Who comes up with these names?

The other day I was sitting in traffic behind a giant SUV. Who am I kidding? I sit in traffic behind a giant SUV every day. They are officially outnumbering cars on the road in my suburb, second only to silver minivans. But I digress...


The make and model of this particular SUV jumped out at me because of its attempt at drama:



Nissan.
Armada.


Armada? "A fleet of warships?" As in the Spanish Armada?


My brother used to drive a GMC Envoy. Okay, this name is a little much, but it does have a sense of sophistication, like a diplomat would be picked up in one after a summit in The Hague. Dramatic, yes, but at least it makes some sense.


Unlike the Buick Enclave. "An enclosed territory that is culturally distinct from the area that surrounds it." Or, your car that you use to drop your kids off at school. Huh?



I just checked out Nissan's Web site, where they're promoting their new electric car. What a cool concept, but what a weak name. The Nissan Leaf. So, this thing will fall, feather-like, from a tree, come October? I get the environmental reference, but "Leaf" does not get me where I need to go. Leaves remind me of Walt Whitman. Raking. Shade. There has to be a better name that evokes environmentalism. The people at Nissan are breaking new ground with this 100 percent electric car. Let's not make it another Yugo.



I still think Saturday Night Live's Adobe - the little car made out of clay! - has the most appropriate name. "It combines German engineering with Mexican knowhow!"

Jack in the Box

My favorite sound in the world is my baby's laugh.

Wow. That's ... Specific.

About a month ago, I started heeding the advice of friends of mine (who don't live near me) and sought out a "mom's group" in my area. A few people I know suggested a Web site called meetup.com, a clever site where you can search for groups of people who share your interests and who meet regularly to, I guess, talk about those interests? Do those things that are mutually of interest to you all?

Anyway, I registered on the site in order to find some fellow stay at home moms with younger children (preferably babies or toddlers). I haven't found one that fits me as far as location goes, but I get regular notices from the site when someone starts up a new group that somewhat meets my parameters or keywords. These requests are somewhat entertaining. A notice I got today was an good example of just how specific (and, I assume, how small) these groups can get:

New MeetUp Group!

Fun, Sporty and Youthful Moms with Teenage Sons Aged 14-18

Now, when I set up my parameters, I was trying to avoid being too picky, like I didn't care if the other moms lived in the city or suburbs but it would be handy if they lived within 15 miles of me (that could mean they live downtown, on the north shore, wherever). But the woman who created this group is a 34-year-old with a 16-year-old son, both of whom have "a ton of energy" and are looking for like-minded moms and their sons with whom they can "make friends." How many women are there like her? She suggests they all go rock climbing! Or (if your son's not an athlete like hers) bowling!



I suspect this woman's son, if he's like most 16-year-olds, was mortified to know she has posted this. Then again, there is a profile photo of them practically hugging one another. They look like a late 80s sitcom. (Editor's note: The photo above is not them. Clearly.)

I Need a Calling

I told myself (and my husband) that I'd spend Eamon's first year with him at home, and then look for a part time job. Eamon turned 7 months last week, and I am starting to have dreams about interviewing and job offers. Last week, I dreamed I was offered a job working for Will Farrel, and his boss at the company was Lance Armstrong. No idea where this came from except that Talledaga Nights was on TBS last week. Maybe I secretly want to be Amy Adams?





Now that the job market is slowly improving (at least, the mass layoffs are subsiding) I am starting to think about what kind of job I want. I am pretty sure I don't want to go back to the nonprofit sector. And I'm not quite sure I want to stay in public relations. I think my problem is that so far I only know what I don't want to do. The next step, I guess, is figuring out what I do want. It's too bad there isn't a career path for someone with a knack for trivia, a gift for dealing with people, and a quick wit.



Maybe a game show host?

Thoughts on Concertgoing

Last night, Brian and I went to a Josh Ritter show at the Vic Theater in Lakeview. I didn't realize how long it had been since I'd been to a general admission concert in an old venue like that. We saw the Swell Season at the Vic a couple of years ago, but we must have arrived there early because we nabbed decent seats in the balcony. At the Vic, the first section of balcony seats are actual theater seats with armrests. The upper section of the balcony is made up of vinyl benches, so you have to guess if there is any room in a row or if people need that extra personal space. The floor is covered in what my family calls "cinemuck" -- a sniglet for that unidentifiable sticky substance lining the floor of a theater that is the result of years of neglect and many, many spilled beverages. (Literally, my shoe came off four separate times in our two minute search for a seat last night.)

We decided to just go to the main floor and try to stand in a spot with a view. Being out of practice at this type of concertgoing, we found a spot directly behind a guy who can only be described as a sequoia. This guy was probably 6'3" with shoulders like a cartoon superhero. And, he didn't move an inch through the entire show, which was quite lively. At least we knew if we were able to see around him, we should stay in that spot, because he was like the Rock of Gibraltar.

We stood in front of this nice kid from Indiana who asked me before the show if I'd seen Josh Ritter live before. He told me he'd seen him three times (this was my second show, Brian's third) and was clearly a fan. So much of a fan, in fact, that he sang along, verbatim, with each of the first three songs on the playlist in my ear. He must have gone to get drinks or something and eventually was not standing with his chin just over my shoulder for the rest of the show, so that wasn't as bad as it could have been. I am all for singing along, but from now on I will make sure I'm not so close to anyone around me that they might hear me and only me singing.

A few years ago, the state of Illinois enacted a smoking ban in all public places, including drinking establishments. I suggest they lift the ban in old music venues that have limited cleaning staff. The smell of stale cigarette smoke would be preferable to the scent that lingers in buildings like the Vic. It's sort of a cross between a sweaty foot and two-hour-old quesadillas...and they don't serve food in that place. In my 20s I'd have to air out my clothes after a night out because of the smoke smell that would get into my jeans. Last night I still had to do that to get the sweat smell out. Not my sweat, mind you. I guess we're all healthier despite the smell.

Other than these issues, the show was great. Josh Ritter is one of those performers that seems to really love his audience and his music. I can't remember the last time I paid such close attention to the songs I wasn't familiar with. And suprisingly, the whole experience taught me that we need to get out of the suburbs more often and take in more live music in this incredible city.

Honk if You Like Sitting Up

Eamon started sitting up a couple of weeks ago. The other night I made a run to Toys R Us to buy some blocks and a couple of other new items. Every time he plays with a new toy that requires him to sit up, he turns and looks at me like he's so proud of himself. When I took this picture, one of about 20 I took while he was "driving" this car, he literally posed for me, moving his hand from the green stickshift, to the steering wheel, to the horn for a quick "honk!"

God help me when this kid starts crawling.

Girl Gang

We live in an extremely safe suburb. Reading the local newspaper's blotter is hilarious, because the worst crimes reported involve someone's North Face fleece jacket getting stolen from their car (and at the end of the report it's revealed that the "victim" had left the car doors unlocked and the jacket on the front seat). Even the adjacent Chicago neighborhood has the lowest crime rate of any 'hood in the city. There is the occasional report of gang tagging on public property, but it's very rare.

Today Eamon and I were on our way home from a walk uptown when I spotted a group of teenaged girls walking towards us. I chuckled to myself at the memory of a friend who'd moved here after us and was slightly alarmed by the large numbers of high school kids hanging out in the coffee shops and movie theaters. Apparently large groups of clean cut teens make him nervous. I joked to Eamon, "There's a gang of teenagers, Eamon, think we can take 'em?"

As we got closer, however, I noticed something about these girls. They were all wearing bandanas on their heads. Some red, some blue. Were they the Park Ridge crips and bloods? What's next, "age" riots between the wealthy baby boomers and active senior citizens in town? It was both comical and confusing.