Quiet Rebel Writer

Hello all, and happy Friday! It’s the end of another productive, fun-filled, aggravating, enjoyable, hair-pulling-out week. Time to remove the thin veil of objectivity that I maintain during most of my weekly posts, and let ‘er rip in a rant.

This week? A short list of things that suck.

Chicago weather. My city is amazing on almost every count. In the nearly 8 years since I’ve made Chicago my home, it continually surprises me and delights me. Of course, just as in any loving relationship, there are some things that drive me up the friggin wall. And one of them is the storied 9-month-long winter. Seriously. Fall and Spring are seasons in name only here: come October, the teet-freezing cold parks itself right in the middle of the city and refuses to budge till May. We’re nearing the end of the long dark, and I can – almost – feel – the – warmth – of that taunting glowing orb in the sky…

Misdirected spam. Dear spammers: My name is Amy. That usually means a girl. And in most cases, girls do not need to know how to make their love hammers hard as a rock. OK Thx Bai.

The new Madonna song. My tastes run towards the harder-edged rock and roll. Old school Who, Led Zeppelin and punk, evergreens NIN, the Pixies, Pavement, and Sleater-Kinney, and current rockers like Eagles of Death Metal, Foo Fighters, and White Stripes. But I loves me my Madonna. Ever since I was a kid and thought “Material Girl” was “Cheerio Girl.” True story. I’ve loved her through all her various makeovers and reimaginings, her dabbling in genres, and her wacky determination to be an actress. Loved her last big hit Hung Up. But the new one with JT? A bit vacuous. Over produced. Pointless. Disappointing and weird. Even for my crazy Madge.

Psycho kitties. I love my cat. She’s great. But when her evil schizophrenic twin takes over, every morning right in the middle of a conference call or interview, it’s a titch aggravating. She meows like she’s dying, jumps at the walls, throws shit across my desk, and generally makes herself impossible to ignore. As soon as I’m off the phone? Silent peace. And undeniable cuteness. Damn you, you incredibly cute ball of poofing fur, you.

Loss. Read Dan Savage? If you don’t you should. This week’s column was a devastating departure from his mix of fantastically freaky sex advice, hilarious political commentary, and touching support. His mother died, and he couldn’t face writing a normal column. The result is a funny and heart-rending tribute as only Dan could do it.

And one crazy cool thing that doesn’t suck:

New beginnings. My brother and his wife welcomed their first child this week. Born to a metal fiend and a rocking bassist, and his wife, a truly kickass, take no prisoners, strong woman, this kid, given the phenomenal name “Stone,” will surely take the world by storm. Thanks Stone, for making my parents grandparents, for making me an aunt (on the Lillard side), and for reminding me of the continuing capacity for surprises and joy from life.

That is all. Word porn up shortly…

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