Giving and taking away

It's been Thanksgiving chaos!

In an effort to stretch our bellies for the big feast, new Chicago friends and I cooked ourselves one helluva deliciously starchy meal.

I contributed macaroni & cheese. Cooking for eight proved to be a slight macaroni disaster considering my for-one equipped kitchen and my poor math skills. I took a delightful recipe built for two and expanded it for our party.

Carry the one

And two pounds of pasta later, I'm mixing all the necessary parts in a cleaning bucket.


But the feast was a success!.


My stomach was stretched and, with in a warm and happy Chicago apartment, the holiday season official kicked off.

I flew home for turkey, family and, most importantly, a Lola muffin.

It's hard to pick just one out of the hundreds of glamor shots I took of the peanut, but here are a few favorites.



R got to play too!


With the food and Lola fest under my belt and a quick visit with R, it seemed I would be mentally prepped for the last two weeks of the semester.

Except that I had to fly home. And it was snowing. And O'Hare sucks.

With a delayed flight I had three hours to kill in Bradley International airport to do...absolutely nothing. Bradley is actually made only of Styrofoam, plastic and polyester. It is SERiously lacking in activities, food or even pretty get-away pictures to look at. I gazed at my own reflection eating a McDonald's salad for two hours until the sweet sweet sound of my flight being called woke me out of that nightmare.

Had there not been a devil baby with a fire alarm-pitched scream on board I might have had to dwell on the turbulence that bopped the plane around the cloudy skies like a ping-pong ball. Lucky for all involved, devil baby kept us right distracted for the duration of the two hour flight and hour-long taxi.

After memorizing the contents of the Sky Mall catalog (p. 104: Slanket - hint hint, Santa) and the balding pattern on the back of the gentleman's head in front of me, it became clear that I have lost my travel patients. Yet, there is nothing you can do. you scan the airplane/airport/baggage claim/taxi line and you just see thousands of blank faces that have been able to swallow the red hot anger caused by a simple weekend of travel.

I'm sure Sky Mall is already on the case. Looking into the weirdo inventive abyss to find the next neck pillow-foot massage-stress ball-popcorn machine that will fold into a tiny carry-on meeting all FAA standards.

Did I mention I have two weeks left? Yup. Two big fat and full weeks until my first quarter is over. Craziness.

Reporting live from a back closet

This week was broadcast week. Or broadcast day. We were told to take one of our articles, make a broadcast script out of it, memorize it (sorta) and, yes, report the story *live* in front of the camera.



Not only that, but we all got to play a part in the 'look who's on TV!' game.

Behind ever good reporter is a stellar anchor. Someone who can fit the ear piece in their ear just right. Someone who can read the introductory lines with just enough pause and speed. Someone...who looks this professional on camera.



After doing your anchor spot we each had to go to a back closet to pretend we were reporting live from wherever our story was taking place. It is in preparation for this moment that we worked to make our story as clear and succinct as possible. We took out all of the big words and the alliteration, substituting them with conversation speech and phonetic spellings. At least, some of us did.

My story was littered with Blogojeviches and marathon words. It was not a pretty sights. Also, not something I was going to commit to memory. I chose, the always classy, winging-it option.

By the time I made it to the back broom/reporters closet I had sweated through my once professional looking shirt and my face shone like top of the Chrysler Building. Once the mic was hooked up and the little bit of throw up pushed back down my throat it was time to roll and there was no looking back. or down, at my notes, which we were actually allowed to bring in for safe keeping.

I started off OK. I was told to talk to the camera like my best friend. A lovely sentiment, but I couldn't buy it. The camera was cold and quite possibly giving me the stink eye.

I made it through two tiny paragraphs and my mind went completely blank. Discussing a local state representative's background I found myself grasping at the dust bunnies in my head to come up with the grocery list of issues he supported while in the state capital. I finally remembered to look down at my notes, which were backwards and, once I flipped them, upside down. Not helpful.

There was no time. After much ums and uhhs, I think my sentence went something like, "He did a great, great many things and even worked with Obama."

Now there's a girl who can think on her feet. CNN here I come!

Obama? Sure. Why not. Did he work with Obama? I think he mentioned his name during the interview. Can I even call him Obama? Better than Barack, which almost slipped out.

Ah, yes, and a 'great many things.' So spot on. No doubt my audience of three was hooked. I'm trying to get my hands on the video because it's such a wonderful mix of humiliation and hilarity. It's fun for the whole family and perhaps this season's best stocking stuffer.

Beyond the anchoring and reporting my classmates and I got to bop around the studio: working the cameras, managing the floor, controlling the audio. Without 16 amateurs, I just don't know how the studio can run normally.

I have to admit that it was a lot of fun. The question now is, do I drop print and switch to broadcast?

Um...no way Jose.

No. The real question is, what am I pointing at?





This is L, signing off.
Stay lemony fresh, America.

Anne Geddes eat your heart out

I'm a little concerned that by the time I actually see this sweet muffin face that I will just keel over. Upon request, my mom has been feeding me photos just like this and the anticipation of seeing this edible honey in real life, well, it's going to be a big moment.

Likely, for me alone.

Unless Lola has a blog littered with photos of me.

You never know.

Hubba Bubba whose got Obama

Wa La.

It so happened here last night.

And I was in the thick of it. Throwing elbows. Getting quotes. Anxiously awaiting how voters decided on the Constitutional Convention.

Yes!

No? That's not what all....the, uh, fuss was about?

So, we had to cover something last night, right? Well, being a wee J student I couldn't just cover THE election. So I dropped things down a few notches and went to a bar where pro con-coners were watching the returns. About 40 pairs of eyes were on the half a dozen television screens scattered throughout the down-homey bar. Maybe 3 sets of eyes were on a computer screen in the corner watching the local returns fail the option to open a constitutional convention.

I know you're riveted. But the con con people were great. The had mini hot dogs, chicken wings, bacon quesadillas - all of my favorite foods. By 10:00 p.m. I was in their offices, aptly positioned above the bar, pushing send in my email to get my story into my editors when I hear a scream from the street:
"YEEEAAAAHHHHHhhhhhh OOOOOooooobaaaaamaaaaaaaaaaaaa"

I ran down the three flights of stairs and back into the bar to find that he had won! Not actually knowing anyone at the bar/party I stood around grinning like an idiot until I was knowingly passed a glass of campaign and brought back into the real world.

So, yes, I wish that I could've been down amongst the excitement and chaos but I hung with a good crowd and even indulged in some celebratory refreshments.

I almost covered the young GOP election night party and, boy, and I glad I didn't.
Awkward.

The city had goose bumps. The energy was fantastic. And as it turns out there were no hiccups or scratches even.

Except that someone totally stole my Chicago Sun-Times this morning. I was all sweat pants and unsupported boobs, bounding down the stairs to bask in the inky glow of the next-day election paper to find none at all.

I'd blame a McCain supporter, but I dug his speech last night. So I look to the independents - adrift, leaderless - they're like orphaned children. Hopefully they learned something from it.

E-day jitters

Alright, so unless you've been living in a deep dark, probably damp, hole you're well aware that the election is a day away.

Crazytown.

What's even more is that as a journalism student in this nearly presidential city I have to cover the election. Perhaps not the election - I am still but a student after all - but something having to do with the election.

I'm getting a rash just thinking about it.

In a effort to subdue the tornado of butterflies in my tum I had myself a weekend. I fitted myself in Halloween, drank like I was in college and then got the hell outta town.

It was glorious. I met a few friends in Indiana - via train it was a hop skip and a jump away - on lake Michigan. We stayed in a friend's parent's house and pretty much spent the entire night making a meal that would make Sen. Obama blush. It was ridiculous.



A (whole) turkey, mac & cheese, potatoes, green beans, salad, stuffing, gravy and an apple pie that we were all too full to even look at (though it was perfectly suited for Sunday breakfast).



Oh, and in between the cooking and the eating there was some potato golf. Obviously.




It was delightful. After an apple pie breaky and before heading back home to reality we hit up the beach. Yes, the beach. On this gloriously sunny day and except for our jeans and jackets we could have been in Jamaica.




We skipped rocks and Logan went swimming. I grew tired just watching him. I think my body actually rejected the action of my eyes following the veracious pup back and forth. I desperately need to exercise.

We did a quick drive-by-shop at some sweet outlet malls, had a sammy and officially walked back into reality.

SO I'm back to the computer. Fretting election day for all the questions I have for coverage. I'm supposed to cover a congressional race that will likely be consumed by the Obama race/party downtown and the press person has not a care to respond to my incessant calls regarding the wheres and whens of said congressman of interest.

So. I google the man and hope for the best. la di da. An extra hour of sleep was a lovely gift. I wish it provided me with some story ideas.

New roomie

Yes, but not the cute kind. In fact this one is CREEP City.

He's got about a million legs and is making circles around my bedroom ceiling.

EW.

He arrived, totally unannounced, Sunday. Just crawled right through some unknown crevice and made himself quite at home - feeling out the different rooms to figure which one suits him best.

He has SO many legs there is just no way that I will sleep soundly. I mean he moves faster than my eyes can follow.

So, like an adult, I moved my bed to the center of the room where I will lay, cuddled against the creepy-crawly-roommate who won't take a hint.

He's too big to kill!

I'd take a photo but it's too gross. But trust me he looks like your worst nightmare with more legs. Ew again.

We have to agree to disagree. I don't want him here, he clearly wants to hang out for a bit. Alright. Alright. I won't kill him if he doesn't, say, crawl on my face, or, better yet, anywhere near me.

Sincerely - marooned and mopey -L

Dear Comcast, you're dead to me

I never intended for this blog to be my soapbox of technological complaints, but I also didn't count on being swindled by a heartless monopoly.

This relationship was hanging by a thread, but it is now, officially, over.


Dear Comcast,

Get your things and move out.

Sure, it started alright. You promised high speed Internet and (swoon) cable at a reasonable rate. You were accommodating and let me chose the time and day for our first meeting.

You were on time and, though you were slightly brisk and messy, you did what you said you would. I believed in you...in us.

And how quickly things changed. The honeymoon period only lasted a few days - not even a week?!

My Internet was the first to go and I didn't even hesitate to call you, thinking you'd rush to my aid. But you only pretended to listen. You weren't even paying attention, you were already checking out newer customers.

You avoided coming over to fix what you broke. I had to go and get my own modem - you call that gentlemanly?

And when that didn't work I called you back and you put on that sweet tone, saying you'll come out and help me this time. "What time is best for you," you asked. Mornings, I said. But then you just scheduled me an appointment between 2 and 6, keeping me at home so I couldn't pursue other options.

And just when I thought things were going good between us - the Internet was on and it was fast - the cable went out.

I just knew I couldn't depend on you. I even tried to fix it myself.

But that's just your game. You make it impossible for me to do anything for myself.

I even erased your number from my phone, not that it wasn't on the tip of my tongue.

I called and you just kept me waiting, playing that same old song.

What you say, it's just words. You tell me you'll come by, in a week, maybe two, if you have the chance. You're busy, you say. Reminding me I'm not the only one.

You're condolences are empty. You talk me through a half-hearted solution that turns the black void into basic cable, as if to mock my hopes. You even manage to turn the blame around, saying it's my fault for not upgrading to a better set.

Don't deny you're not laughing when you think of the channels you've left me: telemundo, info-mercials and a 24-7 Steven Segal movie station.

And I try to fight back. This is the last straw, I demand. But my fight is tired and my voice has the quiver of tears.

So I say it more to myself: I don't need this kind of abuse.

Except...well, I did so love the way you made the sweet sweet food network available. And those shows on demand? What of the occasional Hills episode? Could I really live without it?

I already know how this will play. You'll starve me of cable shows. I'll waste my only free day waiting for you. You'll arrive late, all coyness and indifference. Within ten minutes you'll be gone and I'll stuff myself with channels, elated with your work.

So quickly I'll forget the heartache that preceded.

This is our game.

But I hate you so much right now (come back!).

xoL

Such a honey!

The random sunrise and college(!)

We had to cover an event this weekend. I chose, or fell into, a 5K race that was to raise awareness for women and children in the Congo. I spoke with the organizer who told me she'd be setting up around 6. That's 6 A.M. And yes, that was a Saturday. All sacred ground for a new stu like myself, but like an eager beaver I went. And in doing so, proved my rookie status.

The organizer (mom and two kids) arrived on the scene closer to seven. So, I wondered around the pre-dawn park and water front, like you do.

I did, however, catch the sun rise, which was pretty beautiful.





After a brief afternoon snooze and a red bull I was ready for a night on the town with, yes, brand new friends. It was a delight. Food, champ, chatting and a later-regrettable shot was involved. We hit up a bar in Wrigleyville, which on a Saturday night resembles Bourbon street during the weekday.

I had found college. It was fabulous.

As the hours crept closer to two I knew I had to send my nearly 30 self home lest I stay a college girl forever (read: start leaving valuable items in bathroom stalls or profess new and intense appreciations for things and people I know not of).

Back to work. Tomorrow we are covering a meeting of local neighborhood politics. After speaking with a 70-ish year old representative of the committee who took my question of "is there a meeting tomorrow" to mean "please give me a step-by-step brief on your and your five closest kin's recycling habits," I can tell it's going to be a thrilling night.

And one shout out to Jiggy: You, your antics and even your eye boogies will be missed. xoL

Nights like these

This wasn't supposed to be epic, but I now have my very own Internet connection.

Yes. It's only taken three weeks

You just wouldn't believe the relationship that has evolved between my router people, my modem people and me. At one point the router guy tried to conference in the modem guy, which obviously would have been a blast but, alas, router was in India and modem (in an attempt to escape confrontation) only gave me a local number.

So - this week has been FORever and a day. We had a report due today and though I'm well past the all-nighter faze I did stay up way past my bedtime and then fretted the dark hours that followed. But, all for not. We presented a mean report on the neighborhood of Bucktown.

In case we thought that work load was the worst of it we were reminded quite promptly after the last power point slide faded that this was, technically, just the beginning.

Now I'm to think about 'beats' that I want to cover and encouraged to think outside of the box. I have tended toward the arts, but I agree that it would be boring to just slide down that path. Where does that leave me?

Could I be a reporter on the police beat? Tracking crime and public safety?
What about business, keeping watch over the greater economic crisis and it's trickle down effect on our little neighborhoods? I swear if my turn my head, tilt my chin and squint, my profile resembles that of a hard news girl.

With the report done and a night without assignments (note: I did not say homework...there is always something to be done) I celebrated with a mini bottle of wine, pink leopard slippers from TJ Maxx and a little something called Project Runway.

Hard to imagine there was a time when I could just sit and veg every night, but no time to dwell. New life, new rules. But luckily there are things like little bottles of wine to celebrate the unexpected.

The new addition

Lola has arrived (in CT). Be prepared to swoon...







I cannot resist - nor even prevent myself from - speaking directly to these photos in a high-pitched voice.

Such a honey!

Time to celebrate with some pink champagne

Internet wars and more

Time is a mystery. Here it is, Sunday night and I'm already about to begin my third week of school. And what happened with week two?

Hard to say.

Some time, earlier, I managed to get a load of laundry done. After the wash cycle I found myself in the basement three quarters short of warm, dry clothes, so I spent the rest of the week watching my socks dry in the frigid Chicago air that sneaks into my apartment.

A little later I returned from a long day to find that my internet was dead along with my faith in Comcast. I have since been embattled in a never-ending blame game: Router people say it's Comcast and Comcast send me off to router people.

By midweek I was curled in the fetal position on the rugless section of my living room, being warmed by the glow of my internet-less computer and begging the Comcast woman on the other end to understand that she was causing me to utterly lose my mind. And wa-la. She got it. No, she didn't fix my internet, nor did she offer a concrete solution but she lent me a sympathetic ear for 20 minutes and sometimes that's all you need.

Until - after a sketchy and cold bike ride to the other end of Chicago to swap modems - the internet fails me again. I'm letting it go. And I've found a new friend by the name of HaxByToph who graciously has not put a password on his wireless access. Thanks man.

Sometime throughout the internet war, I hit the streets for a reporting and research project in the Bucktown neighborhood of Chicago. We had to write a descriptive piece on a place, any place, we cared to choose. Before we were let out they advised that it may not be best for the men in my class to, say, hang around playgrounds with kids, lest they be deemed pervs. The same should have been said for single 20-something women who snoop around dog parks. So there I sat on the periphery of the dog park, talking into my voice recorder, sans pet for the better part of an hour. I was eyed for threat of puppy-napping. Which, I won't lie, I came close to.

Here's a little honey that was top of the list for potential puppy-napees:


A random yard found during my Bucktown travels:


Everyday is a grab bag of unknowns. The mornings tend toward the positive if even exhilirating (yes! We scream in our heads. This is why we are here!) where as the afternoons are hours worth of anxiety: where are we headed, what are we reporting on and how long do we have to write it up? Nothing makes you feel like a bad ass reporter like a breakdown 10 minutes before deadline. Ah, it's a good life.

The first quarter isn't conducive to a budding social life, but luckily my fellow 61 students are in the same boat. Friday, post distressing writing assignment, I went with a few people in my lab to have drinks at a local Evanston bar. Under such circumstances - chatting with many new people at once - I couldn't be more accommodating. I want to do EVERY. Thing. Hence accompanying my new friends to watch the Boston Red Socks game. Yes, that's right. I went to a sports bar to watch a game.

Maybe I didn't pay attention or even could recall who the red sox were playing, but it was lovely and even better to gripe together. We can grow closer by our common confusion/fear of our daily journalistic existence.

Another week another big question mark. But this thing called grad school is getting better or something close to that. I'm holding onto those morning lectures and guides me through the rest.

Now if Comcast could just button up and fly right then I might be able to get on with my life.

Bringing back the pack

Alright.

The first week of school is...done. It was a swirl of anxiety and excitement. The great number of professors that spoke to us over the course of the first five days made a point of turning up the panic -- emphasizing the amount of work we will have to complete in the impossibly small amount of time we will have. Occasionally these experienced, hard working (bad ass) journalists and teachers would look me directly in the eye (me and everyone else in the audience), scale down the arch in their brow and say, "don't worry, you'll be fine."

And then they are gone, taking my security blanket with them. Not that it was all that secure. I'll be fine? Fine is really just barely getting by. Just slightly over average. I'll be 51 percent? What about great, fabulous, successful and, above all, thankful that I chose this profession?

I'm sure that's something we'll cover next week.

I am, as I mentioned, one of the older(est) students in my class of 61. I don't, in my heart, think that matters. I like to think that my experience in the work place will help me. I can speak to people - strangers, even. I can pick up a phone and chat with most anyone, though I may be sweating through my shirt.

Not that this added umph to my swagger, but I was getting by. Today this conversation occurred:

"When did you graduate?"
"Oh, ages ago," I say with sarcasm
"like..."
"'02"
"Oh-TWO?!" at which point she actually laughed. Laughed! Was it all that long ago? I guess it was. While this girl (woman, as I learned through the AP Style book) was getting her driver's permit I was moving to New York for my first job. eek.

It's surreal to be here, that's for sure. But I must be better off with week one done rather than day one (I was delirious). I think if I can get all of my work done this week in preparation for Monday I will truly feel like a champ.

What's amazing though, is the amount of stuff we have to carry back and forth. I wish I had brought an old-lady-cart from NY. Better yet, I'm thinking about getting myself a backpack. That's right. It might also help my I'm-so-not-as-old-as-you-think-look that I'm now going for.

It's Friday and the debs (debates) are on. Look at me getting my journalistic fix (while flipping to 'What Not to Wear' on the commercials...are there any commercials?).

More soon...enough

~L

Laying my hat

Twas the night before grad school...

It's finally here!

I thought before I become consume by a year of writing, reporting and all that jazz that I would introduce you (one person - hi Mom!) to my apartment.

Here we are entering through the front door



To my left is the living room, there's a door that leads to a Juliette balcony that I have high hopes of one day being home to a garden of urban-epic size (read: herbs):


To my right is the dining room and past that is the kitchen, which is suffering from a leaky fridge so I won't bring you any closer:



Here's my crazy clean bedroom:



And the office in my bedroom, looking ever so officey:



ta da!

Now come visit

Getting to know you

I put on my big girl pants last night and went out to meet some fellow journalism-school students.

All. By. Myself.

It was a big step and I am very pleased to say that I survived and, yes, enjoyed myself.

The gathering took place at a bar/restaurant around the corner from my apartment, so I really had no excuse, though I tried to think of one while sitting on my couch sipping a glass of white wine.

The bar/restaurant was actually the very same that I took Pam and Lois to the first night I arrived in Chicago. It was much more pleasant (read: no DJ Jazzy Terrible Taste). There were four people already there and a good 10 or so more showed up. And boy did I chat it up. There were all facets of people represented: the eager youthfuls, fresh from their April/May graduations; the travelers who had spent the past two-to-three years in the peace corp or working or romping abroad; the born-to-do-this who were three steps ahead of us all. Mostly they were youthful, but I guess that would make sense as it was a meet-and-drink scenario.

And where was I in this mix? Allusively older. Apparently I look "really young (explanation point)." I got that line more than three times after mentioning my college graduation year. Though I have a good 4-8 (gasp. Yes. One girl was 20!) years on these kids I couldn't help but revel in the shock. It's kind of hilarious though I'll certainly take the complement. I swear my laugh lines are sticking around longer than my smile. Hm.

But all in all I feel good. People are nice and equally nervous about this next endeavor. Phew. With still sweaty palms, I'm ready for Monday.

Indeed.

Sanity arrives by post

I won't sugar-coat it. I was burned. Scorned. By that which was only to bring me pleasure and somewhat mindless entertainment: The Internet. I spent the entirety of this beautiful morning on the phone with the Internet modem people working out a problem that was, inevitably, caused by them.

They drove me insane and deflated my "Yay I'm independent Spirit."

Tides have since turned. Why? I opened my mail box and found my US Weekly! Thank you to the Gods of the US Postal Serviced. I also found an issue of 'Hunting Tutorials,' but that's another story.

I feel like a new woman. A woman who can peacefully recount the activities of the last few days.

In short, I went exploring.

Yesterday was an Ode to Lincoln Park. It's expansive and filled with all sorts of surprises.

Like the meeting room of the Elks National Veteran Memorial (it was free, who was I to pass it up).


There's lily ponds and picturesque lakes a plenty.


Also, a Zoo (the oldest in the world, or country, I can't remember which) where I took in some animal sightseeing - a rino!


I ended my epic walk-about with some yummy tomatoes from the farmer's market at the south end of the park.
De. Lish.

Today - after horrid morning that I will refrain from addressing - I took the el downtown to check out Magnificent Mile, the Art Institute of Chicago (perused the gift shop, really)


Millenium Park
Here I am in front of the Cloud Gate Sculpture, looking pretty pumped.


and the Crate & Barrel (admittedly not a Chicago land marker, but it was enroute).

I even found my way home via bus! All in one piece.

Tomorrow is Friday and marks the close of my Retirement Week. Though I'm never one to shy away from free time, I am greatly looking forward to having a purpose here in Chicago (besides that of wayward travel guide).

Don't fret, because the exploring will continue...

Checkin' things out

I think it's all starting to come together.

I have a coffee table and just today picked up a craigslist desk chair. I had to look in my neighborhood, as I would be carrying it home, and was lucky enough to find something less hideous than normal in my general neighborhood. Singing my sorry traveling song to the girl who owned it, I was able to scrape $5 off the price, but a long road remained ahead.

Ok. It wasn't that bad. The chair has wheels, which was great as I was carrying a garbage bag full of unwanted clothes that fit nicely in the cushioned seat (I tried to sell some stuff that I was sick-and-tired of and it turns out that the used clothes store couldn't be bothered either). Along my eight-block journey home I happened to pass a homeless man pushing, in the same manner, a grocery cart filled with similar looking garbage bags. I half smiled, to which he responded, "now I've seen everything."

I don't even know what that means, but I'll just assume it was incredibly positive and not foreboding.

This morning I made my first trip up to school to get my books and see how my commute will be. The commute is, well, long. But going to school was lovely. It's so funny to be back on campus. The undergrads were just starting to move in and though I gravitated to them - what with all the helpful mentors with orange shirts ("I'm Here For You!") that would buzz around them with the slightest furrow of the brow - I puffed up my chest and found my own, albeit meandering, way.

My goodness the campus is gorgeous. It is on a beach!


The buildings are terribly collegiate and welcoming - here's where I will be spending my time when I am in Evanston (the building behind the trees...I realize you really can't see it)



I got grossly turned around, but would find myself in front of something like this:



I'm getting first-day-of-school jitters, but I think they're the good kind.

Now, what on earth am I going to wear?

Trash can boogeyman

I just finished up my first big grocery shop and am about to embark upon my first 'cooked' meal in my new/own apartment. But before I tie on the apron I thought to clear my kitchen of the monstrous garbage bags I had been stuffing and accumulating throughout the move-in process.

There is a designated garbage area, flippantly shown to me by the Realtor a month ago, which is located through a back door, ominously fitted with not one or two but three locks, behind my fridge.

Thrilled with the idea of having two doors to my apartment (the NY equivalent of a mansion) I bounded down the backstairs to find, with one ill-lit stairwell after another, a boogeyman's dream. Dark corners abound, stairs creek, spider webs leap out and cling to your shoe.

Out to a dark alley and through a rusted iron gate is - ta da - the garbage bin. With my foot stretched backwards to keep the heavy door (escape route) from closing, I chucked my lofty bags in the general direction of the bin and got the hell out of dodge. Eek.

Now is certainly the time to go green. There is no way I'm making that trip down on a weekly or even monthly basis. The choice is mine: live amongst my trash or lose an appendage to the alleyway monster.

The babysitting gig

Yesterday we wrapped up our Ladies Road Trip, officiating my residence with a true Chicago Hot Dog (the works).



Due to the wretched weather our touring motivation was limited to a stop by the Chicago Cultural Center to see the Tiffany dome (impressively pricey), an art exhibit by life-time prison inmates (kill me depressing) and a collection of Marilyn Monroe creations (eh). The rain sent us running for the car and the Ladies, sans myself, back on the road.

So I remain.

I have to admit that this is my first time living alone. Considering the new surroundings - walls, neighborhood, city - it is strange. My furniture, what little I have, is set up, the counters, floors are spic-and-span, the closets filled and so, by all appearances, someone does in fact live here.

It's kinda like I'm babysitting. The kids are asleep and I am merely passing time until the parents come home: I pick at the leftovers in the fridge, open and reopen the cabinets hoping for better food to appear. I play on their computer, click on the TV, and tidy any spot that I sit in so they won't be able to detect my one-time presence after I'm gone.

It continues to rain outside so my inclination is to laze but that doesn't feel right. There's more organizing to be done. School books to purchase. Electricity and gas bills to get on and a few last minute items to accumulate. Not to mention the major exploring I need to do. So, what's next?

I'll just have to see how I feel once the parents return.

A good night's sleep makes all the difference

If my first night was restless and fitful in a partially deflated cocoon of a blow-up mattress, then, by comparison, my second night was a comatose-deepness in vast and soft mattress that I was shocked to wake up from.

If I could move my arms I would have done a little happy jig.

Yesterday was impressive; on the go from start to finish. But this is no surprise when you are working with my Mom. This woman will not pause to walk across a highway. We traversed this unknown city to get a kitchen table and four chairs from a craigslist seller. We mulled, talked them down, purchased and after dumping the gawky set at my third-floor apartment we quickly set back out for more craigslist treasures. We found a girl with a couch and it was lovely and fit like a glove in the trusty car. But dear god the accolades to the couch moving came to a screeching halt. How the hell were we going to get it up the stairs. The answer came in my new unassuming neighbor, John, who was in the unfortunate position of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sitting with his new puppy bulldog in his yard, I accosted him to help us bring this mountain of a couch up three whole flights. But he acquiesced and it was, after 20 minutes, a success. So for that I cannot move my arms or really turn around without preparation.

But. I have an apartment with furniture! Once I get figure out the IKEA* organic-chemistry-equivalent directions I will have real-looking rooms with functional pieces.

It will be glorious.

I nearly forgot the photo montage from The Ladies Road Trip.

Here we are starting off; bright-eyed and relaxed:


Pammy in front of the restaurant we would dine at in Cleveland (importance? The name of the restaurant will be the name of the new pup!):


Lois leaving Joe's Deli, where we had the best Reuben. She's strolling with satisfaction.


*I will spare you from the details from that trip, which was done post couch, as anyone who has made the pilgrimage to the blue and white knows the harrowing nature of such a venture. I've blocked it out anyhow.

The things I have

several boxes
a few wheeley bags
a handful of shoulder bags
three glorious space saver bags
a television
a radio
a bucket
a few cleaning supplies
an old rug
a lamp without a shade
a printer
a blow up mattress
clean sheets
towels
a new bath scrunchie and soap
two bottles of water
a green frog-shaped watering bucket

and One Brand New Spectacular Apartment in Chicago.

Yes, my lovely friends. I have arrived and this place is fabulous.

Thanks to my Mom and Lois who graciously drove me out here and unpacked my belongings and will travel with me all over this city to pick up craigslist furniture (not to mention the 'quick' trip to IKEA).

Tonight it is me, the apartment, my car-ful of belongings, and every light I can possibly find to turn on.

First night. First apartment to myself.

Thank goodness for this Star magazine.

Photos and more tomorrow.

~L

So long to all that

It was inevitable. This goodbye thing.

I ventured up to Boston to visit R and check out his new pad in Central Sq. Central Square is a bustling with good restaurants, bars and coffee shops. His apartment is in walking distance to school so the boy is set, for sure.

His apartment is adorable. The prior tenants were, we can only hope, colored blind as evidenced by their choice in wall paint.

Here you can see the pepto pink behind us (eek).


But no matter. For our (tear) last dinner together we dined at The Hungry Mother in Kendall Square (a short walk from Central). R couldn't help but the make the connection of the restaurant name to the Hungry Mother State Park that is near is childhood home in Big Stone Gap. Turns out, the chef is from there so it all makes sense.

The food was delicious, truly. A mix of southern comfort (read: grits, meat) with a french flare (light sauces and, well, more meat). We had a spicy cheese to tide us over, followed by a mixed green salad and a pork belly appetizer that was so melt in your mouth good, it surprised us both. We shared the steak which was cooked perfectly. I highly recommend.

Monday came all too quickly for us, but there were exciting things abounding. It was R's first day of school, which we (I) celebrated with an official first-day-of-school photo:


We refrained from having a too tearful so long for now, so I sent R off to conquer the world and I to get my own scholastic adventure underway.


Today I am playing giant tetris with my belongings and the car we are taking to Chicago and then tomorrow it is (drum roll please) road trip: redeux, starring yours truly, Pamela and Lois (gracious owner of the car). We will be driving straight through to the glamorous city of Cleveland, where we will dine at a very yummy restaurant by one of those Iron Chef guys and then Thursday morning we will squeeze in a visit to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Kick ass.

Next up: Chicago!

Who's Your Daddy?

Reluctantly, Jay. yes that's right, big news around these parts. My Mom is getting a dog. My Dad, too, obviously, but he didn't necessarily have a choice in the matter. But how can you resist that face?

Oh my goodness. It was hard not to just stuff one in my bra and take off. Just barely 4 weeks old, they are just getting their sea legs - slipping and sliding, doing splits whenever the moment hits them. It is way too cute. We didn't take one home right this moment (again, terribly hard) as they have to 'grow' a little more and get shots and all that. So we have a few weeks to think of a name.

The pup will be a girl, that's for sure. In a few weeks my Mom and perhaps the reluctant Jay will travel back up to Mass to pick one of these edible things.



Some name ideas already rolling around: Lucy, Lola, something nautical (Sailor?). My mom would prefer a name that is feminine as she is convinced that our old lady dog, Corky suffered from an identity crisis. I'd say it was a little more than that, but that's another story.



The new-mom glow:

Oranges and more oranges

Ah, how the adventure continues.

I had a lovely and short re-visit in New York: I strolled down the Brooklyn promenade, walked over the Brooklyn Bridge, cut my polygamist-length hair and said goodbye, again, to friends.

And so I have returned home, to my parents home in Orange CT where I will lay low, organize, clean and generally putz around.

R is in Boston beginning his new adventure. He has moved all of his belongings into his new apartment and I greatly look forward to seeing his new bachelorhood design sense.

My parents are actually away - enjoying this nice long weekend. House Party! Or maybe a night of food network and white wine? Yes. I think that in weekends past, when I would bounce up here for a few days away from the city, R or my brother worked the electrical grill. When I ventured to the patio last night I looked at this beast of a machine like a car engine - where do I start? With enough pushing and prodding I was sure that a fire would appear, but found myself slow roasting a pepper and mushrooms and (luckily) an already cooked chicken sausage over one lone blue flame toward the back.

An hour later: perfection

My brother was debuting his home-made bar last night so I ventured out to his abode in my Dad's car, graciously left for the would-be stranded child. After driving in a car for the better part of a month you'd think I'd be completely at east behind the wheel. Not so much. This car is, let's say, on the fancier side. So I had to contend with the what ifs while fiddling around with the radio system. If I were to judge my Dad on his preset radio buttons I would assume that 1) he didn't care for the radio 2) liked the challenge of deciphering classical music from beneath the fuzz of a far off station or 3) is learning Spanish. Between these two stations and my student-driver-cautious 55 miles an hour speed limit, it was a long drive out there. The bar, however, was worth the trip.

And just for kicks I will return to NY One. More. Time. I think after that the city will actually spit me out and tell me to get on with it already.

As the week will continue much in this style I will keep the random monologues to a minimum until we head out to Chicago.

Happy Laboring!

The numbers

Brace yourselves:

Total days traveled: 24 (in the car together)
Total (estimated) miles accumulated: 7,825.71
Total nights spent in hotels: 5
Total nights spent in homes of family and friends: 15
Total nights camping: 3
Total states we drove through: 25
Total regions we were in: 8 out of a possible 9 (depending on the map)
Total money spent on gas: $1,116.46

Car related issues:
2 tickets; 1 parking (Chicago) / 1 speeding (Montana, which is not even fair as they only instituted a speeding limit a few years ago, around the same time that they decided to hop on the 'open container law' band wagon. Yeah, that's right)
1 minor fender bender
1 much needed oil change

And that in a numeric nut shell is our trip.

But it was much more exciting than that.

Stay tuned for photos.

Back again, for now

We have visited many cities, but there is no doubt that New York is THE.

I had to leave R on the Arlington street corner to travel the last leg of our cross country trip on the Vamoose bus (not a bad ride) alone. I know that we'll have to do this many more times as we will each call a different city our home, but the first time is (hopefully) the hardest. Ce la vie.

After four stiff hours (though I finally did crack a book open) I won't deny the slight flip my stomach made when I saw the empire state building from the New Jersey interstate, or the perspiration that fretted by brow the moment I dragged myself and my too many belongings down the steps to the subway. Ah, the NYC subway. How I missed you and immediately hated you - I feel instantly at home.

The subway was sardine-crowded at 4 o'clock and I threw a few elbows and nestled myself into the center of the car for the ride downtown. The subway entered some old fat man's sweaty armpit around Broadway-Nassau and the smell lingered so long that we passengers continued to eye one another suspiciously and then ourselves worriedly until it up and left three stops later.

I strode down the Brooklyn blocks happy to see that not too much had changed in my three week absence (you never know). I put the key into the lock at 116, followed the same though newly painted white (wonderfully welcoming) steps up and into someone else's apt. Yes, it's tricky. I was going to be house sitting for my landladies and their arc of animals but their plans have changed and they graciously offered me a (familiar) place to stay, still, if I cared too. And I did. So, while the new us is away on business I am staying in his/my old apartment. My goodness it is strange, though the new us has terribly good taste in decor (modern-y vintage).

{sigh}

Without a true purpose in NYC I dare say that my presence will be scarce. I will run my errands, say my hellos and goodbyes and get back out to CT to prepare for the next voyage.

But first, a stroll around the neighborhood, some food and a drink with a few friends.

~L

Stoney Gap

It's official, R grew up in the middle of nowhere, but a lovely nowhere. We arrived in the bustling metropolis of Big Stone Gap, VA around 6p.m. (that's Eastern Standard Time - we are back!).

We were greeted at his childhood home by his wonderful parents and the smell of chicken curry. We chilled out, chatted and then scarfed (referring to me, really) down some fried zucchini flowers, shrimp, chicken curry, rice, some sort of heavenly broccoli slaw and something slightly spicy and delicious involving cabbage. And then, not able to resist and having to tend to this belly that has become its own person with a zip code and cell phone, I took Mrs. Saha's offer of dessert. She had made cheesecake and had some Indian sweets. These sweets that R is not so into are amazing. Crazy sweet, yes, but like shortbread or baklava, but without the syrup. Ugh god. I had to put myself to bed before my belly requested more food and later curfews.

This morning we set out for a jog - not something epic that would erase the food fest of the last few days, but something that might reacquaint our legs with the notion of activity. The jog felt great, even in the rain and despite some nagging knee problems. We were quickly rewarded with a breakfast of champions - home made samosas, fried eggplant and pooris - home made flat bread. Oh man. so good! I have to stop this constant buffet.

We are back in the car heading East to DC. This is for sure the last of our trip. Our car conversations have turned to u-hauls, time schedules, packing, and other such boring details. Reality is starting to settle in. But we still have a night in DC with friends and a kick ass bus trip to look forward to tomorrow (for the lady).

There is still more tallying to come. I'm sure several questions remain, such as how much money did we spend on gas? How many miles did we drive? How many states did we travel through or stay in? Favorite spots? Best meals? There's a whole lot to consider and discuss.

And there's always something lurking around the bend. What does a homeless, roaming Brooklynite do without a Brooklyn brownstone (rental) to call her own? Not to mention the pending road trip: part deux out to my new home of Chicago.

Yes, the travels continue. For the moment I look forward to getting back to New York, albeit briefly.

Image closer: a virtual Big Stone Gap postcard. Enjoy!

A Memphis swoon

When in Memphis, one must visit Graceland. It seems sacrilege to the art of music to skip it, even for the mildest of Elvis fans.

Not that doing so is the easiest or, rather, cheapest. You have to pay $8 for parking and a hot $27 for the basic mansion tour (audio equipment included). I won't deny my vague attraction to 'The King' mostly for his intrinsic connection to a certain era and a lot of ephemera, but this seemed a bit much.

Let me say this, my friends, the expense, the time, the drive - it is all worth it.

With the purr of an NPR-voiced narrator guiding me from the twin peacock glass windows in the living room to the endearingly gaudy meditation garden at the end, I got to know Elvis (the PG-rated version). There's his late 70's decorating style (each room had a theme), his truly ridiculous stage outfits (who brought Elvis and the jumpsuit together?), and his still-down-home-persistence. His parents and grandmother lived with him and he gave money to charities that run the gamut (girl scouts to old folks homes). He's huge, absurd, talented and in his best years, a genuine cutie-pants. So I walked through his estate, lived Elvis, loved Elvis and, at the end, mourned Elvis. I might have been a little teary-eyed, which I made up for by purchasing armfuls of Elvis paraphernalia. I am a sucker, I'll admit it, but this tour was definitely a highlight.

On to Bar-B-Que. No, I'm jumping ahead. We went to Sun Studios next (Stax was closed) and got a very entertaining guided tour through the recording studio's early history - Howlin' Wolf, Carl Perkins, Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison and, of course, Elvis Presley. Throughout the tour our guide would offer a behind-the-scenes story along with an original recording. It was pretty awesome. R took enough photos for us to recreate the studio back home in a diorama and, again, we left with postcards, stickers abound.

Now we get to the Bar-B-Que. We hit up Central BBQ - slow roasted southern mesquite. We ordered a rack for two with half wet and half dry and four (yes 4) sides. It was messy, succulent and delicious. We both preferred the dry (so that we can dip in our own sauces), but I have to admit that The Salt Lick still took the cake (or the charcoal?). Though Central, if you are ever in Memphis, should definitely be hit up.

In an attempt to walk off our constant fullness we headed to Beale street, which was much like Bourbon street - a once cool street with loads of history that is now overrun by the opportunity to get waisted. We strolled through and into the historic district and saw, but were not able to go in, the National Civil Rights Museum. This was amazing and we so regret missing its open hours. The building was created with the Lorraine Motel, which is where MLK was shot. Outside his motel room (room 306) is a flower memorial and two amazing classic cars from the 60s (we weren't sure if they were his or just for show). It was a scene filled with pregnant pause; you cannot help but look at this building and think of all that rich history steeped in strong convictions and laced with mourning and hope. It really was cool.

Returning to Beale street with the blinking lights and rowdy crowds (though there was some good street music) R & I couldn't help but feel a sadness - something like looking at and knowing of a city that has such a great history and bore such incredible people and events but has had to sell itself out in some ways to the masses. But, no matter what, Memphis really impressed us both. There is a ton of great and interesting things to see that definitely overrule the toursita nature of the contemporary city. So go try it out, if you have the time or means.

This morning, once again up and at 'em. Off to Nashville, where we hit a new low: eating fried chicken before 11 a.m. R did some research and one of the places to eat in Nashville is a little meat-ery called Arnolds, rated 'Best meat 'n 3' by some unknown source. For those Nor' Easterners, this means you choose a meat (friend chicken, roast beef, et al) and three sides. We both had fried chicken, collard greens, green beans, mac & cheese and a side salad (that was extra, but we were desperate).

As food was the priority, we found ourselves pressed for time to see the city at all. We hit up the lobby and the gift shop of the Country Music Hall of Fame and Broadway where we found the Honkey Tonks, Hatch Show Print and a few record stores. We glanced and strolled just a bit and head back to the car. Which is where you'll find us now.

We are just a few hours away from R's parent's home in Big Stone Gap, VA. We don't even need to reference directions any longer as R recognizes the highways and knows his way home from here. I guess this means we're nearly done! I cannot believe it.

Tonight, we will dine on the best Indian food ever (provided by Mrs. Saha) and sleep away the hours in the car. Tomorrow we hope to get a little run in, eat some more and then head to DC.

One may notice that the latter part of our trip has seemed like a tour of Southern cuisine. We couldn't help it. The food in the south was some of the best and most regionally unique that we've had. It seemed the best way to get to know those cities and states. But as we creep into the North East I think our tour of food will come to an end, which is really a relief as our vacation clothes are getting a little tight and we're too broke to purchase anything new.

Time for a detox, but first some chicken curry.

Image highlights

The cars outside of the National Civil Rights Museum (hot, right?)



A young Elvis (hello, lover)

Eating New Orleans

N'awlins. We high-tailed it out of Austin and arrived in the city on the water around 2pm, giving us a hefty amount of time to get to know the place.

We had purposely withheld any major food consumption as we had high hopes for good grub. Our lovely neighbor had spent quite a lot of time in New Orleans so we went to him first with the question, what do we do with only an evening? In response he sent us a list as long as the boot of restaurants, both casual and high end to indulge in.

Out of the car and on the streets we had our stomach set on Po' Boys. We were staying just north of the French Quarter and our neighbors suggestions seemed to be just west of that, according to the animated map we were given at check in. Note to future visitors - these maps are not drawn to scale. Coming New York we tend to assume that most cities are walk able. So we set off in the blazing and sticky 3 o'clock heat in search of a few dive restaurants. We walked about about a mile before calling the place to find out that, no, it was definitely not walkable and about 4 more miles east.

Deflated and famished, we headed back to the French Quarter, accosted a sweet-southern-accented gentleman walking a dog to find out some recommended/quick local fare. He recommended ACME and Felix's Seafood. We went with the later, ordered two Po' Boys, onion rings and drinks. They were good, not great, but then again we had plopped down in the epicenter of toursita-New Orleans. Stuffed and thinking more clearly we headed back out into the Quarter to stroll the streets. Being a Saturday it was like Las Vegas only more damp. Tons of college aged and, regrettably, middle aged, toursits happily and sloppily scarfing down the to-go drinks found on every corner. Maybe if we had more time or hadn't been eating our way through three previous states, we would have been more game to enjoy the day time drinking but as it was we were still full and a little inpatient.

Still on the look out for local good we did find Cafe Du Monde (also toursity, but endearingly so) where for just $2 you can order three freshly fried donut-type things doused in powdered sugar - beignets, I believe they're called. The street music was great, the clientele were lovely and the donuts were DE-LISH.

Next up we found our way to the St. Charles street car, as recommended for some New Orleans sightseeing. It's about 13.5 miles, according to guides, and you just sit and enjoy the gorgeous New Orleans architecture. We moved west of the Quarter through residential areas and then through the campuses of Loyola and Tulane. Some of the residential houses were just amazing - tall and slender windows and sweeping porches. Swoon. I half expected to come across the Real World New Orleans house, but only roudy college students hanging off of second-story balconies - a close second.

Dinner was redemption. Finally realizing that New Orleans may just be a driving city we returned to our hotel to shower and primp, got in our car and headed out (down? over? I'm not entirely sure where it was located) to Pascal's Manale, a hot spot recommended by our neighbor. it boasted the original and best grilled shrimp so we ordered that up along with an appetizer of some sort of roasted seafood dip, gumbo and asparagus. It was delicious. I'm not even one for seafood but I went at the shrimp - peeling them with my bar fingers - like an animal. Their little beady eyes didn't bother me at all. Those little lifeless legs? Didn't even notice. The trail of shrimp feces? Alright that gave me pause but I pressed on and enjoyed ever minute of it. We were event bibbed in protection against all the juicy flavor. And, because it seemed to be a foodie tradition, we enjoyed some bread pudding for dinner. Also something I never thought I'd dig, but it was delicious - smothered in this brandy butter sauce that I would like to live in.

I can't say that I get New Orleans. If I ever go again I will need to do more research and get more tours, but at the close of the day with a very full and happy stomach, I'd say it was well worth the southern drive.

We're about to roll into Memphis. Passing through Memphis and into Tennessee - the states tick on as do the last of our road trip days. We're waisting no time and heading straight to Graceland. I cannot wait for all the kitch not to mention the BBQ. The eating continues.

Austin, you have outdone yourself

We rolled into town still in the a.m. hours, which meant we had a big glorious day ahead. First we met up with Jesse and his new dog Max - really the cutest little edible munchkin I've ever seen (I'll insert a photo later - I have a ton).

After saying out goodbyes to Max we headed out and into the scorching city. First stop - sustenance. Jesse brought us to a crepere that, although taking their sweet time creating these french burritos, was utterly delicious. In trying to save room for the BBQ feast that was to come, R & I only spilt a crepe and regretted it the moment we bit into the succulent savory packages. But enough about crepes.

Without waiting the prerequisite 30 minutes for digestion, we made our way to Barton Springs, this amazing water hole in the middle of downtown Austin. It stays 68 degrees all year round and considering the thick humid August air, it was the perfect temperature. We frolicked, floated, slipped on the mossy floor and baked in the sun.

Sufficiently soaked, Jesse then took us to his neighborhood where antique and vintage stores are only outnumbered by the tattooed pedestrians that walk in and out of them. To start us off properly we all split a red velvet cupcake from Hey Cupcake! The second airstream outdoor eatery stop in our 12 hour stay. It was moist and sweet and delicious. With sugar amping us up we took in the neighborhood, the people, and the cute boutiques.

Though the sightseeing was nice, dinner loomed over us. It was only 4 pm by the time we made it down and around the streets, but we decided that we had to get serious and serious meant getting ourselves out to this BBQ place I had heard so much about - The Salt Lick. To further prove it's righteousness in the ways of Texas BBQ it was a little out of the way and only accessible by rush-hour clogged super highways. We had to suffer a little, of course, before we got there. An off duty sheriff greeted us at the parking lot and three more languidly showed us to a spot. We were pretty early for a Friday night meal so we didn't have to wait for a table - a little out of the norm, as I understand it.

The moment you step into the dark mess hall of a restaurant you are confronted by the sweet smokey smell of BBQ. We sat, grunted our order (4 family style - the only way to go) and were presented with a feast of kings within minutes.

It was, dare I say, the best meal I have ever had. Ribs, brisket, some sausage (though it paled in comparison to its meaty friends), cole slaw, potatoes and other things that I couldn't really notice over my saucy hands. Oh did we consume. The meat just fell right off the bone and the moment we seemed to be getting low on any of the options, the heaving plate was replenished with barely a wave of the hand. It's a BYOB restaurant but who can pay attention to wine when you have such a presentation? To top off the meat and sides there was their signature Habanero sauce that had the perfect mixture of heat and sweet. I had to have it.

We payed for our meal and squeezed our satiated selves out of the long wooden benched seats. On the way out I looked around at the cashier desk for the sauce that still lingered in my mouth and found, to my utter surprise that it was called "Lauren's Spicy Recipe Bar-B-Que Sauce." Can you even believe it! We had been to so many truck stops and souvenier venues that I just assumed they personalized all of their sauce bottles like a sticker, pencil, or zipper pull for added toursit value. But, no. This was the name and I knew it was true love.

It's hard to follow a gestational activity like that but we made our way back to Austin and had a drink at a very sheek modern design friendly hotel. And just when I thought I had really consumed all that I could in the city, we came across Amy's ice Cream and how could I say no? I had Mexican vanilla and dark chocolate, R had Mexican vanilla and strawberry - it was phenomenal!

After that there was really nothing else to do but go home and digest, watch a little of the Olympics and pass out every so happily.

We were up with the dawn and heading East to New Orleans. I am very excited about this next destination. More awesome food, some music and who knows what else. I don't know if anything can beat my meal at the Salt Lick but I'm certainly willing to give it a try.

Because I talked it up so much, let me share a photo of the meatfest that was The Salt Lick*

*This blog is not responsible for any technical malfunctions that may occur as a result of uncontrolled drooling