Saturday, December 13, 2008

Envy me, for I received awesome birthday loot.

OK, there wasn't a lot of it. But what there was was choice. So if you're thinking of sending me a belated birthday gift, this is what you'll have to measure up to:

From my mother, Neil Harris's latest book about Chicago history. Did you know that Chicago has always had second city syndrome, to the point where we even had a New Yorker wannabe magazine?

I read through a bunch of this today and loved it.

OK, on to my next gift. Is this my husband's lucky year or what? About two weeks ago, I lost my cell phone, and at pretty much the same time, my iPod stopped holding a charge. It got so it would only last 45 minutes (and that when all it was doing is playing an audiobook, which is the iPod equivalent of those Indian fakirs who stop breathing for months at a time.)

So that means my very lucky husband has an ideal December in front of him. His gift-giving is a no-brainer. Well, two no-brainers. All he has to do is buy me an iPod classic and an iPhone, and there will be no whining. At least from me--I can't speak for the children.

So that's what he did. He started with the iPod:

That's 120 gigs of pure entertainment, people.

And then a surprise flower delivery from Jen Lancaster. OK, do you finally realize that I'm actually a little bit cool? OK, I'm not a BlogHer speaker and I don't have the ubiquitous superhero necklace, but I don't think Jen sends flowers to just anyone. She's really busy editing her fourth book, ordering Barbies from, talking to Susie Sunshine on the phone, and watching tivo'd Sandra Lee programs, so I am extremely honored that she found time in her busy day to send me flowers.

She also included a really nice note wondering why the florist didn't supply poppies, and begging me not to brag all over the internet that Jen Lancaster, author of Bitter is the New Black, Bright Lights Big Ass, and Such a Pretty Fat remembered my birthday when the rest of you blog-reading tightwads didn't.

The white hydrangeas made an awesome centerpiece, and the striped pot matched the dessert, which was red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting.

And that's the kind of serendipity you expect to see on the Martha Stewart Show, which leads me to believe that someone has hacked my brain or maybe my Blogger account--probably Martha McGyver or blackbird, both of whom have much better taste than I do--but at any rate, my work here is done, people. I've got leftover birthday cake to eat.


  1. I bow to your superhero status, necklace or no.

  2. I wished you Happy birthday on FaceBook, that has to count for something.

  3. Happy Birthday! Eat some cake

  4. MANY happy returns! Those are some nice gifts--and flowers from a Famous Author to boot!

  5. Let the record show, Your Honor, that I sent you a text message congratulating you on having not died for a whole year.

    AND that I managed to do so in the middle of a wine-soaked dinner with Argentine clients.

    Because I'm that kind of pal.


  6. Well, Joke, maybe I'll get the text message when I get my new Christmas iPhone. Undelivered text messages probably just revolve around the earth like tiny satellites, waiting to be downloaded to a phone. Like puppies at the pound waiting to be adopted. So unless he's a real lame-o and holds off until Valentine's Day, I should be getting it.

    And the rest of you are all off the hook, of course. I just like to whine. When I'm not bragging.

  7. Ooh happy late birthday. I am bad about remembering birthdays & I just found your blog this week. Why is that? I don't know. I want to tell you I actually jumped up in my chair & said "Oh!" when I saw that photo of The Chicagoan, I got that as a present for Chris & then promptly read the whole thing. That kind of present. I loved it.

  8. OK I didn't mean that to be anonymous. I am just figuring out how this works.


Gentle Readers:

For the time being, I've turned off comment moderation. Please don't spam; it's not nice.

xxx, Poppy.