For what it's worth.

We race through Logan Airport.

We trip old folks that walk too slow.

(we hastily apologize to said old folks)

We work two back-to-back 12 hour days without complaint.

We pack until 1:00 and then get up at 5:00 and race the sun to Midway.

We get on flying death tubes, and irrationally cold buses.

We eat questionable sandwiches and ration warm, stale water like we're stranded in the Sahara.

(the second bit wouldn't be as necessary if someone could manage to remember her water bottle. whoops).

We do whatever it takes, and it has never not been worth it.

I'm coming for you 02564. 

Shiny happy people.

Today, I #treatyoself-ed to the extreme.

I bought a brand new laptop.

I spent way too much on it. Although, not as much as I could have - because sometimes knowing everyone pays off in the best ways.

And I wish I wasn't as excited as I am. But it is literally perfect. Its light and fast and oh-so-shiny.

I've loved the almost-seven years I've had with Bunny the original verybest Macbook but she now is on her very last legs and so, like the terrible person I am - I put her out to pasture. She'll live on my desk and be useful for when I need to look at old pictures or find old documents or do other old things. Sorry, old girl, you're old.

The past few months have been chock-full of new things. New wallet. New dresses. New yoga. New babies. I'm trying really hard to enjoy new things and not feel bad about enjoying them. I deserve nice things and I'm going to work really hard for them.

Starting with this sweet, sweet baby who is in desperate need of a name.

TYOE: New Orleans

All of my previous New Orleans experiences involved my numba one stunna T-Bone. She drove me around, introduced me to all the best food and people, didn't get to mad when I straight up stole said peoples' mardi gras beads in a drunken, kleptomania-fit.

Boyfriend and I have spent a lot of time sharing cities with each other this year. Except mostly, he's been sharing the cities of his childhood vacations with me - and now it was my turn to do some sharing. The problem was, I had had so much fun (read: to drink) and T had been such an amazing hostess, I could barely remember where things were or what they were called.

Luckily, she was able to drop the perfect amount of knowledge for a quick weekend trip.

If you're going to go to New Orleans and not have a car, you either have to resign yourself to many expensive cab rides, looooong trips on the trolley (and buses), tons of walking, or just staying right where you are (wherever that might be, which is probably the french quarter). Our trip included all of the above. We probably would have done a ton more walking, but late June in New Orleans is decidedly not walking weather.

Actually, to be totally honest, June in New Orleans is kind of miserable all around. I'm sure its better than August in New Orleans, but we spent most of the time feeling dizzy - unable to imbibe liquids in the quantity that we were sweating them out. I knew what the weather would be like going in, but it is made much worse by the lack of car. You find yourself outdoors much more often when you have to wait for cabs and buses. Lesson learned.

We did have fun. And we did exactly what we said we were going to - which was eat, drink, and relax without feeling the need to do anything.

What we did:

Walked around the important cemetary. For about 30 seconds. The dead were probably sweating too, and we didn't want to be around when their sweat mixed with our sweat and they reanimated.

The Nola Brewing Company all-you-can-drink-shit-show. I don't know if that's what they call it, but that is what it was. And as it happened immediately after Commander's Palace, we were a hot mess. What Nola Brewing Company Beer lacks in interesting flavor profiles it more than makes up for in giving out as much as you can drink in souvenier pint glasses.

A ghost tour. Boyfriend's one request. It was later in the evening, once the sun had set, which made it delightfully psydo-spooky and was a much cooler option than a mid-day tour of anything.

Sat by the pool. Mariott, your pool deck in New Orleans is gross. I will still sit there because I cannot resist a pool deck, dirty towels and empty beer cans be damed.

Walked around the French Quarter. Of course we did. We're tourists. We had fun buying art and trinkets but found ourselves quickly out of things to look at. You need about 2 hours to explore enough of the french quarter to feel satiated. Any more than that and you're wasting time.

What we ate:

Commanders Palace. Three martini lunch for.the.win. If you go to Commander's Palace for dinner you are doing it wrong.

Felix's. Our sweet friend Sunshine said it was one of her favorite places and it was still open at 11 p.m. and not too far from our hotel. They probably were not the best po'boys in the city, but they were exactly what we needed, which was fried food and mayonaise.

Ruby Slipper. We were in a bad way our first morning there, and Ruby Slipper made eggs, served them to us, and made us happy. It was not a game-changing brunch but it was pretty freaking amazing. And, for as close as it was to the french quarter, not too touristy (at least, I don't think so, I was hurting pretty bad and not up to my usual quota of people watching).

Central Grocery. Touristy? Sorry. I am Not Sorry. I would eat a muffaleta from here every day if I could get away with it. Gimme all your olive tapenade. Now.

Boucherie. TBone took me here the last time I visited her and I was itching to go back. We messed up on getting a reservation and terrified that they might not seat us, I made Boyfriend get there half an hour early to make sure we were the first people in the door. He was not happy about this, because it required us standing outside with no greater purpose than looking pathetic so we would be allowed in to eat. Consider it worth it. We tried to eat outside our comfort zone, which was fun and delicious. But really, the reason for the season was the Krispy Kreme Bread Pudding. I wanted six orders for me. And then I wanted to eat the rest of Boyfriend's order.

Cochon Butcher. We got these sandwiches and then walked around in the hot, hot nola sun for another three hours before we ate them and they were still crazy delicious. I can only imagine how amazing they would be if they didn't have to swelter before being eaten.

New Orleans Original Daquiris. Okay, not food, but so delicious and untouristy. Worth venturing beyond the french quarter if you are feeling so bold.

Creole Creamery. Dear New Orleans: it should not take a trolley, a bus and a 10 minute walk to find some ice cream. Seriously, you are a million degrees at 9:30 at night. There should be ice cream on every street corner. Work on this. That being said - if this is going to be your only ice cream, way to knock it out of the park. A perfect cold good-bye to a hot, hot weekend.

with silver bells & habanero peppers, part 2

I still have a garden! I will make it through the summer or die trying.

The good news!

We have...

For the record: I way over-edited the images from the last garden post. And immediately I decided I hated them (but had done too much work to re-do the post) - so these are completely unedited, with the exception of the captions (which I did on Over). My strawberries are that gorgeous.

The bad news!

I'm struggling with the rest of my flowers. My lobelia, once a gorgeous globe of blue & white, is now just brown. Perhaps its because I didn't de-bud it fast enough and now I cannot catch up. Or can I? If I were to take off all the dried out buds, would it stand a chance? Because I'll do it. I have some free time.

My gorgeous dahlia that has already had it's own blog post and half a dozen photo shoots seems to be fresh out of buds. sadtrombooooone. I keep watering in the hopes that it'll bloom again, but it is making no promises.

My bell peppers are either the slowest maturing plants ever, or they are not going to make peppers. I cannot tell. I'm not giving up on them yet. But their buds are small and they don't seem particularly interested in blooming.

Things I'm learning!

Stop being so gee.dee impatient with the strawberries, son. They have to be total ripe before they taste like anything but sour death fruit.

This Chicago summer has been brutal. My once-a-day watering might not be cutting it. I'm going to kick it up to two days while I can but I'm nervous about how the plants going to fair while we're out of town.

Cucumbers were a bad choice. They need to be able to run free and cannot be contained by a window box. I'm getting these tee-tiny baby cukes, which are worth the cost of the plant in adorableness but I'm nervous that they are not going to get much bigger before they die.

Basil goes in EVERYTHING! And if you can't figure out how to get basil involved, make pesto! And if you're bored with pesto, add an avocado and make creamy pesto! But you will always have more basil and it will never ever die.

Banana peppers don't taste how you think they taste until you pickle them. So, get on that! Pickle some peppers, peter piper. (I am so scared of canning that even though I've bought the cans, they might never come out of the box. Luckily, the internet has some fridge canning options that I'm going to try out with this first batch).

Also this!
Years ago my friend told me that when a woman turns 30 she has a baby, buys a dog, or starts a garden. I'm noticing a lot more veggie-pics these days. -- (posted by a friend on facebook.)

The babes of summer.

I really, really like babies. Always have. It comes from having lady parts, being the oldest of a whole gaggle of cousins, and general enjoyment found in nurturing and small victories (please note: any one of these qualities individually or all three together do not necessarily make a lover of the babies. I'm just saying it worked out with my particular chromosomal make-up).

Before this year, babies were something that grown-ups had: my aunts, my parents' friends, my very, very old and mature older cousin. The people who were my age who had babies were so far removed from my day to day life that they felt like foreigners that I just observed through the window of facebook.

During my recent sojourn into unemployment I got hooked up with some amazing baby-sitting jobs. Truly, the kids I spent time with were some of the best companions I could have asked for during this very strange and out-of-character time in my life. Not only did they provide moments of humor and pride, they also gave me a peek into what parenthood might be like (obviously, not completely as their parents always, thankfully, came home, but like a tee-tiny peek). For some reason baby-sitting at the age of 28 made parenting seem like a much more real concept (rather than something that people have done when they have given up on their own lives and so need something to occupy their time).

This experience coincided nearly perfectly with the announcement that two of my favorite humans were incubating two of the newest, greatest members of the human race right there inside them. The wait for these babies to incubate has seemed nearly endless, but now, some how, it is ending and within the next week or so these babies will be real humans, rather than just cute-in-theory parasites.

The excitement I am feeling about these two amazing events nearly makes my lungs explode. I cannot wait to be a part of these two new lives that are justabout to start. Both babes have lucked out in the amazeballs parents department but I am on the edge of my seat waiting to be a source of entertainment, love, and poop removal for these two.

This excitement-beyond-excitement has brought the real notion of parenthood into incredibly harsh perspective. With so many parts of adulthood (read: marriage) it has always felt like something that I would probably not be good at, I'm too selfish, too greedy, and lack the patience needed to read "Elmo's Big Day," four hundred times in an afternoon.

Now, I know that I could do this. I could be a parent, but the question is - do I want to? Do I want to be responsible for a real, actual human being? Would I set way to high of standards for her as person and me as a Mother? Do I want to give up a life of fancy restaurants and frolicking about the country like IDGAF?

I honestly do not know. But its something on my mind, Internet. And in this breath before the most-exciting-adventure thus-far in adulthood comes before me, I get to take a moment and be so thankful that I know two great women who are going to jump in both-feet-in-the-deep-end and tell me how the water is, before I have to make any choices.

To being a loving by-stander and hander-of-burp-clothes in this next adventure of life!

TYOE: New York

The whole time we were in New York over the weekend, there was a little voice inside my head just repeating, "this isn't your city. This isn't your city," the voice hurt my heart as I had to accept that it is telling the truth.

New York was my city. It was mine. mine. mine. for the last year of high school as I planned to make it my home, and the four years I lived inside its harsh and overwhelming boundaries, and even after I moved away for the longest time - it was the city of my soul. 

And now? It's not. It's a city I love and will always cherish as a part of my story but it is not my city anymore.

That realization was a cloud over the gorgeous sunny weekend. It was like spending the weekend with an incredible attractive ex. I spent so much time and energy picking it apart so I wouldn't feel so bad about it not being mine anymore.

That being said: we had a super fun weekend. It was a weekend of firsts for me which is always a nice surprise from somewhere you have know for so long. 

What We Ate:

'wichcraft. I am a huge fan of Tom Colicchio from his lovable but tough turn as the Tim Gunn of Top Chef. But I had never eaten any food he created (designed? managed? idk). And the results were a little disappointing. Maybe we should have gone to Colicchio and Sons and gotten the real deal - but seriously?! It's a sandwich, it should be fool proof. And it was just kind of bland. It lacked (as they say in the biz) a strong flavor profile. Would I eat it again? Sure - but only if there was some sort of apocalypse and I had no access to any other sandwich option on the island of Manhattan.

L'arte Del Gelato. Gelato on high line park. I gotta hope this is what heaven is like.

Yankee Stadium Brother Jimmy's. gimme all your fried pickles. And I will eat them. And I will be mostly content.

Nathan's. Did you know the coney dog has nothing to do with Coney Island? It's cool - you'll still be happy with your chili cheese dog. 

El Salvadorian Truck Food. The Red Hook food truck party means business. It is for the real hipster food truck snobs and it is amazing. We got a sample platter with all the sides, plantains, paposas and a tamale and it was a delight. 

Old School. Brunch is the best worst thing that ever has happened to me. Easily my favorite meal but the one that requires the most logistical planning. My hatred of waiting for food makes it such a challenge to have an enjoyable brunch experience - luckily this place had no line and no wait and that gave it enough points to make up for the fact that they didn't understand Anniebelle when she requested "toast." Seriously?! Hipsters.

Milk. The cereal milk milkshake was so strange, but I do not regret it. Two days later I still don't know how I feel except, ok.

What We Did:

High Line Park. Oh. Like when your ex gets an amazing hair cut that changes their whole face and makes them indescribably sexier. The High Line Park is the stuff of my dreams. Everything about it makes me love it a little bit more.

 

Yankees Game. My first Yankees game! It was a baseball game. Over priced everything. Hilarious people watching and some out of tune singing. And they won! Which is always a good bonus. Plus on the ride home, we were idolized by some sweet lady from back-water Texas. She was so impressed we could live in a place where we traveled underground all the time..

The Mermaid Parade. So fun. I love a good meaningless excuse for adults to dress up. 

The NDI final show. When I think about what I really, really want todo when I grow up - being a part of this organization is near the top of the list. The show was the perfect way to spend a very hungover Sunday afternoon.

I love New York so much, and I am so happy that we got to spend a great weekend. I am so thankful to sweet Anniebelle for being an amazing hostess. I cannot wait to repay the favor and show her around my new mainsqueeze - Chi-town.

Joy.

I love:

Parades.

The Blackhawks.

Chicago.

Confetti.

Summer Joy.

Dahlia, Dahlia quite fancy...

I know I wasn't going to post about gardening again until next month but check out these blooms, y'all!

They made me so happy this morning I picked them immediately and brought them to work in a juice glass. They make up for the fact that the perfect strawberry I picked earlier this week was easily the sourest thing I have ever eaten.  

For the record - this picture is totally unfiltered. They are exactly that amazing orange-pink combination. I love love love them. Also, for the record, this blog has had 3 different pictures, because I was not satisfied with them...until this one...for now.

Happy Summer! Happy Blackhawks! Happy noma' DOMA! Happy Happy!

Letter to a younger girl.

Dear 13 Year Old Rachel,

Hey! I just wanted to drop you a note and tell you during the summer before you turn 29 - things are going to be pretty great. In fact, I would almost venture to say that you got nearly everything you wanted. It looks a little different and you'll be surprised by some of the things you've found happiness in, but just go with it, because it will all start to make sense eventually.

You live in a city full of tall buildings. They aren't the tall buildings you thought you would be surrounded by, but you will come to love them as your very own. As every day goes by you will wonder if it would even be possible to walk away from them at this point.

You have a job that is hard. Its really hard. You're going to doubt yourself most of the time, but you'll also have moments of great pride in the fact that you have built the beginnings of a little career for you. And at this point, you are making it really easy to take one of seven or eight little roads in the future. Plus you make some decent dollars. Enough to splurg on absurdity like a Kate Spade wallet and a new computer.

And! You have another job that is also hard, practical and rewarding that pays some sweet dollars when you need them. And you're writing. For living. Margaret Atwood, you are not - but that college degree is offiially useful. Wow!

You own your very own cat. She is the best and so pretty. You only get a little bit mad that she refuses to poop in the litter box.

There are so many people you call your friends. There are so many smart and lovely women who act as sounding board and perennial cheerleaders. Men who prove that there are great guys out there. People who live far away, and literally one block away, who make your life richer for their experiences and beliefs. Sometimes you sit around and think about how amazing your social circle is and it makes you embarssingly emotional. You'll wonder if its weird to sit around and get teary about how lucky you are to know the people you know.

You get to call your family friends, too. You miss them all so much. You're grateful for the ones who live close and treasure the moments you get to spend with those further away.

The big dream that you have, it's still there, but its evolving to be a realistic version of it. This summer you will stand on stage and people will laugh because you do the thing that makes you the happiest. How awesome is that? You're doing it. You're finding happiness and bringing people joy. Win.

Bonus points? You can take classes at the Joffrey Ballet whenever you want. You don't, because now it's too accessible to be special, but with any luck - you'll take those new black ballet shoes for a spin sometime soon. Get it on, pretty ballerina.

Sometimes you'll forget that you actually live in your house. Its not a big game of playing house. It actually is your house. Your green dining room and yellow office. Your little garden and absurd closet. It's yours. Like a grown-up with a dream apartment.

And you get to live in it with your best friend. You will have no idea that this is coming. It will knock you sideways the summer before you turn 24. But you did and you're finding your way together. It is a constant changing experience of trying to figure out what you both need and want out of this life. Sometimes it easier. Sometimes it is the hardest thing ever. No one will believe in you more than he does - and realizing that will overwhelm you. Plus he accepts the fact that you are always gassy.

You've lived through some really terrible things. And you wish you hadn't. And sometimes you get just so. sad. But you will recognize their value as they help you recognize how important it is to be grateful for what you have been given to enjoy.

So 13 year-old Rachel, try to remember to enjoy this summer before you turn 29. Be tired sometimes because you spent too much time and too many brain cells on celebration. Save some money, but make sure you spend some on dresses and champagne. Have fun traveling, and with the new babies, and making Chicago summer memories.

Love,
Almost 29 year-old Rachel

ps - You will never get taller. Sorry.

pps - You still can't spell. Thankfully, in a couple years, there will be spellcheck on every device you use and no one will have to know.

A pickle bowl - the Target sagas.

Guys. I've talked about Target before, but seriously?! This is a problem.

I went to Target with the express purpose of getting a gift card. One gift card, go directly the lady at the cash register - do not pass the dollar deal bins, do not collect an assortment of crap. Well, clearly, this did not go as planned. Here is what I came away with:

Bananas - okay. This is something we need. We're only home for 4 days this week, so we aren't buying actual groceries, but I discovered this morning that without a banana, I am fairly useless until lunch time.

Bath Poof - again, somewhat necessary. My current one is about to become just a big old pile of unconstrained netting. And were that to happen in the midst of a morning shower, the day would be pretty much over before the sun came up.

Granola Bars - clearly, I was starving. After a weekend in New Orleans, a day of my normal "let's lose weight without working out," diet was not cutting it. By the time I got to target I was about 2000 calories in the red and I got panicky. Like there might be some sort of cataclysmic event before I could get home to my lean cuisine and I would need rations.

Baggies - all the baggies were on clearance. Why? Who knows? Is it because they all have holes in them or are full of toxic off gases? Don't care. I will buy those off-brand-red-stickered baggies and I will put left over potato salad in them because I am an American.

Pickle Bowl - guys, its no secret that I love pickles more than most human beings. And I like to serve them to guests and I don't want to take the chance that I'll put out an offering of delicious pickles and people won't know what they are or something terrible like that. Thank the Little Baby Jesus that someone at Target had the common sense to make a bowl that said pickles so that when I put pickles in it my dumbass compatriots will be like, "oh, pickles?! wuuuuurd."

??? - I literally have no idea what is in this jar. It had a pretty brown-haired lady on it, and a red sticker so it was a done deal the minute I cruised by it. I'm not sure what I am supposed to pour this into or on top of or if I'm just supposed to shoot it with a salsa chaser. I guess we'll find out. Or we'll put it in the pantry and move it into four different apartments before we just put it on eggs. Anything goes on eggs.

Gift card - Guys. Don't ever say I don't get ish done. I get it done. I get it done to the extreme. When you need something done, you call me, and I'll get it done and I'll bring my own baggies.

Okay, but seriously, stop letting me go to Target.

with silver bells & habanero peppers, part 1

It all started with a need for produce.

When I worked at the circus, I had the illest produce hook-up. It was plentiful, it was punctual and it was free (well, except for payments I made in pieces of my soul).                                   

After leaving the circus I was unable to figure out how to get my bean-and-berry hook-up. Go to the grocery store? Nope. No way dude. YOU go to the grocery store. 

After a winter of surviving on frozen, tasteless misery that was shaped like vegetables, I decided it was time to buck up and hitch my wagon to the cheapest veggie scam I could find.

Luckily, Cougs was on her way to Chicago when I got the brilliant idea to plant myself a garden and she was able to help me get through the first steps (like buying a trowel) without anyone getting hurt.

Now it's been a month - and I am so gd. impressed with myself. I made things grow! Look at me!

Let's take a garden tour! (This is more for Cougs. than anyone else - but its the internet, and I do what I want).

I am so amazed that everything is alive still (with the exception of one tomato plant -unpictured- which, sadly, did not stand a chance). For some reason, the knowledge that fresh things are within my grasp is enough to keep me watering and checking and miracle growing like a good little plant mom.

While I would not say that any of my fingers are green, I am, clearly, full to the brim of pride over keeping all these little guys alive. And now that they are starting to actually show the promise of being edible in the not-so-far future, I'm starting to understand why people do this.

Growing veggies is one of those things that feels very grown-up. Like having a job in a tall building and making plans more than 6 hours in advance. Like making dinner more than two nights a week and waking up before 8:00 a.m. almost every Saturday. Slowly these grown-up things seem to be taking the place of all the things that felt so normal.

In an effort to not be too practical, I also have some very lovely flowers. When they bloom I feel like a frickin' magical fairy princess. I made you bloom with my long flowing locks, my sweet disposition, and my magic. Bloom you stupid, gorgeous flowers. Bloom.

Sadly, the dahlia that should be visible in the middle picture is between blooms right now. Which is a damn shame, because it is the prettiest. See you for part 2 in July.

Nola night

I am lying on this pool deck chair. The weather is the most perfect its been these past two days. When the sun is down, New Orleans June is almost bareable.

I am full of Krispy Kreme bread pudding and cheap daquiri. I am boozy sleepy. 

And I am nearly packed to the brim with stress. Stress that I am not doing enough, that I am wasting this vacation time. We should be out drinking or walking. We are not go do see -ing anything. And this makes me anxious.

Until I remember that vacation can be this too. Vacation can be sitting quietly at night and nap taking during the day and nothingness sprinkled through. 

When did my life get like this? Is it because this is a "new" place that I feel obligated to strangle as much out of it as I can?  We now take vacations with to-do lists, saving all our idleness for the trek to Nantucket where you would be a fool to do much more than sit on the porch with a book. Why is that? 

Something to ponder while me and the rest of my white people problems fall asleep at 9:30 on a Saturday night.

The earring thing.

Today was hard. Everything about it was an uphill battle dragging 50 pounds of fear and beaurcracy behind it. Today was the first day I felt real, genuine fear that I might fail at my job. For the first time ever I might be given a task and not get it done.

And then while rushing to get to the next hard, unhappy thing I lost my earring. 

At this point I don't have any "any old jewelry," every single piece has a story and most of those stories are so recent that I can remember ever piece of them. So to lose something that not only had a wonderful story, but a story that was less than three years old, was more than my soul had the capacity to handle.

And the universe knew this. The universe knew that my heart could only handle one giant turd today - not two. Because when I retraced my hurried steps an hour later, my earring was there - at the corner of Milwaukee and Chicago. Waiting patiently for me to come back for it. 

So. That was my day. Nothing but tears and anxiety but with the smallest glimmer of hope that things will be just fine at the end of it all.

More. MORE.

Blog more, Self.

Blog instead of checking facebook, or falling asleep at 9 PM, or eating that extra scoop of ice cream.

Blog, for goodness sakes, because all the ideas you have for blogs are clogging up brain space that is desperately needed for work things, and other work things, and just general remembering how words are spelled and which day comes after Wednesday.

Self, you are being challenged. Get those blogs written. The one about San Francisco, and the one about pants, and the one about already being madly in love with people who don't exist yet*.

Blog about your adventures and your frustrations. Get it ALL out, Self. Otherwise, you will probably explode and someone will have to scrape your brain off of whatever solid surfaces you happen to be around (probably the cat).

So, Universe, I come to you. When do you write? Do you write when you are procrastinating and have run out of facebooks? Do you write when you're avoiding the scary work emails? Do you write instead of making spur-of-the-moment cake? How do you fill the internet with so many words, Universe?

*okay. Some of them exist, but in general, most of them don't yet. Intrigued? Good.

All the words

Five years ago, this August, I pretended I was a photojournalist for 4 days. I won the right-place-right-time-right-parents lottery and got to "cover" the 2008 Democratic National Convention for a regional newspaper's blog.

Those four days were some of the most overwhelming, eye opening days of my entire life.

I cried, I barely slept, I fought and lied and sweet talked.

After those four days, I was ready to hang up this particular dream. Professional photographer had always sounded ideal but when I got down to the nitty-gritty, I realized I didn't have the patience, the stamina or the raw talent to do this day in and day out.

And if anything, it made me treasure amazing photojournalism more than ever. Not all amazing photojournalism wins Pulitzers (although, seriously? THIS). Some of it is never seen beyond the circulation of people who walk out to their driveways in the morning to pick up actual-physical-make-your-fingers-grey paper. That's fine.

Stories don't need to be widely circulated, or mass produced, or bought by AP to be well told, beautiful stories. They just need to keep existing.

Which is why this news from the Chicago Sun Times (which is actually from Gawker, because Chicago Sun Times won't cover their own story) breaks my heart and fills me with rage.

This will never work. They'll think its working but the adage about photos and thousands of words is absolutely true. Everything will be fake and shallow. Newspapers are going to die way faster if they continue to punch themselves in the face.

Seriously, what kind of dbag looks John H. White in the eye and say that he's been replaced by something teenages use to take dick pics?

Thursdays Best Internet Finds: Make Me Things

I am drowning in everything right now. I just got a job, but I am also doing all the things I was doing before I had a job. So there is work-work, contract-work, babysitting-work, house-work, getting drinks with my friends-work, buying clothes-work...you get the idea.

Anyway. My gorgeous and insanely talented friend Cindy-loo just started this amazing blog:

Handmade Renegade.

Not only is Cindy-loo a french-speaking Engineer genius, she also is an amazing crafter who got her hands on a sewing machine and hasn't looked back since. Not only that: she is GROWING A HUMAN INSIDE HER. Seriously. She is incubating a person and making amazing princess tents. She can literally do everything.

Go look at all the amazing things she has made and be disappointed in your own inabilities. Then pin some stuff on your pinterest, eat a sandwich and feel better.

Untitled no. 5

Today I am struggling with how unfair the world is, and how powerless I am against it.

It's a pretty silly thing to be mad about, due to the aforementioned powerless-ness, but that silliness doesn't make it any less real and hard.

I think when you're a child and you feel powerless, you just assume that the feeling is temporary. "When I get older," you think, "I'll fight all the bad guys."

So as an adult, to be just as weak in the face of big, unchangeable, terrible things, you feel as though, somehow, you got tricked. The world pulled a fast one on you. The confidence you had as a seven year-old is gone and its replaced by a grim anger...

And booze. And homemade bread. And Kugel. And hard conversations. And meaningless conversations full of unfunny jokes that make you laugh. And washing dishes even though you hate washing dishes.

Anyway. That's what I am thinking about today.

Also! I rode the 50 bus Southbound in the morning and then! when I was coming back North, I rode in the same seat on the same bus. Crazy, right? How often does that happen?

Bad Poetry, part who cares

Through the torrential downpours
both literal and figurative


My boyfriend brought me empenadas
in a pizza box
25% nutella
25% bacon date goat cheese


I ate grilled cheese and a sundae
the whole thing
from Margies. With Jill.
and we clinked spoons
and toasted taking control of our destiny

Through the bright flashes of lightening and loud blasts of thunder
both literal and figurative

I stumbled across people from my past
both near past
and far past
We hugged about new adventures
or just stared across the aisle of the Broadway bus

I yogaed four times in a row
feeling stronger even when feeling weak
and cheered on Aimee who made it to seven

Through the heavy, heavy hearts
both literal and figurative


I cuddled babies who needed it
as much as I did.

And worked with five awesome fourth graders
on their slam poems
and the difference between literal and figurative.

Trying to ketchup

Hello Blog.

I miss you. I'm sorry I haven't been around. I've been a busy girl. And I've been working on lots of new things and the world has been a little sad and when the world gets sad, I get sad. So. Anyway.

I'm back now... I promise. There's a new chapter starting in May. And with it comes the potential to set new routines in place. And one of those routines will be (I hope) finishing blogs. I have so many half-started blogs lined up, and I lose interest or decide they're not good enough or whatever and move on. So...lets try being better at finishing what we start.

Here is a pictorial representation of my life right now.

That is my fridge. Please note, there is one egg. Un œuf. in that egg carton. Also, please note the three types of butter, the single cans of a variety of caffeinated (and notcaffeinated beverages) and the itty-bitty amount of left over soup that sat for three days before I finally got around to eating it. And you might be like, "hey Rach, look at all that delicious yogurt!" and then I'd be like, "that is Boyfriend's work yogurt, and after binging on yogurt for six months I'm off yogurt until at least summer."

And here is the door of the fridge.

Yep. Approximately one bajillion types of mustard AND jam.

This is my life. All the condiments, nothing to put them on.

To new adventures.

TYOE: St. Louis

One of the sweetest humans I know married another keeper, and now has gone and gotten herself pregnant (actually BOTH couples mentioned in that blog have managed to get themselves knocked up which is kind of spooky, but awesome. Awesomespooky).

To celebrate KChu (who should now go by her married nickname, KHow) bringing a new awesome human into the world (and the end of girlie time as we have all known it thus far), we decided a trip out of town was in order.

I steamrolled everyone's twee suggestions about wine country and lake houses and demanded that we all go to St. Louis, because I have been dying to go to the City Museum for YEARS and I could not think of a better group of people to drag along for the party.

My sweet potluck group is the best. Every month (or so) we get together, make yummy food, and talk about our ever-evolving-ever-changing-ever-new-sometimes-scary lives. There tends to be lots of wine involved.

But we put the pots and pans away and went to the Lou for a quick girls weekend.

KHow and I took the Amtrak down to St. Louis from Chicago. What a dignified way to travel. I will truly believe that America is the greatest country when we get our collective shit together and build a high-speed railway. And then I will never get on a plane again.

The train dumped us and it was a quick walk to Lafayette Park and our amazing mansion-home for the weekend. KHow found this gorgeous house on vbro.com. This was my first time staying in a vbro-type situation and it.was.AWESOME. This house was stunning. Girls never get tired of playing pretend in a dream home, no matter how old they get.

The house was so great, we spent the first day just sitting and enjoying it. Doing work, eating snacks, occasionally going up and down staircases, just because.

Finally our diet of jelly beans and clementines was no longer sufficient and we hoped over to SqWires for dinner. We managed to get seats at the bar (which was great, because the place was packed) and ate a quick dinner. The food wasn't spectacular, but it was delicious and totally hit the spot.

The rest of our companions arrived late that night while we were dozing in the media room (as you do).

The next morning we made ourselves breakfast (you know a kitchen is spacious when seven girls can be futzing around and it doesn't feel crowded) with some help from Park Avenue Coffee and their good coffee and indescribable gooey butter cake before heading out for adventures.

After a few wrong turns and an excellent photo-op by an enormous tire, we made it to a two mile wall of graffiti (if you are looking for the legal two mile graffiti wall in St. Louis  - the best place to access it is at the intersection of S. Wharf St. and Chouteau Ave).

Then it was just a quick walk along the lovely industrial waterfront to the Gateway Arch.

Arch park is gorgeous. If being-up-high isn't your thing, then there is no need to go up inside the Arch. There is plenty to do and see on the ground. As with going up in any tall structure. It's entertaining for about six minutes. You take some pictures, comment on the view aaaand its time to come down. I thought it was worth the
$10, but I am sure there are those who would disagree.

All the best photo ops are on the ground anyway.

With a quick stop for a late lunch, we then (FINALLY) made it to the City Museum just at 5 PM (when the price drops from $12, to $10 - Score! And the place is open until midnight! Double score!). We had strategically planned to come later in the day in the hopes that perhaps there would be fewer children underfoot. Since we weren't there mid-day it was impossible to compare but there were still children evvverywhere. I get it, its a very kid friendly place (and on a kindofwarm early March Saturday, there aren't a ton of options for the kiddos) but, I would have been willing to pay $20 if we could have gotten some sort of adult swim type deal.

Even with the littles running around, we still had an amazing time. Not since my days spent traipsing about the original Children's Museum in Washington DC have I ever had this much fun within a museum's walls. There was very little learning, it was just more go! do! see! climb! crawl! slide! go more!

When you visit:

Play outside! You must trust that all the pieces will stay together and that you can climb out on that airplane wing and through that crazy tunnel. You can. And you absolutely should.

Make art! You'll be tired after the outside adventures. So paint. Get your portrait drawn. Make snowflakes. Create things.

Go down the slides!
There are two that cannot be missed. The monster slide - which is right near the ticket booth and is bright and colorful. And the 10-story-slide which is a little more tucked away. The entrance to it is on the first floor back by the caves. It is a surreal experience to slide down 10 stories (and one that will leave you dizzy and disoriented for a minute) but one you should have in your memory box.

Forget the Rules (or try to)! I've become a big fan of rules in recent years. But the thing about the City Museum is there are no rules. or maps. or instructions. You just go. Sometimes this can get terrifying (mostly when oblivious kids are blocking your path and you can't move) but it should be considered liberating to not worry so much about being right all the time.

After a few hours of go! do! see! all of us old farts were exhausted. We veto-ed a Washington St. dinner in favor of heading back to Lafayette Park (mostly because we wanted our walk home at the very end of the night to be as short as possible.

We made it to Square One Brewery for a yummy dinner (and even yummier drinks) before a quick trot home and a night of cupcakes, laughing and falling asleep midconversation.

We all slept late on Sunday and then stumbled back to SqWires for brunch (where there was a man playing piano! and a fireplace! the love is in the details, people) before heading back to Chicago.

I know there is more of St. Louis to see, but for the amount of time we had, it was nearly a perfect trip. We managed to get everywhere on foot! The sun shone down. We slept and ate well - there's really not much more you can ask for in a weekend getaway.