Errrrrrrrbody in the club…
got a podcast
got a thinkpiece
got a thinkpiece about specifically that, whatever you’re talking about right now
got the university alumni association donation line on block
got a clever hashtag they think they started
got an undiagnosed anxiety disorder
got beef with a Baby Boomer
gotta unsubscribe from five email newsletters a day
got a recurring nightmare where they become a hilarious new meme
I’ve been reading Margaret Atwood’s 2000 book, “The Blind Assassin.” Have you ever read a book and/or writer and thought, “Why am I even trying? This is brilliant.”? That’s how Atwood makes me feel. She’s a triple threat–genius storyteller, wordsmith and rebel thinker. A tiny example, this description of a dress as “… something easy to overlook but sharp, like a common kitchen implement — an ice pick, say — just before the murder.” This book is riddled with mic-drop metaphor after mic-drop metaphor.
As you can see from above, I brought my book to a baseball game. We had to get cash out of a BMO Harris ATM to get nachos for, you know, game watching (book sneaking). I liked this ATM tagline alongside the info that, though be it 2017, seat vendors are cash only.
True. This bunting in a Lakeview window display made me double take. What does it mean?? What is true??? Better question: What is not true? WHY IS LIFE SO COMPLICATED?
Stickers in River North, like writing prompts shouting from the sidewalk. What would qualify as the Last Great Riot? Why?
We went to the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago during my bachelorette weekend to see the Takashi Murakami exhibit. The art and curation were awesome, as expected, but I was drawn to the exhibition’s title, “The Octopus Eats Its Own Leg.” It’s from a Japanese story about how an octopus will eat its own leg to save itself, knowing the tentacle will grow back. Murakami explores how artists do the same thing, but with no guarantee of regeneration. (See more of my pictures here.)
A clever name for a used clothes drop-off. USA GAIN, use again, etc. I get it… It makes me eyeroll every time I walk by it though, as if it’s saying, “Hey, it’s us again. You really need to purge your closet and donate it to us and also stop buying so much shit that doesn’t fit you.”
Server shirts at Girl and The Goat, the lightning hot Chicago restaurant. You can’t be in Chicago during baseball season without hearing “Go, Cubs, Go” chanted at least thrice. Here’s a fun take on that.
There are so many agencies in this city, it’s no surprise the science of user experience + graphic design is evident in the least expected places. I love this example from a building in the West Loop. It’s a map of all the restaurants and attractions nearby. A writer was probably the least important creative to making this happen, but there’s cute stuff in there.
I’ve amassed three in the course of the past few months. Perhaps this is how wannabe manic pixie dream girls ease into their early thirties. Give it ten years and we’ll be bringing muu-muus back.
At Pitchfork, I saw several signs like this, reminding everyone that day drunk does not fair game automatically make. Are consent signs the new flower crown?
From Tumblr.
Now city girls can actually wear some semblance of heel without snapping an ankle. Hooray! Long live our ankles!
“Rules are there ain’t no rules.”
Polka dots + flowers + stripes = crazy no more. Proof we can all just get along.
This looks like a cute bag with a pin of Garth praying.
In fact, it’s Mike Diana, an underground cartoonist who was the first person in the United States to receive a conviction of artistic obscenity. I got this pin as a gift for supporting this Kickstarter documentary about his work, the case and how artistry of all stripes can survive the minefield of free speech in America.
Also, I play tennis now. So. Vogue.
We didn’t want to spend much on wedding invitations. In fact, Justin preferred we do it all online.
But considering that this is only happening to us once (ringed-fingers crossed) and my sister is a professional graphic designer willing to create an invite and custom envelope free of charge, I couldn’t not have this physical representation of our nuptials.
Nuptials. See also:
I’ve been writing for a regional wedding magazine since I was 22 (and 100% percent certain I would never get married. Typical.).
That’s 9 years of finding synonyms for wedding words I write over and over again and covering trends in the wedding biz, which is as monstrous in scope as Bride of Frankenstein’s hair.
Key takeaways imparted on me through this work include:
As I’ve pointed out before, I have a thing for snail mail. Though, who doesn’t? Unless it’s a bill, getting letters and postcards in the mail is as Santa Claus as an adult is going to get.
A box of postcards had been gathering dust in my myriad apartments’ closets since about 2012. I bought them from Anthropologie for a fluffy feature magazine article about cool things made out of books or inspired by books.
Flowers crafted from torn out pages, their words never to be read in order again. Sturdy jacket spines transformed into a hipster-approved mobile. Postcards of Penguin’s most colorful hits.
I remember getting reader hate mail for this magazine piece. Never underestimate the fury of a bored, lonely, passionate reader.
How dare books be seen as any kind of art beyond that of writing? What a crime to desiccate these tomes or admire them for their design purposes. I and people like me were to be the downfall of this great country!
But hey it was mail. Santa giveth.
I don’t know why I never threw the box of cards out after the photo shoot. A guess: I had bought them with my own starter journalist salary ( = not much) and couldn’t bear to throw away something that felt so expensive to me at the time ($40 could have bought a lot of toilet paper and Lean Cuisines).
So there they sat. And there they moved. And moved. And moved again. Until I tucked them into our latest place, deep in a desk cabinet, all set to wait out another year in the dark corners of the envelope drawer. Stories buried. Pandora’s box on PTO.
It’s not like I didn’t try to use them before this. But whenever I’d effort to make a selection, I’d be overcome by their beauty and selfishly wish to keep them to myself. Or I’d fear their hidden messages could accidentally offend.
Because, in typical Millennial milieu, I don’t know much about what these postcards actually represent, what the books were about — I just loved their jacket covers, the colors and the style, and what they could mean symbolically. I love books, after all. Just not these ones. Most of them remained a mystery to me.
I feared sending a grandparent, for example, a postcard with a seemingly innocuous book title and pretty cover print only to find it’s about repopulating Mars and all the wooing, weird and wetness that would entail. A book that perhaps caused a scandal in their day! Too big a risk.
But as we planned our wedding invitations to one of our three events (ugh I know… we’re those people… ceremony in Chicago, two parties in our Ohio hometowns), the box of Penguin postcards nagged the back of my brain.
How fun would those be as RSVPs? (Also, how deliciously free.) A “love story” theme for our Marion reception? Sure, they didn’t match the beautiful invitations my sister made, but what have I learned? Do what you want. It’s your wedding after all.
I knew I risked someone reading too much into a title. I was selective.
Some postcard titles that didn’t make the wedding RSVP cut:
As Justin compiled his reception’s Facebook invites, I formed a factory line for mine, thoughtfully choosing a postcard for each invitation and working my tongue dry with envelope sealing, like a kitten who got into the salt lick.
Keying and creaking open my rusty mailbox the past month has been a joy. Bronte and Austin and Fitzgerald await. Sixties style art reproductions stand at attention beside desperate credit card offers and Bed Bath & Beyond coupons.
My reception guests respond exactly as I expect each of them to — some add stickers and drawings to the postcards, others just tell me their guest count and sign their name. Some get so excited they forget to sign it. Luckily I remember which postcard I picked for them and know who of my friends would forget to sign a postcard they sent. (To be fair, I would forget too. That’s probably why we’re friends.)
It felt good to get rid of the postcards, to use them in some productive way. But as a buddy pointed out: Technically, I didn’t get rid of them.
Like bookish boomerangs, back they come. To sit in my drawers for another six or seven years. But with my own story, my own favorite characters now imprinted on them.
A CTA and a directive in one smart sentence. Napkins are so helpful.
That’s a new one to me. So says Oxford: “A red, plum-sized tropical fruit with soft spines and a slightly acidic taste. Early 18th century, from Malay ramutan, from rambut ‘hair,’ with allusion to the fruit’s spines.” Heh. Ram butt.
This image alludes to most of the writing I’ve been doing the past week. That of thank you notes. I like imagining what a “well-managed forest” looks like. The rabbits have daily staff meetings and the oaks delegate responsibilities fairly.
Mmm-hmm. Outside a vet’s office outside Chicago’s River North.
“Home is where you dive into a novel.” It’s also where you dream of being while waiting at this bus stop, trying to distract yourself with said novel.
“Made with water, barley and hops. Anything more would be like putting ketchup on a hot dog.” For those of you who don’t know, putting ketchup on a hot dog is a mortal sin to legit, born-and-raised Chicagoans. Definite regional copywriting win.
Isn’t it ironic… you won’t watch a movie because it “takes too much time and feels like such an investment” but will instead binge five straight hours of a TV show.
Isn’t it ironic… your health insurance sends mail confirming your new address — to your old address.
Isn’t it ironic… the (white) guy on your Facebook feed angry that (black) musicians who sample music “are stealing” is also is an uncompromising fan of Elvis Presley.
Isn’t it ironic… the original definition of ironic is mostly obsolete and now subjective depending on whether or not you like Alanis Morissette. See also: colluding, meddling, presidential, Dave Coulier.
Isn’t it ironic… you’re in a dead zone and can’t live stream your wedding day.
Isn’t it ironic… you meet the man of your dreams. Then meet his three polyamorous girlfriends.
Isn’t it ironic… saying “take a seat” to someone who was probably definitely sitting down when typing their wry, reactive Facebook comment that set you off so completely.
Isn’t it ironic… Rainforest Café serves a lot of food that contributes to the destruction of rainforests.
Isn’t it ironic… you can’t do anything without hurting someone or something somewhere probably definitely.
Isn’t it ironic… ten thousand spoons when all you need is an Android-compatible charger.
Same. Cleveland.
A bus stop in Cleveland’s Birdtown. Poetry and quotes about birds.
The Crowd Theater bathroom reminder. Chicago.
“Owner/Mule”. Barroco in Cleveland. A MUST.
“Full of Character[s]”. Advertisement for a suburb hanging in downtown Chicago. I get the community theater aspect but its promise of characters rang flat considering the man in the furry outfit across the street while I took this photo. You want characters, stay in the city.
Hole. Irving Park. FYI.
It’s in Chicago’s Loop with an entrance that’s hard to find on Google Maps. Instead, follow that old book scent. Or just look for this sign on Michigan Avenue.
After you finish gawking at the books on the ceiling, begin your life-affirming trip through the The American Writers Museum in a long hallway of the country’s great crits, conservationists, comedians, cooks and cultural contributors.
Along one side is a timeline of American history to put in context the row of authors below. Descriptions of their life and work explain how they shaped our country’s consciousness. Interactive displays include a touchscreen of literary academics talking about the recurring themes in American writing and, a favorite, a display of materials described in “Little House on the Prairie” (fox fur, calico, etc.) that you can touch.
The other side of the hallway offers boxes with names of some of the most influential writing in American history.
Flip the boxes around to smell Julia Child’s chocolate chip cookies, hear an “Oh! Susanna” refrain, listen to a presidential speech or find a new fact about one of your favorite writers.
Have Tupac stuck in your head the rest of the exhibit.
A Word Waterfall explores the range of American identity and injustice.
A special exhibit showcases Kerouac’s famous scroll that became “On the Road.”
Quotes remind you you’re not writing and maybe should when you get back home. But it’s cool you tried to be human for once.
Get inspired by the room of Chicago writers and literary heroes.
Find out what you have in common with famous writers. Here’s mine. Not listed: A constant insecure ache that our writing sucks and also addiction issues!
Discover your state’s most iconic writers on an interactive display (Lorraine Hansberry FTW).
Take home a bookmark with a shoutout to your state writer… or the one with the quote you like best.
Cry like the big baby you are in the kids’ book gallery and promise yourself to get a copy of “Where the Wild Things Are” for your home library.
Check out the gift store.
Plan a date to go back because you have so much left to read about!
1. It came via snail mail, and if you know anything about how hearts alight in 2017, it’s by way of a snail delivering mail.
2. Its cover is an illustration of two cats on a motorcycle. If there’s anything better than a snail delivering mail, it’s a cat on a motorcycle.
3. This cat world is pretty developed and looks rad. These cats live full, restful lives. Snapping some pics for the scrap book.
Fishing. Because cats. Taking a leisurely ride on the bike you saved for working your cat office job. Living in the sunny foothills of somewhere spectacular, where you’re friends with a mouse.
He’s in your bike club and rides up front when you go out with your girl. He’s up for leader of the bike gang. World peace ensues. Lab meat feeds all. Except that cat fishing.
4. My niece has identified which cat we are on this bike. Of anthropomorphic cats, this is the coolest one of which I’ve been considered as a representation of. How much I wish my niece and nephew were here to go on a bike ride with me.
5. She’s totally the type of girl to have a cool earring and headband and ride on the back of a bike. That cat and her human equivalent probably have their own pink motorcycle somewhere — or will someday.
6. The note inside leads with the fact that she loves me. A scratch mark belies the learning curve of getting spacing right when hand writing. I love her too.
7. The followup leads with the fact that her dog says hi. I love her dog. I love that she knew I’d want to know about her dog. Dogs are harmonious here too.
8. A soft airbrushed version of the cats from the cover is on the inside of the card. Because you gotta see that illustration. In case you missed it on the cover. An airbrush border softens the look. This is a badass cat, but one that knows how to be gentle, knows how and when to send a greeting card.
9. Her hand-drawn heart illustration has a picture of my cat that has to live with my parents now because I have an unfortunately level-10-allergic boyfriend roommate. Allergies probably don’t happen in this cat world. And kitties and nieces are never separated from the cat mom/ aunt who loves them.
10. My sister wrote “(Dude)” above my niece’s spelling of my cat’s name (nee Little Dude). She knew I’d want to know who that happy cat was. I have no doubt she also spent an inordinate amount of time admiring the drawing and the little girl who made it.
11. The illustration, again featured on the back, just in case you missed it the two times before, has a name. “Touring Tabby.” Fucking beautiful. No barn can hold this cat back. It’s a life on the road for her. The world is her litter box.
12. The lengthy description of the artist. This is but one of his “Kool Kat” paintings.
13. Kool Kat.
14. Kool Kat paintings. We live in a world where such a series exists.
15. The artist is quoted here: “The world is a serious and stressful place to live. If my paintings bring a chuckle or a smile to the face of my viewer, then we are both all the better for it.”
16. But really. I’m better for it.
The duo that brings you news and semi-uninformed views every Monday (A Feminist & A Comedian Walk Into A Bar Podcast) is hitting the stage from 6-8 p.m. Sunday, June 11. Come watch us yell at each other IRL!
Justin and I are joining our hilarious and talented friend Tom Simmons for his new weekly show, “Making Friends.”
We’ll talk about the power dynamics of couples and singles hanging out, news of the day, lady stuff and most definitely probably more. Even if you don’t like us, come for Tom. He’s written shows for Second City and has a weird, fascinating brain — the kind to treasure!
Here are the details via Facebook. See you soon.