Miss California Vs. Perez Hilton

For the last two days the incident between Miss California and Perez Hilton during Sunday night’s Miss America Pageant has gotten a significant amount of media coverage.

Apparently, Miss California is saying she lost the crown because of her controversial answer to the gay marriage question that Perez asked.  But is it right to assume Perez Hilton’s vote had that much weight? How many other judges were on the panel, and did they care as much about her answer as Perez?

I am for gay marriage, and I believe that eventually every state in this country will allow it. I don’t know if it will happen one year from now, or five, or fifty. But it will happen.

That said, I still admire Miss California for answering the question truthfully when she knew it may not be a popular response (Even though everyone said she was booed, I only heard loud applause when I watched the clip). I don’t think she should have lied just to win the crown.

All over the Internet you’ll find people commenting on both sides of the issue. This year’s Miss America pageant has gotten a lot more media coverage than it has in recent years. Did anyone even know it was on Sunday night?

And shouldn’t the attention really be on the actual winner of the pageant? You got to give Miss California some credit. Even though she lost, she’s succeeded in getting the media spotlight to shine on her instead of the winner. She even got my attention.

My successful day of writing at the Story Studio a few weeks ago is captured in an article on Chicagojournal.com (click on link below). That's me in the bottom picture, second from right. I remember the photographer popping in to take the picture. But I, the dutiful, dedicated writer that I am, stayed focus on my manuscript, writing a whopping 2,666 words that day. I felt so encouraged and inspired that day, that I can't wait to go back to the next Story Studio Write-A-Thon in March.

www.chicagojournal.com%2FMain.asp%3FArticleID%3D6964%26SectionID%3D49%26SubSectionID%3D142&h=b4e52511788974ebb9787675c611e805

Monday is my 38th birthday. 38! Can't believe it. Time has gone by so quickly that sometimes I honestly forget how old I am, and I actually have to do the math in my head (It's 2009, I was born in 1971...so that makes me...38!). It's a good thing, forgetting how old you are. Because age is really just a number. It's never too late to accomplish my goals. And I've always been one of those people who can't wait to get older. I believe your thirties are better than your twenties. Your forties are better than your thirties. The older you get, the wiser you get, the happier you are, and the more you realize that you just don't give a damn about what others think of you. This is a valuable trait to have.

So to all you people out there that shy away from saying how old you are, especially the women, I say to you: GET OVER IT! Don't hide your age. Embrace it and announce it to the world. Because people do realize that the older you are, the better you are. It's just that simple.

Resolution #2: Eat healthier (Poor little skinny girl)

Notice how I said "healthier," not "healthy." Like I said before, I'm a realistic person. And I'm never going to be the calorie-counting, workout whore who revolves her whole life around diets. No. That's not me. 

I've always been a skinny person. In high school and college I always felt too thin, to the point where I was a little self-conscience about it. Just a little. But with my high metabolism, I was always able to eat whatever I wanted and maintained my weight at 98 pounds. Yes, my drivers license weight was never a fabrication throughout my teens and twenties.

And I'm not a big eater. I always had some control over portion sizes, which I happen to believe is one of the main reasons for obesity in America. When I first moved to the city in my mid-twenties, I made it a habit not to buy a lot of junk food.  Although ordering pizza on a regular basis did become a big part of my diet. 

Then, in late 1997, I decided to move to Italy. I was in between jobs, and had a healthy savings account. What better time to skip town and live in the country where my family hailed from? I would get to know my relatives better, and improve my Italian speaking skills. So I sub-let my Lincoln Park apartment, turned over temporary custody of my two cats to my brother, Chris, and moved to Florence in January to live in an apartment with people from all over the world that had the same adventurous idea I had. 

Living in Florence opened up a new lifestyle for me, one that included morning cappucinos, prociutto sandwiches for lunch, and breaded veal for dinner, not to mention an abundance of rich pasta, red wine, and buttery biscotti. Sure, I was walking more in Florence than in Chicago, what with a whole new ancient city to explore. But nevertheless, when I looked in the mirror after the first couple of months, I wondered why I suddenly looked wider. Hmm. Maybe this old antique mirror is a little warped, I thought. When I lay down in bed at night I couldn't figure out what that lumpy thing was that I was sitting on – oh wait, it's my ass. And why are my thighs rubbing together when I walk? All the designer clothes I bought during the multitude of sales in January were suddenly snug in April. What was going on? The metric scale in our apartment was no help. Even though my European roommates tried to explain the formula for translating it in to pounds, drinking multiple glasses of cheap red wine on a daily basis made that task way too challenging. 

So I waited until I returned to Chicago after four and a half months of being in Florence and doing what the Florentines did. And when I stepped on the scale, well, let's just say the number I saw was much higher than any bloated menstrual cycle I had ever experienced. Instead of the Freshman 15, I'd gained what I call the Florence 15. But I wasn't horrified. No, I was actually excited. Like Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina, I left Chicago a girl and came back a woman. (I'll save the story about when I went to Nordstrom to buy new bras for another blog. Maybe.)

That sojourn to Italy was more than a decade ago already, and I've more or less maintained the weight I added. Until this winter. I don't know how it was different than winters past, but I was hungrier than normal and indulged a lot more than I usually allowed myself to. And when I stepped on my parents scale Thanksgiving weekend (I don't own a scale, refuse to buy one), I knew it was time to make some changes to my eating habits. After the holidays of course. 

That brings me to the real topic of this blog: my #2 resolution. Eat healthier. One of the sub-categories of this resolution is: Eat less meat. I always knew that if I'd ever watch a video on how animal meat is processed that I'd probably become a vegetarian. A few weeks ago, I did watch those videos. And while I'm not ready to give up meat entirely, I am prepared to cut back drastically, especially since I was never a huge meat eater to begin with. I currently have a freezer full of meat, so I still have to get through that. In fact, before I came to Caribou to write this blog, I ate a plate full of penne with Bolognese sauce. But I have steered clear of ordering red meat and pork when I'm out at restaurants, opting instead for chicken or fish. And I started making smoothies for breakfast with lots of greens and fruits. 

Please don't get me wrong. I don't think I'm fat. I still fall in the skinny category, at least by Chicago standards. I realize that I'm still blessed with a high metabolism working for me. But I'm pushing 40, and I can't eat like I'm in my twenties anymore (I used to have Twinkies for breakfast in college; Actually they were Twinkies Lite - less fat, less grease, lighter texture, but still chock full of crap - yummy). 

So there you have it. Resolution #2 for 2009. Eat healthier and eat less meat. Now I'm off to the grocery store. I need to buy more fruits and veggies for the upcoming week of smoothies.

Resolution #1: Write more

I never made New Year resolutions. I never really believed in them. If you want to change something, or break a bad habit, or start a good one, why wait until the new year to do it? Just do it now. But this year, I've decided I needed to make some changes in my life. So I started a list during the last week of December of resolutions for 2009. One of them, of course, is to write more. So what does that mean exactly? Write more each day? Write more often in general? Specifically, it would be ideal to write 1000 words a day. But I'm a realistic person. I know about baby steps. I know that with a full time job and a busy social life I'm not always going to fit in 1000 words a day. I like the 5-minute rule better that some writers follow. Sit down. Open document on laptop. Write just for five minutes. That's all. And usually I end up writing more than five minutes. That's the trick. Doesn't matter if it's 1000 words, or 250, or 25 words. I've written. I have met my goal. By setting a small goal of just writing for 5-minutes, I end up accomplishing much more.

Here I am, sitting at Caribou Coffee in the middle of snow storm, trying to get my thoughts on paper. I've gotten 900 words down so far. But thanks to Adam, I now know that Caribou has free Internet. Starbucks doesn't. Borders doesn't. Intelligentsia doesn't.  And the whole reason I get out of the house is so I can get some writing done instead of waste time on the Internet or watching TV. But hey, I wrote 900 words today. That merits spending some time on the Internet. Especially when that time on the Internet includes writing in my blog, part of the resolution to write more. 

My battery is running low. So I guess my writing session at Caribou is over for today. Now I just need to trek home in the middle of this storm.

I only got 4 hours of sleep last night, but it was worth it. I spent the day at work looking over my to-do list and ignoring most of it. It can wait until tomorrow. Today I'm celebrating. There are so many thoughts running through my mind I can't write them down fast enough:

McCain's concession speech was very gracious, and I really appreciated it. I'm also proud to say that the only boos that came from the area where I was in Grant Park was when he mentioned Sarah Palin, understandably. Other than that, we were all impressed with his speech.

I'm not going to listen to any of the bitter conservatives or read any of their blogs today. It will just aggravate me. It's over. Obama won. Time to move forward. Together.

Never before had I seen people celebrate a presidential victory in cities all around the world like they did last night. To see people dancing and cheering in places other than the U.S. was reassuring. This is very important. We need to win back all the allies that Bush lost.

I love that Joe the Plumber's home state of Ohio went to Obama. Goes to show you can't just pluck any ole' schmuck from the crowd to campaign for you. No. It doesn't work that way.

I think McCain could have won more votes had he targeted more people in the center than to the right. I think when he first won the primary, his campaign decided he could win more votes pandering to the religious right than to the moderates and independents. And choosing a far-right conservative Christian as a running mate would help. They were wrong. I wonder how the election would've turned out had he been more like the John McCain that we once knew.

One McCain supporter in Phoenix said, "In four years, you're not going to recognize this country. I've seen too much. I've spent half my life in the military. This is not good. [Obama] comes from a cesspool we call Chicago." Well, I should hope that in four years we're not going to recognize this country because it's currently a disaster! As for the "cesspool we call Chicago" comment, I could only hope that most of the McCain supporters are not this ignorant.

I watched the View today and was so proud of Elisabeth Hasselbeck for saying that she is ready to support Obama, her president. I have more respect for her now. Same goes for all the other McCain supporters that I talked to that are ready to band together and move forward.

Being at Grant Park last night was an amazing experience. At first I actually considered staying home, thinking the rally was going to be too much of a mess to deal with. But instead it was pretty organized, and everyone behaved. I experienced an important part of history and had a memorable time. Even a friend that supported McCain went to the rally and was blown away. 

I wish I could describe my feelings more eloquently, but I'm just too dazed to think. I should go to bed, but I can't seem to pull away from CNN.

Rain, rain, don't go away

I'm excited that it has been raining the last two days. All my weekend plans fell through, so I decided to dedicate the weekend to my writing. I really want to make a dent in my manuscript. Last week I printed out what I had so far - 118 pages - and started reading through the first 24, editing and making notes where I could add more character development and narrative. 

Now I've officially started draft 2, including writing a new opening that will better introduce the story, and adding more plot layers, something I avoided in the first draft for simplicity. But the story needs more complexity and depth. It's going to be a difficult journey, especially since I'm putting a lot of my own experiences into the book, but I'm taking it step by step. Or rather page by page. This story has a solid plot, so I have no excuse to abandon this project. 

I've written about 8 pages this weekend, which may sound like a lot to some. But I'd probably have written more if I didn't get up to get something to eat, do laundry, go to Bed Bath and Beyond, go grocery shopping. I just can't sit in front of a computer for 8 hours straight like some writers. I'm considering going to a four-day work week. That way I could dedicate one full weekday to working on this book. I'll have to check my budget and see if I can afford to do it.

Meanwhile, back to work. 

The Search for the Signature Drink

I walked into Dave's office on Monday morning and plopped down on one of the guest chairs. "I did absolutely nothing all weekend," I told him. "I wrote three crappy paragraphs, and that's it. I barely even went outside to enjoy the nice weather."

"Do you know what you need?" He responds. "You need a signature drink."

"A signature drink?"

"It doesn't have to be as cliched as Pernod or Campari, but maybe a sherry or brandy. You drink a glass before you start writing, and that will set the mood. That will be your drink when you write."

The thought of having to rely on alcohol to get the creative juices flowing sounded a little sad, but I was intrigued. I'm a simple drinker: only red wine and beer, and occasionally a fruity martini or margarita. I was always interested in learning more about wines, but didn't know a thing about brandies or sherries or cognacs.

Dave, my friend and co-worker and fellow writer, proceeded to tell me about the time he was meeting his friend and published author Jim Kokoris for a drink, and arrived to find him imbibing something pink and green. "I don't remember exactly what was in it," he laughed, "but it included absinthe and grenadine."

It was supposed to be a joke, Dave explained after seeing the blank look on my face, because Jim's a writer, and writers drink absinthe and other avant-garde beverages.

Do they? I had know clue. "I like limoncello," I said. "And I once tried drambuie and really enjoyed it."

"So maybe you need a warm weather drink and a cold weather drink."

The next morning, I walked into my office and found a thick book called The Wine Bible by Karen MacNeil on my desk with various post-it notes peeking out the top. As I flipped through the large book, I noticed unfamiliar words like Calvados and Armagnac. Dave gave me a quick 101 on aperitifs and after dinner drink options, including a safe price range for brandy when ordering one in a restaurant.

So the next time I go out for dinner, I'll plan on venturing into this unknown territory. I can see myself now, sitting at a table with a few friends, or maybe my parents the next time I have dinner with them at Nite 'N Gale. And when the waitress comes by and asks if we're interested in dessert, I'll turn up my nose and ask, "What kind of brandies do you have?" I can picture the look on my dad's face.