August's One-Liner of the Month

Forget all reason and logic -- human instinct is the best indicator of desire.

Free Happy Hour: Who Cares?

Today marks a first in my brief stint with life so far -- I won a free happy hour. Then, within minutes of being notifying of this wonderful evening in which yours truly can drink for free for two hours while treating her friends to cheap rail drinks and the like ... I lost that loving feeling and was reminded of the economic woes that continue to strike fear into the hearts the American majority.

All anyone seems to talk about anymore is money -- or rather -- their lack there of.

According to the U.S. Department of Labor, unemployment is up to 9.4% as of the end of July.

Minimum wage was raised to $7.25 July 24 but that's not helping anybody.

Here's what's really going:

The majority of my fellow graduates from the class of 2009 are unemployed. Those who aren't deserve whatever salary they're making due to the fact that they worked the system and got the "good-enough-for-now" means to their end.

Then there are the volunteers and interns. You know the saying "Freedom isn't free?" Well neither is blood, sweat, and tears being poured into a job that you either wont end up getting or is sucking your soul.

The worst part is -- all the work stuff is during the hours of 9 a.m. and 5 p.m. (more or less). But no-no, money woes don't stop at 5 p.m. They carryover!

Nightlife is miserable. I've even heard it compared to being as close to the Depression era as we ever hope to get. Sure people still go out, get hammered to forget day-to-day woes of a cruel boss, taxes, bills, and the like. But where are they getting the money to do it?

I can only speak from experience. So here's the truth. None of us have the money. We're faking it. And if you're not faking it -- call me. I want in on the presidential flash cards trading game.

There's nothing I'd rather do than spend $7 on an overpriced gin and tonic at some trendy yuppie bar instead of buying a couple frozen dinners. And I know I'm not alone in that.

There's one request left to file. Where are the people with the jobs, living the life I crave and how can I get them to give me one? Sharing is caring people, didn't you learn that in kindergarten? Everyone deserves a salary.

After all, life is about going out and doing what you want to do when you want to do it -- just as long as you show up on time to your job the next day.

Fly Me to the Moon

Tomorrow is the 6 month mark of my dad's passing. The following piece is dedicated to him.

I might be the only person who tears up whenever they see the lunar lander at the Smithsonian's Air & Space Museum -- but I'm okay with that.

Rewind a decade and imagine a 12-year-old who loves to learn. This 12-year-old's dad decided to take her to the one place in America that has (what to a child feels like) a never ending lot of free museums and national monuments.

And yes -- that 12-year-old was me.

You see, my father's heart was starting to fail then but I had no idea. So he decided to give both of his daughters a week of his time by taking them on a "daddy-daughter" trip. My sister got New York City and I got the Nation's Capitol.


It was easy to pick the first attraction to see upon our arrival in D.C. We headed straight for the Air & Space Museum because of my love for all things science-fiction and my strong desire to be the first girl to land and live on the planet Mars. Plus, I had turned in a book report on a Neil Armstrong biography just days before leaving for the trip, so Air & Space felt 100 percent appropriate.

I remember it like it was yesterday. The Spirit of Saint Louis hanging over head, the swarms of fellow tourists gazing at the space race artifacts surrounding them at every turn. It was learning heaven.

Then, low and behold, the greatest sight of all -- an Apollo lunar lander. It was everything I thought it would be an more. NASA never got to send this particular lander to space but I'm glad they didn't because my dad and I got a chance to see it together.

Forty years ago today 3 American men began the quarter-million-mile journey beyond Earth's atmosphere into the black and star-filled universe for all of mankind. We were going to the moon and nothing was going to stop us.

Neil Armstrong, Mike Collins, and Buzz Aldrin did what most every human being could never even conceive doing in any lifetime. They woke up one morning and brushed their teeth, took a shower, and put on their pants one leg at a time just like most. But then they did a little something different. They suited up and took a man-made machine for a wild ride to this little place we like to call the moon and then when they were done they came home. Sounds like a fun job to me.

But I digress ...

I visited the Air & Space Museum today. This time I was by myself. Every time I turned around I saw another piece of American history and all I wanted to do was call my dad to tell him where I was and what I was doing.

Then I saw it -- the lunar lander -- I nearly lost myself.

My heart sank, my eyes welled up with tears, and all I could do was smile and stare at the beautiful space craft that I had seen so many years ago.

I'm taller now so the angle I looked at it from was a bit different but the feeling of seeing it wasn't. Man visited the moon six times before they stopped, but we did it. We did what President Kennedy said we'd do in 1961 when so many people thought we wouldn't. We dreamed big and made it happen. What could be better?

I can't help but think that my this why my dad and I both loved visiting the Air & Space Museum twice in one week. He knew knew the extent of what man was capable of and it was in that very museum -- standing in front of the lunar lander -- that I learned that life's possibilities are endless.

July's BONUS One-Liner of the Month

This month's BONUS One-Liner of the Month is an excerpt from "Surviving on Sandwiches":

"It's too bad that being selfish in a job hunt is occupational suicide."

July's One-Liner of the Month

What ever happened to good old common decency?

Surviving on Sandwiches

I never ate breakfast on school days as a kid. A half-chilled, half-microwaved chocolate milk concoction gave me my early morning buzz for as long as I lived under my parent's roof. The thing was 60 percent milk and 40 percent Hershey's chocolate syrup -- I have yet to meet anyone who can handle the Levitin family's version of chocolate milk. But to us, it was kiddie coffee.

Two things got me up on the weekend: Saturday was breakfast day and there were to be cartoons to watch. Mini-microwaveable pancakes, fresh french toast a la challah, and microwaveable bacon are just some of the the weekly rotation of Saturday breakfast meals. My sister could cook. I could microwave. It worked for us.

Now I know what some of you are thinking: no scrambled eggs? That's so un-American!

Well not to worry, reader! The standard "All-American" meal of scrambled/fried eggs, buttered toast, and a tall glass of pulp-free OJ was a staple of the Levitin family breakfast tradition -- complete with eggs for the two dogs (Coco & Rizzo) -- on Sundays.

But I digress ...

My time spent as "Saturday morning breakfast chef for a party of one (i.e. moi)" conjured up a few meal ideas for the future. My middle school self convinced her young mind that the future would house a rather ristricting diet.

"You can't survive on microwaveable food," I thought. "There's no way."

That's when I decided: One day I will survive on bread, cheese, deli meats, and condiments alone. That's it. That will be the extent of my diet.

Fast-forward a decade. The truth is -- I don't live off that diet. Sandwiches, although delicious, are boring if eaten for every meal. I do, on occasion, consume the pre-packaged frozen dinner that does need to be microwaved, but not to the extent that you could consider it a staple of my diet.

But here's the bigger truth -- I'm an unemployed '09 college graduate with no potential job options on the horizon and I am running out of money. I have faith that all this will turn around. I've got the skills and the confidence to make a living so I'm not worried. It's all the waiting around that's driving me mad and affecting my dietary choices.

I've been subjected to the world of Ramen noodles and various Campbell's soups due to a lack of an expendable income. And, although I find these food choices to be a jolly reminder of my years as a college freshman, I'd rather not be re-living them at the moment.

The job search is brutal. There are no jobs. And if there are, they're not ones I want. It's too bad that being selfish in a job hunt is occupational suicide.

I long for the days that I believed you could survive on sandwiches. Things were easier then.

We Can Take The Long Way Home

One would think I have no obligations on this Father's Day seeing as mine passed away five months ago. Too bad that isn't true.

I have the soul responsibility of getting through today in once piece. As luck would have it, Father's Day 2009 not only lacks the presence of my own father but it's my dog Coco's 13th birthday (may she too rest in peace) and my Grandma Irene's 90th.

Today is a day that we should all be celebrating together: brunch at the country club for the humans and vanilla Häagen-Dazs® for Coco -- she deserves a treat, it is her birthday after all!

Then the obligatory exchange of gifts between my grandpa, uncle, and dad (often times these gifts include various sweaters from Brooks Brothers, Ralph Lauren, and J.Crew). The kids watch and wait while catching some cuddle time with the dog. The women sip on coffee and thank everyone for such a "pleasant" afternoon (whether or not it was one). And then -- my favorite part -- the drive home.

The drive home occurs as a result of the hour and a half trek we would take to the Father's Day celebration. You see, us Chicago folk take the day trip to Michigan City, In. It's a small town near the border of Michigan and Indiana (in case you couldn't figure that one out). Just imagine any stereotypical, mid-western small town and you'll come up with a semi-accurate picture in your mind.

The ride back always felt longer than the one on the way to Michigan City. This is because there was always more to talk about after the Father's Day festivities were over than beforehand. Yes ... there were more cars filtering through the Indiana Toll Roads at the end of Father's Day. All the commuters from North West Indiana and some parts of Chicago do make their way back and forth in less time than it would take a family of four plus two dogs in a black Volvo station wagon to get from Michigan City to Wrigleyville, but that didn't matter. Sure ... my sister and I never unpacked the car. Dad did that. And in our defense, the dogs didn't help unpack either.

But I digress...

I could never pinpoint why the car ride home was my favorite part of Father's Day. I never thought about it before. But after some thought, I've come to a conclusion. This might come to some shock or chagrin of a few of my family members since I've made a consistent attempt at never admitting my feelings toward those with a blood relation to me for whatever reason. I enjoyed the car ride home because I was stuck inside a four-walled space with people who didn't care how big of a idiot I may sound like on occasion or would yell at me for how many times I drop the "F-bomb" because it's unwomanly.

I wont lie. I miss being made fun of for constantly asking the word "what". Dad always did do the best impression of me.

The family will not be together this Father's Day. Everyone is spread far and wide: Chicago, D.C., Arizona, Michigan City, Boston, "heaven" ... you know ... everywhere you can think of except for being together. That's no one's fault, that's how the world works. Some years are better than others, some years are worse, but today I will sip some scotch for my dad and eat some ice cream for my dog.

At least we all still have our memories, L'Chaim.


Norah Jones - The Long Way Home (Video, Live from Austin)