OH MY GOD! (drum solo) SICKS TE PHOAR!

My brother received a N64 after my dad won bank in Vegas during a convention trip. Two controllers and Super Mario 64 later we were a happy household. The paper like 3-D graphics and endless glitches delivered hours of joy and rapture and Mario back flips. Unfortunately, there is no video footage of my brother receiving the console in fall of '96. If he did it might go a little something like this...
REMIX!

A Lengthy Post about Baseball, Steroids and Childhood

Today is one of those rare days at work that I have time to myself, most of which I use to read.  CNN, Gawker, blogs, whatever.  Unfortunately, this means I will be slammed on Monday as our processes are delayed but no matter.  Happy Friday.

First, I give props to my brother.  An aspiring journalist at SIU, Ryan is on the campus desk after a stint as sports editor.  He was the first one that got me thinking about my own personal experience about the McGwire issue, not so much my reaction.  We have similar views of the topic as we obviously grew up together talking about it.  At only two years apart, we were siblings and playmates and amused ourselves with endless games of catch (until one would likely get pissed at the other and stomp into the house over a bad throw).  So here is Ryan's take, where I quote the stages of "McGwire grief" later on.  Finally: The McGwire Saga.  I admire his writing, not only because it's my sisterly duty but because of his ability to form ideas in the written word.

Another read for today was my friend Steph's baseball blog, Baseball Between the Lines, as I have mentioned before in a post.  The girl breathes baseball and shares that passion online.  I read her most recent post on Mark McGwire's steroid "admittance."  She's a Cubs and Red Sox Fan (I can forgive her for one of them) and I'm a Cardinals fan so we obviously have different experiences concerning the extent of the issue.  So I started to comment on her blog post then realized it was getting pretty lengthy and, honestly, I wanted to make it my own post.  So here we are, the unabridged version.

"I went through the stages of "McGwire grief" during the congressional hearing years ago.  Only years before, I remember watching Big Mac slam number 62 and run around the bases missing first like a excited t-ball player.  I laughed and cried and updated by AOL webpage (seriously).  I viewed numerous clips of him and Sammy Sosa's hug and watched ESPN on repeat.  For God's sake, him and Sosa were said to have saved baseball! 


His image crumbled years later as I watched him cry before Congress and seemingly forget that he ever donned a St. Louis Cardinals uniform.  A uniform I thought I would never turn my back on, number 25.  I mean, my birthday was the 25th of June, total destiny!  On that day, he sat only seats over from Sosa, the pair that brought my family and the nation back to baseball after the '94 strike.  The home run race that, for the first time in baseball history, finally thrust the Cardinals and Cubs rivalry of the Midwest into the spotlight.  East Coast?  West Coast?  Nah.  The real show was somewhere on Interstate 55 with special appearances all over the country. 


Between Sammy's sudden inability to speak English and Big Mac's mutters of "I'm not here to talk about the past" some of my earliest memories of baseball cracked like a bat making contact with a 97-mph fastball.


It's sad what baseball became and, thankfully, will never become again.


For McGwire, I don't think it's so much as asking for forgiveness as rather just coming clean (pun noted).  It's easy to pin point one player, in the media spotlight for a hot second, per usual.  Unfortunately, the names on the leaked steroids list kept the ESPN ticker busy and David Stern's office even busier.

'The bigger they come, the harder they fall.'

I agree that none of these men should be in the Hall of Fame, no matter the sure potential we never saw.  The potential that was there without the steroids.  For this player in particular, I will breathe a sigh of relief.  The devil on my shoulder already told me the obvious, that the idealist image of baseball in my childhood was destroyed."

Bucket List

Bah, I hate it when I do not have time to write.  After a long weekend of "tonight's gonna' be a good night" Black Eyed Peas style, I settled down with the boyfriend on Monday to experience Chicago culture and recharge the brain cells.  We strayed from the long line at the aquarium and visited the Field Museum.  Mummies, diamonds and ducks.  Oh my!  I was able to cross Chicago Field Museum off my "Chicago Bucket List."

I'm a strong believer in bucket lists, not the "before I die" kind, as I appreciate creating tasks and fulfilling goals for oneself.  Mine are at least feasible.  I've called a few interesting cities home with plenty to keep me busy.  Branson, Mo. in junior high for a couple years (where the old go to die), St. Louis for college, Rome for studying abroad, and now the third largest city in the U.S.  I created so called "bucket lists" for each of these moves, largely influenced by my dad's career in hotels and the ability to travel at a whim.  My fulfillment of each list is varied. I dominated Rome's (one real chance) and so-so for the Lou.

At the moment my Chicago list is in its primary stage, mostly because it's full of stupid tourist things.  The "things" European tourists visit with their big cameras.  Or people from the suburbs whom ride the Metra into the city for the weekend and pretend they're from Chicago; I hate those assholes.

My first order of business in Chicago was to find a career focused position [note I did not say job] in a building that is part of the Chicago skyline.  Call me vain but the idea of working in downtown Chicago was fun for an 21-year-old college graduate AND I accomplished this.  Check, please see my twitter background for reference.  The money isn't outlandish but I am constantly learning with the potential to move up and rotate clients within the company, so I'm content for now.  Around the city, I've taken tourist pictures on the Navy Pier ferris wheel, rode along the river as part of the Wendella Boat Tours, and been a stupid goober in front of the Bean.  I even did a segway tour!

See self-deprecating photo below.

This is all amazing fun but I am looking for even higher expectations. I just have to find them first.  Until then, I'll keep you posted.

Humanity in Haiti

I learned about the 7.0 magnitude quake in Haiti from the oddest of sources yesterday.  At around 4 p.m. yesterday I read this tweet on Rainn Wilson's twitter.  Yes, I learned about the first global natural disaster of the decade from The Office's Dwight.  Only minutes before Rainn's tweet, CNN Breaking News had just posted this.  The CNN.com story at that time was simplistic, "A 7.3 earthquake.  Little to no communication available.  No reported causalities."  That was then.  Now, hundreds of thousands people are displaced and the death toll is rapidly rising.  The poorest country in the western hemisphere is now at the center of the world.

Social media gives way to millions of global voices.  Just like I learned about this catastrophe through Rainn Wilson, aide is being spread through 140 characters or less.  In less than a few minutes I discovered a missing person's list where people are messaging about missing loved ones.  The official Twitter White House page released a far reaching cry for help this morning as well as links to Red Cross recovery.  Please follow that link for information or text “HAITI” to 90999 to donate $10 to American Red Cross relief for Haiti.  (This is taken care of through your phone provider.)  NPR has also compiled a continually updated list of ways to help.

It's apparent that social media, like so many major events of the past few years, is on the forefront of civilian assistance.  So text, donate, tweet, whatever.  It has never been easier to help.

This is me being culturally relevant.

I love when I feel no pressure to write about issues in a timely manner.  Everyone and everything else does it for me.  I am not a journalist in this blog and am, by no means, following the inverted pyramid.

I also don't choose to write about my life, it's not that exciting.  If I actually like you then you will know if something earth shattering happens but I feel no need to write it here.  Instead I offer my opinions, my qualms and some sarcasm.  I don't write to talk a lot of facts and don't read blogs that do.  Let's be honest, most of that information on "informational" personal blogs already came from a credible source that broke the news way early.  Credible sources like CNN, ESPN or Perez Hilton.

So today I read a great article on gawker.com, American Idol: June 2002 - May 2010.  No surprise that Simon Cowell would one day leave American Idol to take on greener pastures and karaoke contests.  I only heard about Britain's "X Factor" through the amazing Onion's AV Club article Internet 1, Simon Cowell 0.  Basically, a social media campaign in support of Rage Against the Machine's "Killing in the Name Of" spanked some whiny cover on Miley's "The Climb" as Britain's #1 single during the week of Christmas 2009.  With his tail between his legs, Simon lost.  Baby Jesus had something to do with this, no doubt.

So now Simon is leaving soon, Paula's coked out little body has already left the chair and lovable Ellen Degeneres is making her debut. AI is changing; my life will hardly be changed by this.  Seeing David Cook perform before the 2009 All Star game actually solidified the fact, for me, that the show is little more than a karaoke contest best used for large sponsorship deals. However, it's pop culture and it's relevant so here we are.

So read the Gawker article please, the picture at the bottom is most definitely worth it.

Introducing the Poverty Elite

When I graduated college and I knew very little about my next steps. I had a signed lease for an apartment on Chicago's north side and a decent amount of my life's possessions (worth moving) in boxes. For graduation, I received a check from my dad with "Continued Support" written on the memo line.

After a brief gig in inside sales (cold calling is nobody's friend) and waiting tables (working 25 hours a week was unemployment in my book) I landed my current job. I work for an internationally renowned advertising group. We are a main subsidiary of one of the big four advertising holding companies. On paper, my gig is pretty fantastic. I assist in planning for consumer products for a multi-billion dollar company, I communicate with magazine reps coordinating book layouts and I enjoy a few perks along the way.

I also work two jobs to make up for my lack of salary.

I am part of a new group featured in a New York magazine article, Let Them Eat Crabcakes. Myself, and my co-workers, are part of the Poverty Elite. We are twenty-something college graduates jamming our closets with the best finds H&M offers us and the best sales Express can run while still rolling out profit. Our salaries are incredibly laughable, especially for this city. However, through our professional perks we rack up high lunch bills at Chicago's hottest spots, enjoy the benefits of regular facials, and (recently) saw Avatar the Thursday before its release.  Yes, I saw Avatar before John Mayer.  Unlike Mr. Mayer, I am somewhere around the poverty line.

We are not spoiled at our jobs by any means. My team alone supplies magazines with millions of dollars in spending...in one month. ONE scent strip in a certain woman's magazine can pay from my parent's house and my neighbor's. Myself and my team are immensely excited by our little perks. In the last month alone I shook hands with the fashion editor of a major Conde Nast beauty magazine, joked with a Hearst publisher over a fantastic lunch, and attempted to make ravioli from scratch at a cooking class with Meredith. I have connections with publishing houses and independent entrepreneurs. Most importantly, I have earned their respect.

So one day I will roll out of the poverty elite, ideally in a silver Audi, as I take that next big step in my career.  Until then, I will be waiting tables in downtown Chicago and scratching my head about my 11% tip from the French couple at table 55.