"NEWS ON THE RADIO, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY"

I'm telling you, this is the year of milestones. Yesterday was not only a milestone anniversary for my parents, and a milestone birthday for my uncle, but today is a very important milestone birthday for my brother, the very talented photographer, returning full-time student, geological enthusiast and politically and environmentally savvy fellow. He's the kind of guy I'm be glad to be friends with, relative or not.

So, the story of my brother's birthday goes like this: I was in grade school and my Dad woke me up early flew me into some sweet green elastic waistband pants and flowery awesome-collar shirt and a red sweater and hurriedly got me to school. "Daddy, what's going on?" I asked. "You're mom's ready to have this thing." This thing. Thing? So, I was dropped off at school just before sunrise, my folks took off in the sweet wood-paneled station wagon, and I was only aware that there was a thing on the way. I'm foggy on the details here, but I believe that my Dad got my mom to the hospital and then returned, realizing he'd left a young child out front of an unopened grade school in a large city. Or, my brain might have made that up to keep me out of therapy. Whatever. Later that afternoon, my Dad came to school, and pulled me out in the hall and told me I had a little brother. I looked at him, blinked, scoffed, I think, and said, "Oh, well, I wanted a sister."

Then, I ran away from home, getting an entire ten feet from the house. Impressive. Anyway, after years of beating the crap out of each other, we eventually became friends. And, that about brings us up to today. Anyway, my brother thinks this story is retarded, so I, of course, tell it every year on his birthday. Happy Birthday, you. I wish I could be there to celebrate with you.

"PRUDENCE NEVER PAYS"

Kids, we have a few things to catch up on.

I went to the supermarket and saw a guy in tight grey sweatpants jerking off. Also Happy Birthday to my Dad.

Let's talk about the wanking first.

Initially, I thought he was just stratching himself (the wanker, not my Dad), but no, really he was wanking off through the fabric. Right there in the salad dressing and condiment aisle. Wanking. Staring at a shopper and then doing all of the above plus breathing heavy like a donkey.

And, you know, if there is one thing worse than a public jerker, it's a noisy public jerker.

Long story short, two stock boys, an embarrassed store manager and the public jerker answering the store manager in a breathy mid-jerk voice, well, it made for some delightful entertainment is what. I must have pretended to read the back of six balsamic vinegar bottles. It was delightful.

This is now the second public masturbation I have seen this month. So, there's that. You'd think subzero temps would freeze the randy-handy right out even the most public of jerkers, but no. No, they're alive and well and happily jerking here in Chicago.

Bleh. But, anyway, yes, hi, today is my father's birthday. The boy born in a blizzard, is I think how the story goes. Happy Birthday, Dad! Sorry about the wank story.

"THE STORY OF MY LIFE"

I have a vaguely holiday-themed piece up on Monkeybicycle.

My BFF just sent me a really awesome present!

Then the buzzer buzzed again and my Mom and Dad sent me another really awesome present!

Hey! Forch!

"GOLDEN LIGHTS, DISPLAYING YOUR NAME"

Guys, remember when I was talking about Sixwire? They're on the Next American Band and the lead singer, Andy Childs, is a long-time family friend. They did a really pretty cover tonight on the show, and they're super-hard-working and super-humble, super-nice guys who never take themselves too seriously and really work so very hard to make it work so I urge you to consider voting for them after the show tonight. And by "urge" I mean, of course, "demand". C'mon, most of you know how upstream it can be to do a creative thing for a living. I sure know, and I know a lot of you know, too. So, let's show some good people the good support they deserve.

Mmmmkay? Thanks.

Need the number? 1-866-U-LOVE-05 or 1-866-856-8305. You have only two hours to vote from riiiiight NOW.

Uh, that is a toll-free number, so it's not going to kill you or your phone bill. Ahem. Aaaad, VOTE!

"A RUSH AND A PUSH AND THE KID IS THEIRS"

What do I call my cousin's daughter? My second-cousin, right? I think that's right. Anyway, welcome to the world Abbie. You are 7 lbs. and 6 oz. of awesome. Obvs, I'm off to buy another awesome "onesie" this weekend. Babies have to look fashionable, too.

And suddenly, my sweet grandparents are great-grandparents and that is unbelievable to me. I made them grandparents, Abbie has made them great-grandparents.

"ASSEMBLE THE WAYS"

This is a good morning, I could just tell when I woke up. Strong, good coffee and sourdough toast with good butter might be my favorite way to start a weekday. I have a busy day today, my chickadees. But, you know, let's start the week off with a little good-doing, yes?

Click here, and sponsors will donate free mammography to women who can't otherwise afford it. Just click. It only takes a second, it costs you nothing, you'll start your week out on a positive note and it'll mean the world to the woman someplace you'll be helping. Blammo! So easy.

In other news, my folks are on a little trip and I am 99.9% sure they drunk dialed me last night. I also had a dream that to "better represent its political stance" the Canadian flag was blue and white instead of red and white. I dream about flags a lot. Wonder what that means?

I still cannot find my ID.

What's new with all of youse?

"REEL AROUND"

You guys! This is brand-new website it so cool! Pass it on. Booktour.

Who would like to give me a treadmill? No? Fine. Who would like to start a band? No? Fine.

So, Guths, as you might have figured out, are an open-to-possibility family, and as a result, often find ourselves on interesting adventures and pursuits. My parents, par example, are, as we speak, traveling to stay in one of the HGTV Dream Houses for the weekend. How did that happen that they get one of those places to themselves for the weekend? I don't think they are too sure, either. But, there they are, heading right in. So funny. Ma Guth said to me yesterday, I have to go shopping! I can't stay there in my regular clothes! I need to match that place! (Yeah right, like Ma Guth has ever been one to hang around in schmattas.) So, I sort of have this image of them wearing a dinner jacket and a flowy evening gown, respectively, just for cocktail hour. Eh, live it up, I say. Live it up. I have probably only seen them dolled up together maybe a handful of times since disco went by the wayside.

Now, I must put the following Canadian bands on your radar. Find them. Buy their stuff. Colourbook. Cobras Cobras Cobras. Les Autobus. And especially do not miss Wooden Sky. Possibly my new favorite band. (Click on their CBC link and scroll down to play their self-titled song. Ohhhh, I can't get enough of this song.) Wow, Canada really has their musical ducks in a row right now, don't they?

"LAST NIGHT I DREAMT..."

Last night, I had a dream that my Dad and I were having lunch and he said he was so proud of me for everything I accomplished at an age I have yet to reached. When I told him I am just under a year from that age, he said, "I know, I'm telling you that the fastest-moving three weeks yet will be that year so you have to be ready." Then, our outfits kept changing-- we were originally in suits, then we were all hippie'd up with dreadlocks and such, then, we were in this very French les apaches sort of vintagey threads, then we were in combat fatigues, then this sort of 18th century gaudy get-up.

Um, oooookay. Whatevs. I welcome any interpretations of that one.

So, in other news, I have this really bonkers idea, with a very cool end result, so if I come up to any of youse and do one of those hold-the-camera-at-arm's-length-and-press-our-heads-together sort of photos, and I happen to have a salt shaker in my hand, just go along with it. It's best not to ask, but just to know that the end result will be cool. Truuuuuuust me.

"NEWS ON THE RADIO..."

Happy Father's Day to all, but a special Father's Day wish to the man who taught me my very first dirty jokes, who taught me to try to be fair, to not be afraid to be tough when I need to be, who made special repellent to chase monsters away at night, and...


... to the man I (probably) robbed of various hairstyling options with my antics as a teenager.


In any case, Happy Father's Day, to a great Dad and a great friend.

"I WAS HAPPY TO STAY"

Coffee is so tasty.

I woke up very early this morning, despite tossing and turning most of the night. so, I'm riding high on a coffee and three-hours-of-sleep buzz this morning. Check back with me around 4 in the afternoon. I'll tie my shoes to the ceiling fan and stare at then for hours, I'm sure. Oh wait, I don't have a ceiling fan. Nevermind. See? It begins. Bleh.

I get a lot accomplished in the morning, though, and that I like a lot. Especially with coffee, and that was my original thought. But, i have to get there in a round-about way.

I admire the make-things-last spirit of the Great Depression generation. I love the idea of having good shoes repaired rather than tossing out crap shoes and getting more crap shoes. I love the idea of taking an appliance apart and fixing it rather than getting another. I love the concept of buying a great set of curtains and taking care of them and keeping them for years. My grandparents are champions of this, being of that era. They just months ago bought a new toaster, and they bought the one they deemed of best quality, and it replaced the toaster that sat there in their kitchen for, mm, I dunno, easily twenty five years. Easily.

Granted, there is a difference between living with quality items and caring for them and living in a state of deprivation and implied undeservedness. And that's key, I think. There's no sense in holding your fucking life together with duct tape and patched tires forever because you probably won't feel terribly confident about any of it and probably won't seem terribly prosperous in the greater scheme of things. Anyway, you get my point. I believe in investing in a quality item that will last and caring for it properly and/because I'm not wild about disposaculture.

That said, after taking my coffee pot apart and putting it back together three times now to repair it, after lugging it to I think five or six addresses, I might want to think about letting it go. My grandparents could get ten or fifteen more years out of it in ways I'd never dream of, but I think it's time to let it find the thrift store of its dreams and go to a new household. Brewing coffee then pouring it through a sieve every day to remove grounds that shouldn't be there is getting a tad old. Then again, maybe I should just not bother with filters, brew it up, grounds and all, then sieve it. See there? The apple really must not fall far.

"I DON'T MIND IF YOU FORGET ME"

Random curiosities of random rank:

My Dad is home and says he just wants to sleep for two days and will call and tell all after that.

I have cable again.

I'm going first, this morning, to a good old synagogue yard sale (Hello to the grannies donating their designer vintage!), then to the Printers Row Book Fair to say hello to a few folks, then tonight, my vegetarian ass is going to brave Ribfest so that I can see Baby Teeth.



I have a loaner cell phone that is a dinosaur. If I don't respond to your texts or don't answer when you call, I probably have no idea. Or, I have no interest in talking to you. Either way, nothin' personal.

It throws me for a loop when someone completely misreads me.

Remember I decided not to cut my hair until my second novel is out into the world? Well, if I don't hurry, my moppy head will drive me bonkers.

Don't click this link at work! This was sent to me and I don't know what to think about it.

"IF YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS TO SPARE"

Random things:

1. You know, a few posts ago, Kapgar asked me, mostly jokingly, to clarify a bit when I said my Dad was on "the other side of the world". Turns out, he is, though not at an exact opposite location to Chicago. In discovering this, I found this website which is fun to play with. You set your location, then find out where you'd pop up if you were to dig a hole through the earth. I'd, uh, pop up just to the side of Australia if I dig from Chicago.

2. Paris Hilton might have to go back to jail. I am embarrassingly happy about this.

3. I still need one local author for the June 28th Fixx Reading Series night. I am taking nominations and suggestions. Aaaaaand, go.

4. I had a great long run and workout yesterday. I'm still running under my marathon pace, but I'm pacing okay considering I didn't really run all winter.

"HEIR APPARENT"

Tonight was pretty great.

To begin, my Dad just called from the other side of the world! I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw his cell phone number on my phone! First thing he said to me, So? Who won the ballgame? This call, of course, made me very happy. He said the large city he's been working in is a "total shithole", that the poverty was worse than he could have imagined it to be there. But, he called from an airport, as he is moving over to another smaller town tonight (well, it's tomorrow already for him) for a few days. I'll be glad to be in the same country again, but he seems to be having a good adventure, and I can't begrudge anyone that.

In pretty good news, I had a fine time at the baseball game tonight.


I wondered how it would be to go to a neutral game, and solo at that, but, you know, it was good. Irish Ho and her Dad were there, though in the swanksylvania section, so I waved at them when they decided to leave at the bottom of the 5th inning. I can't say I blame them; it was 52 degrees in Chicago tonight afterall. It was nice to just sit and enjoy baseball.

I was sitting around a bunch of dudes, and confused them completely. They kept asking when my "husband" was going to come back and fill the empty seat next to me. Yeah, right. Sorry fellas, I'm showed up alone, I'm going home alone. They didn't believe me until the 7th inning when one guy said to me, You really are here by yourself. I sat a while, then got up, came back with a soda and a giant order of nachos-- they half-kidded me that I'm too "little of a girl to eat jalapeno peppers" and so delighted in eating every last one. Is love of spicy food supposed to be masculine? Beats me. I'm all about the peppers, the hotsauce, all that. Love it.

Of course, this was a challenge, though I didn't realize it at the time. When a few of the guys around me got up and came back with nachos covered in peppers, I realized I'd thrown down a challenge without realizing it. I watched them slam beer, scoot peppers out of sight and turn bright red rather than admit it was just too warm. Haha. Sucka. That'll teach you.

On the train home, in small talk, I completely dissed a Mets fan, though I wasn't trying to. It was a long, chilly way home, but finally, I'm home, in bed, covers pulled up high, my cat curled up next to me and the space heater on. Yeah, the space heater. In June.

"REEL AROUND THE PROJECT"

Big deadliney day. I got some very vague parameters for this project, so I am mostly writing nothing. I wrote a little, but not a lot. Not as much as I need to write to work it out. Few things frustrate me as this issue does. Sometimes too much leeway makes my brain shut down, boggling with possibilities and unable to narrow any of them down to something useful.


In other news, my Dad made contact from his trip and appears not to have been kidnapped so I'm relieved, Mermaidhead is having a rough go of this pregnancy business and is on bedrest from here on out so I'm trying to think of fun activities I can supply her with that don't require moving, I need to track down one more author for the June 28th installation of the Fixx Reading Series, my cat figured out how to jump on top of the doors in the apartment, but can't figure out how to get down so he cries sadly from doortops, I just learned the term "cunt helmet" to describe a person switching into an unreasonably rude mode (As in: "Gee, I didn't get much sleep last night, so I totally have the cunt helmet on today." This is gold.), and boy, oh boy, is my head starting to hurt.

I believe I want a new trash can.

I also believe my cat hates my plants. C'mon plants, ignore that cat digging you up and live, damnit! Live! You were doing so well!

Seriously, I am so stumped on this writing project that I got down on my kitchen floor yesterday on all fours and scrubbed it down with bleach. Still, nothing. Sigh.

"I WAS HAPPY TO STAY"

Boy, oh boy do I have a lot to tell you guys. To begin, last night was so much fun! Unfortunately, Emerson Dameron was under the weather, and so rescheduled until next month. But, Jonathan Messinger was so very funny with his piece about liquid-filled mousepads, Neo-futurist founder, Greg Allen was a riot with his piece about a the nature of circles and orbs and lines, and as for me and my piece about fratboys... well, I have an innate inability to hear laugher while trying to create it, so I think my piece about fratboys did just fine, itself. Wait, here, I'll let you read it. S'okay. Gahead. Granted, you'll have to just imagine that I'm reading it poetry-slam style and you'll have to just image that I'm doing the voices of the valley girl receptionist, the drill sgt., and the fratboys, but I'm sure you can manage.

My favorite part, I must admit, was Abraham Levitan of Baby Teeth as the house band. He sat and took notes during each of our pieces and performed hilarious, beautiful, impromptu songs about each. I howled! So funny!

Let's see, post show, I chatted with darling Irish Ho and the wonderful Elizabeth Crane for a bit, made a few new friends including--- this is my favorite!-- a very wonderful writerly lady named Laura who told me she printed out my website pic long ago and gave it to her hairstylist for inspiration! Are you loving that as much as I am? Finally, years of hacking my own mop has paid off!

Then, I chatted more with Jonathan Messinger, Scott Stealey and had the pleasure of meeting Patrick Somerville, the fellow who was in the Chicago Reader's Fall Books issue with me last November... remember? Yes, him. So funny. All in all, it was a lovely night.

Pa Guth sent me a text message at 1am from an out-of-the-country airport as he made his way to his destination. Can't say I have ever gotten a text message from my Dad at that hour, so the timestamp made me laugh while I was having a little post-show bite with Irish Ho. It was prom night in Chicago last night, so we sat in a diner and admired the sparkled dresses and complicated hairstyles and laughed as we reminisced about our own prom nights years ago.

I think that's about it. Oh! I met my new neighbor for a sec. Remember how I hoped for a cool neighbor? Well, I only met her for a minute yesterday, but I think she carried a Nightmare Before Xmas bag. Clearly she is cool. I'm glad. Of course, I gave her my card yesterday, which lists this blog, so she is probably reading this and going, What the fuck? I'm not even here a day and this nut is blogging about me? Hells no. So it goes.

"I WILL SEE YOU IN FAR OFF PLACES"

Tomorrow, my father is traveling to a location on the State Department's travel advisory list. And he'll be there for ten days. And he may or may not have access to phone and internet while he's there. And, I worry about his health. And, he's my dad. And, in light of other little earthquakes this week that reminded me that sometimes terrible things do happen, I'd rather he didn't go.


But, he and I both know the apple didn't fall far and I'd do the same thing, and that a life tiptoed around things that might go horribly wrong isn't much of a life. Still.

"SO IGNORE ALL THE CODES OF THE DAY"

The reading last night was small but fun. Timothy Schaffert is so funny and such a delight to be around. And his book! If you have not yet read Devils In The Sugar Shop you are missing out on a beautiful book with such sharp and smart laughs. Get it. Get it now.

I'll post some pics in a bit when I can. I also want to tell you all about some very exciting bits of news I have coming together this week in the writerly world. but that's all going to have to wait.

My grandfather was taken into surgery this morning and we're all waiting to hear what's what. The grandfather I just saw last week. Good vibes to Louisiana, if you don't mind. It sits on my mind heavily today, obviously.

"STRETCH OUT AND WAIT"

Today was gloriously low-key. I ate a big lunch with my brother and grandparents. We drove out to the old farm (yes a farm) my grandmother grew up on, that still is a working farm, though they pay someone to run it, anymore. I was reminded of fun times goofing around in the swampy woods nearby and watching bees do their thing in the walls of the front room of the house. It's almost enough to make me want to buy an organic farm and say screw it.

Then I remember I don't know shit about farming.

I paid my respects to my great-grandmother at the cemetary, the woman who taught me to sew in the very room I sit in now. Women live a long-ass time in this family, that's for sure. Tough beyotches.

Anyway, I'm cooking dinner for everyone tonight. I love that my grandparents are so down with composting and living off the land. Calming. Mellow. Earthy.

"OUIJA BOARD, OUIJA BOARD"

Back in Ma Guth's home state tonight, surrounded by the complete quiet of the Middle of Nowhere. I'm surrounded by green, thriving things, currently in the room where my great-grandmother taught me to sew, though it has long since been repurposed into an office. Where a brown plaid wingback chair used to sit facing west, I sit in a modern office chair facing east. The curtains are the same. The same stillness hangs on everything that always did, though now it's familiar and ancient and connective where it used drive me to fidget.

But this afternoon, oh this afternoon, I need to go here.

I was driving here, and witnessed a horrible accident on the highway. It was right there, suddenly everyone was alive, then this truck and this car were in a ball and there was gasoline everywhere. Then I realized there were bodyparts everywhere in the gasoline. All of them were dead, all in pieces. Just giant hunks of bloody meat on the asphalt. Nothing to save, nothing to grab, just pieces. Heads, bloody hair still attached to skin, a leg, a skinned mess of organs and tissue.

I'm not even doing this justice. There was so much blood and everything was so quiet that I could only hear my heart thudding in my ears and everything felt so still that you could almost feel the confusion of the being-animation that moments ago inhabited a body. And then, everything was eerie and still and almost empty and emergency vehicles came and couldn't do much of anything either.

To the side of the road, I noticed two handmade signs nailed to trees beside this scene. One read Jesus Saves, the other Trust Jesus, which made me sort of laugh for a second, mostly because they seemed so random.

Much later as I was free to go, I spoke on my cell in a daze. I mean, I of all people understand death is part of life and so it goes, so it wasn't about death or seeing a body or bodyparts. It was more about the quickness, the you-were-just-here-a-moment-ago-and-now-you're-a-pile-of-useless-tissue-and-there-is-nothing-anyone-can-do-to-save-your-life feeling that kind of took my breath away a little.

The other end of my cell phone expressed relief and amazement at how easily it could have been my car and how it could have been me in pieces on the highway. But that didn't seem right, either. Whoever the five of them were, they were somebody's (insert title indicating the nature of my relationship to you). Someone's friend, someone's child, maybe someone's parent, someone's one-that-got-away, maybe the love of somebody's life, maybe the source of strength or comfort or laughs or support or mayhem. Whatever. They were all just dead, just like that, right there.

I eventually pulled over at a rest area, feeling like I'd been holding my breath for longer than I should and starting to feel my shoulders and arms tighten to give way to soreness from flinching (wimp), and watched a little brown bird peck at a pine cone. I watched and thought I'd like to roll the biggest pine cone I could find in peanut butter and birdseed for the bird but ate dried apricots instead and pressed my fingers hard on my eyelids when a finally took a deep breath and welled-up over people I didn't know who died horribly, even if mercifully fast. Still.

"I DON'T MIND"

My brother is so talented with a camera. He made me look like a rockstar.

The reading last night at Sixth Street Live could not have possibly gone any better. The crowd came, a dear old friend gave me an introduction that brought tears to my eyes, we laughed, I read, we chatted, I sold many books, I had a great night. Last night earned the "favorite reading ever" title. For sure. Without a doubt.

In fact, I'm still kind of at a loss for words. Just a wonderful, gratifying, meaningful experience. Absolutely.