I can report the following details:
1. He was dressed in an extremely stylish manner. There was much suede.
2. He wore a very fancy watch and a big diamond earring.
3. He drank cranberry juice and knocked the can over onto his lap.
4. He did not watch the movie, Kicking & Screaming, starring Will Ferrell. This was a wise choice.
5. He carried a bright blue suitcase.
6. He is in love with me.
Please, please let this not be my last celebrity sighting, because I know that even with the picture, 75% of you are still going, “Carl who?”
I’ll try to deliver.
Be good.

Filed under: General on September 18th, 2005 | 7 Comments »

Oh, the bitter irony. My mother sent me my recent horoscope from AOL. The universe obviously did want me to be a juror.
Pisces (Feb 19-Mar 20) Pisces are generous, friendly, sensitive, popular, artistic, versatile, compassionate and spiritual. You will do well in any of the arts: drama, literature, painting, music, but your compassion also makes you well suited for philanthropy and judicial positions.
And I also can’t believe how spot-on they were with all of my other characteristics! I’ve never felt this understood before. Finally someone appreciates me for the generous, friendly, sensitive, popular, artistic, versatile, compassionate, spiritual, philanthropic, judicious musician that I am.
Cold comfort, my friends. Cold comfort.

Filed under: General on September 14th, 2005 | 3 Comments »

Dear Punch and Judy,
I know that it may seem strange of me to write you a letter when we live in the same house, but it’s late and you are both sleeping, and I need to get this off my chest. When I read this to you tomorrow, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, okay?
I really care about you both, and I think we get along real well. But there’s just something you do that really upsets me, so I want to talk about it. I know I should have brought it up sooner, since you’ve been doing this for the past five years, but I just didn’t know how to tell you.
So here goes: a lot of times when you sleep, you don’t close your eyes all the way. You both tend to keep them about a quarter of the way open, and I can see your eyeballs moving back and forth as you dream about chasing flies. (But of course, you only dream about chasing flies, because lord knows you didn’t do anything about the real one that was buzzing around the kitchen the other day.)
Anyway, in addition to being able to see your eyeballs moving, I can also sometimes see your third eyelid come out. Just so you know, to humans, third eyelids are really gross. We don’t have them. Frankly, I get along just fine with only two eyelids, so I don’t really know why you need so many. They make you look like you are dead, or have a disease. Please only use two eyelids in the future.
If you would rather write me back, let me know and I’ll leave my computer on while I’m at work tomorrow. Please don’t get mad about this or puke on my bed, okay? I just wanted you to know.
Love,
Jenny
p.s. It also kind of bothers me when you drink out of the bathroom sink, but I guess I understand.
p.p.s. I still think you’re a good boy and a pretty girl.

Filed under: General on September 14th, 2005 | 4 Comments »

Chapter Five: The Hunger
I have already eaten one bag of raspberry filled cookies, and worry about seeming gluttonous if I get something else. I haven’t seen any other potential jurors eat two things from the vending machine.
The clerk told us that the three jury selections occur at 9:00am, 10:30am, and 1:30pm. The first two have now passed, and no one from my room has been called. It is now 11:30 – will they give us lunch? I heard mention of a cafeteria. I wonder if they might have egg salad. I would like egg salad on toast, and perhaps an iced tea right now. That would be very nice.
Why aren’t more people eating snacks? Are they trying to prove a point? I think about the two peppermint patties in my backpack and wonder if they are smushed. No matter, I will still eat them. But I must hold out a bit longer. A foreperson is strong of will.
Chapter Six: The Fatigue
Lack of sleep due to workmares and late-night phone conversations has left me weak. As I look around the room, I see I am not the only one. A young man in a pale blue polo shirt has stretched across four seats and is napping atop a pile of newspapers. A middle aged woman in a mustard-colored sweater set sinks deep into her chair, trying desperately to find a comfortable position. Heads are bobbing as people doze off.
Why won’t someone turn on a TV? The lady said we could, as long as we were respectful of our fellow potential jurors. Doesn’t anyone want to watch daytime television? The news? Inside Edition? A PBS nature show? Why are you all so quiet? No one is talking! How will we ever deliberate if you are all mute?!
I am screaming inside my head right now I am screaming inside my head right now I am screaming inside my head right now.
Chapter Seven: The Recharging
I have to get away. I just need my space. I feel so trapped.
I look down and notice that my laptop battery is about to die. I have to find an outlet qui
Chapter Eight: The Eating
A kind-eyed woman with short reddish hair grabs the PA microphone and tells us all that we can leave for lunch now if we like. We have to be back in time for the 1:30pm jury selection slot. She then warns us that they often “lose” jurors during lunch. She tells us that abandoning your civic duty is an offense punishable by a fine, or even by prosecution. I nod my head in agreement as I glance over at the woman in pink. She’s a flight risk. A foreperson never leaves her post.
Four hours of not speaking has taken its toll on me, so within minutes of leaving the courthouse for lunch, I start calling my friends. Dee-Dee and Vivian do not pick up, so I leave messages. I resent that they are not available.
Next, I call my friend Georgia, and when she picks up, I don’t say hello. I just sigh and say, “Jury duty is boring.”
She laughs, “Is it? Why are you calling me? Are you done already?”
“No, just on lunch break. They haven’t even called anyone from our pool yet. I’m driving around the metropolis of Rolling Meadows to find somewhere to eat. Oh! Hey – there’s a Pizza Hut. Oh – and a Quizno’s!”
“Ooh – Quizno’s is good. I love their ads with the little hamster guy.”
“Me too. I mostly like when he says, ‘They got a pepper bar!’ I thought they took those off the air?”
“Did they? Well, it’s still a great commercial.”
“Yeah. Okay, well, I’m gonna go get a toasted sub. It’s the toasting that makes all the difference, you know.”
“That’s what I hear. Good luck!”
“Thanks. Talk to you later.”
Chapter Nine: The Disappointment
It’s 1:43pm. The third and final jury call has come and gone, yet we all remain. We are told that we need to stay here until 2:30pm just in case, but then we are free to go.
A wiry man with an eagle tattoo on his hairy forearm turned the TV on about an hour ago, and the entire room flocked toward its warm glow. We all sit transfixed, watching Ambush Makeover and Live Like a Star. An episode of Texas Justice comes on, and we see the case of a woman whose hair was burned off when a beautician tried to straighten it.
She is suing for $2,500 and the beautician is countersuing her for $500 because the stress of the lawsuit has caused her to miss work. It makes me wish I were on a jury right now, because even I know that this countersuit has no merit.
A news blurb comes on about Andre Agassi’s latest victory at the US Open, and the tattooed man leans over and tells me that he watched Agassi’s match yesterday. His voice carries no inflection when he says, “I saw him play last night. It was amazing. He was down two games, and then came back to win it all. He’s 35.”
I open my eyes wider and nod as I say, “Really? Yeah, he’s really good.”
“My neighbor is a tiny little Chinese man and he plays tennis three, four times a week.”
“Wow. That’s great exercise.”
“Yeah. Especially for an 83 year old guy. He gets around, I tell you. Tiny little guy.”
“Wow.”
I hesitate to offer any more than this because my instincts tell me that the tattooed man could be a talker. He may have been waiting patiently for the past five hours for someone like me to engage in conversation. I can’t be that person. Not now. Not at 1:57pm.
As the clerk informs us that we are free to leave, she calls us up to the desk to collect our paycheck for the day. I have mixed feelings as I accept my check for $17.20. I haven’t really done anything to earn this money. I didn’t even get interviewed. My company paid me for my time, and I wasn’t even able to help forward the wheels of justice.
I would have been a good foreperson. I just know I would have.
But now I am leaving the courtroom feeling a bit rejected. It’s like being stood up for a date. I was so ready to finally make a name for myself in the Cook County justice system. I dressed nicely, but not too nicely; I read the summons three times, taking care not to miss any important details; I even brushed up on my shorthand skills so that I could quickly take down all the critical notes from the trial.
I am the last person to leave the room. I carefully fold the check in half, and then in half again. As I unzip the pocket on my backpack, I discover the two peppermint patties I had been rationing all day. They are not smushed. I pause to look back at the jury room once more before exiting through the glass doors, then slowly unwrap my candy as I ride the escalator down.

Filed under: General on September 13th, 2005 | 13 Comments »