i am a french fry, yum....

The Fries knew it was a different day,
It was gonna be different,
They were gonna be
In their fryer
Like always
But there’d be a visit
From the Hamburger…

So the fries did their best,
To not let the oil fry them too much
Too not be soggy,
To be fresh and crisp
To put a little extra effort
Into being Fries on this day,
Because the Fries know
They are the best side dish to any Hamburger,
That any Hamburger needs fries to lure eaters in,
Salty and tempting, always good for making
Hamburger taste better,
You can’t forget the Fries.
Unless you’re planning to transition to Onion Rings,
which make one’s breath stink,
stink like the absence of a Hamburger
who will not greet the Fries Together
only as individuals
Because a small fry knows its place.

Stick with Her

A few months ago my mom dived into a new hobby, and I blogged about it here. 

When I visited this past Thursday for an overnight 'vacation,' mainly to give my cat some time to himself and to take a break from everything, I found myself not enmeshed in an oasis of quiet and calm but instead witnessing a kitchen-table-turned-drafting-area, with my mom at its helm, working against a deadline for an upcoming craft fair.

 

"You read. Would you pay $2 for a bookmark? " my mom asked.  

"I don't use bookmarks," I replied. 

"What do you do?" she wondered, as if she hasn't noticed me dog-earing book pages for the past 30 years. 

"Dog-earing, that's not good for the book. You need to use a bookmark," she decided, finding the turned over corner of the page of the book I was reading, and inserting a bright orange bookmark, adding, as afterthought, "You don't need your name written on it, like the one I made for Gabby, do you?" 

"Uh no, it's okay," I said. 

I also made out with a checkbook cover, and matching coin purse, both of which I'm excited to use. 

Stick with Me started when a consignment shop sold two of its checkbook covers, at $8 each, which was enough of a sign to forge ahead.  A cousin who makes jewelry offered to set aside some space in her craft fair booth for SWM, and yesterday The Pipeline e-newsletter agreed to make an exception for Stick with Me-- technically located outside of the neighborhood- and add it to the Angel Club listings. 

strangers on a parade float

i know a few people who get ballsy enough to be in stranger's faces. in general i prefer consent in all things photographic. 

parades, however, are fair game!

this photo, which i just found while deleting a bunch of old images, was from the Pride parade a few years back.  it's the CNA insurance company float. i can't think about CNA or look at its tall red building, so prominent against the city skyline, without thinking about the woman who was killed when a glass window blew off of one of the building's top floors. 

i just read that in the settlement the family received $18 million.  though there's been plenty of reports on what happens to lottery winners after the fact, i wonder what happens after families receive such large settlements. time is known to "heal all wounds" when it comes to losses of all kinds, but where does money fit into this equation.  is it like a salve? is there a lot of guilt tied to it? how is it spent? to a giant corporation like CNA, $18 million is a drop in the bucket, but to a single family who received the sum as a result of a tragic loss, what does it mean? 

a poem to you

a poem to you/who

i do not know,

on a day that should not/does 

affect me like it does,

the hearts, the rainbows, the pink 

i'm all about that, babe. 

i tried to do things/did

do things that i'd like to do/often 

like mop the floors, open the mail, 

i did it all for me,

'twas no one rooting me on

except a voice called pride.

at the end of the day 

a call came in from a friend. 

there was hope when i clicked 'play,'

he was wondering 

if i could help him

rewrite his resume.  

the cliche that is a weird cab ride

weird cab rides are very cliche, thus for you to write about a cab ride it must have been breathtakingly weird. 

forget the stale nachos, the horribly bad movie not deserving of a big theater screen or of the attention of the idiot that shelled out $11 to escape the world for two hours. pretend there wasn't a guy that somehow helped you end up in that place tonight, but then he was gone and you were  left thinking of what a bad actress kerri russell is and wondering if the other two people in the theater at 11 p.m. were homeless and if they'd stab you or not. 

bypass all that and head straight into a minivan cab that reeks of marijuana, and a driver who tells you it's okay, there's less cars at night. during the day, maybe not a good idea, but night is good he reassures you as you glide through the city streets. 

reflexes, you say. you are sure that it is affecting his reflexes.  your dad, you say. when someone dies behind the wheel it makes you think of anything on wheels being a perfectly good way to die. why does that always seem to get the message through? what is it about saying that death has touched you which touches others?

 dying might be the strongest wake-up call out there.  isn't it ironic? 

  

A Full Moon

Anything can happen when there's a full moon as was the case yesterday. 

The moon is visible in the far left corner of this image snapped while on a very long yet very head clearing walk.

How is the 'walking man' inside the stoplight at Clyborn & Magnolia so much bigger than our moon? 

My cell phone died, and the charger is missing.  The person who has keys to the lost & found box at the theater I was at for a student rehearsal won't be back until tomorrow, and while there's a 50/50 chance my charger might be in the box, I'm willing to wait another day, phone-less, and unconnected rather than buy a new charger. 

I wish I weren't so absent-minded. I need a holster on me at all times, with everything I need in that holster, and some sort of electroshock to my body in the event the holster gets removed. In addition to the holster,  a land-yard to hang from my neck with my house and car keys on it might be a good idea, and maybe my name too in case I forget that lest the alter-egos get out of control. Passwords for various Internet sites should also be incorporated into this new and better organized version of myself.  

After I fix myself I can start working on the home and become a shopper at The Container Store off North Ave. instead of just wandering around in it like I usually do before hitting up its bathroom which is one of the nicer bathrooms around. 

A favorite poem comes to mind. 

The Facebook Filter

What I wanted to say: 

"There seems to be this trend with people I met when I was 20 turning 40 lately. Nevertheless, it's exciting in a sad way! Just kidding, Happy Birthday!"

What I did say: 

Happy Birthday! 

a fun week

i had more fun than usual with this week's Pipeline

....am all out of words though. whew. awoke at 5:30 AM to write the WHACK review and Plan B stories *before* the 8:30 AM state of the wards. 

came home and due to the fact that proofer had been logged into the same document and i hadn't logged out, ALL was lost, so i had to rewrite both from memory, and the plan b story turned out different, and then i also wrote about the state of the wards. 

one word: DRINK. 

if i can only stay awake until 8:30 when i need to leave my apartment to go drink that is. 

i love tuesday nights. 

oh yeah, and i ran into someone at the address that i used to sell advertising to two jobs ago. anywhere in chicago i am guaranteed to run into someone i used to sell advertising to, this is a fact. though i will SEND IMAGINARY DAGGERS of rhinestone-studded 'STFU' into the forehead of the next person who asks me what in the world i've been up to since being laid off, which cliff i've dropped off from, etc. 

A LOT.  i've been up to a lot. 

Stupid Rules

Just as there are no stupid questions, I believe there are no stupid rules.

Building on this, someone told me for the second time that I have "a lot of stupid rules."

Sometimes we can't explain why we have our rules, or personal codes of conduct, written, or implicit, but each of us has rules, whether for our personal or business lives, and part of being true to ourselves and consequently true to others is being faithful to this inner code.

While a request could be considered minor in the eyes of the requester, perhaps something like asking me to personally encourage my Facebook "friends" to "fan" a business, I cannot in good conscience mix these two worlds, i.e the world of local e-newsletter writing and the world of a couple hundred or so random folks, a virtual water cooler of sorts that includes everything from blood relatives to college friends scattered across the country to long ago bosses and friends of RealSpace friends and current girlfriends of ex-boyfriends and former coworkers and everything in between.

Though maybe a couple dozen or so from my extended Facebook circle live in the neighborhood and are readers of the weekly Pipeline, the majority of the people I am connected with on the sometimes awesome and other times addictive FaceCrack don't live here, and the ones that do are already exposed to an exhaustive amount of neighborhood information compiled in a one time weekly format.

To cross a line, to start encouraging others I know to fan other people's businesses, is not aligned with my inner code. The free weekly tarot page at a local caffe only has 65 or so fans, and I've never asked anyone from my personal network to "fan" the page of the caffe which I work at, and while perhaps I could do that it just didn't feel right nor does honoring this request.

Even if I risk losing the potential sponsorship of the requester, I'd rather risk that small loss than weather the gradual erosion my personal code of conduct which remains firm despite the uncertainty I experience on a routine basis.

Though debates wage in every traditional newsroom as to how stories can continue to be told, and journalistic integrity can stay intact despite a scary future, one such way to do that is to be true to the stories that you write, and not bow to requests that might compromise your inner voice, both in your business and personal spheres... If the worlds tend to naturally intermix, as is the case for someone like me who writes based on my experiences and through the eyes of hyper-local writer writing about all local happenings, it is even more important that the inner code holds firm.

To me, the rules are smart, but in the eyes of some they might be stupid. I guess I'll just have to deal with that, and keep on moving in the only way that I know how to move, or want to move. Part of growing up is maybe finally accepting the fact that not everyone will agree with me or like me, and that energy spent on explaining myself or my perceived-as-stupid rules could be better spent on applying my time to the production of the next issue, speaking of which I need to start doing that...

Sympathy Munchkins

I took the train downtown to get my camera repaired. 

L., the Dunkin Donuts man, was at his post behind the bullet-proof glass.  Every morning as I commuted to work I'd order the same thing at the same time, and L. would call me his "best friend," something I thought made me special until I realized that he calls all his regulars his best friend. 

The last time L. and I spoke was back in March when two months after losing my job I took the train to the airport to visit a friend. He'd told me that he thought maybe I'd met a man and moved away, which made me laugh at the hilarity of it as well as from his sweet concern over my abrupt disappearance from the commuter sphere. I'd ordered a bagel and he snuck six sympathy munchkins into the bag which I was unaware of until I was on the train. 

This time- our second reunion in the past year- L. was very curious as to how I am getting by and what I've been doing.  He told me that he used to have about 250 regulars and now there's 170, which given the economy sounds about right.

I assured L. that I am fine, and happy, and I'm working on "a lot of projects," projects being my euphemism for all that I can't sum up in a quick conversation. He didn't seem convinced, and told me that he hopes I'll find a job soon. I tried to explain that I started my own business. I gave him a copy of The Pipeline, which was my only copy with the toner streaked, the color busted out, and the formatting weird. The whole thing kind of looked sad, and I could see how he could see that because I saw it too. 

Then I pulled my broken camera out of my purse and showed him the missing button. I explained that I was on my way to get the camera fixed. 

He shook his head and said that was too bad. 

Then he told me to pick any donut, any donut I want. 

"I don't need a donut," I said, "Just the bagel." 

"Pick a donut!" he said again.

"Just a single chocolate munchkin," I replied. 

"No, not one, I'll give you two." 

"Okay, fine," I said. "Thank you, that's really nice of you." 

I got on the platform, and it turned out he'd thrown in six, along with the bagel that I'd paid for. I realized how hungry I was from not eating all day, and I ate all six chocolate munchkins, standing in the cold and waiting for the train.  I didn't save any room for the bagel.  I didn't care. 

The Thing About Happiness

Naturally I can't find the article to reference/link it, but either in this past Sunday's NYT or the Chicago Tribune there was a story about happiness.

The story began by comparing two people-- a wealthy 30-something single male with a lot of wealth and his own swimming pool, and a 60-something married, overweight African American woman with lots of health problems.

Based on a brain scan-- I think, if I remember correctly-- the woman was happier than the man, because she has a circle of family and friends, and experiences happiness through emotional rewards gained by volunteering at her church. 

Like bees, humans gravitate toward each other, and want to work together, with altruism as a motivating factor, being cognizant on some level that the love we receive is equal to the love we give. As much as we'd like to be independent, or think of ourselves as these unique independent beings, there's a lot of loneliness and consequent unhappiness inherent in having only our own voice in the room, or our own successes to celebrate. 

In the name of independence, and in striving so hard each week to figure out how I'm going to make a living and continue producing the weekly Pipeline and blah, blah, blah I'm broke like the rest of the world, I've flown a bit off course, away from any semblance of a beehive.  I've put stupid things ahead of important things, and I've let details slide in an effort to cover as much stuff as possible. And all this while doing something I love, but from which I have no clue how it can be sustainable. 

Next week I'll try to get back on course.  As for right now, my hair is just about dry at last, and I need to get to a camera repair shop. Perhaps there's a joke somewhere in the fact that the very last picture I took on my camera was of the exterior of a Subway before the shutter button disappeared.  Maybe the cold weather caused it to freeze off? In any case, it's AWOL and I'm bummed.  I don't believe in praying to any higher power over selfish stuff regarding money, but I really cannot afford a massive repair or a new camera at the present time.  By sticking a bent paper clip in the hole I can depress the button, and it sort of works but it's awkward. 

Many years ago a man that I met, a writer, laughed a bit when I had temporarily misplaced my steno notebook containing a week or two worth of notes. "Losing a notebook is like losing your life," he had said.   

At the moment I feel that way about my camera.  Though I hope to get it fixed soon. In the meantime I'll try to keep what I read about happiness closer to the front of my mind. 

  

Bad dates=good stories

I don't usually enter writing competitions, mainly because I don't think anything I write is good enough,  plus even if it were I suffer from A.D.D. at open mic gatherings, preferring to read other people's stories on my own terms, alone, and while in slipper socks. 

Yet, with Valentine's Day approaching, and the fact I have one V-Day advertiser confirmed for The Pipeline, and figure I'll have to politely acknowledge the existence of the holiday given the majority of readers might celebrate it, I was intrigued by experiencing the holiday in a different way, perhaps at an Anti-Valentine's Day story gathering taking place outside of the neighborhood. 

Perhaps V-Day 2010 will be better than the evening of Feb. 14th 2009 when I was at the emergency vet clinic with my cat hooked up to a catheter, or the Feb. 14th before that when a man who at the time I didn't know was Eurotrash and who criticized everything I wore down to my socks, wooed me with a carnivalesque dog he picked up at Walgreen's and hung from the exhaust pipe of my apartment using wire which I finally cut, long after the wiener dog had been stuffed into a dumpster in the dark of night.

Maybe even on some level listening to the bad date stories of others will be better than a Feb. 14th before the turn of this century when my ex was cooking a romantic dinner and I arrived 45-minutes late to said dinner because the 

"Choose Your Own Adventure" style V-day card I was writing featuring references to our lives kind of like in those personalized books for kids that used to be all the rage at shopping mall kiosks in the 80s had turned into a 40-page story with graphics. I'd experienced great difficulty printing off the card-turned-story in its entirety, all the while apologizing profusely for my lateness through phone calls and trying to put on make-up. He never read the story, and I married him. 

Though there's three or four other 500-word-or-less bad date stories I can write up to submit for consideration, with one about accepting an invitation to be a date to a then older man's 10-year high school reunion because I was kind of in a weak moment-- we used to sell our plasma on the same schedule and he was laying on the naugahyde chair alongside mine when he inquired as to my Saturday night availability--  I decided to stop at just one story.  The following bad date yarn was originally 1,600 words and I just condensed it to 491. 

A Very Candid Evening

by Aly Hensler

At ten after eight, I call D.  His voicemail says, "Do not leave me a message. I won't listen to it. Send an email instead."


I wonder if there’s another entrance. There is, and D. is climbing the fire escape.

The bemused hostess leads us to a table in the back of the restaurant, which used to be a railroad car. In the narrow aisle I walk gingerly behind D., watching his large backpack to ensure it won’t knock any glasses over.


"So," D. says, before removing his coat.  "Did you check out my company’s web site?” 


I reply that I did. Ten minutes later D. is still talking. I blurt, perhaps too forcefully, "Do you want to check out the menu?" 



Cue received,  D. thanks me, and says he “likes people that speak their minds.”  
He tells me that he is in daily psychoanalysis.

"You mean you see a therapist every day?" I ask.  

"Yes," he replies. "You knew this from my profile. There is a pause. He adds, "I mentioned it in my profile."





His profile had said something about being an "analysand," though I’d assumed it meant a student of psychoanalysis, not a daily patient of it.

He studies the menu, and declares, "I'm not hungry.”

Over a cup of soup I learn there are three women in D’s life, yet he does not enjoy a sexual relationship with any of them. 

He proffers that the woman with whom he shares the strongest emotional connection with is extremely jealous that he is on a date tonight. 
He looks at me defiantly.

"It’s OK, “I assure him. “I don't think she has anything to be jealous of.”

He asks me why I feel like there’s nothing for his female friend to be jealous of.  "Be totally honest," he requests.

I tell him I don’t feel much chemistry.


"You’re holding back," he insists. "What else?”

“Your voicemail," I admit. “It's not friendly.”

“Okay,” he says. “What else?

”

"This is weird. Why are you asking me to critique you?" I wonder.


"I want you to," he says. "Plus, I promise to tell you why I don’t feel much chemistry toward you."




"Cool," I say. "Your backpack, it’s huge."



We both look at his backpack, which occupies the seat next to D. Had the backpack of been a toddler it would be about three-years-old based on its weight, and height.  

I then ask what it is about me that made him determine there’s no chemistry.

"When I saw you, I thought, ’She’s too normal,” he admits.  
"Your coat, your hat, your purse, the way you carry yourself, it’s all so normal. I don't usually get along with normal people.”

He walks me to my car, and I drive away thinking about normality. Though in most cases it’s overrated, quite candidly, and coming from D. I decide to take it as a compliment.

Jared, I'm Ready for a Foreign Body Sensation, Are You?

Dear Jared, 

So, I went to Walgreen's in search of a new "Wow! It's $2" pleather 2010 planner like the one I made great use of this past year, and much to my dismay the planner did not appear to be on the shelf. The helpful associate in the blue vest-- the same color as our people's Star of David-- was not sure if they would be receiving any Wow$2 planners this year.  Hmmph! 

I did, however, come across many varieties of caramel corn and low carb cheese straws that I will purchase for a New Year's Eve gathering I am planning for myself and my cat who I've never told you about. 

My cat is a big part of my life, Jared.  If you are allergic to him I am afraid that it's even more over than it's already over, if you get my drift! ;) 

Because I could not find the planner of my preference, yet still felt an urge to purchase something- anything!- I lingered over the magazine rack, or glossies as I like to call them. What a treat! 

A handsome gentleman named Ben Bernanke was featured on the cover of Time magazine, and I just had to purchase this exciting magazine I don't typically read. As I am on break from my home based business I figured now is as good as a time as any to brush up on pop culture knowledge as well as the American economy which I now understand this Ben plays a key role in because he is what's called our country's "Federal Reserve Chairman."  

Though by now from all my letters and the fact I  support the International Hello Kitty brand you can discern I am a worldly intellectual woman, the gosh honest 100% truth is that I don't do much reading on what's going on in America, in part because every time I do I plummet into a deep depression. It's better to just think of America as a place where a handsome yet morbidy obese man like you can lose hundreds of pounds on a Subway diet and then become a worldwide celebrity as a result of promoting such a diet to others who are also facing similar challenges, right? 

While I wish the whole experience of reading all about Ben had enlightened me, I am afraid that I became overwhelmed by the number of pages in Time magazine devoted to pharmaceutical advertising. It made me wonder how much of our economy is dependent on our citizen's ability to take as many of these little pills as possible? 

There were 177 pages in Time. Thirty-eight of those pages were devoted to ads from drug companies, which means that over 20% of this magazine was hawking little blue pills and cholesterol pills and diet pills, and weight loss belts, and dry eye drops, and bipolar meds, and lots lots more! 

The inside cover, i.e. on the other side of sweet Ben's Person of the Year Cover page face, was the face of a very sad woman, a woman suffering from bipolar depression which I understand from the ad's copywriter can be quite consuming!  I also understand that per the National Institute of Mental Health about 2.3 million Americans, or just 1.2% of our population suffers from the bipolar illness.  I am sure Jared that you will agree with me that speaking to that 1.2% of Americans is worthy of an inside cover placement?  

Following the inside cover ad promoting Seroquel XR were four pages of finely printed side affects.  I won't bore you with all the side affects. All I needed to know was that sometimes I feel just like that sad actress pictured in the ad, consumed by depression, and that I should call my pharmacologist pronto!

After calling my pharmacologist I realized after reading pages 12, 13, AND 14 that I should also try CHANTEX, because I do not need to be smoking at all, nicotine or herbal or otherwise. Chantex will help me quit! 

There was maybe a story about something happening in America, but I quickly forgot whatever it said by the time I got to pages 18 and 19. Screw Subway and regular exercise, and my Hula Hooping and walking each day for my home based business, what I really need to get my figure down to a respectable size 14 is a LAP-BAND!  The lap-bad adjustable belt eliminates the need for gastric bypass surgery, and I can remove it at any time if I just want to eat a box or two of Fannie May mint melt-aways without risking gastrointestinal failure. 

Just as I was convinced Chantex would help me stop smoking I saw an ad for Nicorette gum on page 31 which is over the counter and maybe cheaper than Chantex? Would there be any adverse reactions if I tried both? 

On page 37 I came to the conclusion that it's possible I am NOT bipolar, and really just suffering from garden variety depression, and in that case I am a better candidate for Ablify than Seroquel. 

On page 55, right around the time I started to choke on a low-carb cheese straw, I noticed that Symbiocort might be better for treating my ex cubicle mate's asthma, so I tucked that ad into a little Christmas card and suggested that he try Symbicort in addition to that germ infested inhaler I used to find  inside his desk drawer when I went through it searching for potato chips and laffy taffy. 

Though Dancing with the Stars was about to come on TV, I was distracted by pages 63-65 because I learned of Ambien, and its ability to help me sleep better at night! 

On page 77 I read about a cure for migraines. This one was really smart, and instead of looking like an ad, it seemed more like a public service message and instructed me to stop watching Dancing with the Stars and to visit lowerthepain.com 

On page 94 and 95 I thought of my deceased great aunt who suffered greatly from Osteoporosis. maybe if she took Evista she could have avoided that bowling ball sized calcium deposit just below her neck that is sure to be Aly Louise Hensler's destiny as well? Mental note: Take Evista, Aly! 

On page 105 I learned that if my eyesight is blurry I could be going blind! I should visit a web site to learn more about early detection!

On pages 107 and 108 I learned all about Plavix. Per the ad, many heart attacks are caused due to clogged and blocked arteries. Hmm, perhaps if Plavix had been around in 1990 when my father who had clogged arteries suffered a heart attack and died at age 49 behind the wheel of our minivan he would still be alive today?  Do you think that's true, Jared, or am I just being naive?  How does medical technology interfere with the natural course of our lives? Had my father of taken Plavix and been alive today as a result would I be a drastically different woman than the one that is writing to you right now? 

On page 118 I found a nice solution to my heartburn. I should continue topping off all of my Subway sandwiches with both jalapeno AND banana peppers, and as long as I remember to take Prevacid I should be all good! 

124 was just a lameass reminder that Aleve is still there for all those menstruel cramps. Aleve, it's so 1990s and so over the counter and LAME. 

On page 136 and 137 I learned what shingles are. Frankly I always though they were something you put on roofs, but due to a handy image that almost made me want to barf up the entire package of cheese straws that I had consumed up until page 136 I saw that shingles are a skin condition and that Zostavox will help stop the pain caused by shingles. 

On page 145 I came to the conclusion that I need $20!  The manufacturers of Restasis which will help me cry again and sob better into my pillow would like to offer a $20 rebate if I get a Restasis prescription filled, and all I have to do is mail them a receipt indicating I am now crying better and producing natural tears with the help of Restatsis, and in approx. eight weeks a check for $20 will come to my mailbox. It's not exactly like Ed Mcmahon showing up at my door, or even you Jared with a ring to place upon my left ring finger indicating I will forever be Mrs. Jared Fogle and you will help me open impossibly tight lids atop jars of olives and spaghetti sauce but it is close to that!

On page 147 I was reminded of Nutrisystem, so 1990s just like Aleve!  Survey says, old Mc Donald had a drug, and LAMO-O was its name-0! Bring me a LAP-BAND ASAP!  I almost laughed my bipolar manic in need of toning or just liposuction ass off when I saw the Nutrisystem advertisement, what a blast from the past and as cheesy as my deceased grandmother's Take Off Pounds Sensibly (TOPS) diet and exercise club. 

By page 158-160 I was just about ready to give up on reading Time magazine because I needed to list all the drugs I am soon to be taking and make sure that I have it accurate so when I show my pharmacologist he can be aware of any possible side affects or interactions.  It was then that I came across information on ADVAIR for reducing symptoms of asthma, yet I had already sealed and tucked the other ad into the card for my ex cubible mate, so I was confused and growing sad and indecisive. I wondered why no one had taken the time to include Paxil or Ritalin into the 177 pages of Time magazine, because the confusion I was experiencing over figuring out if Advair or Symbiocort would be better for asthma made me feel helpless and in need of a different kind of pill. 

On pages 168, 169, and 170 I realized that my long deceased father should have been on Crestor and not Plavix.  Plus, I like the name Crestor better, don't you Jared?! 

 

By page 177 I needed a bit of a pick-me-up.  I saw an ad on the inside back cover for the most perfect drug of all: caffeine, courtesy of Starbucks. 

Well, Jared, that's it for now. I will be excited to return back to my home based business next week! I've had more than enough of this staycation craziness and will never read a magazine about America again until maybe the end of 2010.  It's too confusing! 

Warmest Regards, Best Wishes for a Prosperous & Healthy New Year, 

Aly 

P.S.  Per the side affect page for Restasis it said a "foreign body sensation" is possible. Would you like to take Restasis with me Jared, and we can see if we are able to achieve a FBS?  If FBS doesn't occur we can at least comfort ourselves eight weeks later with $20 to be spent on flatbread sandwiches at my local Subway? Let me know. Thanks!

P.P.S.  Jared, I am not kidding when I say that the quote I chose to include in my high school graduating class of 1993 yearbook was from none other than Zelda Fitzgerald, who said, "We grew up founding our dreams on the infinite promise of American advertising. I still believe that one can learn to play piano by mail and that mud will give you a perfect complexion." 

P.P.P.S-  What happened to pianos and mud? And America? Not a single one of these featured drug names made it through my spellcheck!  Perhaps Microsoft should add a Western medicine language dictionary? 

Fair Enough & the Day in Pictures

I've decided that I do not like the phrase "fair enough." 

Do people say it when they don't know how to reply to what you just said? Or, is "fair enough" like a euphemism for saying "I'm disappointed but I am going to say 'fair enough' because it sounds better?" Is it just a way to say "point taken," or "I understand?" 

Example: A man wants to meet up with a woman for drinks, but she is cold and is already at home after a long day and about to settle down with a book. The man's reply to this is "fair enough." 

What are your thoughts on 'fair enough,' and are you a fan of this phrase? If you do say it often, in what context? 

For Rent

a woman 

in a bright purple coat who looks 70

brushes the snow off her mother's coat who looks 90 

and has tennis balls on the bottom 

of her walker

a woman 

with posture

steeled against the cold 

hot pink lips and heavy looking boots 

scarf wrapped three times 

a gloved hand 

over a smart looking cane

despite the ad 

on the side of the bus shelter for it 

none of us have Palm Pilots  

to stare at

"Bustracker" software

to track down the number 36 

i remember my camera 

which makes me forget 

the cold 

i dig it out of my purse

take a picture

of the theater i'd been staring at, 

its 'for rent' sign 

available in summer of 2006 

 

it's winter 2009 

& i take another picture

of the golumb or the jester's face

and i'm thinking of how it looks 

like a crucifix

if i frame it just so 

and the woman with the cane is smiling

and there's a lot of lipstick on her teeth

and puffs of air coming out of her mouth

"Don't get too comfortable," she says.  "It's here." 

 

Jared Fogle, I'm Still Here for You in Some Ways!

Dear Jared, 

I guess you never got my note about going to Carmax together?

It's OK, really, I don't mind at this point whether or not you write back , plus the truth is that I couldn't afford a quality used car anymore even if you did fly out from Indianapolis to Chicago to help me select one. 

After my Year 2008 Christmas letter which I deleted shortly after writing, and a few other notes to you including my request for you to accompany me at Carmax, all of which were unreciprocated, I lost my full-time data entry sales position. 

Please don't feel sorry for me, Jared!!!  In the dark of night amid the indoor outdoor carpeting, and a colorful assortment of desk tchotkes collected from some of Aly Louise Hensler's very favorite trade shows, there were these news cell organisms created: translucent winglike structures, and one day I got to work and the cells had become wings, which were attached to my cubicle, and it was Time for Me To Fly.  

I am considering writing a Bestselling Children's classic titled "Time for Me to Fly" based on this experience, and I am hoping maybe you can help me to sell this book when you are touring schools around the country speaking of the importance of eating a healthy diet that includes substituting chips with the hermetically sealed green apples or yogurt, both of which I believe are extremely sound choices and I hope that you had a role in ushering them into the Subway self-serve refrigerator which frankly feels kind of homey every time I look at it when I am away from home and in my local Subway, which isn't as often these days I'm afraid. I've been budgeting and cheating on you with Carl Buddig. Do you know Carl? 

In addition to not frequenting Subway at the frequency of days of yesteryear-- something I could have never predicted!-- I am well aware that I've slacked off on mailing you packages, too! Frankly I don't have as much free time to assemble the packages and notes as I used to, and truth be told I must be relaxed and in the mood and feel confidant and secure about my future in order to produce the pre-driven unmentionables and for whatever reason it just hasn't happened (and it totally is me and not you, Jared, so don't worry!!!!!) 

Another reason I have been to busy to write, and perhaps the main reason, is because I launched my own home-based business! 

And , it's really taken off, I mean I just calculated that I earn about $5.79 per hour on a 35-hour work week.   It's maybe not the big bucks you hear about on banner ads talking about making Big Money on the Internet, but it is something and something is always better than nothing. I think it's been good for my mental health, too! I've even stopped hula hooping in my living room as a result of this home-based business, and I now get all of my exercise from

walking around my neighborhood of Wicker Park Bucktown and chatting up locals. It's certainly not "the Subway diet, which I heard you are slipping from- YIKES!- remember no cheese, no mayo, just like we used to do it back in Indianapolis when we lost all the weight together and you went ahead and contacted Subway HQ and acted like you did it all on your own, without anyone like me by your side-- but I like to call it "the WPB diet," and I've slimmed down considerably with this exercise plan combined with Carl Buddig. 

Though it's None of My Beeswax, I wonder if you've gained a good bit of weight perhaps maybe because your old pal, Aly stopped writing to you? It's OK to admit that!! I know sometimes it helps to have a fan from a far, a stalker who is too exhausted to leave her living room yet nonetheless you can rely on

to send you predriven unmentionables in a plain brown envelope marked with Hello Kitty stickers.  Maybe when that person stops being there as much for you it's easier to just go ahead and eat another sandwich, or maybe top the second sandwich off with a cookie or two or three instead of the apple slices which I'm guessing the children at the junior high assemblies you speak at enjoy very much. I've always loved apples. 

At the risk of not blathering on further, and because I have some work to do on my home-based business, along with cleaning my cat's litter box in advance of an after-party tonight-- yes, I have friends now, Jared!--I would like to let you know that I will always be here for you, in some ways but not in other ways.  While we've never formerly discussed consummating a physical relationship, I've decided to dedicate my life and free time to growing my home based business, and to finding innovative and new ways to sustain myself in 2010 rather than focus on some idealized version of a man like you, a handsome man that is part American icon, part everyday guy trying to make it in this world as a brand ambassador for one of the most difficult franchises to make a living at which is growing quickly in the oil-rich Mideast, a man who is so revered and famous that one day his size 60 pants might even hang inside the Smithsonium museum.  

Really, what was I thinking, that you'd ever consider living happily ever after alongside the likes of an Aly Louise Hensler, who is unemployed save for a thriving home-based business? Would you really have the time to be a good father with your extensive touring schedule, Jared? Did I even ask myself ANY of these important questions before dedicating a portion of my precious free time to thinking about you, and where I could possibly fit into the puzzle that could be our future together? 

I am still here for you, Jared, but not in that way--- no! no! no! no longer in that way. Reality has set in, and I know where I stand.  I should hope that you will take some comfort in the fact that in lieu of broadcasting an Aly Hensler Family Christmas Letter this year across the Internets and then promptly deleting it, I am writing to you instead. I have had many major accomplishments this past year since losing my data entry sales job, including a poem I wrote about calling the unemployment line which was featured in a message board I posted it to, a poem about the loss of Michael Jackson which plummeted me into a deep depression shortly after composing it by the light of a pen flashlight in the bathroom stall of a bar which was featuring the music of MJ all that weekend of his unfortunate death, and so many other highlights that it would simply be impossible to sum them all up in just one year-end recap to you. At the moment I am trying to find out why the Walgreen's Corporation no longer carries the "Wow, just $2" pleather planner that I carried in my purse all this past year and was extremely helpful in keeping me organized. I loved the simplicity of the planner as well as its little plastic pocket on the interior which allowed me to secure many important papers and receipts. 

I am going to write a letter to the Walgreen's Corporation now and dedicate some time to finding this $2 planner again so I can replicate my wild successes of 2009 in 2010. 

Goodbye, Jared, and I will still be here for you in some ways. Remember that, please. 

Warmest Regards, 

Aly Louise Hensler 

Idle mind = devil's playground, plus duct tape

Perhaps there's irony in the fact I just spent 15 straight hours writing all about the neighborhood, with a lot of the emphasis focused on buying stuff for the holidays, and in general outside of my niece I haven't purchased any gifts this year, and don't plan to unless I can craft gifts out of materials found around my apartment. My mom and I have already established a no-gift Hannukah, too. 

She just sent me an email saying that she thinks she needs a job because look at what she just did with duct tape all afternoon. 

Why do I have a feeling I'm staring at a possible future gift from her here? Did she really just happen to have pink and blue duct tape laying around?

I am not crafty. Maybe I'll write a horrible comedy sketch scene about a horrible morning in the car en route to get her cataracts out and the gift will be that I will embarrass her and she'll have to buy the ticket to see a much worse and exaggerated version of both of us on stage. 

Or I can just go see what colors of duct tape I have...  

Not dead, just busy

In the past week, a few people unconnected to each other and who I know through different ways mentioned to me that they've noticed I don't post any Facebook notes or blogs as I did on a regular basis for at least a few years, beginning with Myspace. So here it is, an explanation as to what I've been up to in the form of a Facebook note, and GONE post...   

Starting a business will put a crimp on the free time, and writing letters to Jared Fogle the Subway Guy and haikus and fake news articles and all the other stuff I loved doing so much just doesn't pay the bills. Writing comedy sketches doesn't pay the bills, either, in fact, as a student I get to pay someone else to take the classes to learn how to do it, so if I have any energy left after working on the newsletter it goes into sketch homework, or reading instead of writing. 

The weekly neighborhood newsletter covering the neighborhood I've lived in for just about five years now started this past April with a simple idea to write a chamber news email, an opportunity I was extremely grateful for, and still am in so many ways and on so many levels. The director of the chamber who I knew previously from selling newspaper ads spots to her knew how passionate I was about writing, and if it weren't for her I'd probably still be writing letters to Jared. Instead, I feel like my creativity is being applied to something larger- and consequently far more important than myself or entertaining the few friends that may have enjoyed the for-no-reason blog posts I just don't have time for anymore--  though in a perfect world I would have time for both. 

This past July it became apparent that I should expand my focus beyond the chamber members and friends of chamber as I was spending untold hours each week wandering around, almost like people being a drug and me being addicted to finding out more about them and then sharing it in the for

m of a weekly email. After a meeting where I probably appeared on the verge of a breakdown, no actually I did appear that way, and in which I not-very-convincingly "resigned" from my $30 per week freelance contract job, the director and I shared a very therapeutic ride in her car, and being my emotional self I think I was bawling about how I needed to either figure out a way to spend far less time on the newsletter, OR figure out a way to expand it, and sell sponsorships to many of the readers who sent me lots of emails each week with things to include in the newsletter, or just notes of support like "keep up the good work!" and other positive feedback like that each week they read about happenings they wouldn't have otherwise known about. 

With that sort of feedback, and because I was truly loving the process of working on the newsletter, I knew I had to find a way to 'keep it continue' as Sammy Sosa so eloquently once said, even if it meant I'd have to go back to the very thing I was so burnt out from doing, and really wish I didn't have to do all the time, which is selling. The chamber became my very first advertiser on that drive, and, because for whatever reason people that sell ads always make more money than people who write stuff, I increased the weekly pay to somewhere around $61. In a newspaper business model, only about 15-20% of ad dollars goes to content creators, but with the Pipeline it is closer to 90%. There are no fat cat executives at the top of the food chain here sucking up ad dollars, just a fat cat that sits on my lap as I write. 

It's much easier to sell now than in the past because I am selling something that I created vs. selling something for a big business, and where I felt more like a cog in a wheel taking hundreds of dollars from small businesses (as a relationship seller, I sell to the people I like) yet offering no guarantees except for exposure and visibility and that I'd bust my ass for them to create a unique looking advertisement or something different that would hopefully make them stand out from the pack. Hours went into taking photos for their ads, or training them on how to set up a social media page, or begging friends to model for the ads (THANKS, you all know who you are!!! I won't embarrass you through tagging but I just recalled maybe four or five of you), and then returning a week or two later to disappointment, and hearing my customers say that nobody mentioned the ad, or they didn't make any new sales as a result of the ad, and sometimes the look in their eyes telling me to please get the hell away, you're just a damn solicitor, those were the looks that made me cry in my car on the way back home, because I had disappointed others who'd given me their trust and money in a declining economy and the job felt utterly soulless and my so called career worthless.  

 

Somebody this week asked me why I'm doing what I'm doing, and if it's all about "just trying to make a buck."  I laughed, and am still laughing thinking about that comment because there are many other ways to make a buck that are far easier than writing, taking photos, selling sponsorships to support what you're doing, partnering with another writer contributor, and then distributing it all while working with a local kid who is also becoming part of the wandering street team, and learning about the business model, and how to explain it to others.  In terms of finding other ways to make the proverbial buck,  though it could just be my wild imagination, I'm sensing an air of anxiety permeating many traditional businesses, and their workers. As I've been on many an interview, I can also say firsthand that the competition for the few good jobs out there is intense, and it doesn't seem to be easing up anytime soon. At one interview in a Michigan Ave. building I sat there in a suit perhaps saying all the right answers until the part came where they asked what I've been doing these past months, and I mentioned the newsletter which could have been a red flag despite the fact I assured them I would have time for the job, and the newsletter.  In the past I wrote the text for two published photography books while working at full-time jobs, and I also wrote a novella called '30-Days Notice' while also working at a very demanding 50-plus hour full-time job that required near weekly travel. For health insurance, and steady pay, I could probably find a way to straddle both worlds, in fact since health insurance is important to me I might have to figure out a way to do that soon, yet with increased competition for corporate jobs it appears as if most companies want someone who doesn't have a full plate of extracurricular activities. 

Needless to say I haven't found a traditional job yet despite keeping an eye on the job boards, and while I could step up the search another notch or two I'm also busy with the weekly newsletter, and the caffe gig. Yesterday Pat, who is a tremendous help in terms of moral support, as well as proofing and contributing a story or two each week, calculated that maybe he makes $3 or so bucks an hour, and these days I'm maybe pacing at $8 thanks to the support of sponsors who've come aboard, and to whom I am very grateful for this season!!! While the pay is small, the fact we are even paid at all is encouraging, though the pay is 100% dependent on my ability to solicit sponsorships, too, and frankly I'm having more fun with the writing than the selling. Our highest paid worker is the delivery kid who makes $10 an hour two hours each week. Like Whitney Houston, I too believe that the children are the future, and even if we're not quite a real company, by installing in him the way real companies pay and job responsibilities maybe one day he will get a job at a real company. A few weeks or so ago I told him that we had brought on a new sponsor. He was like, "uh, cool," though I don't think he understood what I meant, or its implications. I added, "This means you still have a job next month." He understood immediately. 

As I 'pop in' on shops all the time, tonight all are welcome to "pop in on me" as well as Pat at caffe de luca from 7 to 10 p.m. It'll be as close as The Pipeline will come to a 2009 holiday shindig....and like everything else I thought of/"planned" the gathering yesterday, so I understand if it'll just be a few of us...  In addition to steep half-off discount on wine bottles, and 25% off food, and "Aly De Luca's" free tarot readings, with the donation of any amount of toiletries or diapers, while supplies last, people can dip into a "found object" grab bag- CPS forged excuse notes, random stuff from garage sales, art, cat collectibles, it'll all be there!