A message from Gov. Blagojevich

"This isn't an act of defiance. It's just these effing rules, man. They're fundamentally wrong and I don't like them. Let me also just say, though, that I would love more than anything to be there on Monday. I am so determined and eager to go to Springfield and show my innocence and call my witnesses and prove how determined and eager I am to show my innocence—oh, I already said that. That even though my wife and I dabble in swearing every now and then, I'm really a good governor. I would give anything to be there, I really would. I'd give my jogging tights. I'd give my wife, probably. However, as psyched as I am to be there and see everyone and have lunch and catch up—as determined and eager as I am to profess my love for being innocent and not doing wrong things... GOD, I am just SO IMPATIENT TO BE IN SPRINGFIELD ON MONDAY. However, as much as I'm dying to go, I just simply can't do that. It's these fundamentally wrong rules that prevent me from having a fair trial, and prevent every other citizen from being protected under the Constitution, ever. Specifically, it's rule number WTF5, which prevents me from calling in my effing golden witnesses. Witnesses like presidential Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel; top presidential staffer Valerie Jarrett; Congressman Jesse Jackson, Jr.; top chef Tom Colicchio; top model Tyra Banks; top gun Tom Cruise; and Ziggy from the cartoon Ziggy, along with a series of other witnesses that I personally know and have a great working relationship with. Witnesses like former President Gerald Ford and Oprah and Gayle Winfrey. But even if I wanted to call those witnesses, it wouldn't matter, according to the Very Worst Effing Rule of Them All, rule number OMG18. It essentially says I'm guilty. And THAT is a gross violation of American freedom. It is a violation of the cornerstones of something or other, it is a VIOLATION of my bangs. And if they can do that to me, the governor of Illinois, they can do it to every other American citizen in the world, too, also. You know, that reminds me of a story I'm about to make up just now. I would like to explain how these rules work in a very CLEAR and TOTALLY UNDERSTANDABLE way—by using a cowboy metaphor. There was this old saying in the old west—very, very old times—that, um, there was this cowboy, see. And this guy stole a horse. No, wait. He sold a horse. He sold another guy's empty horse when that guy went into the saloon for four or maybe eight years. No, wait, that's not it. Maybe he did steal a horse, BUT HE DIDN'T REALLY DO IT. But no one believed him, because they had wire-tapped his saddle bags and they THOUGHT they caught him admitting to something wrong, but he was JUST JOKING AROUND. That guy—that guy's a pretty good guy. So, you see, they're just hanging me, or something, without a fair trial. And when they hang me, they're hanging every citizen of Illinois who voted for me, twice. Under these rules, even if at the time of the accusation that cowboy guy had actually been home on the ranch with six other cowboys, herding cattle and roping steers—I think, actually, this place was a gay cowboy disco ranch, yeah—it doesn't matter. That guy can't bring in the six cowboys to the law place for the trial so the other guys can say, 'Hey, this guy wasn't near that horse on that day. He was at home herding cattle with us, and maybe doing other things, but that's none of your business.' Even if he could bring in those hot cowboy guys to say that, it wouldn't matter..."

The Cat House

Last week I started volunteering at a cat shelter called the Tree House Humane Society. It's in Uptown in the city, not far from where I live. I call it the Cat House, because it makes me think of that brothel on HBO. The shelter is no kill, no cage, so it's basically just a big house with cats running around in every room, aka My Dream House. They take in only stray cats and specialize in injured and sick cats. I've been twice so far and each time I've been put on laundry duty, washing kitty diapers, as my mom thinks. The volunteers are required to spend half their time doing chores and the other half "socializing" with the cats. So I just wander from room to room, like totally overstimulated, just saying "Cats, cats, cats..." over and over again. On Saturday I spent some time in the FIV room, and as soon as I sat down on the floor I had a cat in my lap and was surrounded by four other cats. I love it. It's a relief to spend time with cats. I'm so not a people person, so dealing with people and, like, talking to them at work all week is exhausting. The cats don't really ask for much. Oh my god, I'm on the cat lady train to crazytown.

I did meet another volunteer this weekend and spent some time talking to him in one of the cat rooms. We bonded when I asked him what his cats' names are and he said he named them Joan and Bette after watching a movie about two sisters. I was all, "Let me stop you there, cat man. By any chance was this movie Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?" and he was all, "Why yes it was" and I was all, "Um, yeah, you're not straight, are you" and he was all, "Cats are my life." Okay, only half of that happened, but I liked him because he was quiet and nice and seemed to really be into the cats, like even more so than me, so I didn't feel so crazy after that.

But I think I saw my future a couple weeks ago at the volunteer orientation. There was this woman there... She wore a sweatshirt with a picture of a cat on it, probably her cat, and had, like, long somewhat unkempt cat lady hair with bangs. And she carried a backpack. I swear to god she was the inspiration for Rachel Dratch's cat wrangler character on 30 Rock. And when I looked at her I saw myself in twenty years. And, people, I did not resist it.

Dear Australia, I have many strengths, including the ability to drink a lot and remain alert enough to clean a pool without drowning in it

I totally applied for this job.

open letter

Dear Girl Who is Engaged to Drew Peterson,

Um, you will die. You know that, right? He's totally gonna kill you. But you knew that, right? Right? I'm just making sure. Because that guy is, like, crazy. But you knew that. I mean, you're going to marry him, of course you know that. You have to know that he killed his previous two wives. I mean, he probably warned you before you said "Yes" that he would probably try to kill you, but not to be alarmed, it's just what he does. Right? "Look, girl, I have nothing against you, you seem like a great girl, but I'm just going to kill you at some point, okay?" Something like that? And you just decided to take your chances? Because you were listening to that song by Mary Chapin Carpenter at the time and it inspired you? Look, that's probably what it was. You were just caught up in the moment. It's okay, it happens to all of us. Just grab your kids, and while you're at it grab Stacy's kids too, and just get the holy hell out of there. It's no big deal, just hurry up and leave now. But do me a favor and make sure you tell someone that you're leaving, so they don't assume he killed you, because they will, because he kills his wives. All right, well, good luck.

All My Best,
Erin

The snow, it never stops

Saturday it snowed all day and, for the first time since living here, I had to dig out my car. Like with a real shovel. Which I didn't have. So I walked up to the hardware store in the driving snow to buy one. But my Winter Paranoia was SURE they had sold out of shovels in a mad shovel rush, so first I called them and said, "HI DO YOU HAVE SHOVELS I NEED A SHOVEL. SHOVELS!" The girl was like, "Um, yeah, we have shovels." I wanted to say, "OH MY GOD, PLEASE HOLD ONE FOR ME, I'LL BE THERE IN TWENTY MINUTES." To which she would've said, "Um, we have, like, a hundred shovels." To which I would've said, "JUST GRAB THE FIRST ONE YOU SEE, MY NAME IS ANASTASIA BEAVERHAUSEN, I'M ON MY WAY PLEASE STAY ON THE PHONE WITH ME."

25

Wednesday was my birthday and I turned halfwayto50 years old. It was a special day, and not in the way my mom thinks I'm "special," according to the birthday card she sent me. Russ decorated my apartment while I was at work and planned a little treasure hunt. I came home and found instructions and a map of where to meet her at DePaul in Lincoln Park. But first I had to find her locker and open it to retrieve my presies. Then we went to dinner at a Mexican restaurant and I had a giant burrito and a giant margarita.

Russ had Christine make my birthday cake(s). She's a lovely pastry chef. Not only did she make me a deliciously rich flourless chocolate cake with a refreshing raspberry layer, she also made four light red velvet birthday cupcakes with cream cheese frosting. PEOPLE, I have not known cake. I have separation anxiety when I go to work.

As soon as I finished my giant piece of cake, I got a serious stomach ache from over eating and had to send Russ home because I thought I was going to throw up.

I did have a birthday epiphany, which sparked from the cards I received from my family. I realized they all had a common, alarming theme. My grandma sent me a card about farting, my uncles Bill and Kent sent me a card about beer drinking, and my uncle Dan sent me a card about burping—all of them accompanied by a line something like, "I couldn't pass this up!" My family thinks I'm a big man. Maybe for my birthday my mom should have gotten me lady lessons. Something other than Miss Bobbie's School of Southern Charm. Obviously that's been counterproductive.

Christmas, Part II

Oooh, girl! Was this the best Christmas ever or what? Have you had two Fat Tires within an hour or WHAT? I'll never tell!
So let's spin my favorite hits of Christmas 2008.

On Christmas day it was sunny and warm, and we went for a walk down to the gazebo at the roundabout. I was in short sleeves.

I "talked" my mom into doing a Christmas special. Here's how that exchange went:
Me: Mom, I think we should do a Christmas—
Mom: Okay, I'll get my fur gloves!

Amy and Cheri came over on Christmas and the five of us drove down to the waterfalls at Creston before having a dinner of Robert's Famous Roast Beast, plus Yorkshire puddings and many glasses of wine.

The day after Christmas we all went to Miss Bobbie's in South Carolina, where we exchanged gifts and I finally got to see what she made me for Christmas: maxi pad slippers! Super longs for my dainty ladies' feet, and bejeweled with faux stones and pink fur. Among other things. But the slippers were the talk of Christmas.

Saturday we—with another Creston couple—went for a hike to Catawba Falls, the trail head starting in Old Fort (Fart). It was an exciting hike, with river crossings, felled tree crossings, and rock climbings. Good off-trail exploring opportunities. The falls were beautiful, and the girls and I (and Amy and Cheri) climbed further up the muddy, slippery trail alongside the falls to stand halfway up the stacked rocks.

Amy cut my hair. I needed a hair cut and, although not a licensed beautician, Amy regularly cuts Cheri's hair with real hair-cuttin' scissors. And that was free enough for me, y'all! I'm back, y'all!

Fog, from the balcony at the Hendry House.








The walk on Christmas day.

The falls at Creston.

They're warm AND absorbent!

My mom had Michael's name, so she knitted him a hat (and I use the term loosely) and scarf. Something he will most definitely wear normally.

A typical shot of Robert at a family gathering. Probably dreaming of Kit Kats.

The start of the Catawba Falls hike.

My mom, the professional hiker equipment buyer.

Christmas, Part I: A Detour

So this is a bit late in getting out, but I've just been so busy watching television.

I flew out the Tuesday before Christmas—the day that, if you'll recall, hundreds of flights were cancelled at O'Hare due to the holy effing snow. I was supposed to fly to Detroit and then to Asheville, my usual flight plan that always makes me nervous. But my flight to Detroit was delayed three hours, which was actually a miracle because most of the flights at the gates around me were cancelled. So of course I missed my connecting flight, and had to spend a night in (my hometown) Royal Oak with my uncle Dan and aunt Susan. I ended up flying into Greenville/Spartanburg the next day.

It was weird to be back in Royal Oak—I hadn't been back since June of 2007. The weather in Detroit was awful too, so my uncle sent a metro car to pick me up, and this guy was driving on the snowy roads like a crazy person, so I thought I would die. He drove up Woodward, right past Hendrie, my old street. It was strange to be so close to our old house and not see it. Then Driver took a roundabout way to get to my uncle's house, and we ended up going by my friend Erin's house. She lives in New York now, but was home at the time for Christmas. It was really late, so I didn't call her. But how weird is it that we never see each other and our paths cross where we don't live anymore.

When Driver pulled up in the driveway I was all, "My rich uncle will take care of it."

Actually, it was a Christmas miracle that I was detoured to Dan and Susan's, because I got to see them open their finely-crafted homemade gifts from me. I made my uncle a T-shirt with the nickname I gave him as a kid: Unx. And I made some note cards and envelopes out of a calendar of old-timey Paris posters and drawing paper, respectively.



Oh this is definitely something he will wear.


Tommy models the note cards I made while Jimmy looks on, fascinated.


Photo by Tommy