I haven’t had a regular day job in more than four months. I think this often gives folks the erroneous impression (often encouraged by me) that I am a slacker who has nothing but free time on her hands. Not so. I will not bore you with the mundane details of a typical day but between my causes, freelancing, household chores, family business management and job seeking, Eddie would be the first to report that I appear to be stretched thinner now than when I “worked.”

But by any standards, today is a doozy that will require a plethora of mental and physical strength.

The morning began at 6 AM when I got up to straighten the house, and myself, prior to wrestling Snuggy back over the vet. I use my choice of words purposely. You would not think a near toothless old cat, with a jaw infection and an absence of front claws would be able to put up much of a fight about anything. You would be wrong. I became seriously afraid that I might accidentally break Snuggy’s neck while shoving him back in the cat carrier. He was apparently onto my ruse that we were just going out for a nice, early morning mother and son walk. Gratefully, my back seat remained free of pee on the short drive to the animal clinic. I should be able to see Snuggy again after 3 PM this afternoon.

Before that time, I have to shower, dress up like I am trying to impress somebody (have almost forgotten what this is like in my unemployment uniform of t-shirt and sweats), and head downtown for a job interview. As Boop has crashed and burned several times this summer in a high profile way, she chooses to release minimal details on this opportunity. All I will mention is that it’s just about perfect for my current needs, and I will be happy to tell everyone all about it should I meet with success.

After I get off the el, I will have to get back over to Uptown Animal Hospital and bring the patient home. I should have just about enough time to wolf down a snack before hopping the el back downtown. I have to see a play for the Edge called Stoop at the Goodman Theater tonight – 7 PM. Shows at the Goodman are almost always high quality, but truth be told, I feel a little guilty that Snuggy will be home alone tonight. This is one instance of about 10 million when I wish my husband were not always on the road. I will be running from the theater faster than usual.

I hope whatever you are doing on this cloudy and humid Monday morning, whatever hoops you are jumping though, whatever annoyances you are coping with, you know it’s all worth it.

I was going to create a lark of a post today. Yesterday afternoon while walking down Lincoln Avenue near Belmont, a man stopped in his car at a red light gave me a smile. He was unselfconsciously listening to great 80s movie theme song “St Elmo’s Fire (Man in Motion)” For all the people under 27 who have no idea what I am talking about, this ditty was sung by one-hit wonder John Parr, to go along with a most excellent, cheesy Brat Pack film by the same name – minus the “Man in Motion” part.

Sigh. Ok, the Brat Pack consists of people like Rumer Willis’s mom and the guy who played Victory’s boyfriend on “Lipstick Jungle.” Kids today.

Anyway, the idea I was working on is that everyone has their own “pump it up” jam, that song that uniquely seems to get you going when you need an internal shot of adrenaline. This dude, as Paula Abdul might have said before she left AI, showed those of us on Lincoln his “heart” when he belted out “And I’m coming alive!” toward the end of the song’s bridge – windows open, warbly, offkey voice booming. Marvelous. For my own part, my “pump it up” jams vary from Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger,” to Kevin Rudolph’s “Let it Rock.” There are others, but we’ll save that for another time.

I was just sitting on my couch catching a few minutes of CNN before I sat down to write this. I was quite pleased with myself on having located a relatable slice of life piece to share, rather than the usual details of my personal muck, or my lefty political rants. I was about to put out my stick of burning incense and retreat to the office, when the following story rolled across the screen:

And this is right on the heels of:

According to the U.S. Department of Justice, more than 52 % of all rape/sexual assault victims are females younger than 25. Maybe the recent spate of high profile and gruesome stories makes the situation seem more like a dire epidemic than day to day reality reflects, but clearly we have a problem on our hands. And why? How did this happen?

Haven’t some of us complacently lulled ourselves into believing we are more progressive as a nation? Isn’t the Millennial Generation supposed to bring us hope in terms of thoughtful open mindedness toward the treatment of ethnic, sexual and religious groups? I know I have been guilty of seeing only what I want to see at times. And I believe a growing number of our nation’s youth ARE learning to coexist peacefully, though you need look no further than the disappointing displays of racism disguised as “disagreement” with our President, to know we have a long way to go.

But a scary number of our young people show a callous, sinister disregard for any human lives but their own. It is time to address it in a serious way. Some will blame indulgent, lax parenting as the problem, and it may certainly be a catalyst toward the criminal irresponsibility of these young men. But we’re talking about more than simply morals and values here. Something is broken within our social code, and I have watched it degenerate palpably in my own relatively young lifetime. Women may have more power in the workplace, marketplace and at the ballot box than they ever have. Unfortunately, one of the dire consequences of that growth is an intensifying, seething anger on the part of a fringe segment of our young men. Now I am no psychologist, but it would seem this fringe feels somehow emasculated, even at the “privileged” levels of the social hierarchy. They are dealing with those feelings of powerlessness by attacking and mutilating, reasserting their own physical authority.

I don’t know where to start. Violence against women is unfortunately an issue as old as humanity itself. But I hope that America’s institutions of higher learning get together and start coming up with some ideas. I want to hear them. I do not want anymore promising young women cut down, scarred and abused when they should be studying hard and finding their own youthful “pump it up” jams.

It was an eventful weekend, within my own circle of acquaintance, as well as on the public stage. The weather in Chicago was gorgeous and sunny, enough to infuse one with a profound sense of pending loss, as we expect those leaves to start turning color and falling any day now. Maybe it was this mood of happy urgency that rendered these weekend oddities just a bit funnier:

Becky Boop

Lost: One regulation size Gaiam yoga mat. I hopped on the Brown Line at Damen on Friday morning, on my way to my downtown Pilates class, packed like the proverbial rat. Six pounds of dumbbells, two novels and my journal in my bag, yoga mat tucked under my arm. I became engrossed in my book, as I often do, so much so that I nearly forgot to get off at the Chicago Red Line station. In my haste to leave before the doors closed, I neglected something critical: my mat. I realized my mistake and turned around in slo-mo just as the electronic entrance slammed shut, and the train began to move again.

Found: I had exactly 15 minutes to get a new mat before class started. The staff at Nike Town are unhelpful slags. At the front door, they assured me they sold yoga gear. Three flights of stairs and a conversation with the floor manager later, all I had to show for myself was the loss of a precious 8 minutes. Likewise, Macy’s and Walgreens are not fitness inclined. It was at Border’s I finally found a new mat – and it was way cushier than my old one. I will chalk this up as a karmic plot to secure me new exercise equipment, rather than as evidence of my senility.

Sid Beaverhousen – aka my old pal Brandon

Lost: One pair of fierce red platform shoes. On Saturday afternoon, Eddie and I met Brandon at his new apartment in order to walk together to our friend Jeremy’s 35th birthday party in Andersonville. Brandon is a creative guy with a funkly, artistic sensibility. He strapped on these shoes that were a work of art – three inch platforms that kind of made Brandon look like a white, blond Shaft as he strutted down Clark Street. We were just a few blocks from the bar when I looked behind me and saw Brandon come to a screeching halt. This is when Eddie and I saw it. The sole of his right shoe had completely slipped off. Brandon prides himself on being unflappable, but he could not cover his annoyance and embarassment fast enough to escape my notice. The broken footwear was hilarious enough on a crowded street in broad daylight, but what really put me over the edge was the following plaintive wail: “What am I going to do now?!”

Found: Once I managed to pick myself off the pavement (yes, there has long been a warm spot in hell waiting for Boop), Brandon, now walking along in just his socks, began to realize he couldn’t enter a bar barefoot. The options were to turn around and go home, not beloved as we had walked a long way by then, or stop and buy a new pair of shoes. I am happy to report this story ends happily, with Brandon sporting a new pair of white Steve Maddens that cost a mere $40. The incident also provided me with a story to retell ad nauseum for the evening.

The Bears

Lost: The great hope that Jay Cutler was going to serve the team any better than Rex Grossman or Brian Griese, at least after game one. Four turnovers – wow.

Found: The all-too sensible perspective that it’s going to take more than a marquee quarterback to give Da Bears a golden season. Like, for example, how about some competent wide receivers?

Kanye West

Lost: His mind, his respect for fellow artists and his read of the collective public opinion that it is not OK to humiliate teenage girls onstage, no matter how rich and famous they might be.

Found: After the crap display of Congressman Joe Wilson last week, and this Kanye incident, America rises up and decides its had its fill of public boorishness and rudeness. I would not like to be the third public figure to try this overbearing garbage. The climate is finally intolerant to something we can all agree is no good for our culture – arrogrant hysteria.