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.

No Job? Volunteer

Yesterday I went to a volunteer information session. To start off, you always have to go around and say your name, what you do in grown-up life, why you're interested in the organization, etc. I've done this enough times to have a staple what-I-do joke ready. I say "My name is Betsy and my job is to find a job." People laugh. I'm pretty funny.

I do one of the first introductions, then listen as every single person after me also introduces himself or herself as unemployed — recently laid off, working part-time at a clothing store, whatever. From the little I gather about them, these people sound super educated. Between the five of us, we speak German, French, Mandarin, Spanish and Hebrew. I am the youngest and probably least educated person there.

In 2008, I left the country for a year just when our economy got really yucky. I heard a lot about the doom and gloom, but I wasn't around to see how the economy was affecting people's lives. Well now, here I am. Sitting at this table. These people are smart. These people have marketable skills. These people probably have plenty of solid work experience. These people do not have jobs.

On one hand, it makes me feel nice that as white do-gooders, we are all finding constructive things to do with our unemployed selves. By volunteering, we're making the world a better place, you know? But at the same time, I am remembering when someone told me "Just think. You don't have a job, and you have all these skills. Think about the people that don't have jobs and don't have any skills. You are much better off than them."

The Dangers of Job Hunting*

I knew looking for a job would require fortitute, patience, and confidence. I knew it would require thick skin. I did not, however, know that my skin would have to be thick enough to withstand flying shards of glass.

Wait, what? Ok, rewind.

Folks say networking works in the job hunting game, so I've been trying my hand at it. I've been actively meeting new people in my field at events and such. Last night, my friend organized a tweetup at a sushi restaurant. We had a good time, met some cool people, were weirded out when a woman whipped out some Tupperware to take home the free salad leftovers. Things were winding down when a fight erupted closeby. Flying tables, broken glass, roaring tempers… it was time to get out of there.

We piled into my friend's car and started driving away when we saw another friend leaving the restaurant. The guys who started the fight started to approach him, so we tried to encourage him to get in the car so that we could all leave safely. Unfortunately, the dude had more fight left in him. He ran towards the car and judo kicked the back passenger window.

So that's where the glass shards come in. There were some minor injuries, but nothing that required major medical attention. It was mostly really freaking scary. If I hadn't gone to this tweetup, I never would have been involved. But I need a job. And I am going to keep looking for one, and I am going to keep going to tweetups. Apparently, I just need to build up my immunity to breaking glass.

*Thanks Anna for suggesting this title.

Moving Day Come Soon!

Today I picked up the keys for my new apartment and stopped by to check the place out one last time before the move. I stood in the empty shell of what will be my new home, and it felt so so good. I felt like amazing things might happen there.

I'm going to bring this back to Paris — don't act surprised. I started feeling myself in Paris when I had my very own space. Sure, it was an 8m x 8m teeny tiny room with a futon, peeling plaster and one bitty square window, but it was mine. I was free to close the door to the world around me, uninterrupted and typing like a madwoman and sipping cup after cup of tea. And I was free to open it and step outside and explore. Either way, it was my decision, and I took full advantage of that.

I crave this sort of freedom in Chicago, and soon I will have it. Except now I will have a room and windows twice as huge. All the more space for my big ideas and big dreams to grow behind my closed bedroom door. And that means bigger ideas and dreams to escape when I open it and step outside to explore.

My Adoration of Snow

One of my biggest complaints with Paris was the weather. Specifically, the winter weather. When I think about winter in Paris, I think mainly of icky grey skies and rain. Perhaps an occasional centimetre of snow, enough to get the Parisians in a tizzy, but nothing for this Midwestern-born girl to blog home about.

When I think winter, I think snow. Lots and lots of snow. The 10-inches-overnight kind. The traffic-ruining kind. The no-we-don't-get-a-snow-day-this-is-freaking-Chicago kind. The did-you-shovel-your-sidewalk-three-times-today? kind.

And, precisely one week after I removed my heaviest winter coat from its dry cleaning bag and coated my boot zippers with PAM cooking spray to loosen them up for the season, it is here. The snow is here.

Yesterday Chicago was put under a winter storm watch. It started snowing last night and hasn't stopped all day. And it's not going to stop all night, or tomorrow night maybe. Lucky for me, I don't have a car that could possibly get towed, nor do I have a job to commute to. So the snow isn't ruining my life as it is ruining other people's lives. Instead I shall focus on the minute details of my own simple life, which are mainly Nestle chocolate mint hot cocoa, not slipping and falling on my runs, and reveling in the fact that right now, Chicago is the only place in the world I want to be.

December 31, 2008

Part 1:

When 2008 came to an end, I was standing in my own apartment in a room full of people I didn't know. I was dressed as Parisian as I could pull off, thus as colorless as possible: black dress, black tights, black shoes. Due to some roommate tension, the night had not started off well. But I was moving out the next day, so I did my best to forget about it and enjoy myself. At midnight, there was champagne and kisses on the cheeks for everyone.

The last few months of 2008 had been tough. I had moved to Paris. I hadn't made many friends. I was getting ready to move for the third time. I still stumbled over my French. I felt like I was barely keeping my head above water in the classroom, even though I had been teaching since October. I felt sorry for myself a lot.

But a lot changed in 2009. I immediately hit it off with my new roommate. My French started improving, as did my teaching. I started writing and exploring and living Paris more. The last time I felt sorry for myself in Paris was when I knew I had to leave.

Part 2:

When 2009 came to an end, I was standing in a room full of people, most of whom I hardly knew. I was in America now, so I dressed it: my dress and shoes were red and gold. As Jake's cell phone ticked to midnight, he opened our $6 bottle of champagne. I clicked red Solo cups with the people around me. I gave someone his first high five of 2010.

The last few months of 2009 had not been particularly easy. I didn't have my own apartment yet. I missed Paris, and sometimes still dreamed in French, or accidentally started to speaking French when ordering at a restaurant. I was only keeping my head above water by freelancing and temping as I looked for a job.

I couldn't yet tell a lot would change in 2010. Maybe I would find a writing job and would be able to afford to explore and live Chicago more. Maybe it would be some more time before that happened. But at least one thing had changed dramatically since December 31, 2008. I only sometimes feel sorry for myself.

Read Stuff in English in Paris

I wrote another article about Paris. This one took a lot more legwork and skype calls across the Atlantic. It's about English language bookstores in Paris. You can find it here. Or click the link below.

http://www.bootsnall.com/articles/09-12/a-guide-to-english-language-bookstores-in-paris.html

Hot Journalism Job!

Love this job description for the A.V. Club D.C. Opens like this:

Are you desperately clinging to a career in journalism while the newspaper industry goes up in flames? Want to work for a fast-paced news organization staffed by gruff copy editors—relics of a bygone era—who constantly bitch about the slow death of print media while simultaneously contributing to it? Tired of trying to make a living as a freelance writer, and finally coming to the realization that an extra part-time job or three is the only way you're going to make rent this month? If so, The A.V. Club is for you!

Getting Back on My Feet

If you asked me how my job hunt was going, I would say not very well. I spend hours on cover letters, delete them, and rewrite them again. I ask everyone and anyone I know or meet if they've heard of any openings. I work my network to try to get ins at jobs I'm applying for. And on and on. Thus far, none of it has done me any good.

I checked out the unemployment rate and was both encouraged and discouraged to see that Illinois has one of the higher percentiles in the nation. Encouraged because it's not just me. Discouraged because I still don't have a job.

So a couple of days ago, I decided to do something. There's nothing I can do about this. I am convinced that I am doing everything in my power to land a job and can't possibly do any more. But since it causes me so much stress, worry and hopelessness, I thought I should throw myself into doing something more positive.

So I started training for a half marathon. At this point, I am not sure I am even going to physically make it to the race. The registration and travel will cost money I don't necessarily have. But that isn't really the point right now. The point is more doing something that makes me feel good about myself. This is about working towards a goal I know without a doubt I can accomplish with dedication and work. And I really need to think less about job hunting for a few minutes a day. Now I can think about how much I really don't want to go running, which is what happens when you have to do it every single day.

And so, I bring to you yet another photo of running shoes. Guess which ones have run a marathon on top of a couple hundred miles and which ones have run three.

Betsy Learns About Bikes

The minute CTA anounced a fare hike, I decided right then and there I would ride my bike through winter. Pay $6 a day to ride the train? No. Pay nothing to get some good excerise? Yes.

Although CTA has now announced they won't increase fares, I'm already commited — to something I am not prepared to do. I really don't know how to take care of my bike. I don't know how to change a flat. I don't even know how to grease my chain. Winter in Chicago means dirty snow and slush, potholes, salt, and whole bunch of other things that can hurt and rust and do other mean things to bikes.

So last night I took advantage of West Town Bike's Women's Night. As long as you're a girl, you're free to come work on your bike under the helpful eye of female mechanics. Dudes tend to dominate the world of bikes, so this was an opportunity for me to learn a thing or two in a low-pressure environment.

As I predicted, I was not a fast learner. I couldn't even get my wheel off at first. But with some good old-fashioned elbow grease and some patient guidance from the mechanics, I successfully removed both tires, took them apart, and put everything back together. Two and a half hours later, I was coated with a thin layer of bike grease, my thumbs felt like putty, (27-inch tires are TIGHT) and I had broken a nail. It was a good night.

Unfortunately, I must have tightened my brake pads or one of my wheels too tight, because I then rode home against some sort of resistance, which kept worsening by the block. Those five miles were tough. But hey, I made it. And now, I know which tool to take to my bike to fix the problem. Thanks, West Town Bikes.

Yep, That's How It Goes

A message from a friend I haven't talked to in a few months:

What are you up to? Do you have a job in journalism? A friend of mine has a masters from Medill and just got an internship at Huffpost and my sister graduated from NYU in journalism and is working at JCrew. So good luck, it must be tough.

When I Get a Job…

I am creating a list of things I shall do once I am employed. And I WILL become employed… some day. So I better make a list of what how to spend all this money once I have it.

- Make my first donation to This American Life
- Buy a bottle of wine that is more than $8. And some nice jeans. And some other material possessions.
- Move into a sweet one-bedroom apartment with my cat
- Register for yoga classes. And maybe a triathlon, too
- Create a Zipcar account
- Open a high-yield savings account
- Take my mom to dinner and a show

I can't wait. It's gonna be great.

Betsy Gets Another Byline

Months and months ago, I asked Rolph Potts for some tips about breaking into travel writing. He suggested that I pitch a story about something in Paris I knew better than anyone else. Something in which I was an "expert."

As an American who had only spent a year in Paris, I felt like I had nothing to unique to write about. Could there possible be some aspect of Paris I knew better than my Parisian friends? Well, I was the only person I knew who spent hours upon hours upon more hours running in Paris. A pitch was born.

I emailed an editor at a travel website with my idea. He bought it — not for much, but he bought it nonetheless. And so, Running in Paris: A Guide to Scenic Trails and Special Advice for the City was born.

(Grandma and Grandpa: Click on THIS to read it.)