December 11: 11 Things

I'm participating in #reverb10, a month-long challenge to blog every day of December based on prompts provided here.

December 11 – 11 Things What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life? (Author: Sam Davidson)

Photo by imago.

1. Eating meat on Mondays and hopefully other days
2. Half assedness in French class and French studying
3. Negativity
4. Multitasking. Really it decreases productivity.
5. Eating a gazillion cookies and pieces of candy and slices of cake and other free sweets at work
6. Slouching
7. Holding grudges
8. My fear of dying my hair (I've always wanted to try a redish color)
9. Losing touch with faraway friends
10. Procrastinating redesigning my blog and/or having a personal website
11. My inability to touch my toes or do a handstand

December 10: Wisdom

I'm participating in #reverb10, a month-long challenge to blog every day of December based on prompts provided here.

Wisdom Wisdom. What was the wisest decision you made this year, and how did it play out? (Author: Susannah Conway)

One of the wisest decisions I made this year was to not run the Chicago marathon. When registration for the raced opened in January for the race, I knew I needed to register immediately to guarantee myself a spot (even though the marathon isn't until October, it sells out pretty fast).

I've run three marathons in the past six years. I've told myself I'll stop once I make it to Boston, a marathon so popular and prestigious that all runners must qualify at a previous marathon. In other words, you have to run two marathons to run Boston.

Like I said, I've run three, and I'm ready to get this Boston race under my belt. So if I were to have run the Chicago marathon, I would have tried to qualify. Which means I would have had to cut off 20 minutes from my best time — entirely doable with a lot of hard work, running a gazillion miles, healthy eating and absolutely no alcohol for 4 months.

I'm going to do it someday. Maybe next year. But this year wasn't the year for me. The bulk of my training would have been over the summer, and I ultimately decided it wasn't worth forfeiting my first real summer in the city for a race I have my whole life to run.

So I didn't enter. And this was wise. Because I had a great summer. The kind of summer that 145 percent reinforced my decision to live my 20s in Chicago. A summer of late nights and drinking and not exercising much and music festivals and general all around fun; a million things I would not have experienced had I been staying in every Friday to wake up early to run 20 miles the next day.

December 9: Party

I'm participating in #reverb10, a month-long challenge to blog every day of December based on prompts provided here.

December 9 – Party Prompt: Party. What social gathering rocked your socks off in 2010? Describe the people, music, food, drink, clothes, shenanigans. (Author: Shauna Reid)


I'll start off by saying that my track record for parties hasn't been exactly stellar. Take my 21st birthday, for example, the ultimate party of all parties. Only two friends came. It was soul crushing.

I have since overcome my fear of throwing parties. It hasn’t been an easy path – attendance was low at a game night party last fall and I was left with an entire pot of chili – but I have learned along the way that having a successful party is all about quality over quantity. That being said, quality AND quantity in one room makes for a great party. And my roommates and I had one of those Halloween weekend.

There are a lot of reasons this was a good party. My mummy hot dogs were a hit. I had one of the best costumes I have ever had in my entire life. All my favorite people came. Good music, good times, good stories to tell later on. Great decorations thanks to my aunt.

Describing how much fun a party was to those who weren't there doesn't accomplish much, since all great parties are pretty much the same. So I'll end this here. But it was great, and this song will always remind me of it.

December 8: Beautifully Different

I'm participating in #reverb10, a month-long challenge to blog every day of December based on prompts provided here.

Prompt: Beautifully different. Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different - you'll find they're what make you beautiful.

This prompt kinda rubs me the wrong way. Doesn't everyone want to believe that he or she is different than all the rest? Of course. We all do. That's why some of us wear wacky glasses or throw mustache parties or travel to Croatia solo. Or run marathons or sometimes dance in front of the mirror when we're alone or casually slip in that we've lived in Paris whenever it's pertinent (or not).

Those are things that I've done that are a bit different, but I definitely don't think these actions make me differently beautiful or beautifully different or whatever than the next person.

To say that I am different means I must compare myself to someone who is not. Someone who is undifferent, who is boring, who is normal. While I definitely think these people exist — I interact with them daily and shhh… I probably judge them — it is really not my place to say "I am different because I do these things that this person does not do." I really think claiming myself as different is a lousy way to make myself feel like more of a person than I really am.

When it comes down to it, we're people. We have different motivations for doing certain things or feeling certain ways or dressing in certain clothes. Maybe I wear these glasses because I think they define my personality, because I think they will make me stand out in a crowd or because I really want to look like a Mad Men character. Maybe it doesn't really matter.

Maybe we should stop trying to be so unique and different from each other and just do things that make us happy, no matter how those actions measure up to the actions of our neighbors. If we keep trying to be so very hard to be different all the time, we are all going to end up being the same.

December 7: Community

I'm participating in #reverb10, a month-long challenge to blog every day of December based on prompts provided here.

Prompt: Community. Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011? (Author: Cali Harris)

Early this year, I joined the staff at this little blog called Chicagoist. People tend to think this is a bigger deal than it really is. We joke about the Chicagoist office, which doesn’t exist. The editor-in-chief works from home and the rest of the staff posts around the schedules of our other jobs. I get paid $0 to write each and every post. Journalism school taught me that writing for free is one of the worst sins one could ever commit. But I’m obviously not there for the cash. I’m there for lots of things, and one of them is the community.

The Chicagoist staff is just a group of people who love Chicago to death and want to share that with the rest of the world. We each write about our own passions, maybe music, sports, politics, food, or in my case, literary this-and-that. We share content ideas over a listserv. It sounds pretty mundane. And in many ways it is. But these people do bring great joy to my life.

I appreciate how much everyone cares about our city. If there’s something particularly disturbing happening in the news today, I can expect upwards of 50 emails in my inbox from fellow staff members getting riled up. I’ll have the same amount of emails over less dramatic topics, such as where to find the best Mexican food in Chicago or where it might be fun to gamble in the city should casinos be allowed in.

I’m closer with some staff members over others, but I’ll generally say it’s a good group of people. On the rare occasion that I can make it out to one of the monthly happy hours to see everyone, I am always really glad I did. These people are always reminding me of why I love this city. That’s a great community if I ever saw one.

December 6: Make

I'm participating in #reverb10, a month-long challenge to blog every day of December based on prompts provided here.

Prompt: Make. What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it?

This is a hard question for me, because I don't really make anything. I make sentences I guess. I make my bed sometimes. I make muffins out of old and brownish bananas. And lately I've been making Crock Pot creations such as chicken and wild rice soup, pulled pork and chicken tacos.

So yeah, I don't really know how to respond to this prompt because I'm not a maker. There are things I have thought about learning to make, such as my own clothes or my own website. But these things would require a lot of time and would take away from other talent or hobbies I enjoy more.

There is one thing I am good at making however, and that is money. Well really, I am good at saving money. I got on this couponing kick when I was half-employed and now I can't pay full price for anything. I paid $2.49 for 24 photo Christmas cards including shipping. I paid $15 for a $70 pair of eyeglasses. Once I get some rebate checks in the mail, I will have made $5 on a bottle of organic shampoo and $10 on some body wash.

I am boring myself now. I look forward to tomorrow's prompt.

December 5: Let Go

Photo by by ginatrapani.

I'm participating in #reverb10, a month-long challenge to blog every day of December based on prompts provided here.

Prompt: Let Go. What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why?

I let go of about a gazillion virtual friends this year. I don't know how I came to have so many on Facebook, but it had come time to whittle it down. The rules were simple. If I do not even know who you were, I deleted you. If I only met you once or twice and we never spoke again, I deleted you. If you were a giant a-hole to me and I was only Facebook friends for who even knows why, I deleted you. That included people that I used to be friends with or people I used to live with. The a-holiness was automatic delete delete delete.

I got rid of 200-300 in a couple hours of purging.The initial reasoning was to keep my online self a little bit more private. As I kept erasing people from my life, I was kind of freaked out by how many I had let in.

In fact, it wasn't easy to delete everyone. Some, like the a-hole people, were obvious and painless. But to cut off your one and only tie with someone is a scary thing to do. I told myself it was okay if If I hadn't talked to these people in years. Once I deleted them, I felt better. It's like donating clothes to a thrift store. Once you get them out of your house, you completely forgot you ever had them.

December 4: Wonder

Photo by bbaltimore.

I'm participating in #reverb10, a month-long challenge to blog every day of December based on prompts provided here.

Prompt: Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?

I begin my response to this question with a snippet of a gchat conversation with a friend:

Kevin: dude
I love snow
every year
moi: me too
Kevin: I love living in the midwest even more
I don't know why
it's a dump here
but whatever
moi: the changing of the seasons is nice
Kevin: word
moi: something new every few months
Kevin: even the super crazy cold part of winter
I don't really mind
moi: something to look forward to

The seasons cultivate a sense of wonder in me. They never fail to do so. Yesterday I woke up and literally screamed "IT'S SNOWING!!" as if I had never seen snow before in my life. It snows every single year. But it's no matter. I love the sense of wonderment that comes with a new season, even if I've been expecting it.

Our day-to-day to lives will be the same, but the cycle of snow, rain, blossoms, green, warm colors of leaves, dead leaves and then all over again makes every single day a little bit different.

December 3: Moment

I'm participating in #reverb10, a month-long challenge to blog every day of December based on prompts provided here.

Prompt: Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors).

When I saw this prompt, I immediately thought of one moment in which I cannot describe the texture, smell, voices, noises or colors. I thought of every time I am driving on I-55 as it becomes Lake Shore Drive and see the skyline of Chicago.

Every time I see this panoramic shot I am the happiest I have ever been in my entire life. I feel like the skyscrapers – these Chicago ones in particular – offer so much hope. As if these sturdy buildings will give me something to lean on anytime I might be apprehensive about the future. That something good is going to happen soon because I am in a comfortable place that I am proud to be from and proud to live in. That I have left anything unknown behind me on I-55 because I am coming home.

I feel like I have talked ad naseum about my decision to leave France and come back to Chicago, but I am going to come back to it again. I remember driving into the city shortly after I returned, and this jolly feeling of coming home being a gazillion times more powerful because a familiar song was playing on the radio. I don’t know what the song was. But it was one that I knew, and that felt great. Understanding the language in a different country is such a small small very small (although kind of big) piece of feeling like you belong there. There's so much more to it than that.

Knowing a song by heart that was a huge hit in the ‘90s, the one you put on mix tapes and the one that every time it comes on the radio, every single person present knows all the words by heart, too, and will randomly burst out into singing the lyrics… that is feeling like you belong in a place. I never had that in France. I wasn’t a ‘90s child in France. I was a ‘90s child here. This song was one of those, and although I was alone in the car on Lake Shore driving against the backdrop of the skyline of Chicago as I bust out singing the words, it felt really good to belong with every single person here.

Lessons Learned in French Class

I’m ashamed of myself for not putting as much effort as I should be into French class. I am paying a lot of money to take these classes and am not learning as much as I can because I don’t réviser enough. So for this session, I decided I would take my homework a lot more seriously.

For my first assignment, to write a little biography of myself, I sought out the native French eye from multiple friends to help me find mistakes in grammar and spelling. After correcting errors in almost every single sentence, I was proud to finally print off the four paragraphs and know they were the best they could be. I was ready to bring my homework to class and show it off.

Except our teacher wasn’t there. Even worse, the substitute was a teacher I H-A-T-E, she didn’t even mention the homework, and really I dislike her teaching style for many, many other reasons. I tried to sit through class, but knew after five minutes I had to get out of there. I stomped out as gracefully and cheerfully as possible, but I was fuming. A. I worked hard on this homework for nothing. B. That sub is the absolute worst and everyone knows it, so why in the world would the Alliance Française even let her take the class and just waste everyone’s time?

As I rode my bike home, I thought more about it. I was wrong about both A and B. For A: I did not work really hard on my homework for my class or for my teacher. I worked hard on it for myself, to improve my own French. As an added bonus, I got to reach out to some of my French friends whom I haven’t stayed in as good of touch with as I should have. I really appreciated the time they put in to help me out, and I hope I can return the favor. Physically handing in my homework didn’t matter for any of that. For B: I forget that I’m dealing with the French here. How many times were my classes in France – both when I was taking them at the university level and teaching them at a primary school – randomly canceled with no explanation? Americans expect a certain level of communication and I-have-to-know-every-single-thing-that-is-going-on-ever for every aspect of their lives and the French are just like “Meh. Guess the teacher didn’t show, I’m going to go drink an espresso.”

So, aside from working harder to learn more in French class, I need to work harder to remember the lessons I already learned in France. Mainly, don’t get stressed out about it, because it isn’t that big of a deal.

December 2: Writing

I'm participating in #reverb10, a month-long challenge to blog every day of December based on prompts provided here.

Prompt: Writing. What do you do each day that doesn't contribute to your writing -- and can you eliminate it?

This is a pretty easy one. It starts with an "I" and ends in "nternet."

It's so easy to get distracted when I hit a tough patch in my writing. Especially when every single word could be a tough patch – that's a lot of opportunities to get distracted! I've been trying to work on this lately, but it's a challenge. At my job (I'm a copywriter), I sometimes really need to force myself to finish a sentence before looking up something kind-of-not-really related that might help me gain more insight about the topic at hand.

Another thing that prevents me from writing more is fear. I always think I have nothing good to write about. It's one reason I don't write more here. For every post you see on this blog, there are probably three others I started writing and deleted because I thought they sucked.

Fear affects my writing outside of this blog, too. I've thought a lot about freelancing for various publications in Chicago, but haven't pursued it. I don't think I have enough good ideas or don't think I'll do a good enough job. I think I don't have time. I think it's too hard.

The "too hard" part really kills me. Since when did I not do something that was too hard? Especially after I read this article on freelancing today:

Freelancing is that remarkable stretch from February to December 2009, where I wrote entire features… using only my phone, a first-generation iPhone jailbroken for T-mobile, bought for $100 from a friend at Mac Week. That was because my computer had broken and I couldn't afford a replacement.

Really? If that guy can do it, then so can I! (Although he could have used the computers at the public library for free.)

Can I eliminate the Internet and fear? No, not really. But I can try harder not to let these things get muddled up in my writing, for sure. Absolutely. No doubt about it.

December 1: One Word

I'm participating in #reverb10, a month-long challenge to blog every day of December based on prompts provided here.

Prompt: Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?
(Author: Gwen Bell)

Correct.

Sometime this year, I became an adult in the most correct way possible. I guess it has something to do with getting a full-time job. It was the biggest correct thing I did.

So is paying my rent on time, volunteering a couple hours a week, donating a little bit of money each month to a reputable organization, continuing studying French, being generally nice to people, eating fruits and vegetables and getting a healthy amount of exercise as well as sleep. Responsible, correct adults do those things.

All year I have been working to be a correct person in all of the ways above, and I have been doing a pretty good job. And I am proud of that. It is not easy to balance the correctness of adulthood. I am making myself grow up and that is good.

But as I strive to do a little bit of this and a little bit of that in the most correct way possible, I think I’m missing something. Like there’s a part of me that won’t let me drink too many glasses of wine after a stressful day. Or I’m not changing enough lives via my volunteering and charitable donations. Or that my steady routine of swim 2x yoga 2x a week is not challenging me enough. And that I go to French class every Thursday, but don’t work as hard as I should.

Maybe it’s passion that’s missing, or maybe it’s the sense of accomplishment. I have racked up a lot of accomplishments over the past few years, but this past year was meh in comparison. Do I need to stop comparing myself to myself? Or should I just put myself to shame and do something BIG?

I’ll probably do the second one.

This next year I will work harder to be better than correct. I need to start and finish something I can be proud of. The word that I would like to capture 2011 is complete. Watch out, because I might run 10 marathons or something.

Fighting my American Gene

As an American, I was blessed with the desire find ways to obtain nicer and newer things than those I already had. Both times I was living in France, I scoffed at the Americaness of it. And when I'm here, I always find myself slipping into the same old habit.

Like when I bought this coat last Friday. I don't need a new coat. I have three coats. But it was 50% off and I really liked it. So I snatched it up along with a million other things and swiped my credit card without a second thought.

And then I did think about it. I was so angry at myself for buying it. It wasn't about spending the money. It was about adding to my pile of possessions. What was I doing, buying something I didn't need? Especially after I've vowed to myself a million times not to do that?

It took fortitude, but I returned it. You'd think I would have immediately felt better as soon as I handed the coat back to the saleswoman. But I didn't really. I liked the coat a lot. I would have worn it. I wanted to own it. But I didn't need to own it. I'm sure the longer I held onto it, the easier it would have been to accept that the coat needed to be in my life. But I didn't want that to happen. So the coat had to go.

Bye bye coat. We were never going to work out.

Le Future

Yesterday, Amy helped me put up a world map on my wall. I will now wake up just under Antarctica every day. I was looking at it this morning and thinking about how much more of the world there is left for me to see, and I wonder if I could ever survive an around-the-world trip for six months or a year. I've met and read about lots of people who have done it, and it sounds incredibly lonely and amazing.

Whether I travel or simple move, I don't think it's my destiny to stay here in Chicago forever. I know I have at least a few more years in me, because I really do love this city every single day. But I wonder where I will go next. Will I go to school? Get a different job? Move someplace new with only the will to be there? I don't have to decide just yet, but this map has got me thinking…

Bette Davis Eyes in My Arms

I’m not one who knows her music. No no, not at all. But, I will say I’m always blown away when I find a new song I love and later realize I’ve for a long time loved the song that inspired it.

Like this:

Old


New


Reduce, Reuse, Recycle.

Why You Shouldn't Pay More Than $0 for Anything from the GAP

The GAP has certainly been making headlines recently. First there was the nationwide Groupon that broke the site. Then, there was this thing today with Facebook places to get one of 10,000 pairs of free jeans. And a couple months back, the Michigan Avenue store gave away 50 pairs of their new black pants. There's a lot of talk that GAP is paving the path for the future of retailers online. Maybe it's all true. But when GAP puts all these deals out there, they have to watch out for people like me. The ones who realize that if GAP is going to keep giving away free stuff, then I'm just going to stop paying for any of it.

From all the coupon blogs I follow, I know the absolute most you should ever pay for any GAP item is 40% off. Every couple months, they have these sales that sound super exclusive. But they're not because these sales happen all the time. So I've needed a new pair of jeans for awhile now, but I knew if I waited a bit, I could get them for super cheap from GAP. I was planning on paying just a fraction of the price, but today I got them for $0. I will admit that I stood out in the cold for a little while and read a book while waiting for the doors to open, which is more than most people would do for a pair of pants. But I'm trying to fly to Australia next year people. By my calculations, each mile of airfare costs 18 cents, so the $60 I saved can buy me 333 miles.

Anyways, my point is giving people a bunch of deals all the time is not necessarily going to make them buy more. In my case, it's making me buy less.

Now what shall I wear tomorrow? The free GAP jeans I got? Or the free GAP black pants?

Justified

Today I received this comment on a post I wrote:

This is probably silly, but your posts about books and the local literary happenings are much appreciated, even if your posts tend not to get many comments (too bad--books and writing are great things to argue about). Same thing for the classical music posts, from which I have learned a decent amount about a style of music I am trying to understand better.

This is also coming from a commenter who sometimes trolls the site and leaves really mean comments. Which made it even better.

I've said before that I don't need anyone to pat me on the back. I am both my own biggest motivator and my biggest critic. But, I'm just saying. It was a nice thing to see.

Life Goals

- Learn another language (Italian?)
- Do a legit triathlon (not the easy sprint stuff) and/or Boston marathon
- Do a handstand

Remember When?

I went to Croatia on a solo trip and met the most amazing people in Zagreb? They invited me to their barbecue and fed me the most delicious food and then we danced all night long. Amazing one thousand times over.

the ABCs of NYC

Every trip has a million little stories that are memorable but aren’t necessarily worth telling. If I started rambling on about how I was really excited to take this new suitcase I won through Twitter in June to my trip to NYC in August, but it was on backorder, so I DMed the brand… okay, you’re already bored, right? And I have already wasted precious talking discussing my (lack of) suitcase, and I haven’t even arrived in NYC yet.

So I have a newer and improved way to document and share my trips, and it utilizes the good old ABCs. I read this about this technique in a blog. Keep a notebook with the alphabet written out, then fill in little memories as they happen according to corresponding letter. Some might find 26 letters limiting, but it’s also a way to get creative.

American triple miles, FTW! Also, this adorbs kitteh Briggs & Riley suitcase fiasco
Cabbie has a weird air freshener (of dad?)
Didn’t really want to go to Coney Island… sorry Zach.
Everything bagels are my favorite, especially when they have seeds on both sides.
Faraway view of the Statue of Liberty from Battery Park.
Guggenheim: snuck a sweet secret photo! Hot tub and swimsuit vending machine at Standard Hotel rooftop bar. I killed my iPhone. I acted like a rich New Yorker and immediately bought a new one.
Jenga with Joe and Doug.
Katz’s delicatessen: soooo much pastrami!
Learned the difference between avenue and street.
MOMA & a $1 Met ticket.
New York Public Library. Where do they keep the books?
Overheard A LOT of French conversations.
Pots in Zach’s bed.
Quesedilla with Joe in park.
Rooftop view in financial district.
Sangria and brunch at Calle Ocho.
Times Square is so boring. And Twin Towers is really depressing. U
Very strange people at Standard Hotel. Very nice, erm, view.
Walked everywhere. For hours and hours and hours.
X
Years since I’ve seen some of these great friends.
Zeytinz: my first and last NYC meal.

She's a Writer... Or Is She?

I've been telling people left and right about how I am now on the Penguin Group "list." Now when authors stop through Chicago on their book tours, Penguin will send me a free copy of their books a month or two beforehand so I can read and review them. "I feel like I've made it," I told someone the other day.

I didn't even understand what I was saying as I said it. Made it in what? Like I'm a real writer now because someone is mailing me books with handwritten notes paperclipped to the jacket begging me to write about them?

I wrote a lot of really crappy stories when I was 12. I studied writing in college and realized I was not half as good of a writer as my high school English grades had made me out to be. Now I write a couple blog posts a week. So I guess I'm a writer?

It's a hard thing, this writer business. Because I don't know what being a writer exactly means. I write all the freaking time — in my emails, twitter and blogging — but obviously those things aren't real writing. So I don't count them in my writing quota for the day. And also, to be a better writer, you're supposed to read. And I try, I really do. But sometimes it's just not possible to put in a couple hours of reading a day. I have to buy groceries and do laundry and go to work and stuff. In other words, I don't always put in the time to really be a writer, so using that term to define myself seems like a lie.

But when it comes down to it, writing is something that I love. I'm more of a writer than I am a mathematician. I could care less about a really difficult math problem. But sometimes I'll be reading something and I'll think to myeself "if only I could do that." If I could only write one great sentence a day.

Who Knew?

I just read Our Man in Chicago's essay for the Chicago 20x2 event. The essay was based on the prompt "Who Knew?"

But in trying to answer the question “Who Knew?” I kept coming back to what initially sounded like a very pompous answer: “I knew.” And by that I meant “I knew the answer to a question even though I pretended like I didn’t.”

Scott goes on to explain how he knew before he knew it wasn't going to work out with one woman, how he knew before he knew it would work out with another, and how he knew before he knew he might be on the verge of pooping his pants.

The point is: The more you try and distract yourself, the more likely it is that you’re avoiding the answer you already know.

This whole "I knew" reflection reminds me of where I was a little over a year ago. My French was getting pretty good and I had been adopted into a great group of (French!) friends. I had a place to live, a job in my field. A company had even approached me for another, better job, for which I had taken a writing test. They didn't call back. Neither did I. Because even though I had had serious conversations with close friends about Parisian salary requirements, I didn't know I knew.

Even though I left work early one month before my flight back to Chicago, then spent the other half of the day crying, I didn't know I knew.

Even though I thought about how hard it would be the find a job in Chicago because I had a seemingly worthless journalism degree during a time when there were fewer jobs for journalists by the hour, I didn't know I knew.

And even though I talked to anyone who would listen about my should-or-stay-or-should-I-go? conundrum, I didn't know I knew.

And even the first few months in Chicago, so excited to be back in the land of customer service and Target, speaking a language without acognizing over pronounciation and not having to worry about meeting new people because so many of my closest friends were right there, I didn't know I knew.

Because I couldn't find a job no matter how hard I looked, was freaked out by the unnatural hugeness the bananas - and humans - at the store and was constantly frustrated by turning the key to the left to unlock doors when I had been accustomed to turning it to the right.

Next week, I'll celebrate one back year in Chicago. I've come a long way in this time, and I haven't always been sure that I made the right decision. But it doesn't matter because I already knew.

Snapshot of My Inbox

A couple weeks ago, I wrote a blog post on Chicagoist about a new class at DePaul that focuses on the ins and outs of small press publishing. It was designed and is being taught by the founders of one of the indie presses here in Chicago.

Yesterday, I received an email from one of them thanking me for the coverage. He said several students had signed up for the class after reading my post. Furthermore, he told me, if those several students hadn't enrolled, the course probably wouldn't have happened. I am assuming they needed a minimum number of students to teach it.

It felt great to hear that something I wrote had a positive outcome. Okay, I know I didn't change the world or anything. But people read something I wrote. And then some of those people did something because of something I wrote. That feels pretty good, right? I don’t need validation for my writing, but it's still nice to be reminded why I'm a journalist. Or blogger. Or whatever I am these days.

Then, only a few hours later, I received this comment on a different post I wrote, a review of a new book: "This review misses the point of the book!" Then something about my lack of understanding "may point to the first signs of an absence of compassion."

Oh, such is life. You make some people happy, others you don't.

Mermaid for a Morning

I was up at 6 a.m. to swim laps. To clear my mind, etc. Yesterday was a really sucky day for whatever reason. I looked forward to starting a new day.

When I got down to the pool, there was only one person there. Usually there’s at least a few folks swimming or in the hot tub or sometimes there’s an aerobics class; so splashing, bubbling, music and general activity. But this morning, all was silent.

When is the last time the world around you has been completely silent?

I don’t remember. Sure, there are quiet moments at work, but there’s always someone typing or someone talking faraway. This whole total utter silence thing was completely new and totally weird.

Usually I aim to swim 60+ laps. But the pool forced me into a trance me today, and I could not concentrate long enough to count laps. I absentmindedly bumped into the wall a few times, but I wasn’t going fast enough for it to matter. One time I stopped to contemplate something strange floating in the pool. I think it was a piece of the floor. Everything was all too peaceful to take swimming seriously. I think I just splashed around in slow motion, not remembering to worry about whatever was on my mind before. I wondered if this was what it was like to be a mermaid. It was a lovely morning at the pool. I like being a mermaid.

A swimmer entered the lane next to me and broke my trance. I swam a good hard last 10 laps and went off to get ready for work. The locker room made me sad. So much blow drying and hair straightening and mascaraing and eye shadowing. I wondered why women feel they have to spend so much time making themselves pretty. Does natural beauty exist?

Then I went to find a spot at the mirror to blow dry my hair.

Mermaids don’t exist and neither does a world where beauty doesn’t matter.

Summer in the City: Part 6

Ask me where I’m from, I say Chicago. But little known secret: I’ve never spent an entire summer here. So begins my series of chronicling my first summertime.

Rudy and I met when I was working one of my many temp jobs. We worked in the warehouse at Threadless for one of their holiday sales, and between pulling and shipping tees, we became fast friends. But when the temp job ended, we hardly saw each other. Since I FINALLY had a low-key weekend ahead of me, I thought it was time to make time for my old friend. Funny that Rudy roped me into doing the highest-key thing I have done all summer, which was running around Chicago in the hot hot sun for three straight hours all while Facebooking, Twittering and Foursquaring.

It was a social media urban scavenger hunt organized by FIJI water, and we were sponsored by 3 o' clock club, a daily deals site in Chicago and LA. We got a list of clues and tasks, and got points for every task we completed and uploaded on various social media sites. So we did stuff like this:

Try to sell a Domino's pizza (We actually got one! But when the guy heard he had to wait 5 minutes for his pizza, he changed his mind. BOO!)

Do yoga poses in front of the Merchandise Mart.

Mix drinks, which was by far one of my favorite challenges!

Other things on our list of tasks was to take a water taxi, kayak in the Chicago river, and sing happy birthday to someone at Bubba Gump. Completing all 20+ tasks in three hours would have been impossible, but I think we got 8 or 9. In one word, the whole event was completely exhausting. We ran and ran and ran some more. I think I sweat more in three hours than I have all summer — and for as hot of a summer as it's been, that is a LOT of sweating. But when all was said and done, I was happy I spent three hours of my life with Rudy running to and fro in one of the bestest cities in the world.

Summer in the City: Part 5

I look like a frog or something. Whatevs.

Ask me where I’m from, I say Chicago. But little known secret: I’ve never spent an entire summer here. So begins my series of chronicling my first summertime.

I really had no intention of going to Lollapalooza this year. Even though I’ve been several times and have seen almost all my favorite bands play there, I’d much rather hang out with my cat than pay one million dollars* to stand in the sun for three days straight. But then I had an opportunity to volunteer with one of the food vendors and go to the fest for free. And Lolla ended up becoming one of my favorite weekends of the summer.

The thing is, when something’s free, you don’t feel gypped if it sucks (I’m looking at you Lady Gaga). And when something’s free, you feel like you really lucked out when it’s amazing (like The Strokes, who I decided to see just to get away from the Gaga yawn-fest. The second I got close enough to hear their set, I remembered how much I listened to The Strokes in high school. Nostalgia + music = hooray). As far as bands go, I probably saw an equal number of highlights and lowlights, which isn’t too shabby for a festival.

But then, there was lots of other free stuff - mainly booze and afterparties - that made this Lolla more memorable than all the rest and which led to a lot of dancing and singing, which led to more late nights in one weekend than I typically have in a month, which led to unbelievable fatigue and sore muscles throughout the next day when I was repeating the drink/dance process. Meanwhile, I chatted with a lot of really cool people: chefs from two of my favorite Chicago restaurants and a few artists who were, would you believe it? just normal people who like to talk to other normal people about normal people stuff. Now only if I had met Dave 1, that would have made my life. Apparently I met his also famous brother though, so I guess that’s good enough. Good thing I spent a whole weekend at a music festival and I don’t know anything about music. It doesn’t matter though. Fun matters. And I had fun!

*very close to the actual price of the tickets.

A Missed Connection

I’m gearing up for a Sept. 1 move, so it’s time to start liquidating my possessions. Several months ago, I bought an old-school blender/mixer/food processor/meat grinder on Craigslist, but I rarely used it (I guess I just prefer to buy my meats pre-ground). So it was back to Craigslist.

I took some photos, wrote up a description that made it clear this set included all its parts except the bowls and slapped a $40 price tag on it. An enthusiastic woman emailed me asking if she could pay $75. Okay? This was obviously unusual, but I would accept whatever she wanted to pay.

Whenever I buy electronics on Craigslist, I ask the person to plug it in and show me how it works; really I just want to see IF it works. When this woman came to my apartment to pick up my Oster Kitchen Center, she just asked that I bring everything down and put it in her car. This seemed weird, too. Didn’t she want to make sure I wasn’t selling her something broken?

A couple days later, an email. She thought I had scammed her. She thought it was a newer stainless steel model with bowls. “I learned a lesson about checking everything and trusting less.”

I felt awful. My description was completely accurate, but I should have asked why she wanted to pay me double. So I felt like I did mislead her. Why oh why did I take her money? This transaction was not good for my karama. She was right. I had not been a trustworthy person.

I emailed back apologized for the misunderstanding. I told her she was welcome to come back for $35. I included my original posting and told her she was right, checking things carefully was a must when dealing with Craigslist. And that there were scammers on Craigslist, but I didn’t want to be one.

A few hours later, she responded. “You restored my faith in mankind!!!! I most likely responded to another posting. Keep the extra and use it to do good, it will come back to you ten-fold!” I felt better. I told her I would use the extra cash to buy books for the kids’ book drive at work. And I will.

Summer in the City: Part 4

Ask me where I’m from, I say Chicago. But little known secret: I’ve never spent an entire summer here. So begins my series of chronicling my first summertime.

I’m not going to exaggerate and say my Pitchfork weekend was oMfG-u-had-to-be-there-FTW!!1111!!!, because it wasn’t really. I didn’t recognize half the bands, spent a great deal of time worried about staying hydrated, and got slammed with the most gawd awful volunteer job ever on Sunday. But still, I’ll give the weekend a Pretty Good. Especially because I cut myself a pair of kick-ass jorts for the occasion.

I’m not going to waste my time writing about the music. Because you would pee your pants laughing at how uneducated I would sound. So I’ve included some of my favorites below.







Basically it was a good weekend to get turned onto some new bands, get turned off by others, and check out a few that are working their way up my list. I enjoyed the ballerinas and onstage energy at Major Lazer, although I did not appreciate the daggering. I liked Big Boi bringing back some of those all-time favorite Outkast hits. As always, I enjoyed the artwork at Flatstock, and I tried some new food (vegan mint ice cream!). Also, I made $125 off the weekend since I won extra tickets through Twitter, then sold them on Craigslist. Amidst the heat, I was able to drink enough water, didn't get sunburned, and lived to tell about it.

Summer in the City: Part 3, A Very American Weekend

Ask me where I’m from, I say Chicago. But little known secret: I’ve never spent an entire summer here. So begins my series of chronicling my first summertime.

I like holidays so much to the point that in college, I took notes with ink tailored to the season (orange & black: Halloween, red & green: you get the point). So I couldn’t wait for July 4th, especially when my plans turned out to be so spectacular.

In a nutshell, the three-day weekend went like so, starting 6 p.m. Friday night: carefully planned Red, White, and Blue outfits; crazy dance raver lightshow concert; many many grilled meats and beers with friends from here and friends from there; sitting on the beach in Lake Michigan (sunburn, reading, reading, sunburn and reading); more grilled meats with wine this time; fireworks; White Sox game; mustache madness; another grilled meat plus a Lemon Chill this time; more fireworks. And around 11 p.m. Monday night, collapse into bed surrounded by three fans because in true July 4th fashion, it was 90+ degrees, or at least felt like it.

I thought I might go as far as to detail the whole weekend, but all that would entail would be gushing about how wonderful it all was. And that could be boring. So I will just leave it here. Happy 234th Birthday America! Hope 235 is just as fun.

Summer in the City: Part 2

Ask me where I’m from, I say Chicago. But little known secret: I’ve never spent an entire summer here. So begins my series of chronicling my first summertime.

In two consecutive days of attending the Taste of Chicago, I ate the following:
- vegetarian gourmet deep dish pizza
- chicken tostada salad
- chicken wings and hush puppies
- tequila lime chicken taco
- cherry Italian ice
- Italian breaded steak sandwich
- pot stickers
- crab rangoon
- rainbow ice cream

This is why Americans are fat.

Summer in the City: Part 1

Ask me where I’m from, I say Chicago. But little known secret: I’ve never spent an entire summer here. So begins my series of chronicling my first summertime.

I don’t know how I ended up in a three-story warehouse party with free booze, free concerts and DJs, and free mini hotdogs, but I did. It was some invitation-only thing sponsored by Heineken, and my friends had an extra ticket. I find this out last minute and bike three and half fast miles up North just in time to catch the end of Matt & Kim’s “Daylight.”

The party looked like this: freely flowing beer. Enough material to play “find the biggest hipster” for hours on end. A (not very good) DJ spinning on glowing Heineken barrels several feet above the crowd. Screens everywhere flashing INSPIRE INSPIRE INSPIRE so ginourmously and frequently that I think I began to feel inspired - but maybe all the beer had something to do with that.

By the time Cold War Kids came on stage, I didn’t even care how unreasonably tall every single freaking person standing in front of us was. I danced, I sang shouted, I laughed when some rando dude with glasses crookedly falling from his face tried to mack on my friend. The show ended, empty Heineken glasses were hidden in purses and pockets, we were herded out.

The night went on. On my bike ride back, I passed an interesting assortment of a band: one saxophone, two trombones, one drum, one flute, and one maraca. They were playing something jazzy and had attracted a crowd. I hang there for a bit, then ran into I guy from one of my temp jobs months back. The catch-up conversation was good, and I told him to invite me to his next punk show. One more beer and some late night mac ‘n cheese later, I was in bed.

When I woke up the next day at 11:30, I felt refreshed. Then I ate a burrito.

Why I < 3 H20 Aerobics

Remember that one time I ran a marathon? I mean those three times?

God, I can’t stand running.

I follow a probably unhealthy cycle in which I run and train and train and run for months and months and months, and as soon as I cross the finish line after 26.2 miles, I can’t look at a pair of Asics without thinking about how miserable it would be to have to put them on and run a measly block. So I don’t. Meanwhile I continue eating cheese and guzzling wine as I had been before. Then I get fat. In other words, I start feeling unhealthy and moody and a tad bit pudgy.

So now I try to maintain my fitness level by adding some diversity. But it doesn’t matter how diverse your workouts are, there are always days (like 90% of them) when I just don’t feel like doing it and would rather go home to eat cheese and drink wine.

Thank the Heavens for the water aerobics class. I now plan my lap swimming around their schedule. Cause the teacher’s music rocks super hard. I even told her so.

She’s got a good mix of ‘80s and oldies. She even incorporates current events - like when she played the Blackhawks theme song. I also enjoy the fact that she wears flashy headbands, just as you would expect a water aerobic teacher to. All this adds to great hour of swimming. Sometimes I even take a few laps with the kickboard so that I can enjoy a particularly good song. I already went swimming two times this week! No I can devour that wine and cheese without the slightest bit of guilt.

Picky Pet Peeves

Since I got a growed up job that involves doing a lot online, I’ve been spending more time on the Web. And ever so slowly, I’ve developed a short little list of things that have come to bother me. I know you are very interested, and that is why you are still reading.

• Tweeting a link to your blog that is really a link to your Facebook page, which then has the link to your blog. I’m not a big fat dummy. I get what you’re trying to do. Your Facebook fan is just so much more interesting than every other Facebook fan page out there, and you would like me to see it/get page views. Unfortunately I don’t have a click of my busy day to waste, so shoving 15 links in my face will only get you one thing: a bit fat unfollow.

• On that note, if I follow your blog in my google reader, please do not withhold pictures and especially do not make me click on links to read the content. The point of my reader is to read your blog. If you make me click all over the place to do so, I’m unsubscribing. Unless you are the About.com French Language blog. In that case I will still be pissed and will continue to play your stupid mind games because there is French involved.

• Not shortening URLs when publicly sharing links. Just-between-you-and-me emails or gchat convos are fine because they’re spur of the moment and all, but please consider the eyeballs of people who read your stuff when you publish this: http://tickets.disney.go.com/buy/TicketTrans?storeID=DRD&tktFitterDefaultQty=ADULT=1|CHILD=0|ALL=1&lengthOfStay=7&tokens=m3NYXjZuC09VE7x4%2B0jnT110o4GFb/DqOkrQ54xWxe5YKmRR5cvwV5YGlrPuirisst7ndyzcAbAuchhjJogRzgHO3IX3qmXy97Fb%2BbENCrPG69wDATJZgsk/xoYKeFQfhMl4XhtHMZXSUJWUB7tbYvHB%2B1zz3s7h65xXOBpAc%2B/VRnmlv67B1XT20T392vFhYUI/qhjKxkMGBi4QkoKFQAVY7CiN01WC1c4YbCEUZOu2DVCto85j1H6QQrLKAwkIWuZoj%2BQLBd7cUqvbpZzKCpGCv0qBbNzjgec9Y8mf9UAz8bld9clw032EmuakXsl5hGP%2BCz9G/FamHtpBS%2BKK51rIViepGVtZfMv0nuXbWCTYxxAo/sN1crbqtRYxxc93HaBTreon0TnoV9X9Zn5N0TjkY21QYUcPHaBTreon0TlPTbeN/aYMJVspk%2B/Wk%2BRmUU0fmGmC3WasiCaNNoH5N2d6ItmHAR25n4sL9PHn5YRNMYXXOy1YUyLn2eihPLyaHyR5LdXqoYPfpx5jfinkJE583l0BFcr/wozFOKwhvo6HGNYisLiHXw9OqkWnkVmRxyc4UUeNGzHYic%2BbfSW1HccnOFFHjRsx3xYXzoM2byc0F%2BFaQOWFZyNqKNzo7MLyE7VllRRmOrDnR/LRS1/lRM2rNpDLKx/7wxwglGN8H0NHgtZuPic2qvRGHj%2BESuoDOJzO2Xwu%2BGANlQfRBdTGEeU0I99daNEFuPAxwRgZEJA%3D&drnid=7238430 instead of this: http://tinyurl.com/26yato4.

• Tweeting about your kids when your twitter page is not supposed to be about your kids. It's pretty simple. If you were a mommy blogger, I would not be following you. Unfortunately you provide other valuable information that I do enjoy, so I have to somehow figure out how to embrace the knowledge that your 3-year-old woke up the baby from his nap by blowing in his face.

• Acting like publishing readers’ content for no money should be really exciting. “Oh my gosh do you want your name and your words to be in print???!?!?!? Send your movie review or top secret vacation tips, and we will publish them FOR FREE!!” If this pay scale really appeals to people, they can just publish things on their own personal blog.

• Pop-up Ads. So 2001. Stop it allrecipes.com and others. And grow up.

Why I Made For the City's Worst Parisienne

Parisien Salon published an entertaining article earlier this week on the 10 golden rules of being a parisienne. In response, I thought about all the ways I sucked at it. I could have lived there for 10 years and never been able to blend in. Here’s why.

1. I own too much Dri-Fit clothing. Parisiennes are not the sportive type. They don’t run. If I didn’t want a crowd of French guys oogling me, I had to find a secret place to stretch during my runs. Also, most parisiens were really interested to hear about my marathon training. They had never met anyone who ran marathons. In America, where everyone and their grandma does them, I get no respect.

2. I dip croissants in my soup. A teacher at my school looked at me in disbelief when I did this. She told me croissants are strictly a breakfast food only to be consumed with something sweet, such as jam or jelly. I’m sorry, it tasted good. Other food faux pas of mine included consuming the breakfast-restricted pain au chocolate and café au lait whenever I damn well pleased. And sometimes I threw a baguette on the table and didn’t pay attention to turn it right side up. OMG I’M GONNA DIE (according to French superstition).

3. I think adults should use adult forms of transportation. My bike tires are the most kiddish wheels I’ve got. This isn't cool. Neither is this. Nerds.

4. If something brings joy to my life, I shall smile. Parisiennes don’t smile (#2 on the list of what inspired this post). Unfortunately, I do. Which is why I always got hit on. Old men thought I was hitting on them. No sir, I do not find you adorable. The cute little French girl trading me a lollipop for a piece of my baguette made me smile SORRY YOU GOT CONFUSED.

5. My hair will never be dark brown or black. My hair is blondish brownish whatever. Sometimes, I entertain the idea of dying it red. Which is still not dark brown or black. I don’t have perfectly olivey European skin, so dark brown or black hair would just make me look goth.

6. My clothes are too practical or comfortable or something. I will never be able to wear a scarf as effortlessly as a parisienne can. Can you ever see me pulling off an outfit like this? And I’ve got a rule when buying skirts and dresses: pockets. Which eliminates many chic parisienne options. Oh well. I like not losing my keys.

Big Fat Liar

I was ghcatting with my good friend Brad the other day. Brad went to school in California, thus is very up to speed about doing things that are nice for Earth. I thought I would brag to him about all the nice things for Earth I've started doing over the past few months.

As I was rambling off a few ways I've changed my day-to-day life in the name of Earth, I realized how much of a big fat liar I was being. All I really care about is saving money. I guess Earth is happy about the changes I've made, but I really made them for entirely selfish reasons.

Like riding my bike. If I am really tired and groggy and don't feel like riding my bike to French class, do I say to myself "You know, Betsy, Earth would really like it if you rode your bike there"? No. I think, "Do you want to spend $4.50 to get there? Or do you want to spend $0?" Then I ride my bike.

My roommates and I also make our own cleaning supplies (which is really just dumping vinegar on anything that's dirty) and have reduced our paper towel consumption to one roll a month. I might have led people on to believe that I do these things for Earth. But I don't. A giant bottle of vinegar is $4, lasts forever, and can be used to clean anything. That's all I've spent on cleaning supplies since February, and there's still plenty of vinegar left for more months to come.

I guess it just sounds better to say I do this stuff for Earth. And I do like Earth, so it is a nice added advantage that the Earth might get something out of all this. It's embarrassing to admit that I'm really just cheap. But it's the truth.

Want vs. Need

I was sitting in my giant new cubicle yesterday, wondering how I should personalize it and fill it up with tons of stuff. While pondering this very important issue, I noticed my entire cubicle was the size of my bedroom in Paris. The cubicle is probably bigger.

I don’t remember the measurements of the Paris room, but I am pretty sure it was illegal to live in a space that small. I didn’t really care though. I made sure my life fit inside that space, because that was all I had. I had a futon, a desk, and a closet. How much more does one person need?

Transitioning back to my American roots was much easier than I thought it would be. The hard part is resisting them. After surviving on very limited wardrobe for a year, I tried to remember that new clothes were not really necessary. But when I began working at threadless, where slightly damaged t-shirts were free, my American greed got the best of me. I took more than I needed. I probably have 50 threadless shirts now. I didn’t even need to take one.

Now that I have that out of my system, I think I need to try to find some sort of median between accumulation of useless crap and simplicity. Instead of grabbing as many tees as I can get my greedy little hands on, I am trying to focus on purchasing good quality, evergreen basics (ie black clothes). I will spend 40+ hours a week at this cubicle, and it would be silly to resist adding a little something something to spruce it up. Where is my French magnetic poetry?

I Am The 260,000,000th Richest Person in the World

GOOD Magazine sends some pretty good stuff through my Google Reader. Here's one. It shows how a "meager" US salary of $40,000 per year looks compared to the whole world:


I entered my salary and I learned that I am in the top 4.33 percent of richest people in the world. Then I learned this:

$8 could buy me 15 organic apples OR 25 fruit trees for farmers in Honduras to grow and sell fruit at their local market.

$30 could buy me an ER DVD Boxset OR a First Aid kit for a village in Haiti.

$73 could buy me a new mobile phone OR a new mobile health clinic to care for AIDS orphans in Uganda.

$2400 could buy me a second generation High Definition TV OR schooling for an entire generation of school children in an Angolan village.

It's an excellent campaign. I hope it moves people to take action.

Pointless Word of The Day

Every morning on my ride up to the 32nd floor, I get sucked into watching the elevator TV, which flashes weather, bits of news, stock prices, etc. Today, I learned a new word of the day. Bom·bi·nate. intransitive verb. to buzz or hum, as in the following sentence: "Every once in awhile, my computer bombinates loudly, as if in protest."

Why use a fancy pants big word when you could just use a simple word everyone will understand? I would never tell anyone my computer was bombinating. I would sound look like a moron. No one speaks like that. In non-pretentious conversation, computers buzz and hum. They don't bombinate.

No Chicago Public Library. Just No.

I saw something interesting via the @ChiTribBooks twitter account. It was a link to MattRyd.com where he posted this photo:


On the "blogger's" laptop are stickers that say “Follow me: @iamfullofit” and “blogging rulz!”

I am a pretty prominent supporter of Chicago Public Library. I put more library books on hold than I can possibly read, and I am forever impressed with their programming. They've got stuff for the benefit of both readers and non-readers. But this campaign is just dumb.

I'm not taking offense to this ad because I'm a blogger. I come from the self-proclaimed best journalism school in the galaxy, and I watched the whole industry get knocked on its ass because it poo-pooed the Internet, then freaked when everyone realized it was kind of a big deal. I know public libraries are struggling to stay afloat for a lot of the same reasons. So maybe you don't get blogging. Maybe you don't get twitter. That's okay, catching up isn't easy. But thinking you're too good for the things probably will affect if you're around 10 years from now is silly.

Five Good Reasons to Bike

1. I can eat two red velvet cupcakes a day and not be bulging out of my jeans
2. I can afford to buy two red velvet cupcakes a day with the $$ I save not taking CTA
3. I can leave dudes in my dust on bridges (read: the only hills in Chicago)
4. I can get there faster than bus or train
5. I can practice take pedestrian shortcuts through parks, dead-end streets, etc.

Reject Me Like It's Your Job

I'll have to be as vague and non-name-cally as possible as I publicly air my next grievance to the world. I have a problem with hiring managers who are too busy or too flakey to reject me.

If I have earned anything, it is a brief "sorry, not you" email. I came into your office and interviewed with multiple members of your staff. I answered your poorly worded questionaire even though I had already addressed every question in my cover letter. I took a writing test. And, in the case of a babysitting position, I came to your home and spent an hour learning about your kids' allergies and pooping habits. In all these examples, I know I was one of the last few standing. You said you'd call, and you didn't. So why the blow off?

Don't think I didn't follow up. I did. Thanks for the interview. Have you moved forward in chosing a candidate for this position? That's nice I know when your kid poops, was there even reason for me to know? Do these people think I can't handle being shut down? Because I can. I've asked out guys before who have rejected me (once). I can take it, especially because being rejected from any one of these positions is something I rightfully deserved.

But, these people instead opted for silence. I agree it is an effective to let someone know your decision. But I also think only 12 year olds should be able get away with turning their backs and going for the old ignoring bit to get a point across. But when it's your job to hire or not hire people? I think you need to man up and learn how to let people down. Especially if they know when your kids poops.

30-Second Stories

I am at the packing table at threadless. We are sending tees to Sweden, New Zealand, Norway, and beyond. "I like looking at where the shirts are going," says a girl next to me. "Sometimes I wish I could climb in and go along with them."

I am leaving the grocery store and something very strange makes me stop. After a few seconds, I realize no, someone has not taken my women's vintage blue Schwinn sprint with a black Working Bikes sticker from my apartment and locked it to this pole. I put down my gallon of milk on the sidewalk and pull out my notebook. I jot a short note and string it through the brake cables of the bike. I write "Dear owner of this bike. I have the exact same bike! I bought it at Working Bikes, too!"

I am trying on designer jeans. The sales woman asks what I think about a pair of Joe's. I tell her I think they make me look homely. She gives me a bizarre look. "Homely? I think they look good." I don't even know what about these jeans is homely. Can one describe jeans as homely? Did I just feel like using that word in a sentence today? She says they make my butt look good. She is right. I buy them.

I finally run into my neighbor with the typewriter. "What are you writing?" I ask. He is working on another novel, but wants to finish this one for once so that he can get it published. He says he is sorry if the typing bothers me. He hasn't quite caught up with the times and purchased one of those laptops. "No, I like coming home to you typing," I say. "It inspires me."

Saving Money Like It's My Job

I don't know how it happened. I sort of only know why it happened. Regardless, it happened. Couponing happened.

Sometime recently, I started following all these coupon blogs. They link to printable coupons, post senarios where you can get stuff for nearly free when you pair multiple coupons with a sale, and give information about rebates and free samples. The blogs started to get to me. I wondered how much money I could save if I followed their advice, which is: Clip and organize mass amounts of coupons. Pay attention to the sales. Strike with your coupons when the prices are the lowest. Instead of going shopping when you're out of something, live off your stockpile of toilet paper, or body wash, or frozen fruit juices that you bought for almost nothing. Save tons of money.

I experimented with the concept at Target last night. I gathered a handful of coupons. I made a very specific shopping list. I spent a pretty long time shopping because I wanted to make absolutely sure I was getting the right products. And when I got my receipt, I found out I had saved $18.97. I don't do math. So I'll round up. I saved 20 freaking dollars. And that was only a backpack full of purchases. I was so excited that I spent $20 at a bar last night and did not feel the least bit guilty, because it was almost like I got two glasses of wine and a tall can of PBR for free.

So now I am going to get crazy about coupons. Yeah, it takes time to save all this money. But saving money is one of my most favoriteist hobbies ever. I am thinking if I ever get a legit job, I'll still keep this up and put the money I'm saving aside to fund my future travels. I'm coming for you New Zealand.

I promise this is my first and last blog post about coupons. I am sure my blog readers do not care about the combination of razor blades I purchased to save $7.21. But just know that while you are going about your normal daily life, I am saving hundreds, possibly millions of dollars on groceries with my precious coupons.

Past vs. Present

I would like to share this Google buzz conversation with you. For context, know that I shared a Paris mapcut by Karen O'Leary:

don - I'm pretty sure I'm just gonna change the label from "Buzz" to "Betsy really wants you to know how great France is by posting a ton of links about it everyday 14 mars
me - well then unfollow me. 14 mars
amy - betsy used to live in paris. 11:10
jake - older than jesus riding a dinosaur. 13:35

I included the date and time so that you are also aware that, yes, my gmail is both in French and military time.

Okay, I am obsessed with all things France and especially Paris-related ones. Moving to Paris was the first big girl thing I did after gaduating college, and I'm never going to get over it. Having said that, I came back to a city that I love perhaps not more, but equally. And so now I shall share one of my favorite poems.

CHICAGO

HOG Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders:

They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;

Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse.
and under his ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.

- Carl Sandburg

Lessons Learned on a Bike in Winter

It feels like winter is almost over, but any Chicagoan knows at least one mid-March snowstorm is still waiting to sneak up on us. Even so, I've been seeing a lot more people commuting to work on their bikes. I kind of liked having the road almost to myself all winter. It was an enlightening and empowering experience. So I compiled a short list of things I learned from biking through a not-so-bad Chicago winter.

1. Strangers admire you and tell you so. There were a couple weeks where I couldn't ride the elevator up to work without making a new friend. These new friends liked to tell me how they wished they could bike through the winter, asked me for tips, gave me tips of their own, and basically elevated me to Dalai Lama status because I had a bike helmet slung through my arm on a cold day.

2. Friends don't really care. "Well no one told you that you had to ride your bike." Okay. Fine. I'll stop complaining about being cold, because it is ultimately my own fault.

3. It's okay to conceed to the weather every one in awhile. I was determined to ride through a winter storm watch for whatever silly reason. I made it to work safely and was glad to have a change of clothes. Afterwards, I realized how stupid of an idea it has all been. It had snowed several more inches during the time I was at work, making the roads more dangerous and slick. Also, I would have had to change back into my still-damp riding clothes and potentially catch hypothermia. I decided I still wanted to live to see my next birthday and took public transit home. But then I had to lug my bike up and down stairs through trains and buses, and it was just a huge pain in the ass. I shouldn't have ridden in the first place.

4. Looking ridiculous keeps you warm. Early in winter, a veteran biker suggested wearing ski goggles to protect my face. That sounded needless and stupid. And then one month later, I was wearing ski goggles to bike to work. They kept condesation off my glasses and blocked wind from the upper part of my face. I ultimately didn't care about looking non-human. I was warm(ish).

5. In bad weather, remember you're not the only one having trouble braking. Being a smart biker means watching out for yourself by watching out for everyone else. I slowed at green lights and paused longer than necessary at stop signs because I assumed the big bad cars might not be able to stop in time to avoid killing me. And I'm still alive, which is nice.

6. It's nice that winter doesn't last forever. As proud of myself as I am for bearing it through some pretty low-temp days, I'm glad to be seeing a change of seasons. Changing in and out of three shirts, two jackets, one hat, two pairs of gloves, one balaclave, one pair of tights, one pair of pants, two pairs of socks and one pair of boots several times can be exhausting. Nice to make your reacquaintance spring!

My New Neighborhood

The shop guys work on fixing my bike and offer me a cup of coffe while I wait.

I walk to after-school tutoring. One day the students read some of their writing for everyone. Everyone laughs at a 7 year old's story about a milkshark. I am proud because I sat next to her as she wrote her sentences without help.

The Blommer Chocolate Company makes two blocks of my commute to work smell delicious.

Sometimes I see other women biking to work, but not usually.

The Walgreens cashier speaks Spanish or English, depending on the customer.

The coffee shop that was replaced by the Bank of America two years ago just reopened, and everyone is happy.

Anyone who doesn't get to the yoga studio 20 minutes early on Sunday probably won't get a spot (that's because it's free).

I get lost walking home from the grocery store even though it is less than a half mile away.

At the Damen L stop in the mornings, the CTA worker standing by the turnstiles reminds me of a circus ringmaster. "Next downtown train approach in less than one minute!" And everyone scurries to make to the platform before the train comes and goes.

My neighbor has a typewriter. He sits at a table in his black-and-white tiled kitchen and types wearing his bathrobe.

I buy my fruits and vegetables from a store that only sells fruits and vegetables.

A man on the bus spit shines his shoes.

The cafe downstairs frequently burns coffee.