Month: July 2015

BufBloPoFo 09 DayFour (March 17, 2009)

Becky SarwateLeave a comment

I think everyone should use their blogs to brag about something. And it can’t be your kids or significant other because Katie said she doesn’t want to read about that crap.

I live in the greatest City in the world – Chicago. And though I have not seen every world City on my list (London, Rome, Athens, Cairo and Madrid come to mind), I have seen quite a few: Mumbai, Capetown, Moscow, Warsaw, not to mention New York, Boston, Miami, New Orleans and San Francisco. Very shortly, I will be able to add Tel Aviv and Jerusalem to my list. But though I have seen many places, and many faces, I am convinced that no urban environment can ever hold a candle to Chi-town.

I admit that our winters do at times, put our claim to the Greatest Town Ever in serious peril. When Jen and I first got this blog going, I wrote a whole post about God’s shameless abandonment of the place from December 15-March 1. But if you can get past the three months of pitiless frozen tundra, ah what delights await the senses the rest of the year. My husband hails from India, a nation that evokes the name of the great book by Thomas L. Friedman, Hot, Flat and Crowded (ok maybe not so flat, but you get the idea). When he first migrated to the U.S., he lived in the New York/New Jersey area and though there were certainly less people, his view of New York, and by extension his opinion of cities, was hardly undermined: dirty, dense and treeless.

Eddie and I have been together for over three years. When he first came to the Chicago area, he beelined for the suburbs. He wanted quiet, open spaces, and plenty of road to drive his oversized vehicle around. In other words, he wasted no time adopting good old fashioned American values. But since I forced him to return to the City with me, he has come to see that the dogma I have so nefariously set out to beat into his head is actually true. With Chicago, you get the best of both worlds: clean streets, exciting places to go, plenty of foliage, and the diversity (in all senses) that one would expect from a first-rate world City.

I already mentioned the weather, and if I am going to to make a case for the greatness of Sweet Home Chicago, I am also wise enough to dodge the subject of local politics. This means you King Daley. No place is perfect, but we come pretty darned close. Where else can you find clean sandy beaches, Lake Shore Drive, Wrigley Field, the view from the Hancock, Milennium Park? I could go on and on, but if you’re looking for an official tour guide, please contact me directly.

I have had opportunities to move to other cities, and I have done small town, even Southern living. It probably goes without saying that those shoes didn’t fit me right at all, but those trials only underscore my right to claim expertise on this subject. For all its flaws, and for all the competition brought by many other fine environments, there’s just no other place to be.

BufBloPoFo 09 DayThree (March 16, 2009)

Becky SarwateLeave a comment

If nothing else, BufBloPoFo is a learning tool. Last year, we learned how to load a dishwasher, how to take a leak, etc. Let’s keep that going this year, but instead of focusing on what people are doing wrong, tell me what you think you do right. Walk me through a process. Give me the step-by-steps. Can you make damn good baba ganoush? Can you tie a bow tie? Can you pour the perfect Guinness??? Teach me how, perfesser.

How to Have a Meltdown on Your No-Housework Doin’ Husband without Destroying Your Marriage or Your Self Respect – a Primer by Becky Boop

I am the first to admit, I went about this 100% incorrectly early in my marriage. My greatest folly was operating on the mistaken belief that your husband is at all moved by his wife’s shouting or tears. Not so, ladies. These sounds function as a kind of dog whistle in reverse, penetrable to the ears of everyone EXCEPT your beloved pet, er husband. Through 18 months of trial and error, I believe I have finally uncovered successful methods for getting my darling up off that couch, making him understand that I do not in fact enjoy wiping the urine he leaves behind on the toilet seat five times a day. Like your beloved, you too can spend hours of your own day engaging in fun activities that do not include the removal of dirty dinner plates from your kitchen barstools. However, we women have been forced into adopting stealthy, psychological tactics that bring our men in line without the slightest appearance of nagging or badgering. With any luck, you can even make your husband believe that it was his idea and initiative to act as something other than a destructive force in your living room. Read on:

1. Logic/Flattery: Upon walking in the door to discover an overturned pot of Indian chai on the stove, after your man has had hours to clean up his breakfast mess before your return home, don’t give into that overwhleming urge to yell. Keep your blood pressure low and still get across your utter disgust for this act of laziness with the following question:

“Honey, help me understand how a man with a Master’s degree in Information Systems, a person who moved to a brand new country, alone, with a small duffel bag and nothing in his pockets but a lifetime supply of pluck, can’t seem to locate the proper receptacle (that would be the sink) for his dirty dishes?”

2. Justice: When your loved one has spent 8 hours wearing a path on the floor from the office, where he peruses wikipedia for the latest on China’s nuclear plans, to the living room, where he checks in with Campbell Brown’s extended broadcast of “No Bias, No Bull,” but neglects to find any time for a shower, appeal to him from a calm perspective of right and wrong. Example:

“Baby, do you think it’s fair that I get up in the morning, and do my very best to keep myself looking attractive: the shaving, plucking, scrubbing and moisturizng necessary to give my husband the beautiful wife he deserves? Meanwhile, you have crumbs from your morning breakfast sandwich stuck to your cheek, there are fruit flies swarming about your hair, which has not been washed in three days, and you are wearing the saggy grey sweatpants my Dad gave you last Christmas, only they haven’t been through the washing machine since that holiday?”

3. Age/Disbelief: Upon the discovery that the trash you requested to be taken out three days ago, still remains, growing out rather than up, with the pungent and tangy aroma of fortnight old cat vomit, resist he temptation to degenerate into a rabid and foaming lady of the house. Instead, appeal to your man on the basis of maturity and your persistent belief that he does in fact know the difference between right and wrong.

“Dear, my eyes must be going faster than I thought because I SWEAR that’s the exact same pile of putrid mess in the wastebasket I asked you to take out last week. Now I know you care about the air that I breathe, because you love me that much. No husband of mine would expect me to come home after a hard day’s work and inhale toxic waste. You must have fogotten your trip to the dumpster when you left the house this morning to buy your latest pack of death sticks.” (Note subtle dig at husband’s smoking habit – kill two birds with one stone).

It is unfortunate that my normal maxim of honesty as the best policy fails miserably when it comes to the subtelties of domestic chore warfare. We ladies, in order to prevent a lifetime of Cinderella-style drudgery, or Stepford-wife style seething underneath the drug cocktail of our choice, have been forced into an attack full of pleasant subterfuge. Sarcasm, flattery, and outright sociopathy have taken the place of the useless marital screaming match. Try my far healthier recipe of calm manipulation and I guarantee at least the occasional break from doing it all yourself.

BufBloPoFo 09 DayTwo (March 15, 2009)

Becky SarwateLeave a comment

If you had the power to put together the most perfect, end-of-the-universe, nothing-better-was-ever-made repast, using whatever ingredients you want, and with whomever you’d like as your co-diners, what would you want? Tell me about one little bit, or all fourteen courses. Tell me about venue, about background music, about which box of wine goes best with which flavor of ramen noodles.

I have invited two temporarily resurrected men, Tim Russert and Jesus, to my place for dinner. Joining the three of us will be one person who remains of this world, Madonna. I have offerred to prepare a zesty vegetable lasagna from scratch. I have chosen a veggie meal because Jesus and Madonna are both Jews, and I do not keep a kosher kitchen. I understood from Tim Russert’s waistline while alive that he is not a picky eater. I set three plates at the bar in my kitchen, and pour three glasses of red wine. Madonna only sips gingerly at hers, requesting a bottle of Kabbalah water alongside her plate. Tim Russert and Jesus start sucking it down. We all know Jesus was a pretty fun wedding guest. Tim Russert came from a blue collar Irish background. ‘Nough said. I keep a plate for myself on the side. I will eat (and drink later). I do not want to be distracted or compromised whatsoever as we begin our discussion.

Wine has reddened the cheeks of Tim Russert and so he introduces a lively debate on the current economic crisis. Russert heatedly lays the blame at the feet of George W. Bush, though he does admit that the U.S. had been a little too lax about a lot of things in the last twenty years. Jesus is of the opinion that he sort of likes Obama’s Robin Hood approach to his most recent budget plan. However, realizing he may have said too much, Jesus grows a little sheepish. The son of God ought not to appear to pick sides, he says, so can we all keep what he said under our hats? It’s not exactly a lie, and thus we wouldn’t really be breaking any commandments. I tell Jesus to relax and poor him another glass. Madonna, who charges $200 or more to see one of her shows, apparently doesn’t realize there is a recession at all. Nevetheless, Jesus is always one to find a silver lining, and though he encourages the Material Girl to get to know some of the “little people,” he nonetheless commends Madge on the adoption of the formerly impoverished David Banda.

As we move toward the dessert course, a homemade banana bread pudding (in this fantasy, I have miraculously learned how to cook. Perhaps the divine intervention of Jesus?), the discussion moves to the subject of children. Jesus, just like Michael Jackson a couple millenniums later, obviously loves them (However, He pointedly resents the Gloved One’s use of “Jesus Juice” to calm them down – J endorses no such product), but immediately lets us know not to believe everything we read. The Da Vinci Code is just a work of fiction and there were no Jesus Juniors. I can barely mask my disappointment. Tim Russert, by now a little intoxicated, grows misty eyed at the thought of his now adult son Luke. I show him a clip of Luke working on behalf of NBC news during the McCain/Obama debates and he is done for. Madonna has three children from three different fathers (fine, the last one was adopted). Jesus knows it’s 2009 and doesn’t want to come off as a prude, so he stays quiet during Madonna’s confessional.

Tim Russert can barely stand by the time we finish our meal. Jesus tells us the coolest thing about being the Son of God is his immunity to basically, well, everything. He hoists Tim up on his shoulder so they can begin the walk back to heaven. Surprisingly, it’s not that far. Madonna has a chopper on top of my roof and will fly off with her boy toy, 22 year-old Jesus Luz. She realizes the irony of sleeping with a pretty young thing that bears the name of the Chosen One, and accepts that as further proof that her bed hopping is indeed all part of God’s plan.

BufBloPoFo 09 DayOne (March 14, 2009)

Becky SarwateLeave a comment

For your first day of Blufporbfofoing, tell me the three biggest things going on in your life right now.

Well I can’t forget the first one because he is sleeping not 20 feet away from me, so I am trying to keep it down. I am a hard and fast two finger hunt and peck typer. Pretty odd for a person with a Master’s in English Lit. I know. Anyway, my husband and the continued drama and uncertainty following his career path in 2009 is #1. Will he find a permanent job? Will it allow him to remain at home? We continue to be on pins and needles.

The second biggest thing going on in my world is decidedly less stressful. I am going to Tel Aviv, Israel from the 16th of April, returning the 26th. I am visiting my very good friend Bobby who moved to Israel five years back. He wanted to be closer to his spirtual roots as he grew older, and fell in love with a wonderful Israeli man named Moish. I had long promised I would make it over there, but when I was in grad school, there was no time, and afterward, no money. But this year, I can finally make good. In addition to looking forward to nine days with one of my best friends, Israel is teeming with religious and cultural history. I am a nerd at heart and this factor alone sets my blood pumping.

I had to stop and think pretty hard about the third biggest thing revving me up these days, because #1 and #2 admittedly soak up a lot of my free thinking hours. But I think, if I am being honest, the third biggest thing happening is me. 2009 has so far been one of transition in myself. I have broken out of a lot of old ruts, tried new things I have only talked about doing in the past (like blogging, or taking the online Jeopardy! test). With the help of a great therapist I have been seeing for the last six months, I have become nearly zen-like in my ability to adapt and cope with challenges. For anyone who knows me, this is especially astounding, as I have always been known as a German/Italian hothead through and through. I kind of like this calm new me who is not afraid to take risks, think outside the box and go after what she wants. I have been more honest with myself and pursued that which I desire, with the result that I think I have become far more bearable to those around me.

BUFBLOPOFO 2009 (March 13, 2009)

Becky SarwateLeave a comment

This is the busiest time of the year for me in the office, and Lord knows I have had my hands full at home, especially with my husband away. So I don’t know quite what I was thinking when I signed up to do this, but I always like a new challenge, and as I have heard said, if you want something done, give it to a busy person.

I have a friend, Mike Garvey, who lives in Buffalo, and is a fellow blogger. For the last two years, he has sponsored a sort of writing contest. Basically, every day for the next 14, Garvey will choose a topic and all of us participants have accepted the challenge to write a reponse to the prompt on our respective blogs. That is right my friends, every day for the next two weeks, you will be treated to a new treatise from me. I call us particpants, rather than contestants, because there is really no prize at the end except the satisfaction of having committed and made it out the other side. For more on the rules and details, please visit Garvey’s blog:

http://royaltoybox.blogspot.com/

The fun starts tomorrow, March 14th, and I am counting heavily on your moral support. Let the games begin!