New York City Is Good for the Soul...and a Broken Heart

After what happened with the Model, I've been feeling a lot of dark emotions. Anger and hate towards him for deceiving and using me. Resentment and jealousy towards his girlfriend for living in blissful ignorance of his infidelity, and for her Instagram posts where she went on and on about their amazing relationship (and he was always the first to "like" or comment on them). Frustration with myself for still having feelings for him and for feeling compelled to look at their Instagram pages, even though doing so hurt me each time. Sadness and disappointment over what I'll never have with him.

But then last week I went to New York City, a vacation that I'd planned months ago. I'd wanted to go back to New York ever since I first went there four years ago. And gradually, I started emerging from the dark cloud that hung over me ever since I first found out that the Model used me to cheat on his girlfriend.

One of the first things I did was Google "literary events in New York City," which is how I found out about a poetry slam at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe. When I lived in Small Town, Tennessee, I used to drive for hours to Nashville on a regular basis, partly because of its thriving literary scene; there were poetry readings and open mic nights for writers almost every week. They don't really have anything like that in College Town, which is why I was excited to attend the poetry slam, not to mention it only cost ten dollars to get in.

The poetry slam at Nuyorican Poets Cafe was very different from the open mic nights I'd attended in Nashville. For one thing, the majority of the poets and audience members were African American, and the audience was much livelier, responding appreciatively with "Mm-hmm," and "Preach!" while the poets read their work. And the poets didn't just read their writing; they performed it, with all the passion, fury, and sadness that they were feeling. Their poems were about topics like what it was like to suffer from PTSD after being date-raped, the anger they felt about young black men getting shot by police officers, the alienation they felt over being biracial, and one in particular stood out: a funny poem by a white guy, who described himself in his poem as "the wokest, whitest, straightest guy who you will ever meet", and went off on a riff about white privilege.

Listening and watching them perform their poetry was like salve on the open wound of my broken heart, and for the first time in a long time, I felt glad that the Model wasn't there with me. He wouldn't have appreciated or understood it in the way that I and the others in the audience did.

I went for a walk in Washington Square Park, and some people invited me and other passers-by to write down short stories on small square pieces of paper that they were handing out. So I did, and then they hung up the story alongside several others on a display they had. It made me happy to know that other people walking through the park could read what I wrote.

I wanted to buy a ticket to a Broadway play, but even the discounted tickets cost eighty dollars, which was more than I could afford. So instead, I managed to get tickets to two different shows for less than forty dollars total: a musical in the Acorn Theater called 68, about the Democratic National Convention in Chicago, and Katie & Julian & Nicholas: Corkscrew Late Night at Paradise Factory, where three "dramaturgs" performed songs from musicals that they had written. One of them described one of his songs as a "burlesque from the point of view of a Confederate statue."

I liked watching the actors perform and sing, except I came down with a sneezing fit during the second show. I think it was due to a combination of several factors: the fact that I'd been walking in the rain in Central Park, the fact that my cheap, dingy hotel room wasn't properly cleaned, or the possibility that one or all of the audience members had rolled around in cat fur before the show (I'm allergic to cats). My nose was literally running throughout the majority of the show. I was sitting at the end of the row near the wall, furthest from the door, and I didn't want to keep getting up to blow my nose in the bathroom during the actors' performances. So I sat there, pulling Kleenex out of my purse again and again and thinking, Don't sneeze don't sneeze don't sneeze ATCHOO! 

I did all the usual touristy things. I got my picture taken with costumed characters in Times Square, who I made sure to tip, of course. I ate a New York style hot dog and slice of pizza. I drank bubble tea in Chinatown and watched Chinese women do Tai Chi in a park. I took the train to Williamsburg, Brooklyn, which I think of a hipster's paradise, and which also reminded me of a cross between Lincoln Park and Wicker Park in Chicago. I browsed in bookstores like Book Thug Nation in Williamsburg, where people were reading out loud to each other. I stopped at a juice bar and asked for an apple juice, and when the barista said, "OK! That'll be six dollars," I tried not to respond like this:


via GIPHY

I also went to the Strand Bookstore in Manhattan, and I bought Waiter's Rant by Steve Dublanica and a Dave Barry book because the genre that I like to read most is memoir, especially memoirs where neurotic, obsessive people write about ordinary things in ways that sound hilarious. That's something that I've always aspired to do in my own writing.

I ate chicken parmigiana in Little Italy and admired the Vermeer paintings that were on display in the Frick Collection. I ate breakfast at Balthazar Bakery, and I watched Broadway actors perform for free in Bryant Park. 


It felt so good to be in a big city again, navigating my way through the crowds, listening to the New York accents and hearing people call out to each other in different languages, including French, Spanish, Chinese, Polish, and German. I didn't even mind (too much) the fact that my hotel room in Chinatown was right by the train, which rumbled loudly all night long and made it difficult for me to sleep. Since I hate driving, it was a relief to be able to walk around or take public transportation to get to where I needed to go, despite the extreme heat and humidity and the fact that I had to spend way too much money on bottled water.

What I loved the most about New York is that it's a city full of artists: actors, musicians, painters, writers, etc. Immersing myself in their work inspired me and motivated me to get back to work on my own writing.

I must admit that I am not over the Model, and it will take me some time to get over him. I will never have what his girlfriend has with him: a real relationship and a life with him. When I first realized that, I felt empty inside. I thought that I would never feel for anyone else what I felt for the Model and that I would spend the rest of my life alone. But that week in New York filled me up, and even though I am not yet whole, I realized that even if I never find true love or happiness with someone, I can have my own happy ending: a life that's filled with poetry, books, writing, travel, walks through big, interesting cities like New York, good food in new places, art, music, etc., etc.

I may never be surprised with a romantic vacation to Mexico for my birthday the way the girlfriend was with the Model, but I can take my own vacation that I paid for with my own money to a place like New York City. His girlfriend may very well end up marrying him, and I must admit that if I make the mistake of looking at her Instagram page again in the future and see their wedding pictures, it will hurt like hell. But on the other hand, she will spend her life with a narcissistic, insensitive, dishonest sociopath who cheated on her (and I'm willing to bet that I'm not the only person he's cheated with, which would explain why he often comes back to College Town without her, because that makes it easier for him to hook up with other people behind her back). And I may end up alone, but I will live my life with the freedom to live on my own terms.

What about you? What does your happy ending look like? If you could go on your dream vacation, where would it be?

A Tourist in My Hometown

Even though I spent the first eighteen years of my life in a small Midwestern town, I think of Chicago as my hometown. As the saying goes, "Home is where your heart is." In the town where I grew up, I was viewed by many people as "weird," but in Chicago, the vast majority of people are weird and it's actually considered "weird" to be "normal."

That's why when a relative offered to pay for my plane ticket to Chicago in exchange for my taking care of their two dogs for a week this past summer while the relative was out of town, I jumped at the chance. I was happy to spend time with those two adorable dogs, who snuggled by my legs when I slept and insisted on being carried around 90% of the time. 

I was also happy to be back in the city where I lived for more than a decade. When I was walking down State Street, here's a small sampling of what I heard:

"I hate you! I don't know you, but I hate you!"

"Oh yeah? I hate you too!"

"GET OUTTA THE WAY! Where'd you learn how to drive, freak show?"

"Dude, just be cool. The cops are right there!"

Even though it was supposedly summer, I had to wear several layers of clothes because it was so cold. Some guy pulled my hair on the El after I didn't smile when he ordered me to, and I responded by kicking him in the leg and then running off the train. A woman yelled at me in Spanish and threw sunflower seeds at me while I was eating a Chicago-style hot dog. And all I could think was, Ah, Chicago. It's good to be home.

Although I made sure I spent enough time with the dogs, such as taking them to the dog park and playing with them, I also did the things that tourists usually do in the Windy City. I rented a Divvy bike and took a ride by the lake. I visited the Art Institute (I've always loved the Impressionists' paintings and the Thorne Miniature Rooms best). I ate Chicago-style pizza and window-shopped on Michigan Avenue. I wrote in my favorite coffee shop in Lincoln Park. 

I took a selfie by the "bean" in Grant Park, and I walked around Boystown, my favorite neighborhood (aka East Lakeview). I couldn't help looking at the handsome, muscular men in Boystown, almost all of whom are very friendly and nice, and I thought, Dang. Too bad they're gay. I also got to hang out with an old friend who lived in Boystown.

I visited the American Writers Museum, a new museum that just opened in the Loop. It's small, and it has things like pictures of famous writers, as well as displays of their most famous quotes and information about their books. I thought it was wonderful and high time that writers got their own museum in this city.

I was quickly reminded by how fast Chicagoans walk, unlike most of the people in Small Town, who like to take their time walking, driving, and talking. Chicagoans, on the other hand, will not hesitate to push people out of the way and/or swear at you if you're walking too slowly. (I must admit that I was exactly the same way when I lived there.)

It felt so good to be back in the city again, if only temporarily. But it felt different this time around. I felt more like a tourist. It almost felt like I didn't belong there anymore, maybe because it had been more than two years since I'd lived there. And I felt sad, too, thinking of all the memories that that place held.

There was the beach where I and some of the other teachers took our students one afternoon as part of a field trip, back when I taught high school students. I had to keep telling students that I would call their parents and/or give them detention if they kept trying to drown each other. There was the spot in Grant Park where I hung out with some casual acquaintances that I thought were cool, right up until the point where they pulled out a joint and offered me a hit. I was all, "Uh, I just remembered that I'm late for my flamethrowing lesson. Gotta go!" There was the school where I taught my first class as a college instructor. There was the school where I earned my PhD, and I tried not to fall asleep during boring lectures by thinking of funny moments from Jersey Shore.

I remember when I was a kid, I wanted to be an adult so that I could do whatever I wanted. But the thing about adulthood is that you realize that you really can't do whatever you want. You can't stay out until 3 A.M. because you have to get up early for work, and anyway when you reach your thirties you actually want to go to bed earlier (at least I do). You can't eat ice cream for dinner because you're worried about your waistline (although I will admit that I have eaten ice cream for dinner, and that was because I "accidentally" burned the healthy meal that I prepared). And I can't stay in Chicago forever, even though I want to, because the rent and sales tax are too high (and don't even get me started on their soda tax) and I can't find a decent full-time teaching job there, at least not right now.

That's why I ended up first in Small Town and then in College Town. In academia, there are way too many PhDs and not enough jobs, so you have to go where the work is. But one good thing about being back in the Midwest is that Chicago is not as far away from College Town as it is from Small Town (though it's far enough that I can't go there every weekend, or even every month). But at least I won't necessarily have to wait until next summer before I go back for another visit.

Chicago will always be home. But another thing about adulthood is that you have to accept that some things don't last forever, and you have to move on.

What about you? Where is the "home" where your heart is?

There's No Place Like Home

Spring break at the school where I teach is still more than a month away, but I've already started planning what to do during my time off. I think I might be able to afford a few days off to travel, and I've been thinking of making a brief trip back to Chicago.

I've grown (somewhat) accustomed to living in Small Town now. There are only a couple coffee shops in town, but I've already picked out my favorite cafe and often go there to write. When I feel particularly claustrophobic, I drive to one of the larger towns or cities to go shopping or try a new restaurant. Despite my usual "leave me alone unless you have food, in which case just give me the food and THEN leave" attitude, I have started socializing more with people my age who live here.

But I'd like to visit Chicago again, even just for a few days, especially because I may never live there again. The job I have in Small Town is not a tenure-track position, which means that eventually I will have to move on to another school, either in this state or maybe in some other town halfway across the country (such is the life of the untenured college teacher).

There are some things about Chicago that I miss a lot, and some things that I'm happy to be free of:

I miss the Chicago-style stuffed pizza, and the way that Chicagoans often insisted that their favorite pizza place was the best and would even get into arguments with each other about it.

I don't miss the prices at many Chicago restaurants, which apparently have the motto, "Why make things affordable when we can overcharge you weaklings who cannot resist our food? HAHAHAHAHA!"

I miss walking around Greektown, where old men sat on chairs outside the restaurants and called out to each other in Greek. I also miss the fact that I could walk down almost any street in Chicago and hear at least four or five different languages being spoken.

I don't miss random creeps who called out to me when I was walking down almost any street in Chicago, because apparently they go by the following motto: If I yell out as many offensive things as possible and/or try to grope women that I think are attractive, surely ONE of them will want to hook up with me, and I have NO IDEA why this hasn't worked yet.

I miss the neighborhood festivals, like the Chinese New Year's festival in Chinatown, where I used to watch the dragon dancers, the Taste of Chicago in Grant Park, where I ate toasted ravioli and other delicious food from local restaurants, or Northalsted Market Days in Boystown, where I looked wistfully at all the good-looking, muscular guys dancing in colorful briefs and think, "And they're all gay, darn it!"

I don't miss the crowds at those festivals (or any popular event or place in the city), where there was sometimes the risk that I might get robbed/knocked down/thrown up on (and yes, all three things happened to me at some point or other during some of these festivals).

I miss riding the CTA trains and buses, because I dislike driving in Small Town; I dislike parking, and I dislike all the drivers who apparently don't know how to drive or park.

I don't miss the weird, annoying, or scary people on the CTA trains and buses, like the guy who took off his pants just because I glanced in his direction, or the people who would delay the trains by holding the doors open for their friends, or the people whose solution to crowded trains and buses would be to make them even MORE crowded by squeezing themselves onboard.

I miss riding rented bikes by the lake, window shopping on Michigan Avenue, and the free admissions' days at the museums.

I don't miss the aggressive bicyclists by the lake, the protestors who yelled at anyone who didn't protest with them on Michigan Avenue (and there are a LOT of them in Chicago right now), and the mob of tourists at the museums who walked so slowly (because they were appreciating the scenery) that I always had to mutter to myself, "Don't yell at the tourists don't yell at the tourists don't -"

On the other hand, part of me is thinking that maybe I should just save my money and not go to Chicago at all, or maybe I should go somewhere else for my spring break (I am considering a road trip to explore more of the surrounding area this summer).

What about you? What do you like best/least about your hometown, or what would you miss most about it?

Fifty Shades of Meh

A year or so ago, I took a one-night writing class at StoryStudio, where the teacher distributed excerpts from the novel Fifty Shades of Grey, in order to show us how not to write. After reading the scene, I agreed with the teacher: the writing was clichéd and terrible.

I'm not really into erotica (though I have read a couple erotic novels, and I was all, "Seriously, ANOTHER sex scene?"), but I'm still curious to find out what all the fuss regarding Fifty Shades of Grey is about. So I still plan to buy the book. As I stated on Twitter, though, I have enough Catholic guilt drilled into me that I may have to go to Confession afterwards, in order to confess the sin of reading someone else's impure thoughts.

Last week I went to a movie for the first time since last June. I had a coupon for a free movie ticket. I decided to watch Fifty Shades of Grey, because as with the novel, I was curious to see what all the fuss was about.

Now that I've seen it, all I can say is this: meh.

Everyone kept fussing over the sex scenes, but they didn't really faze me. My favorite neighborhood in Chicago is Boystown, where a lot of the "adult" stores are located. Some of those stores have S&M window displays that are more shocking than the sex scenes I saw in 50 Shades of Grey. I've always been curious about those stores but have never had the courage to go in, partly because I'm afraid that one of my former students will be in there and they'll say, "Professor! What are you doing here?" And I'll just say, "Umm...you mean this isn't Garrett Popcorn?"

Also, if people played a drinking game and took a shot for every time Jamie Dornan took off his shirt in slow motion or every time Dakota Johnson bit her lip, they'd end up drunk and/or passed out before the movie was half over.

I was impressed by the acting of Dakota and Jamie, though their talent was wasted in a movie with a cliched storyline and even worse dialogue.  There were also several other great actors in that film, like Jennifer Ehle (whom I loved as Elizabeth in the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice) and Marcia Gay Harden (who's brilliant and transforms into a different person with every character she plays, rather than play the same character again and again), and they were totally underused in the film.

But all around me in the theater were other grown women, who kept sighing over the relationship between Anastasia and Christian, or maybe they were sighing over the times where Jamie Dornan took off his shirt in slow motion. I kept rolling my eyes and thinking, Seriously? THIS is what turns a former Twilight fan fiction writer into a best-selling novelist? I could write a better love story than THIS, especially because this story doesn't even seem to be about love at all! It seems more like it's a stalker-with-benefits relationship!

It also made me think that 50 Shades of Grey was a rip-off of the 1740 novel Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded, which was written by Samuel Richardson. The "love interest," Mr. B., pressures (and at one point tries to rape) the virtuous Pamela into becoming his mistress, and he even tries to "educate" her on the terms of their relationship by giving her reading material about what he wants. Mr. B. is also a very wealthy man, especially compared to Pamela, who is a servant. (Sound familiar?)

I hated that novel, because Pamela spends a significant portion of that story terrified of the "intimidating" Mr. B., and then when he finally lets her leave (after holding her captive for a significant period of time), she realizes that she loves him and marries him. Despite her earlier efforts to escape him, as his wife she submits to his control (hello, Stockholm Syndrome!). Mr. B. isn't into S&M, but the relation between him and Pamela was definitely about dominance and submission.

I might never get published, and I definitely don't think I'll ever achieve the kind of mainstream success that E.L. James has achieved. Even she admitted that she didn't think her book would turn into the success that it did, and that's a good attitude to have, because there are far too many aspiring writers who only want to write so they can become rich and famous, which makes it clear that they will not only not last long as writers but also that they know nothing about the writing life.

Once I finally finish my dissertation (and once I get it approved, fingers crossed), I'll revise the novels I've written. I'll keep writing and sending out my stories to literary magazines. I'll still keep trying to improve my writing, so that if and when I do get published someday, a writing teacher won't pass out excerpts of my story and tell the students, "This is how you shouldn't write."

What about you? Have you seen/read Fifty Shades of Grey? If you have, what'd you think of it? How do you feel when you read bad writing or watch it play out on movie/TV screens?

When I Have Writer's Block

1. I think of whatever's annoying me at the moment (as I stated on Twitter, my brain is basically one eternal Seinfeld marathon, because I obsess over everything), and then I write about it. For example, I've filled up more than one page about the people who blast music and videos from their cell phones in cafes, so that it gets to the point that I want to hurl headphones at them.

2. I take advantage of the free-admission days at museums like the Art Institute, where I look at my favorite pieces of art, like the Miniature Rooms and the Impressionists' paintings. I sit on a bench and stare up at the beautiful art, thinking about the artists at work in their studios and how they didn't give up until they created something beautiful. A trip to the museum is enough to make me take out my journal and start writing, so that I can keep writing until I write something that is (hopefully) beautiful.

3. I eavesdrop on people's conversations at cafes, on the subway, at bus stops, in the grocery store, or in the laundry room, and then I write down what they say so that I can practice writing dialogue (and maybe even create interesting characters partly based on the people I listen to). For example, my journal is filled with lines I've overheard, like, "I can't believe he liked more of her selfies than mine. I thought it meant something when he followed me on Instagram," or "No, you can't sit there. My friend is sitting there, and he has every right to keep sitting there. It doesn't MATTER if he finished drinking his coffee an hour ago." and "I can't believe I had to sit through that whole movie. There were hardly any scenes with boobs in them." (I swear I'm not making any of these lines up. Chicagoans are weird.)

4. I reread my favorite books, like A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway or Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri. Reading a good book is like one of those rare days in Chicago where the weather is perfect and everyone stays outside to soak up every minute of it, because they know that it will be freezing cold or windy by the next day. Truly good books that make you think and feel things that no post on Twitter, Instagram, or Facebook will EVER make you feel in the same way motivate me to get back to work on my own stories.

5. I buy a cheap ticket to a play at one of the tiny theaters in Chicago, where more often than not the actors are ten times more talented than many of the A-list celebrities starring on the big screen. Sometimes I'll see a play that I know little about and ends up making me angry, like the one that spewed a bunch of distorted, bigoted crap about Catholics and made me want to stand up in the audience and shriek, "You're all going to HELL, you HEATHENS!" (I didn't, though I definitely felt tempted.) Sometimes I'll watch a play that is almost as good as one of my favorite books or paintings, so that it makes me marvel at how people utilize the talents that they were given and created something original and amazing. Either way, after immersing myself in the playwrights' world for a couple hours, it makes me want to get back to my own world that I created in my writing.

What about you? What kinds of things do you do when you have writer's block? Is there anything about your hometown in particular that helps you deal with writer's block?

P.S. Have a safe and happy New Year!

I Heart New York

I spent last week in New York City. I loved every minute of it, even though I accidentally got knocked over by naked people wearing body paint in Times Square, had to pay the price of three hot dogs for ONE hot dog, and may or may not have ended up in Coney Island when I was trying to go to the Upper East Side.

I spent four nights there, and I did and saw as many things as I could. The highlight of the week was watching Julia Stiles and James Wirt perform in the excellent off-Broadway play Phoenix. Along with other fans, I waited by the stage door after the show and got their autographs. I kicked myself for being too shy to ask to get my picture taken with Julia, whose work I've admired for fifteen years, ever since I saw her in 10 Things I Hate about You. But I watched her perform live and I got her autograph, so two out of three isn't bad. (She was very nice and gracious to everyone, and gave an autograph to everyone who asked, even the people with several DVDs.)

I spent more than two hours walking around Central Park, though that was partly because it took me more than an hour to figure out how to get OUT of Central Park.

I ate a peanut butter sundae at Serendipity Cafe and didn't feel too guilty eating it, seeing as how I spent hours every day walking around, muttering, "Where AM I?"

I took pictures from the 86th floor of the Empire State Building.

I bought a black Dean & DeLuca T-shirt and felt just like Felicity from the TV show, minus the beautiful hair and cute boyfriends.

I ate lasagna and gelato in Little Italy and beef chow fun in Chinatown. My hotel was in Chinatown, and in the morning I'd buy a fruit smoothie, go to the park nearby, and watch people do Tai Chi.

I watched people playing chess in Washington Square Park and thought of that scene in When Harry Met Sally where they said goodbye by the Washington arch.

I visited the New York Public Library and the bookstores the Strand, Shakespeare & Co., and Housing Works, and I bought a couple books.

I wrote in a cafe in Greenwich Village (which was my favorite neighborhood), and I window shopped in Soho and on Fifth Avenue.

I visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which was much bigger than my favorite museum in Chicago, the Art Institute.

I got up early every morning and only came back to my hotel room to shower and sleep. I spent all day walking around and marveling at how much bigger, louder, more crowded, and more colorful everything was in New York than in Chicago. I envied the people who lived there, and I thought of how cool it would be to teach, write, and live in New York City. (I'll probably end up in some small college town, though.)

The best part of the vacation was that for the first time in a long time, I felt happy and relaxed. I'd be standing in a subway car or walking around the East Village or eating dinner in Little Italy, and I'd find myself smiling.

It felt so good to escape my work, my anxieties about my work, my music-blasting, magazine-stealing, let's party like our parents pay our rent because they DO neighbors, the e-mails from students (and their parents) complaining about their grades, the phone calls from relatives asking why I'm not married yet, and my usual days that consisted of work, coffee, exercise, and kicking people who cut in front of me in line. In Chicago I often feel old. In New York I felt ten years younger, like I used to feel when I first moved to Chicago and walked around with the same awe and fascination. It felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

When my plane landed in O'Hare Airport, I found an e-mail regarding a presentation that I have to make in front of my entire department (where my work will be torn apart by graduate students AND professors), another e-mail regarding a bill that's due, and an e-mail from one of my professors regarding my dissertation. I also found out some deadbeat loser somehow used my phone number, and I started getting daily phone calls from aggressive bill collectors (I had to spend an hour on the phone to get THAT straightened out). The weight dropped back down on my shoulders, and I felt old, tired, and stressed out again.

But at least I still have my memory of that wonderful week in New York, and I've already resolved to visit that city again someday soon. I'm not going to wait another thirteen years before I travel again, and I realized that everyone needs a vacation, even a neurotic workaholic like me.

What about you? What are some of the best parts of the vacations that you've taken? Do you ever wish you could just escape all the everyday problems in your life?

The Best (and Worst) Things about Summer in Chicago

1. I don't have to put on four layers of clothes before I go outside.

2. I just wish that I hadn't eaten all that chocolate last winter so that I would feel more comfortable about walking around without four layers of clothes on.

3. I can go for a bike ride by the lake.

4. When I go bike riding, I have to deal with all the aggressive, nasty, and territorial cyclists on the bike path who yell, "On your left," "Incoming," and "GET OUTTA THE WAY, DAMMIT!"

5. The good-looking, muscular guys in tank tops.

6. The fact that most of the good-looking, muscular guys only have eyes for the skinny girls in short shorts.

7. Neighborhood festivals, like Halsted Market Days, Chinatown Summer Festival, and the Taste of Chicago.

8. People at the festivals who spill beer on you, which leaves you with no choice but to sneeze on their food.

9. Old movies that are shown on huge screens in the park, where people can set up beach towels, bring snacks, and watch the movies for free.

10. The jerks who set up huge lawn chairs right in front of the people sitting on beach towels, which leaves the latter with no choice but to throw popcorn at them.

11. The blue sky, sunlight, and a cool breeze that make you want to spend the whole day outside.

12. Sunburn, sweat, and bug bites from spending the whole day outside.

13. The view of the Chicago River and the skyscrapers in the Loop, which makes you realize how beautiful the city is.

14. The tourists who crowd the sidewalk, walk very slowly, and make you look forward to winter, when it'll be too cold for anyone to be on the sidewalk.

What about you? What are some of your favorite things (or pet peeves) about summer in your hometown?

Why I Am a Teetotaler

Last weekend, Chicagoans celebrated St. Patrick's Day early by dyeing the Chicago River green and having a big parade in the Loop. I didn't go to the parade, but I did see people all over my neighborhood dressed up like giant leprechauns.

Even though I had a lot of work to do (as usual), I agreed to go barhopping with a group of friends. I rarely drink alcohol; in fact, the last time I had a drink was a year and a half ago, when I attended my cousin's wedding in New Orleans. The night before the wedding, my younger cousins dragged me to Bourbon Street with them and made me have a cocktail; I drank a third of it and then secretly poured out the rest in the street when they weren't looking.

Last Saturday, I caved in to my friends' teasing about how I am a teetotaler and drank a few cocktails. I didn't get drunk, though; with each cocktail I drank, I drank a Coke, because I figured that the stimulant (caffeine) would counteract the depressant (alcohol). Each time I ordered a Coke for the first time at a different bar, the bartender would get this puzzled look on his or her face for a moment; one of them said, "Okay, but what do you want me to put IN the Coke?"

My friends and pretty much everyone else at the bars we went to, however, DID get drunk. I watched as everyone else's movements grew looser and more relaxed. I listened to their voices become slurred and louder. A lot of people became really rowdy. Some other guys at the bars got really aggressive, which happens at every club and bar. It's like, "Just because you're drunk, that does NOT mean you have the right to paw at me, so get your frickin' hands OFF me before I make you walk around with a limp for the next three days!"

I had been having fun hanging out with my friends, laughing and talking about what was going on in our lives and with our work. But the tone of the evening changed after they got drunk.

It reminded me of when I was in high school and attended my first "drinking party", which was held at a farm, and everyone got drunk in a field (what? I grew up in a small Midwestern town). No one was driving that night, because everyone slept over at the host's house. I was the only one who didn't drink any alcohol, and I watched as everyone guzzled beer, ran around, and yelled at the top of their lungs. I drove home early (I was sober, after all) so that I wouldn't have to watch them anymore.

When I was in college, I went to parties where there was alcohol. When I was in my twenties, I went with friends to bars and clubs that served alcohol too, of course. Occasionally I gave in to peer pressure and drank a cocktail, a beer, or a shot. I never had more than one or two drinks, though, and I never got drunk, only "tipsy". I didn't like the way alcohol tasted. I didn't like the way it made me feel when I drank it, because I knew that it lowered my inhibitions and it meant I wasn't fully in control of my actions. As a Type A personality, I am a total control freak and I HATE it if anything or anyone tries to control me.

I used to think that part of being young meant clubbing and barhopping; often, TV shows that feature young people show them drinking and having fun. For example, the characters on How I Met Your Mother apparently spend 90% of their time at a bar.

I used to think that I was "boring" compared to them, because I never felt comfortable in that kind of atmosphere. I preferred to hang out in a café or a bookstore, or go out for dinner with a few friends. Caffeine became my vice instead of alcohol, which is why I have become addicted to coffee and Coke (not "coke" with a lower-case C! I feel like if I ever did any of THOSE drugs I'd end up trying to climb the walls of my classroom and then my students would think I'm even MORE weird!). One of the reasons I moved to Chicago was because there are so many things to do here that DON'T involve alcohol.

So I stopped pretending to like alcohol, clubs, and bars. I still go to bars occasionally with friends, though I order soda 99% of the time. But I don't feel like I should have to apologize for the fact that I am a teetotaler, and I don't think it gives people the right to make fun of me or pressure me to "loosen up" and drink. I admit, though, that even though I resent people who judge me for being a teetotaler, I couldn't help judging people at the bars that night for getting drunk.

What about you? What do you think of the bar scene and drinking?

Savoring Summer

When I was younger, I liked those back to school commercials that advertised school supplies. I loved picking out brand new notebooks and pens for the classes I was going to take. But now that I'm a teacher, I don't feel that same sense of excitement when I see those commercials.

Don't get me wrong. I love teaching. Being in the classroom and interacting with the students are the best parts of teaching. Sometimes, students come up to me and tell me they loved one of the authors we studied so much that they started reading other books by that author on their own. That makes me feel like I just found out that I am the sole heir to the Coca-Cola Company. When I see the improvement in their writing over the course of the term, I get a great sense of satisfaction in knowing that they've learned something from me. When students get excited about what they're writing, it makes me feel happy and proud.

But on the other hand, I can't help dreading the prospect of grading dozens of papers on the same topic. I think of the students who not only complain about their grades but demand that I change them. I feel angry when I think of their parents, who send me nasty e-mails, ordering me to change their children's grades or not penalize them for being absent several weeks in a row (yes, this has happened several times. It bothers me that they want to be treated like adults but then run to their parents to fix their problems for them.).

One of these days I'm going to invent a device that will make all the students' cell phones automatically shut down as soon as they enter my classroom, so that they'll never text in my class again. (Of course, the students will react by shrieking, "I've just lost the love of my life! What am I going to DO?") I get stressed out when I think of all the excuses I'm going to hear from students who miss class again and again and again but still expect (or demand) A's.

I also think of my dissertation committee rejecting or tearing apart the chapter I've been working on. I've done so much writing and research that sometimes when I read fellow bloggers' posts, I automatically think, Wait. Where are all the footnotes? I'm afraid that my committee will tell me that what I've written is still not good enough and that I'm not smart enough to be in grad school.

Even though I have been studying and working all summer, for the first time in a long time I've given myself a chance to enjoy myself as well. (I was going to say that I've given myself a chance to "relax", but it's about as difficult for me to relax as it is for one of those "Bachelors" or "Bachelorettes" to keep a straight face when they claim that the only reason they're on TV is to find "true love".)

For example, a couple weeks ago I went to the Chinatown summer festival. It felt so good to be outside on a beautiful day. I ate delicious egg rolls, fried rice, and almond cookies. I even bought a couple souvenirs, including a pretty beaded bracelet that only cost three dollars and a small painting that unfolded like a scroll (it only cost $2.99!) to hang in my apartment. I saw people doing Tai Chi, and I watched the Lion Dance.

There was also a Chinese woman who was holding several sticks of incense, and she gave me one as I passed by. I couldn't understand what she said, but I saw other sticks of incense that had been placed in a container of sand in front of a small statue of Buddha. So I put the stick that she gave me in the sand. I also saw a small donation box, so I dropped some spare change in it. She and some other Chinese ladies thanked me and gave me a piece of cake. It wasn't until I walked away that I realized that even though I'm Catholic, I may have just made an offering to Buddha and a Buddhist temple.

In addition to the Chinatown summer festival, I also went to the Taste of Chicago in Grant Park, where restaurant vendors from all over the city set up stands and sold great food. I read several chick lit novels, and it was a relief to read stuff that wasn't written by people who think that using words that are only used in spelling bees makes them sound smarter. I went to movies with friends. I took walks around my neighborhood, and I wrote down in my journal all the funny, weird, and interesting things that I saw and heard. I also plan to visit the Art Institute on one of their free admission days; either that or I'd like to go to one of the movies featured in the Grant Park Film Festival (you can bring a beach towel to Grant Park and watch a movie for free on a large screen). I'm also interested in watching a free show that I heard about where a dance company is going to perform.

During the school year I'm always working. But during the summer I feel like I have more freedom to do other things that I want to do, and it feels good. I just wish that it didn't have to end, but it won't be long before school starts again.

I really need to work on that anti-cell phone device. I plan to use it on the people who talk on their phones in the movie theaters too, and then I'll point and laugh maniacally when they start freaking out.

What about you? What have been the best parts of your summer? When you were a student, did you look forward to going back to school? If you're a teacher, how do you feel about summer vacation?

Sad, Angry, and Scared

My eyes are red because I couldn't sleep very well last night. I kept thinking of what happened at the marathon. I kept seeing those images from the Boston Marathon, the ones of the runners lying on the ground, the people crying, and the police officers rushing to help them. But most of all, I thought of the eight year old child who was killed. And thinking of that child made me cry.

This morning I went grocery shopping, and all around me I could hear horns honking, drivers yelling, the train clanking on the tracks nearby, dogs barking, and people chatting on the sidewalks. The normalcy of it all failed to soothe me. Instead I wondered how the neighborhood could seem so ordinary when everything else in the world seemed to be so chaotic.

I went into the grocery store and walked into the produce department, and the bright colors of the fruits and vegetables nearly blinded me. That's when I realized I was crying again, and I had to go home.

I feel sad about what happened, even though I don't know anyone who was at the marathon. I feel sad for the people who saw what happened, the people who were killed or injured, and their families. I feel angry, too, because I can't help thinking of how much hate, fury, and pain a person or people can be filled with that can motivate them to do this. Nothing justifies what they did. Nothing.

I feel scared, too, because I live in a major metropolitan city, and I work on college campuses. What if something like that happened here? There have been many shootings and other violent incidents in Chicago; usually they're gang-related or "domestic disputes". At one school where I used to teach, someone once called in a violent threat, which turned out to be fake. I was on the bus yesterday and for one panic-stricken moment I thought a guy had a gun in his pocket. But he pulled out a water bottle and started drinking from it, and it made me realize how all the violence that has occurred lately has put me on edge.

But there is one good thing that has come out of all this. Maybe it's selfish of me to say this, but I'm grateful to be alive. I'm grateful for all the things I took for granted before as well as all the things and people that are important to me. It doesn't take away all of my fear, sadness, and anger, but it helps me keep things in perspective.

Exercise Fanatics, Nacho Lovers, and Cubs Fans

(Side note: I wrote this post a couple days ago. When I read the articles about what happened at the Boston Marathon, I suddenly viewed the things that happened in this post from an entirely different perspective. I'm so sorry about what happened at the marathon, and I feel sad and scared for all the people who have been affected by it. I hope they find whoever did it so that it never happens again.)

Earlier this week I was using one of the weight-lifting machines at the gym, when I was suddenly confronted by a Possessive Exercise Fanatic. This is the kind of person who will spend a long time on each machine because he or she does several sets on it, but the Possessive Exercise Fanatic will also alternate by doing sets on other machines. The PEF thinks that because he or she hasn't completed all of his or her sets, that means the PEF is entitled to lay claim on all the machines he or she wants to use, even if the PEF isn't actually using them at that moment.

I kind of think of the PEFs as those little kids I encountered when I was younger, who would say stuff like, "These are all MY toys, MINE! You can't play with them!" Only the PEF's version is "These are all my exercise machines, MINE, and you can't use any of them until I'm done with them, because only I shall have the muscular biceps/six-pack abs/perfect calves, weakling! Hahahahaha!"

I had seen this particular Possessive Exercise Fanatic do several sets in a row on one of the machines, but then he moved on to another machine for several minutes. I thought that meant it was okay for me to use the machine that he had left. But I had barely done one set before he was tapping his foot in front of me and saying that he was still using it.

I insisted on finishing my set rather than get up and leave right away like he wanted, though what I wanted to say was, "Last time I checked, we both pay the same membership fees, so I have just as much right to use this machine as you do. So shall I drop a dumbbell on your foot now, or later? Because it will happen NOW if you keep hogging all the machines. And stop glaring at me like that, because otherwise I'm going to introduce my sneaker to your face."

When I was riding the train, I saw a guy eat nachos covered with jalapenos, sour cream, salsa, and beef out of a fast food container. Most people (including me) tend not to eat on the train, partly because of the fear that someone might sneeze on our food. But that didn't stop this guy. He only finished eating about half of the nachos. Before he left the train, he shoved the open container under his seat, so that the rest of us could admire his half-eaten meal and smell it for the rest of the ride. I wanted to chase after him and say, "Hey! You forgot something!" Then I'd yell, "Catch!" before flinging the nachos at him.

Inconsiderate, self-centered people like the Nacho Lover and the Possessive Exercise Fanatic drive me nuts. In fact, if people like them didn't exist, this blog would be at least two hundred posts shorter. I think that one reason they bother me so much is that I was taught to be considerate of other people. The nuns and priests at the Catholic school I went to when I was younger told us that we should do at least one good deed a day, if not more, and that included being considerate of other people. I think it's also partly due to the fact that I am a writer; writers are supposed to develop a stronger awareness of their surroundings, and that includes being observant of other people and their needs. (On the other hand, I know that there are plenty of writers out there who are observant but also very rude.)

So I try to be considerate of other people, and that includes cleaning up after myself, not hogging anything, and not blasting my music or television at all hours.  I also try to help other people in small ways, at least once a day, whether it's leaving a tip for the baristas at the cafes that I write in, holding a door open for someone, buying a sandwich for a homeless person, or helping a person in a wheelchair cross the street. In other words, I try to remember what I was taught, which was that I should treat other people the way I would want to be treated.

That's why it's still disheartening when I come across supposedly mature adults who show no consideration for other people and focus solely on their own concerns, even if it hurts or annoys someone else. I'm supposed to "turn the other cheek", but what I really want to do is introduce my sneaker to their faces. But I'm not a violent person, even though sometimes I fantasize about what it would be like if I was the female version of Jackie Chan or James Bond. Then NO ONE would dare mess with me.

I often write down what I'd like to say to those people, because I know if I said it out loud it would probably start a fight. I know I shouldn't let their rude, thoughtless behavior bother me, but it does.

But fortunately, not all people are like that. On the day of the first Cubs game of the season, there were several people wearing baseball caps, jackets, and shirts with the Cubs logo on them. When I saw them on the train, I immediately thought, Oh, MAN. Now the train is going to be extra crowded, and I'm going to have to listen to them say stuff like, "Do you think if I throw up later, it'll come out blue because I'm a Cubs fan?"  I also always end up trapped on a train full of Cubs fans when it's ninety degrees outside and the A/C isn't working. (Fortunately, it was cold that day.)

The train was crowded, but when I stood up at my stop to leave, I heard several of the Cubs fans whisper to each other, "Step out of the way. She's trying to get off the train." Unlike many locals I've seen who only inch out of the way or don't move at all when other people try to get off the train, or who push and shove their way onto the train before the people in the train have a chance to get off, these people actually made a narrow path for me to get through. Their courtesy and consideration for me, a perfect stranger, made me think that chivalry really isn't dead after all. (It also made me think that maybe they were tourists who hadn't adopted the "me first" mentality that so many Chicago commuters have.)

So on the rare occasion when someone is considerate towards me or when I see someone doing a good deed for someone else, it always makes my day. That incident on the train almost made up for the time that I was in Wrigleyville after a game and saw Cubs fans peeing outside of apartment buildings.

What about you? What is an example of rude or inconsiderate behavior that bugs you, and how do you deal with it?

P.S. Is it true that there won't be a Google Reader anymore starting in July? How are we supposed to know when blogs are updated without it?

Home Is...

The small Midwestern town that I grew up in, even though I couldn't wait to leave it when I was a teenager.

The big Midwestern city that I've lived in for years, even though I don't even notice its beauty half the time because I'm so focused on getting to work, to the gym, to my apartment so that I can add to my list of things that annoy me (#47: People who sing along off-key to pop songs at the top of their lungs in the middle of a busy commuter train. Britney Spears' music should not be desecrated in that way.)

My dream house, which has a big front porch with a swing that I could sit on while reading books outside in the summer.

Not the tiny studio apartment that I currently live in.

The peace and quiet of my hometown, where I could close my eyes and actually hear myself think.

Not the car alarms blaring, horns honking, loud music playing, people yelling, and me shrieking at my window, "For the love of God, it's three A.M.! SHUT UP!"

The wide streets in my hometown that I used to ride my bike on to get to the ice cream shop or the playground.

The dirty subway tunnels that I walk through or the crowded trains that I ride to get to work, where some people practically tackle each other in order to get seats.

The classrooms where I teach, where several of my students have written on their course evaluations that I seem really happy when I'm teaching. And I am.

Not the classrooms and lecture halls where I attend graduate lectures that I usually only understand 10% of, and where I find myself thinking, Being trapped in an elevator for two hours with the Kardashians, their boyfriends, and their ex-husbands would be less painful than this.

The Harold Washington Library, where there are several floors of books. The first time I went there, I thought, In heaven, there are books. 

Not the libraries at the schools where I've taught, because many of the undergrads think that "Quiet Study Area" means "Talk, Socialize, Update Your Facebook Page Twenty Times Per Hour, and Play Music on Your iPhone without Headphones Area".

A guy who I could trust completely and who would make me think that maybe true love isn't something that only happens to other people.

Not any of the guys I've dated, especially not the one who criticized me for not "fixing myself up" enough for the date or the one who made up a lame excuse to leave early less than an hour after the date started, which made me think, I wonder if voodoo dolls really work. Maybe I could buy one and name it after him.

The pages of my journal and the files that hold my manuscripts in my laptop, where I can immerse myself in the worlds that I've created.

Not the tabloids that over-analyze celebrities' lives and invade their privacy or the reality shows that make it seem like you have to be drunk, stupid, or mean in order to be famous.

The books by good authors that inspired me to write in the first place.

They say that home is where your heart is. I think that your heart can be in more than one place. I also think that home is made up of all the places and things that make you happy, and that help you survive all the other places that you can't wait to get away from.

What about you? What is home to you?

(I Wish I Was A) World Traveler

The last time I did any traveling was more than eleven years ago, when I spent a summer in Spain as part of a study abroad program. Several of the other students in the program enjoyed going to bars and clubs and partying with American tourists, but I figured that I could do that at home. So I often went out to explore on my own.

One thing I noticed about a lot of the people in Spain was how relaxed they were. I liked that they took a two hour siesta in the middle of the afternoon. They weren't rushing around constantly, and they weren't glued to their cell phones like the Americans at home were. They took the time to enjoy long lunches with their friends, and they seemed happier.

So that summer, I followed their example. Instead of spending all my time studying, I walked up and down the streets of the city I was living in. I browsed through almost every shop I came across. I went to restaurants and bars during the day; because I couldn't speak a lot of Spanish yet, I would often just point to dishes that were on display or items on the menu. I ended up eating a lot of good food that way. I even traveled to other cities in Spain. I brought my journal everywhere with me, so that I could write down everything I saw and experienced. Maybe it was because I was only twenty, or maybe it was because I was in Europe, but for one summer, it felt wonderful to not be a workaholic.

But ever since then, I haven't really done much traveling. I visit my parents twice a year, for a week or two at a time; they live in a different state. I don't have the time or the money to travel anywhere else. My passport expired a while ago, but I didn't bother to renew it.

Recently, I went to New Orleans for a couple days to attend a relative's wedding. I'd never been there before. Since I had my mornings and afternoons free, I walked up and down Canal Street and around the French Quarter. I watched artists selling their paintings in a small park, and I took pictures of the river. I tried not to stare at the women who were clad only in their underwear, standing in the doorways of peep shows and strip clubs.

I browsed through souvenir shops. (Side note: what is it about being a tourist that makes you more willing to buy overpriced stuff? It's like, "Yes, I WILL buy that magnet for $3.95! What a deal!") I even bought one of those colorful Mardi Gras masks with feathers attached to it, even though the chances of my attending a Mardi Gras party are about as likely as my going to a death metal concert and then heading to a tattoo parlor afterwards. I went to cafes and watched people singing and dancing in the streets. It felt good to be somewhere other than Chicago for once. (I'd post the pictures I took, but I'm a terrible photographer. The pictures kind of look like I drank a bunch of caffeine and then rode a roller coaster for an hour before taking them.)

After the rehearsal dinner, my younger cousins (who are all in their twenties) took me with them to Bourbon Street. As I walked with them and looked at all the bars, the people standing and drinking on balconies watching the people below, the guys lifting up their shirts to get free beads (I thought it was just the girls who did that), and all the people with beers and cocktails in their hands, I kept thinking of that line from Dante's Inferno: "Abandon all hope, all ye who enter here." (Nothing against New Orleans, of course, which I liked very much. But can you tell I'm a teetotaler? It doesn't really bother me if other people drink, though, as long as they don't throw up on my shoes.)

Many people spend their twenties traveling all over the country or the world. They take road trips across America or they go backpacking in Europe. I, on the other hand, spent my twenties resisting the urge to staple expired coupons to rude customers' foreheads and telling undergrads, "WHY do you have to come to class? Because I SAID so, darn it!" 

I worked multiple jobs because I had to; it allowed me to support myself while I was in graduate school and while I was teaching. I learned a lot from those jobs. But sometimes I wish I had been able to do more traveling, because I wish I could be that girl I was in Spain all those years ago.

Once I finally finish grad school (which, as I've stated before, is quite similar to the nine circles of Hell), I will do more traveling. Maybe I'll go back to Spain, or maybe I'll go to France and write in cafes like Hemingway did. And for the first time in a long time, I'll let myself relax.

What about you? Have you done a lot of traveling? If so, where have you gone? If not, where would you like to go?

Concert Wallflower

I went to two concerts this past week. The first one was for a singer-songwriter named Meiko, who I've blogged about before. Meiko's concert was held at Lincoln Hall, which is half bar, half concert hall. Tickets were only fifteen dollars apiece. It was great because I was able to get a seat in the balcony, and I had a perfect view of the stage. During the concert, I felt a little self-conscious, because most of the other people there were with dates or friends, and I was alone. Most people I know don't like my taste in music, ever since I went through my boy band phase when I was a teenager and I can still name that Britney Spears song in three notes.

(Side note: A few days later, I told one person about the concert, and the first question she asked was, "Who'd you go with?" She thought it was weird that I went by myself. But the truth is, I like going to stuff like concerts, museums, and bookstores on my own, because then I can decide where I want to go, how long to stay, and what to do.)

After the concert, I stood in a long line and got Meiko's autograph and my picture taken with her. I was too shy to say much to her, but she was very nice. (I'd post my picture with her on this blog, but then people would know who I am and what I look like. Not to mention I'm not very photogenic. I'm always afraid that people will look at my picture and think, Hmm. Are they doing a remake of the movie Gremlins?)

The second one was held at North Halsted Market Days, which is a summer festival that is held every year in Lakeview, my favorite neighborhood in Chicago. Lakeview is also known as Boystown, and it's the one place in Chicago where guys always look at my face rather than my chest when they talk to me.

When I walked through the festivals, I saw a bunch of muscular, shirtless guys dancing around in tight shorts. I couldn't help thinking of that line from Coleridge's poem, "Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink," because all those guys were gay. 

The band Karmin performed in the second concert. It was a lot more crowded than Meiko's concert, probably because Karmin is more well-known and Market Days is a popular festival. I had to stand in a crowd of people the whole time, and during the concert I came up with a few things that I wish I could have said to my fellow concert-goers:

1. Don't smoke during an outdoor concert. Maybe you don't mind getting lung cancer, but I'd like to live long enough to see aliens take over the world, or at least long enough to see all the reality shows get cancelled.
During the concert, several people were smoking. Since it was so crowded, that meant everybody else had to breathe in the cigarette smoke, which is why I thought it was inconsiderate of the smokers to light up. It's like, I like onions, but I'm not going to eat a bunch of onion rings and breathe them on everyone. I felt tempted to pour my can of soda (I was one of the only people not drinking beer) over the cigarettes of the people smoking, but then I got an image of newspaper headlines saying something like: NEUROTIC WORKAHOLIC ATTACKS SMOKERS WITH SODA, CAUSES RIOT. So I figured I shouldn't do it.

2. The singers are not going to go out with you. During the concert, several of the guys kept calling out to the male half of the band, a keyboard player named Nick. The guys kept yelling, "Take your shirt off!" A girl nearby said, "He's straight." (He's also engaged to the female half of the band, a singer/rapper named Amy.) The guys all replied, "It doesn't matter."

It made me think of Meiko's concert, where several of the guys tried to hit on Meiko. When she was talking between songs, one of the guys kept yelling out, "I'll take you out for a beer!" I couldn't help wondering if any of those come-ons ever worked.

3. Don't sit on your friend's shoulders. Whenever I go to a movie, I am often struck by the Big Head Curse, meaning I often get stuck sitting behind someone with an enormous head. Most of the people at the concert were guys, and most of them were taller than me. That would have been okay, except one guy standing in front of me sat on top of his friend's shoulders for half the concert, so that it was difficult for me to see the band. I thought about asking him to get down or pushing him down to the ground if he said no, but then I saw those news headlines again: NEUROTIC WORKAHOLIC GOES ON RAMPAGE, CAUSES RIOT.

During Karmin's concert, several people started dancing around me. I can dance in the classes at my gym, but that's only because we're all doing the same dance moves. But when everyone started dancing at the concert, I felt like I was frozen. I was one of the only people who was just standing there. I wanted to dance, because it looked like fun and I liked the music. And a couple of the gay guys kept trying to dance with me, because they were nice. But I just smiled and stood there. I've never been very good in social situations like that. I always just feel awkward.

I can't help wondering if that awkwardness stems from the fact that I'm shy around people I don't know, or if it's one of the things about being an adult. When I was a kid, I didn't care if anyone heard me singing at the top of my lungs, and if I felt like dancing, I did it. But now that I am an adult, I can't help worrying about how people would look at me and what they would say. I know I shouldn't care, and most of the time I don't. After all, if I did care that much about what people thought, I'd wear makeup and dresses, drink alcohol, and go to bars and clubs instead of bookstores and coffeehouses. But I think that as far as dancing in public goes, I still have to work up the courage. Maybe next time.

What about you? Do you ever feel self-conscious in social situations like that? Do you think that people should abide by certain concert etiquette, and if so, what kinds of rules would you come up with?

And in honor of the musicians, here's the video for Karmin's hit single, "Brokenhearted":



Here's the video for Meiko's new song, "Leave the Lights On".

People Watching

More than one writing book has said that people watching is a good way to fight writer's block. They advise writers to take a walk around their neighborhood, sit in a cafe and write about the customers, or go to a shopping mall and watch the people go in and out of the stores.

There was a scene in my manuscript that I was stuck on. It just didn't sound right, and I didn't enjoy writing it. I thought about cutting it out altogether, but the scene was important to the story; it was supposed to reveal something important about the main character and her brother. I just couldn't figure out how to make it ring true, so I set aside my manuscript for almost two weeks.

Not writing for that long makes me frustrated and cranky, and it also makes me so bored that I'm almost tempted to watch reruns of The Hills (almost). So I decided to try people watching by taking a walk around my neighborhood.

I opened the door of my apartment, only to see one of my neighbors rush by in his underwear. He was on his way to throw a bag of garbage down the trash chute. I wouldn't have minded if he looked like Channing Tatum, but he looked more like John Goodman before he lost 100 pounds. (Don't get me wrong. I like John Goodman. He's a terrific actor, and he's actually pretty handsome. But I'd rather not see him run around in briefs, you know?) I quickly closed my door and had to rinse my eyes out with water in order to get the image out of my head.

When I finally felt safe enough to leave my apartment again, I took a walk down my street. I saw the same couple I see almost every morning. They were standing outside their building with their arms around each other, kissing. What I find interesting is that they always make a point of looking around between kisses, either because they want to make sure that no one's watching, or they want to make sure that everyone's watching.

I turned a corner and nearly bumped into a woman walking down the street wearing nothing but sneakers, long shorts and a bra. Not a sports bra or a bikini top, but an actual bra. It reminded me of that Seinfeld episode where Elaine gives a female acquaintance a bra as a gift, and the woman wears it like a top and walks around outside in it. I saw several guys turn to stare at this woman, but they looked more confused than anything else. They were all, Wait, am I dreaming, or am I still drunk right now? 

It also seemed to me like my neighborhood had been invaded by a bunch of babies. I saw several women and men, some of whom were pushing strollers; others were carrying babies in their arms. The babies looked so cute, with their tiny hands, chubby cheeks, and round heads. It reminded me of how I want to be a mother someday, and I felt tempted to kiss the babies' foreheads. But I would probably get arrested if I went around kissing babies' foreheads, so I didn't do it.

I also saw a little boy walking hand in hand with his mother. She was talking on her cell phone, but he was looking around at everything on the street. I saw him watching the people yelling at each other across the street, the drivers honking their horns, the happy dogs leading their owners, and a barista offering free drink samples at a cafe nearby. His eyes were very wide and he seemed genuinely fascinated by everything. Out of all the people I observed, I thought it would be good to be like him.

After I finished walking around, I went to a cafe and wrote several pages for my manuscript. I felt better than I had in a while. I also came to a few conclusions: 1) A lot of my neighbors are weird. 2) Some of them need to wax their backs. 3) I don't think I'm a prude for saying that people should put their clothes on before they leave their homes. 4) Even though a lot of my neighbors drive me up the wall, they often give me something to write about.

What about you? Does people watching work for you when you're fighting writer's block? Do you find yourself observing people when you walk around your neighborhood, and what kinds of things have you seen/learned?

How to (Not) Meet the One

Recently I came across an article titled "How to Meet 'The One' While Running Errands". Naturally, I read it, because I've been taking a break from online dating for the past several months, ever since one of the guys I talked to on okcupid insulted me because I wasn't comfortable with his assertion that three is not a crowd (cough, cough). I could go to bars, which is where a lot of guys hang out. I have two female friends who used to go barhopping often to meet guys; they called it "hunting". I went with them a few times, but I just called it "lame".

All this time I've been focused on just getting my errands done as quickly as possible without head-butting anyone who gets in my way. But I could have met my soul mate, at least according to this article.

One errand that is good for finding "the one", according to this article, is grocery shopping.  It says, "When you see a hot guy pushing a cart filled with family portion style meals, forget him. He's not single. He's likely to be a well-trained husband. Single guys carry baskets and hang around the frozen pizza aisle!"

The only thing is that I've always been a morning bird rather than a night owl, which is why I prefer to get my grocery shopping done before 10 A.M. I'm able to do this since I usually teach in the late morning and have office hours in the afternoon, and my website job is done in the evenings and on weekends. Most of the people shopping at the supermarket when it's that early are elderly people. I don't want to sound like too much of an ageist, but I really just don't want to date someone who's at least fifty years older than me, you know? I just don't know how all of Hugh Hefner's girlfriends deal with it (And I'd rather not know, frankly.).

I suppose I could go grocery shopping later in the day, when more guys are getting off of work and are stopping in to buy dinner. I tried that in the past, and one of two things usually happened. I became impatient and stressed out by all the long lines and people cutting in front of me, to the point that I would have whapped them in the head with my box of Froot Loops if I had any less self-restraint.

The other was that I'd often see couples and groups of people shopping together; they'd be buying lots of food for meals that they'd cook together, or they'd be buying beer and junk food for parties. I always felt like they could tell that I was alone because of the single-serving meals that I bought, and it just made me feel lonely. Of course, there's loneliness in the morning crowd too; some of the elderly people will stand in line and chat with the cashiers for a few minutes. I'm less impatient with them holding up the line than with the younger people; I have the feeling that they strike up conversations with the cashiers because they're lonely. I might end up like them someday, a lonely old woman who just wants someone to talk to. 

The article said that you could also meet a potential mate at the bookstore; it said, "While you're browsing, check to see if there's more than a bestseller you fancy devouring!" I did go to Unabridged Bookstore recently. It's a really great bookstore that's in East Lakeview, my favorite neighborhood in Chicago (I wish I could afford to live there).

However, East Lakeview is also known as Boystown, which means that a gay guy is more likely to meet a potential match at Unabridged than I am. Not to mention I'm happiest in bookstores; it always thrills me to be in a room filled with other people's words and ideas. When I'm at the bookstore, I'm usually more focused on finding an interesting book to read than anything else.

But there was a guy at Unabridged who caught my eye that day; when he looked at me, he suddenly looked up and then looked away. So I looked up too, and I realized that I was standing in the erotica section, as evidenced by the book covers featuring pictures of half-naked people. Oops. (I don't read erotica; I know it's a legitimate and popular genre, and a lot of people do enjoy reading and writing it. But I always fear that if I buy one of those books I'll run into one of my students or one of the nuns from my church at the same time. That's also the reason that I feel self-conscious when shopping for new underwear.)

Another tip the article gave was this: "Wherever you go, walk the walk! Men find a woman's walk sexier when she adopts the natural human stride, a loose, gentle gait and swinging arms." But I happen to be a total klutz. The last time I tried walking like that, I ended up running away from a dead rat and nearly knocked over some guy in the process. So that one's a no go as far as I'm concerned.

I figure I'll try online dating again in a few months, but not anytime soon. Right now I still need to focus on my dissertation prospectus; I wrote a new draft and gave it to two of the people on my committee. I'm hoping they'll like this new draft better this time so that I won't end up feeling as devastated as I did the last time I turned in a draft; I was devastated because my mentor said that I'd done it all wrong. Also, even though I really do want to meet someone, I kind of like being on my own right now.

What do you think? What do you think are some good places to meet potential matches, other than online dating sites? If you've already found "the one", how did you meet him/her?

Stuff Chicagoans Say

I found these videos on Youtube after reading an article about them, and I just had to share them with all of you. I love both of them, especially the part where the girl says, "Just take LSD to get there" (LSD = Lakeshore Drive), and the parts where the people are singing jingles from those annoying commercials for Empire Carpet and Luna. Those commercials bug me almost as much as that Binder & Binder commercial with that guy who always creeps me out, the one where he puts on a cowboy hat and says, "We'll deal with the government. You have enough to worry about." (Why the cowboy hat? Is that supposed to be reassuring? Or is he about to gallop away on a horse and fight the bad guys in a 1950s western movie?)

And I have to say that the people in the video are really not exaggerating the way Chicagoans speak or act. As they say, forty degrees is NOT cold; that's barbecue weather in Chicago! And as far as where the best pizza is made? Giordanos, of course!

But I've never made snow angels in the city. For one thing, the snow's usually too dirty from the mud splashed on it by passing cars as well as hundreds of footprints from people walking over it. I'm also too afraid that I'll either drown in the enormous piles of snow or get trampled by impatient commuters on their way to the train or tourists on their way to Michigan Avenue.

Both videos reminded me of how much Chicago has become home to me since I moved here several years ago, and how I've said several of the things that are said in both videos on more than one occasion. (Except for the stuff about sports, since I like football about as much as Hugh Hefner likes monogamy.)

I do try to remember how much I love Chicago on the days when I am stuck waiting for the El that's twenty minutes late in arriving, only for it to break down after I've only been on it for five minutes. And then I have to take a bus that also happens to be at least twenty minutes late and I end up crammed into a bus with a bunch of angry commuters who look like they're ready to whap someone in the face with their copies of the Red Eye just so they can sit down, while other commuters at the next bus stop see how crowded the bus is and believe that the only rational thing to do is to make the bus even more crowded by squeezing themselves in.

I also try to remember that Chicago really is a great city to live in, despite the days when I see rats scampering along the tracks when I'm waiting for the subway. I have this slightly irrational fear that they'll somehow find their way onto the platform and attack all the commuters before they take over the city and threaten to bite anyone who says, "Da Bears." I remind myself that I am lucky to live here, even when I'm walking down the street and see trash scattered all over the place by people too lazy to just walk less than half a dozen steps to the trash cans that are on practically every corner. It's also important to remind myself of why I haven't yet left the city for a place that doesn't annoy the hell out of me on a regular basis (but really, seeing as how I am completely neurotic, I don't think that place actually exists) on days when it's so windy that it looks like everyone's moving in slow motion, because they actually are. But I digress.

But on the other hand, I chose to move to this beautiful city, and I choose to stay here (at least for now), even though it drives me crazy to be a Chicagoan half the time. I would like to live somewhere else someday, maybe another city like New York or Boston, or maybe a quiet college town halfway across the country. I've also always had this fantasy of living in Europe someday, like one of the American expatriate writers. But for now, I live here because this city really is home to me, and it's hard to imagine what the past several years would have been like or who I would be if I had lived somewhere else.

(Side note: I don't usually swear on this blog, so I should warn you that there are some curse words in one of the videos, though you might have guessed that from the titles of the videos.)





Here's the Facebook page I found on the Youtube page of the first video: www.facebook.com/obramusic.

For more info about the people in the second video, check out their links below; I got the links from their Youtube page.

Robert Bacon - https://twitter.com/#!/tastethebacon
Marie Maloney - https://twitter.com/#!/marie_maloney
Tess Borgerding - http://ioimprov.com/chicago/performers/tess-borgerding

I've noticed that there's been a bit of a stir online over the fact that the second video focuses more on the North Side; I don't see what the big deal is, because the North Side is part of Chicago after all, and it's not like they're saying that the North Side is all there is in the city, which it obviously isn't. But then again, a lot of Chicagoans can be very territorial when it comes to their neighborhoods, no matter which side of the city they live on. 

What kinds of stuff do people say where you live? What kinds of beliefs do outsiders have about your hometown that aren't actually accurate? Why do you choose to stay there? Have you ever thought about living anywhere else?

Happy Groundhog Day, everyone! Only six more weeks of winter! (Except in Chicago, winter's going to feel like it lasts a lot longer, like it does every year! But hey, what are you gonna do? It's not like this is L.A.)

Tourists Say the Darndest Things

I want to swim in the lake, but I'm afraid that the sharks might get me.

Let's go check out the Marilyn Monroe statue. I'm going to look up her dress and see if she's wearing any underwear.

What do you think is IN these Chicago-style hot dogs?

The walk signal is flashing. I'm sure the cars will stop for us.

I didn't think it'd be this hot in July. I thought Chicago was supposed to be cold all the time.

If you wear a Cubs shirt, then everyone will think you're a local.

Why does everyone look so mad all the time?


What I'd like to say to tourists:

If your shorts were any shorter, you'd be mooning people right now.

You do realize that when you and your entire family walk really slowly, stop every five seconds, and block the sidewalk like that, you are basically giving impatient Chicago locals permission to knock you over, right?

It's perfectly fine to ask bus drivers for directions. It is NOT fine to prevent other passengers from getting on the bus while you block the entrance and harass the bus driver into telling you how to get to every single place on your itinerary.

It is also NOT okay to pay the bus fare for you and all thirteen of your relatives with coins. By the way? The reason all the commuters look so angry right now is that they are about two seconds away from a MUTINY.

If you're going to sneeze all over people, could you at least aim away from my direction?

When I first moved to Chicago, I was like the tourists. I took pictures of everything and wrote about what I saw and experienced in my journal. After growing up in a small town, I was in awe of city life and the idea that I could walk down the street without running into at least half a dozen people that I knew.

I took in as much of the city as I could. I went to museums, concerts, plays, neighborhood festivals, and movie screenings in Grant Park. I spent hours sitting by the lake and watching the water move. When I went out, I was observant of everything that I saw and heard, because I didn't want to miss a thing.

But now after several years of living here, I feel like I've lost that perspective of Chicago that I had when I was like one of the wide-eyed tourists. Now I just look at the city in terms of where I need to go, as in from Point A to Point B to Point C. I've become so wrapped up in work and school that I don't have the time or money to experience the city in the way that I used to, and I miss it.

On the other hand, I think that living in the city for this long gives me the right to act like a snob and mock the tourists.

What about you? How do you feel about your hometown? Can you imagine living anywhere else?

And because I'm feeling nostalgic, here's an oldie but goodie by Frank Sinatra. Technically, Chicago's not my hometown, but in a way it is because I feel more at home here than I did anywhere else.

Rainbow Bracelets and Guys in Shorts

As a workaholic, I'm a big fan of to-do lists. It gives me a sense of accomplishment and purpose to be able to cross something off my list, and that list enables me to get a lot of stuff done. Without a list of things to do, I'm more than likely going to waste time (and if there's one thing a workaholic hates, it's wasting time instead of getting things done or working) and veg out in front of the TV and watch Law and Order reruns. (I heart you, Sam Waterston!)

Without a to-do list I'll spend hours surfing the Internet, watching funny YouTube videos and reading weird news stories, like the controversy about the guy who was kicked off a flight because he refused to pull up his baggy pants, but a guy on a different flight who wore no pants at all except for a pair of women's underwear was allowed on board. (Side note: That story made me wonder if he normally walks around with just women's underwear on. Like, does he go to work or the grocery store dressed like that? He looked pretty pleased with himself in the picture that was taken of him, so I'm thinking that he probably did it just to see if he could get away with it. Or maybe he really does go out in women's underwear on a regular basis.)

I don't make a to-do list every day; usually I'll allow myself some flexibility by making at least one list per week. That way, I'll have several days to get everything done. Below are some of the things on my to-do list from this past week:

1. Go to the grocery store before 10 A.M. in order to avoid accidentally slamming my shopping cart into someone else's and to avoid standing in lines behind people who sigh really loudly and make passive-aggressive remarks about people who cut in front of them (though I must admit that sometimes I'll sigh and make remarks too, or, if I've already had coffee that morning, I'll say, "HEY! The back of the line is over THERE, MISTER! Yeah, I'm talking to YOU!")

What I did: I went to the grocery store before 10 A.M. I tried to avert my eyes and not look judgmental when I saw someone trying unsuccessfully to climb over the barricade to the liquor aisle (in Illinois it's illegal to sell alcohol before noon).

2. Figure out more ways to save/earn money, since I recently realized after getting paid from my retail job that my earnings from that job don't actually cover half my bills like I thought they would (I miscalculated my earnings, mainly because of the taxes); they barely cover a third of my expenses.

What I did: I picked up an extra shift at my retail job, and I worked extra hours at my website job too. I went online and searched through my grocery store's weekly ads to find coupons and managed to clip a few, though unfortunately I didn't have as much luck as the folks on Extreme Couponing do in finding coupons. (It's just as well, because I don't have room in my apartment for fifty extra pounds of meat or a dozen extra bottles of laundry detergent. I suppose I would if I took out my furniture, but I don't think that it would be very comfortable to sleep on several boxes of frozen dinners or a bunch of milk jugs.)

I thought of other possible ideas for saving money. Idea #1: Shave all my hair off so that I don't have to spend money on haircuts or hair products anymore. On the other hand, since it's summer I'd probably have to spend money on sunscreen so that my head doesn't get sunburned. I have a round face, so if I did get sunburned my head would end up looking like one of those talking M&Ms or a giant red gumball with eyes.

3. Go to the only place in Chicago where it is almost guaranteed that I won't get hit on by guys: Boystown, to attend either the Pride Parade or the Pride Festival.

What I didn't do: Go to the Pride Festival. When I first moved to Chicago, I went to as many festivals as I could like any other wide-eyed tourist who had not yet realized that most festivals sold the same overpriced food, drinks, and souvenirs. Also, the thing about hanging out at an outdoor festival for too long is that you're often left with no choice but to use one of the Port-a-Potties. And in my opinion, using one of those is like eating off of someone else's dirty dinner plate or blowing your nose with a used Kleenex. I did go to the Pride Festival last year, though, and I had a nice time; I also got a free rainbow bracelet  and a free magnet with a picture of a male underwear model on it.

What I did: attend the Pride Parade. I saw Governor Quinn, along with several other politicians, waving at the people watching on the sidelines. I waved back. I saw drag queens dancing in colorful costumes. I saw a bunch of women on motorcycles riding around, including one woman riding a motorbike with an inflatable woman sitting behind her. I saw a guy wearing a coconut shell bra and a hula skirt playing the trombone. I saw a bunch of people yell out, "WOOOO!!" every time another float or a group of dancers/politicians/activists passed by. (And eventually, I started WOOO-ing too.)

I saw several good-looking guys in tight shorts dancing to songs by Ke$ha and Lady Gaga.  Side note: I couldn't help secretly wishing that there was at least one event each year where good-looking, muscular, straight guys felt comfortable enough to walk around in tight shorts (though preferably not women's underwear. I'm not judging any guy who does wear it; it's just that I'd rather not walk behind any guy on the street wearing nothing but a pair of women's underwear, you know?) with their shirts off like a lot of the good-looking, muscular, gay guys do at the Pride Parade.

It was one of those rare days in Chicago where the weather was beautiful and mild. It was also one of those rare days where I didn't feel tired, stressed out, or easily irritated by anything and everything. Instead, I felt happy to be watching the parade, happy to be living in Chicago, a city that still thrills and surprises me even though I've lived here for years, happy to be outside, happy to be around other people who were cheering and waving for the beaded necklaces that the people in the parade were throwing to them. But most of all, I felt happy because I didn't have to work.

What about you? What do you think of to-do lists? If you have one, then what's on your list?

Side note: Michelle Davidson Argyle, who is a novelist and writes the blog The Innocent Flower (her blog on writing was one of the first blogs I started following when I first started blogging, because it's filled with interesting stories about her experiences as a writer and great advice on writing and self-publishing), is celebrating the one-year anniversary of the release of her novella Cinders. In honor of her celebration, she's hosting a giveaway where you can win an autographed copy of her book and an autographed bookmark. Stop by her blog to check it out!