Jump Into the Shaker

What do I want for Christmas, you ask?


Anything new.


New necklace. New socks. New haircut. New job. New way of dealing with my winter skin. New place to try for dinner. New toothpaste. New gloves that keep my fingers from going numb. New living-room rug. New ice cream flavors. Unpilled sweaters. A day between Sunday and Monday. A 14th way of looking at a blackbird. New exercise regimen. New route to work. New lipstick color -- one that doesn't make me look like I'm on my way to a Cabaret tryout.


Hey, brand new bar popping up around the corner. Welcome to the neighborhood. What'll I have? Just pour me something -- anything -- I haven't tried before.

This is unlike me.

I think I need a realignment.



This nearby demo site fills me not with sadness, but with a weird sense of promise. No, I don't miss you, crummy old Mexican restaurant with your day-glo margaritas and forever-chirping smoke detector. (Please, for the love of god, change the batteries!) To whit, I haven't mourned your passing for a second.


I heard that a new fire station might be planned for the lot. New fire stations in Chicago actually seem to have some architectural zip. So bring it on, I say. It's fire season, after all. I like the idea of the city's finest being not far away with their trucks and hoses.

Of course we'll have a very different conversation if it ends up an Auto Zone.

But I'll take the beautiful dream of a little something new next to Vinos y Liquores. And ok, Second-hand Santa, I realize I've just spit in your eye. But don't fret. I'm bound to rekindle my love for flannel pajamas, clodhopper shoes, the same old dishes and sheets and lamps and curtains I've been looking at for years, and even this lame but reliable hairstyle. One successful visit to the thrift-store, one happy rediscovery of something in the back of the closet, and this yen for shiny veneers will be behind me.

But for now, I'd love to know the blue-book value for this old routine, because a trade-in sounds mighty enticing.