Now a word from your winningest blogger

It’s been quite a newsy week — and throughout all the headlines, one word has stuck out in my mind:

“Winningest.”

It has shown up in all the obituaries about Joe Paterno, the “winningest coach in college football.”

At first, I thought the reporter was being funny. Then I kept hearing this word. And then I looked it up in the dictionary, finding that it is in fact, a real word, defined as 1) winning most often, and 2) most winning or charming.

This is great news for me, as someone who likes to make up words. If winningest is a real, legitimate word (though Google Chrome’s spell check doesn’t seem to love it…clearly Google Chrome hasn’t read the news this week), then I’ve got a whole list of other words that should be recognized.

• “Bestest.” Elementary-school-aged Lia is screaming for this word to get legitimized. Don’t we all have friends we consider to be our “bestest”?
• “Funnest.” Do you ever find yourself saying, “Wow, yesterday was the fun…er, most fun night ever!” Save yourself from the embarrassment and let’s just make this a real word.
• “Abbrevs.” I know I tend to abbreviate words (who has time for more than two sylls?!), but come on! Shouldn’t “abbreviations,” at the very least, be brief? If words made it to the dictionary based on how often I used them, this one would be a winner (winningest?).
• “Pajamify” and “decontactify.” It’s what you do before you go to bed.
• Adding “-est,” “-ify,” “-er,” or “-ing” to pretty much any word. Word inventors of the world — unitify!

SIDEBAR: What does it mean to “Facebook” someone?

While we’re on the subject of made-up words, I’d like to take this opportunity to help define a fairly new word in our lexicon: “Facebooked.”

The word “Facebook” used as a verb does not mean anything on its own. It must be understood within context.

“Ashley Facebooked me.” Not a proper sentence.

“Remember that girl Ashley I met outside the gym last week? She Facebooked me today and I accepted.” See, it’s clear that it means she sent you a Facebook friendship request.

“I didn’t know what time the brunch was called for, so I Facebooked Carol and she told me it was at noon.” Obviously this means you engaged with Carol in a Facebook message.

“Oooh, who’s that cute new boy in your Spanish class? Let’s be sure to find out his last name so we can Facebook him tonight.” In this sense, “to Facebook” means “to stalk one on Facebook.” Clearly if we don’t know this guy’s last name, we’re not friending him or messaging him. We’re just taking a look.

Without these clarifications, discussions about our favorite social networking site can be confusing and even misleading. Stick to these ground rules and you’ll sure to be the winningest Facebooker out there.

Lia’s Pesto, Broccoli, and Mozzarella Pasta (and learning the importance of expiration dates)

It has come to my attention that a recipe I invented and taught a friend has now been circulating from my friend to her sister to her mother — and who knows, maybe it’s already on YouTube!

I hadn’t thought it was that impressive of a recipe, but when it came back to me through my mom that people were enjoying my recipe, I decided — why not post it here?

Lia’s Pesto, Broccoli, and Mozzarella Pasta

By Lia Lehrer

Total prep time: 20 minutes

Ingredients:
Your favorite pasta
Butter or margarine
Broccoli
Pesto sauce
Shredded mozzarella
Optional: fresh mozzarella

Directions:

1. Boil water for pasta in a medium pot. Follow the box’s directions for making pasta. This may be a crazy assumption, but I’m guessing you know how to make pasta.

Unless you're a male college sophomore living in a fraternity, chances are you know how to make pasta.

2. While the pasta is pastafying (if I like pasta, am I Pastafarian?), saute broccoli in a small pan. Cut the broccoli into small pieces, because there’s nothing more annoying than taking a bite of a big piece of broccoli and then having to chew ridiculously quickly when the phone inevitably rings. We’re saving lives here.

They look like little trees!

3. When the pasta is ready, drain (are drain and strain the same words? why would you make two synonyms rhyme?) (also, did you know that you can drain in a strainer, but you should NOT strain in a drainer?) and put it back in the pot.

4. On a low heat, stir in butter or margarine (I like Earth Balance because it makes me feel healthier than I’m actually being). I’m not sure why I do this or if it’s actually necessary, but hey, this is my recipe and I can do what I want.

5. Keep the heat on and stir in some pesto sauce. These are two of the brands I use. Most of the brands (such as the Trader Joe’s brand) are dairy, but if you’re looking for non-dairy, you can buy it at Hungarian Kosher Foods in Skokie. But then again, if you’re not into dairy, this recipe probably isn’t for you.

Left: Trader Joe's pesto sauce with dairy. Right: Dairy-free Ethnic Delights pesto sauce.

6. This is important. Check your pesto sauce to make sure that it is not expired. Especially if it says “use within three weeks” and you’re pretty sure you got it when you moved into your apartment in January 2011. Theoretically, of course. In this case, you could risk it (what’s the worst that could happen?), but the recipe will be fine without it. I’m showing you this recipe without the pesto sauce so as not to make anyone feel left out if you don’t have pesto at home. For realsies.

"...once opened, keep refrigerated and use within 3 weeks." Mark your calendar or something. No funny business.

7. Stir in some shredded mozzarella until it melts. If you have fresh mozzarella, it’s sometimes nice to throw a few pieces in there for the extra flavor and texture. I didn’t have any fresh mozzarella when making this (but I wish I did!).

Melt the mozzarella into the pasta. Use your imagination and picture this with pesto sauce.

8. Lastly, stir in your sauteed broccoli. Put it into a bowl. If you’re having my mom over for dinner, add some parsley as a garnish; if you’re not, don’t worry about it, it’s green enough as it is.

Add in broccoli for a flavor explosion.

9. Enjoy!

Yummy in my tummy! (Keep imagining the pesto.)

 

The yolk’s on you!

When going out for a meal, I always look at a menu in advance. It’s comforting, setting me at ease, knowing that I’ll be able to find something Lia-friendly on the menu.

But yesterday, when looking at the menu for a local suburban brunch restaurant, I found this line on their omelette section of their website:

“We use real, fresh eggs for our eggwhites; never frozen! We throw away over 3,500 yolks weekly.”

It was egregious. Using the word “over” when they really meant “more than”? Has NOBODY in this world memorized the AP Stylebook?!

But alas, in addition to putting on a high-heel shoe and stomping on the English language, I couldn’t believe that a restaurant would promote their wastefulness. Yes, it’s great that their ingredients are fresh and real; but I don’t want to hear about the ramifications of that. It sounded like a line that would go on a brochure for saving the environment.

In 2012, having food that is fresh and local is definitely trendy. But more trendy than that is our ability to lessen our waste and make the most of what we have.

My calculator tells me that 3,500 yolks a week comes out to about 182,000 yolks per year. Since the restaurant opened in 2002, then, the restaurant has thrown away 1.82 million egg yolks.

I’m sure most other restaurants are no less guilty. But to give out a number like that on their website, on their menu, on their page listing a dozen different omelette choices — well, it made me want to order the banana crepes. Okay, I won’t lie: I also ordered scrambled eggs, but at least that uses the whole egg.

I’m not a vegan, I occasionally print things on paper, and I sometimes leave the light on in a room I’ve left (but don’t worry, I use CFL bulbs!). But seeing the number 3,500 wasted yolks a week makes me a bit sad.

To prevent excess waste, I propose that the restaurants team up with the local popular high school students who tend to egg nerdy kids’ homes and donate their used banana peels to directors of slapstick comedy movies. Our great-great-grandchildren will thank us.

Happy anniversary to my apartment!

Happy 2012! In addition to marking the new year (and possibly another apocalypse? why else was the Jewel so crowded on December 31? is the world ending?), January 1 marked my first anniversary living in my Lakeview apartment.

Over the past year, I’ve had lots of highlights — and, honestly, I can’t think of anything negative that has happened here or anything I don’t like about this apartment. Each day I walk out of my apartment with my hands in the sky, breathing in the East Lakeview air, thinking, “Wow! I can’t believe I live here!”

In honor of this momentous occasion, here are some of my favorite things about my apartment:

1) My amazing roommate, Cheryl. It doesn’t get much better than having a roommate who will occasionally call me to say, “Hey Lia, I’m making chicken and rice for dinner and was wondering if you wanted some. I know you have a late meeting tonight at work, so I can have it ready for you whenever you come home.” She’s the best spouse — er, roommate — anyone could ask for.

2) Our Chicago-themed living room. When Cheryl and I moved in, I told her that it was my dream to one day have a Chicago-themed living room. In her usual agreeable nature, she said, “Alright, let’s do it!” Our living room consists of pictures of the Chicago skyline, an artsy representation of the skyline made up of a collage of Chicago words, pictures of Chicago hotspots at night, records from the band Chicago, and even some Chicago-themed children’s books. I feel like I’m living in my own fantasy world.

3) Location, location, location. There are two diners within skipping distance of my apartment, as well as a CVS next door, and a street buzzing with restaurants of all sorts of cuisines (some of which I even like!). There’s an old-fashioned ice cream shop, multiple non-Starbucks coffee shops, an indie record store, an indie book store, and more places to get your hair cut than any normal human being could possibly need. Again, a fantasy world.

4) The little window in my little kitchen overlooking my little dining room. It’s just so cute.

5) Ghosts in the bathroom. I’m pretty sure our bathroom occasionally gets visited by spirits. Not the scary kind. The friendly, gossipy kind who like to sing in the shower. The first few times I mentioned this to Cheryl, she thought I was crazy; but now even she will admit that at certain times of day, we hear these voices singing, talking, and laughing. Our bathroom walls do not touch our neighbors’ apartments. I can only assume that these are real, living ghosts.

If you haven’t come by to visit us yet, please do! I’m sure there will be some chicken and rice waiting for you, too.

Important life skills: Knowing the difference between a catalytic converter and a rotator cuff

For the past few months, my car has been making a weird rattling noise when the acceleration reaches exactly 2,000 RPM. It wasn’t a life-threatening noise, but it was definitely there. But when my brakes started making screeching metal noises, my dad and I agreed that it was time for the car to be taken in.

I let my dad take the car in so that the mechanic wouldn’t take advantage of the fact that I’m not exactly an expert on cars. When my dad and I switched cars, he told me that the rattling at 2,000 RPM was due to a problem with the catalytic converter.

But for some reason, when he told me about the problem that was fixed, my brain didn’t hear “catalytic converter.” My brain heard “rotator cuff.”

When I later asked my dad to explain the problem with the car’s rotator cuff, he seemed pretty confused. Here’s what I learned from this whole situation.

An important distinction in life.

It made me think: Are there other car parts that might be confused for body parts and vice versa?

Car parts that sound like body parts:

• Front fascia: “I tore my front fascia last month while skiing!”
• Quarter panel: “Wow, have you been working out? Your quarter panels look so toned!”
• Odometer: “My doctor told me I might need to get my odometer removed if I keep eating sugar.”
• Rotational sensor: “Every time I turn my head, I get a sharp pain in my rotational sensor.”
• Combination valve: “My combination valve has gotten worse over the years, which has led to some irregular heartbeats.”
• Muffler: “The kidney stone was near his muffler area.”
• Intake manifold gasket: “She has to use the bathroom quite often because she has a small intake manifold gasket.”
• Shock absorber: “I’ve stopped running because my feet have poor shock absorbers.”

Body parts that sound like car parts:

• Thorax: “We need to tighten the thorax belt.”
• Cerebral cortex: “After the accident, we had to spend $2,000 to fix the Toyota’s cerebral cortex.”
• Pituitary gland: “Every time I drive over a hill, I hear a ringing in the car’s left-side pituitary gland.”
• Clavicle: “We used a silver clavicle instead of a copper clavicle in your vehicle.”
• Distal phalanges: “The mechanic had to remove one of the Honda’s distal phalanges, but the car seems to be running better now.”
• Bowman’s capsule: “If your Bowman’s capsule breaks, you might as well just give up and buy a new car.”
• Fallopian tube: “The windshield wiper fluid was being blocked by a small stone lodged in the car’s Fallopian tube.”
• Cartilage: “You need more cartilage on your left- and right-side mirrors to prevent erosion from rain.”

I hope that all of you dear readers will be extremely careful when deciding where to go for the right remedy. Next time you visit your local body shop, just remember which body you’re fixing.

The case for gift cards

Dear Reader,

If you should ever have to give me a gift for any reason — be it Chanukah, my birthday, perhaps an anniversary, or maybe even a very futuristic Mother’s Day — I hereby henceforth declare my written permission for you to purchase for me a gift card.

Here’s the part where you gasp. A gift card?! What an impersonal gift! But I’ll repeat: You have been granted my official permission (is anyone out there a notary?) to get me a gift card and call it a day. And yes, believe it or not, this can even apply to boyfriends and mothers.

When it comes to gifts, I can see how I may be difficult to shop for. I’m usually at least a season behind the rest of the fashion world (I just bought my first sweater poncho and I’m still not sure how I feel about it), I’m pretty particular about jewelry (I like silver but I’m not a huge fan of gold), and I like dollars but I don’t like any scents (haha, get it?). For whatever reason you’re buying me a gift, I am so grateful, and the last thing I would want to do would be to stress you out.

A gift card to one of my favorite stores (or really any store! I can find something anywhere!) is a nice way to put your gift to good use. As my personal shopping budget comes up a bit shy of the million-dollar mark, these gift cards come in handy to update my closet with the best fashion of 2009 or that iPod-pulverizing blender I’ve been wanting.

I do understand, though, the need for wanting to make a gift more “personal.” A gift card may be construed as cold or lacking in creativity. But if you’re feeling a bit of “gift card giving blah,” here are a few ways to make a gift card gift shine a bit more like you.

Be creative in your choice of gift card store. Maybe you’ve heard that I like scarves (it’s true!) and you have a favorite scarf store. I’d love to try a new store, and a gift card is a wonderful incentive.

Pair the gift card with a related gift. My mom often used to get people a gift card to Blockbuster along with a couple packs of popcorn, and I thought it was the cutest thing. What about a gift card to Old Navy on top of a fun pair of mittens? Or a gift card to a sports store with a nice water bottle?

Wrap the gift card in a big box. It’s fun to unwrap a piano-sized box shrouded in paper reminiscent of the 4th of July. It’s even more fun to find a little box inside of a big box. Make me work for the gift card. Heck, send me on a scavenger hunt around the neighborhood to make me find the gift card.

Write me a poem. You can include a thoughtful, creative card with your gift! Make a collage of pictures and memories of us. Scrape up your sonnet-writing skills or write about how I’m Lively, Interesting, and Active. Your creativity in the card is worth more than the gift.

So, use this guide to the gift card when thinking about what to get me or other people. Happy Chanukah, happy birthday, happy anniversary, happy Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, and happy Wednesday!

Where I’M from

Last week, my roommate, Cheryl, told me about a project she was assigning to her elementary-school students. They would have to read the following poem and then make their own version of it.

Where I’m From
by George Ella Lyon

I am from clothespins,
from Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride.
I am from the dirt under the back porch.
(Black, glistening,
it tasted like beets.)
I am from the forsythia bush
the Dutch elm
whose long-gone limbs I remember
as if they were my own.

I’m from fudge and eyeglasses,
from Imogene and Alafair.
I’m from the know-it-alls
and the pass-it-ons,
from Perk up! and Pipe down!
I’m from He restoreth my soul
with a cottonball lamb
and ten verses I can say myself.

I’m from Artemus and Billie’s Branch,
fried corn and strong coffee.
From the finger my grandfather lost
to the auger,
the eye my father shut to keep his sight.

Under my bed was a dress box
spilling old pictures,
a sift of lost faces
to drift beneath my dreams.
I am from those moments–
snapped before I budded –
leaf-fall from the family tree.

She needed an example of what the kids would write — how you can look at the above poem and write a similar one about your own life. I volunteered to write it for her and her class.

I hadn’t written a poem since high school (and even then, I can’t remember the last poem I wrote). I did write a 10-page essay for my senior year high school English class about the use of commas in William Wordsworth’s “Daffodils” — no joke! But I was excited about the idea of writing a poem. Here’s the result!

Where I’m From
By Lia Lehrer 

I am from celery and peanut butter
With neatly placed raisins on the log.
I am from the Aquarium, the Planetarium,
The history museum full of Eskimos.
I am from a collection of snowmen
And a collection of quilts
And a collection of birdhouses.
(Once my mom was satisfied with one collection
She moved on to the next.)

I am from the cold winter
And the hot summer
And the golden and red crunchy leaves.
I am from the foosball and the Nintendo
And the endless hours of sitcoms
And Saturday morning cartoons.

I’m from a family made of friends
And friends made of family.
I’m from a scrapbook of photos
Scotch-taped to the pages with
Glittery stickers,
Handwritten captions,
And memories from not too long ago.

Cool stuff I’ve done that you should do, too: Part V*

It’s an argument that comes up all the time.

New Yorkers, transplanted to Chicago due to law school or a girlfriend or a fancy consulting job, berate Chicago for not being exciting enough. They can’t wait to finish out their stint in our small Midwestern town and return to the center of gravity.

Chicago flag

I ask these New Yorkers (I’m flattering them here…they’re really from the thrilling metropolises of New Jersey and Long Island) if they’ve traveled outside their law school bubble. They answer that of course, they’ve seen Navy Pier and the “Willis” Tower, and they’ve been to the Parks – Lincoln, Wicker, Rogers, Grant, and Millennium.

But, dear friends of the suburbs of Connecticut, there is so much more to Chicago than that. Before you can really judge Chicago, I recommend you try some of the tours I’ve enjoyed recently. And to my Chicagoan friends, even though you may not be a tourist  (or you grew up in Deerfield so you basically are a tourist in the city), I recommend you take these as well — it is our responsibility to be the ambassadors of Chicago. The next time I see you, I expect you will know what the four stars of the Chicago flag represent, the name of any other mayor besides Daley or Emanuel, and the location from which Chicago’s grid originates. (Winners get a scoop of ice cream at my apartment.)

Chicago Detours‘ “Inside the Loop: Expect the Unexpected”

The Picasso...yeah, I don't get it either.

$26 ($13 if you were lucky and got the Groupon!)
I’ve been on many tours of Chicago, and this one I took last week was one of my favorites. Chicago Detours prides itself on its unique blend of history, architecture, and multimedia — each tour guide uses an iPad to enrich the tour with photos and videos to supplement the tour guide’s words. This tour focused on the dense area of the Loop, the business and commerce section of the city. I never realized how much I didn’t know about this area, and I loved exploring the beautiful Chicago Temple Building, Daley Plaza and the Picasso statue (the one that looks like a baboon dressing up as a lady playing the harp), the secretive underground Pedway system, the Chicago Cultural Center (why have I never been there before?!), and the many nuances of the Chicago skyline. This tour reminded me that every building, every mosaic tile, every window, every brick, and every funky-looking statue has a history and a story. I look forward to exploring the tour company’s other tours.

Shoreline Sightseeing: Architectural River Cruise
$24-$33 ($16 if you were lucky and got the Groupon)
This is a tour I’d been meaning to do for years, and Groupon finally gave me the push I needed to do it. Even on a rainy October morning, the Chicago River sparkled as our boat glided along it.

The view from my architectural boat tour

I was amazed at all the information the guide was able to cram into an hour-long tour, and it was a bit of a challenge absorbing all the facts that flew at us faster than the raindrops, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. The Chicago River provides the perfect vantage point of the buildings in Chicago, each with a story about how the architect designed the building to fit its function (Bertrand Goldberg designed Marina City to be an all-inclusive residential complex, complete with parking, food, and a theater) or even for social reasons (it’s rumored that Samuel Insull designed the Civic Opera House to look like a throne where his daughter could sit as the star of the opera, with her back facing New York, whose Metropolitan Opera had rejected her). Despite the rain, and despite the somewhat obnoxious foreign tourists who must have thought this was just a social boat ride, this tour was incredibly worthwhile.

But I’ve also done other tours!
You may remember reading about the Chicago Chocolate Tour and the Foster Avenue Beach Segway Tour. (Clearly this whole blog entry was brought to you by Groupon.)

*For the previous edition of Cool Stuff, click here.

There’s hope for creativity!

Do you ever wonder if creativity is dead?

In a world where we e-mail pre-made birthday greetings instead of mailing handmade cards, where we order Cookies By Design rather than designing our own cookies, and where we show our likes and dislikes with a button on Facebook, it’s sometimes hard to find bits of creativity.

But then I play Whirlyball, and I can sleep easily at night. Except for the bruises.

A few weeks ago I played Whirlyball, a sport which I consider to be one of my best. In this unusual game, two teams of five players ride in bumper cars while holding lacrosse sticks, attempting to throw a wiffle ball at the correct basket (all while dodging the other cars…hence the bruises). I know – why didn’t I invent this?

Whirlyball - the perfect combination of hockey, basketball, jai alai, bumper cars, lacrosse, and wiffleball

Whirlyball gives me hope for creativity. I can just imagine the meeting in the early 1960s when Whirlyball was invented. The Chairman of Extreme Indoor Sports must have called together his team of experts.

“Gentlemen – we need a new sport.”
“But sir, our wives are already complaining that there are too many sports out there!”
“No. We need a new one. Something that can be played within a building – say, a bar – but can also be played by hundreds of youth groupers.”
“There’s always ice hockey, sir.”
“No, something more extreme. More bruising. Less cold. More wiffle balls.”
And then one man – who I guess must have been Stan Magnum — had the golden idea. “Let’s combine hockey, basketball, jai alai, bumper cars, lacrosse, and wiffleball!” (I’m just going to go ahead and call wiffleball a sport; someone will invent it someday.)
“Brilliant!”
“We love it!”
“Everyone will go for it!”

If Whirlyball can become a sport, there’s hope for creative thinkers.

Maybe someday the Chairman will take a look at my ideas for Segway sports.

I’m a big fan of the human mind right now, and I think there’s hope for creativity.

Lessons from a doppleganger

The other night, I saw my friend Ashley* while I was walking to the gym (see, I go to the gym!).
*name changed to protect — well, me, because I look silly in this situation. 

As she was walking toward me, I wasn’t quite sure that it was really Ashley; but as she got closer, I was positive it was.

“Hi!!!!!” I said with a big smile.

“Hi!!” she answered back, equally as enthusiastic.

But as she walked by, I realized – she was NOT Ashley.

I almost wanted to turn around and say, “Hi, I’m so sorry, I thought you were someone else! Gotta love those big North Face puffy coats for making everyone look the same in this neighborhood.”

But I decided that it would be more fun to leave her guessing. I imagined her thinking, “Who is that girl? She looks so familiar! What is her name? Did I go to college with her? Is she the one from my spin class? Is she my brother’s best friend’s ex-girlfriend’s sister?”

It’s a life experiment I’ve always wanted to try but never really had the guts to execute. Go up to a complete stranger, hug her, and tell her how good it is to see her after all this time. See how long you can carry on a conversation.

“Hi!!!”
“Uh…hey?”
“It’s so good to see you after all this time!”
“Yeah, I guess it has been a while!”
“Are you still in touch with everyone?”
“Uh, yeah, a few people.”
“Are you still in touch with…you know…?”
“Umm, no, we lost touch.”
“How often do you go back there?”
“Oh, occasionally, I guess.”
“Me too. Well, hopefully we’ll run into each other again.”
“Sure.”
“We should get coffee sometime. You still have my number, right? Call me next week!”
“Uh, okay. Sure. Bye!”

If any of you dear readers are daring enough to try this for real, please let me know.

Until then – I’ve said before that we should make our world a little smaller. Let’s make our town friendlier by enthusiastically waving hello to random strangers who look like they could be our friends.