Welcome to Forgotonia

the shrapnel

Q: what happens when you leave a Diet Coke in your car from Xmas Eve thru almost New Year’s, (in the IL/IA winter), finally bring it inside to throw away, and then drop it on the floor of your boyfriend’s apartment the second you’re inside the door, and a frozen explosion of brown ice erupts all over the kitchen table and chairs, stove, walls, and the living room carpet –and, of course, the off-white suede couch?

A: your normally extremely patient bf gets a little ticked.

(Sorry C-Nor. Welcome to the spastic disaster that is your girlfriend.)

Howdy folks,

I just wanted to let you know that I fixed a little bug today; if you click on the little orange icon under “Let’s Be Friends,” you should be able to easily subscribe now. Check it out!

(Thanks to HerGLX3, one of my longest-running and most loyal followers, for alerting me to the fact that the subscribe prompt was screwed up.  Oh and yes, saying that I have “followers” does make me feel a bit like I am David Koresh or something. Merry Christmas.;)

Chris Benedict, 21, of Nauvoo, is in the national news for hacking, but he’s not in trouble.

Check out the story on CNN.com.

(Thanks to “Hancock Hustla’”  M.T. for the tip, via Facebook.)

She was in Davenport last Spring, I believe, filming a disaster movie about earthquakes or something. It aired on the Sy Fy channel, called “mega fault” or something like that. My bf, C-Nor, has a family member who helped film it. They did fake earthquakes in Davenport, I think.

Sad, (on a couple levels).
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Chapter 1
Last night I had Christmas with my Little Sister from BB/BS, who I will call J. She’s a 7th grader now, and she and I  were matched in the BB/BS program when she was in 2nd or 3rd grade. When I picked her up at 5:30 as the snow was starting to accumulate,  she was super excited to give me my present. She was like, “Which do you think we should do first–open our presents? Or eat supper.”

So of course I made the right choice.

When we got to my house and I opened my present– a leapoard-print Snuggie– I laughed and told her I’d love it, and of course I had to try it on. (Perhaps I should say here that despite having heard all about this year’s fad and its accompanying commercial, I’ve never actually seen the ad, since I don’t have TV). As I modeled it for her, her face fell for second, and then she looked at me like I had said the moon is made of cheese. “Not like that,” she said, coming over to adjust it. “You’ve got it on backwards.”

Chapter 2
Ashamed, but determined to right myself in her eyes, I then got out the stuff for us to make a “homemade” pizza (the Alison version: pre-made whole-wheat crust, Ragu sauce in a jar, etc.);  and let her pick her activity for the night. She chose making homemade soaps for people in her family.

A bit of explanation: a couple of years ago, I decided–in the spirit of wanting to give people practical Christmas gifts, ones that didn’t cost much, that didn’t use up a ton of resources, and that I actually made with my hands, (vs., you know, something I bought at Miley-Mart that was probably made by a child in a factory), I decided I would look for a way to create some Christmas gifts.

So I found, like, the easiest possible idea out there– buy block of soap, melt chunks of it in microwave, add color and scent, pour into mold, viola!

(But then, of course, in my typical fashion, I began hunting down more and more materials at Hobby Lobbies and Michaels’ and other places I can’t reach without using up lots of gas, and spending a bunch of money on fish- and frog- and turtle-shaped molds for my nephews …)

Chapter 3
Anyway, because I have a galley kitchen with about 2 inches of counter space, we  moved the microwave to the center of the dining room table; cleaned up from supper;  dusted off all the soap-making supplies (yeah yeah, so there may have been a cat hair or two in some of the  molds. What can I say? I’m a busy woman);  and let the crafting commence.

At first I thought we’d make soaps for her to give to her mom and aunt.

But as we got started, J. started making a list of all the people she wanted to make one for, and she began adding cousins and teachers and church people to her list…and even as it got later, and later,  I couldn’t say no.

I have to admit, I had been secretly planning to have her home by no later than 8:30-ish so I could have my own little wind-down night. But she was so in the Christmas spirit, she even wanted to make a soap for a nurse at a local nursing home who helps take care of her grandma.

So we called her mom and got permission to keep going until 10.

But here I was, after having just the day before finished a semester of taking six hours of graduate credit, plus working full-time; house a mess;  Amazon packages and wrapping paper in piles everywhere; cat trying to destroy the curling ribbon; my back starting to hurt and my mind wandering to how nice it would be to have a glass of wine; and J. and I melting, pouring, stirring, melting, pouring, stirring, then wrapping all of her creations–I think we made close to 20 soaps– at 10 o’clock at night.

I was absolutely freaking exhausted. But at the same time– sap alert, sorry– it really made me see the excitement and spirit of Christmas through a kid’s eyes, rather than in my usual Christmas-is-just-a-consumer-event Grinch-yness. When we headed out to my car after 10, everything was blanketed in snow and it was beautifully quiet. It was a wonderful night.

(The only downfall: I got Ragu  on my Snuggie.)

The story of how a spat between the local cops and a record store owner in Macomb—a spat that indirectly involved a certain Lollapalooza-founding band member—caused a controversy that got the attention of the ACLU and apparently some national news outlets.

Stay tuned!

(*oh and um “soon” may mean “after the holidays.” But do stay tuned!)

Do you ever have moments that seem absolutely freaking scripted? Like there’s some force out there watching you and listening to what you say you’re going to do, and then just as you’re about to do it, rubs its hands together greedily and says, “Ah, but that’s what you thought you were going to do! Ha ha ha ha, eat that.”

This is what happened to me.

Metals are a Girl’s Best Friend

I have been waiting all year—scratch that, for close to 2 years now—for the annual jewelry sale put on by the art students at WIU. I’m talking about the students’ actual final-project artwork, which happens to be jewelry. (Not, like, a Lia Sophia party.)

A few years ago, I went to the sale to check it out, and I was impressed by a lot of what I saw. But I was also a bit shocked by the price of some of the items. (Not that the jewelry wasn’t worth it–I just hadn’t known what to expect.)

So I decided to do something radical— try to save up.

Perhaps I should explain here that I am the kind of person who, if you handed me a box full of diamond rings, would trade them in for cash. I would rather wear sterling silver costume jewelry than anything truly valuable. And the funky stuff that undergrad art majors make is right up my alley. Give me hammered silver, twisted-up metal, and stones-on-silver-slides, over diamonds any day, baby. (Yeah, my bf is probably not too upset about this.)

The Heat is (not) On

Anyway, I tried to stop buying costume jewelry all last year, saving up instead for one quality piece at the spring-semester sale.

But It never came. They didn’t have one last year for some reason.

So I wait and wait some more, and then finally it’s the end-of-fall-semester sale this week. And what happens? The first day of the sale—like, as I’m on my way to the art gallery—the freaking heat in my car stops working.

In December. In Illinois.

So I take it into the shop, and, a few hours later, have to drop $100.

After School Special

As I was writing out the check—a check for a heater blower motor resistor or some such nonsense, rather than for a funky piece of handcrafted jewelry—I felt like any moment, this narrator from a cheesy high school health-class film reel was suddenly going to appear and start speaking to an imaginary camera:

“You see folks, that was what we like to call an example of Adult Priorities. Now, before we begin to move on to our next chapter, Income Taxes and Other Reasons to Stay a Kid Forever, let’s review how our dramatized situation unfolded…”

Boo, adult life, poop on you!

How cute are they?

Madre y Padre

I’m feeling very thankful today for the fact that I not only have two intelligent, funny, loving, and kind parents, and not only that they’ve stayed married for 40 years, but also that they seem to be happy about that decision. ;) It is almost easy to take for granted how truly lucky I am.

Saturday
We met up to celebrate last night for some fine dining, a la Aurelio’s in Macomb. (Pizza and playroom = not a bad idea when taking small kids out to eat.)

Serendipity, baby
In retrospect (1 day later, I mean), meeting up here seems appropriate for a different reason: my parents actually met in Macomb. They were students at WIU in the 60′s, (Dad a local farmboy studying horticulture, and Mom a northern-IL gal studying Spanish). They got engaged here in Macomb, too; if I have my story straight, Dad proposed to Mom under a tree on West Calhoun Street, just in front of the former Haeger Pottery, and across the street from a somewhat scurvy apartment where he was living with his friends (and which is quite possibly still very scurvy, but which fact I cannot prove). And now here I am more than 40 years later working for, and studying for a master’s degree at, the university where they met.

From ‘Frisco to…
For the first year after they were married, my parents lived in the San Francisco Bay area while Dad was stationed in the Navy (and did his subsequent Vietnam tour). But  farming awaited for my dad back home.

The fact that they lived in California–or that I didn’t get to–was something I used to c them about when I was a teenager.  “You guys lived in California and you came back here?” On purpose?!?

Now, though, I’m pretty glad we’re all right here in Forgotonia.

My parents opening their gifts

My parents (on the right) with me, my nephew Carl (1), my sister Melissa, my bro-in-law Andy, and my nephew Curtis (4). (My bf, Chris, took the pic. And, btw, we via the Internet.)

mi familia

I’ve been trying for quite some time now to tell you the strange story about what happened to the old Carthage College campus.

I’ve tried to tell you–in words–why the story is kind of a big deal, and just how drastic things had become at the former college in my tiny hometown (Carthage, IL). But lo and behold, the cliche comes true: a picture tells a thousand words. Or in this case, a set of photos.

The shots below were taken inside the old Carthage College auditorium, which is finally being restored after having been left for dead in the 1990′s, a fact which I have blogged about rather extensively.)

I recently discovered (via Flickr) this set taken inside the abandoned auditorium building (quite awhile before the restoration was being planned). They tell, on their own, the destruction that was allowed to happen at this once-prosperous place: (please check out this slideshow below)

Like I said, the pix say it all. But here’s a super-quick re-cap:

1. Carthage College (now located in Kenosha, WI), was originally located in my hometown (Carthage IL), but picked up and left town because the existing location was so out-of-the-way (so deep in the Forgotonia region) that Chicago students couldn’t get there easily.
2. Carthage College had been a fairly prestigious little school. Interestingly, (as this week’s news story says), the first-ever chapter of Circle K was started there. Most people who know of the liberal arts school now located near Chicago have no idea where its name comes from.
3. After the campus closed, Robert Morris moved in and then left, and then a strange, strange saga began (including the “Carthage International College” chapter), eventually ending in the campus being left to rot and crumble for many years. There’s even a photo in this set of a luggage tag left behind by the seemingly on-the-lam Korean “owner,” who virtually disappeared after buying—and abandoning—the campus property.

The photos were taken by Craig Finlay, one of my  fellow WIU English-program graduate students.

Craig has a hobby of, um… trespassing in abandoning buildings to shoot the decadent art that lies inside. If you haven’t already watched the slideshow above, check out the set here (to read the cutlines and get some details).

I am so that happy that leaders in my hometown are investing the time, money, and concern into fixing the place up. Last week’s Hancock County Journal-Pilot (my hometown paper) featured an update on the progress of restoring the old auditorium building.

Do you remember the old Carthage College, or Robert Morris, or Carthage International College, or made-up-university-that-solicited-funds-via-the-Internet? Tell me in the comments below!

Soap star and MC graduate Helen Wagner

To misquote that Midnight Oil song, how do we sleep if the World‘s not Turning?

Today, I learned from a story on NPR that it’s the end of the world as we know it for As the World Turns, which was canceled Dec. 8. So it’s probably also the end of a record-breaking career. Helen Wagner, aka Nancy Hughes,  is known as the longest-working actress on television.

My interview with a soap star.
In 2006, I got the opportunity to interview Wagner, who began her career in theatre and started on the soap when it was still a radio show. She and I share an alma mater. I chronicled her career as a freelance piece (for Monmouth Magazine) and I got to hear about some of her favorite showbiz memories, what it’s like to memorize those lines, and what happens when you goof up on air.

You can check out it the article here: “Leading Lady.” (But yes, sorry, it’s a PDF.) Here’s a quick excerpt:

“When I first started [in the 1950's, my character] Nancy was ‘mother.’ She was in charge of things. She told people what to do and how to do it. And she never left home. In no way am I like Nancy. My husband and I always have tickets to broadway….”