Words on the street: Feb. 5, 2019


All my word finds this month look a little tipsy-turvy! Hmm… I blame weeks of near apocalyptic levels of hibernation. Still getting back my sea legs (and steady camera hands, I guess?).

This should, instead, say, “Just wipe your tail and wash your hooves.” 😉
The wall to the left read, “No Parking.”
Some excellent copywriting/ color naming finds on a recent snowy sojourn to Home Depot, a trip in which I did very little except enjoy these carpet color titles. Shoutout to my homeboy/house husband Justin for being a more rational, practical human being and getting what we actually needed on the visit. You are forever my “Sophisticated Dove.”
“Black Ice and Oatmeal” is pretty badass. The silly decision to add “Stupendous” to this already sorta outrageous color name is everything a bored girl could ask for in the aisles of the hardware store. Thanks for that, Home Depot. And also for the sale on lightbulbs.

To do: Eat dumplings in Chinatown

It’s 4 p.m. on New Year’s Day. We’ve done nothing but watch TV in bed, eat in bed, read in bed, play video games in bed, anything that didn’t require us to leave the bed. Really, it’s the perfect start to a year in which I hope to slow down and allow myself a little more time doing exactly this kind of nothing.

This lounging has an unintended consequence, however.

We’re watching something forgettable on TV as Justin rubs my back. Both of our eyes are glazing over as his hand grazes a spot on my lower left side. This sloping hill is home to one lone hair that sprouts like a bamboo stalk in a pool of milk. It’s one of those hairs that seems to grow to its full size overnight.

Bamboo for sale in Chinatown. (Not my back.)

“Did you know you have a back hair? Like… one back hair?” Justin asks, laughing and using his fingers to seek out the thick strand’s exact location.

Oh boy, we’re both awake now. My cheeks start to flush. Then I remember it’s just Justin. (And then, later of course, it’s just a body. Just a back, a hair, an aging exterior, healthy.)

“Haven’t I told you about that before?” I say. As my instinctual insecurity unhitches, I giggle at the thought of it chilling all by itself back there. “It started growing about a year ago. I shave it.”

This sends him rolling off the bed in laughter. Literally, he falls off. Amused, I try to reach back and find the hair. It’s obviously been a while since I shaved it—I could weave a poncho with this thing.

Justin goes to the bathroom and comes back with tweezers. I lay on my belly as he plucks the lonely thing right off my back.

We inspect it together, like one does a popped zit or a tissue your nose (or whatever) just desecrated. We both determine it is thinner than it felt root-deep in the dermis, but where it lacks in girth it makes up for in length. Overall, a very impressive performance by one hair gone wild!

Next, I roll over on my back and ask Justin to do the same for the lone hair that similarly sprouts out of my chin. I’m better at shaving this one more regularly.

We giggle at each other as he lets it rip.


OK, but so these dumplings.

Intimate back and chin two-hair plucking comprised New Year’s. Chinatown dumplings *made* our Christmas Day.

This was the first year Justin and I stayed in Chicago for the winter holidays. Partly because we were so over traveling by that point in the year and didn’t want to spend 12 hours in the car again. And partly because we were hoping to purchase a condo over the holidays and wanted to be around to vulture something up if it came on the market.

We didn’t. Purchase a condo. But what we did establish a new Chicago Christmas tradition: Dumplings for dinner at Qing Xiang Yuan.

Best. Dumplings. Ever.

Take it from me. Or “Check Please!” if ya nasty.

I had recently eaten at QXY with a dear friend. She ordered for our whole party. Don’t you love when that happens? I do. Going to a restaurant with someone who knows where all the hidden menu gems (and, in this case, wood ear mushrooms) are buried is the BEST.

Her recommendations are now mine: Try the spicy shredded seaweed salad with chili pepper, flavorful wood ear mushroom salad (don’t look at the pictures, just do it), and grilled lamb kebab for starters. Then go straight to the dumplings. Your server can tell you which style (steamed, boiled, or fried) would be the most tasty for your combination. Order a bunch. They go fast.

On Christmas Day, we tried the pork and cabbage boiled and the beef and coriander steamed (yessss! definitely thisssss!). So delicious. So fun to eat. I love plucking them out of their little baskets, where they’re presented and unveiled together.

Like little stockings stuffed with care.

This is the only photo I took on Christmas:

The beef and coriander steamed dumplings at Qing Xiang Yuan.

I think one pic is review enough: I was too busy stuffing my face to take any more. But, Chinatown is really cool and I’d be remiss not to give you pictures from other visits we’ve taken there. Chinatown is a visual feast as much as it is a culinary one. Enjoy.

Thai rolled ice cream.
Dishes at MingHin.
Almond cookie desserts come standard at MingHin!
Lol… Look, I know this post was maybe not exactly what you expected… so here’s a distracting picture of a salt and pepper shaker from a Chinatown gift shop that will leave you with even more confounding questions. Namely: Wut?

Byeeeee!

To do: Write in CAA’s Drawing Room & visit AIC’s Thorne Rooms

A friend was picking my brain this summer for places that I go to write. Now that I’m living that good good #giglife, I can pretty much work from anywhere, so she assumed I had a hundred and one places squirreled away in my work-from-all-over office catalog.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have many exciting spots to offer up. In fact, she ended up giving me the secret gem, dream writing location: The Drawing Room at the Chicago Athletic Association Hotel.

Rumor had it, she said, that this space was open to the public, and it was beautiful, and you could just go sit in there and read and write! And no one asked any questions about your right to be in the club! Or your preference of golf swing! Or if your Izod shirt was in the wash! Sorry, my club stereotypes are very late-’90s.

Nevertheless, there it sat gathering dust on my radar all fall. Like treasure I knew the route to but didn’t feel worthy enough to hunt down. I was intimidated by the bougey rep of an “athletic club” and “chic hotel” and, just, you know, the whole notion that this was a private place for fancy folks, with a shrimp cocktail concierge and warm towelette dispenser on each elevator.

Per usual, I was wrong. And I took the stairs, so I don’t know about the elevator.

My friend was right: This second floor space inside the CAA is open to the public, and reading and writing in it kinda feels like reading and writing inside a castle!

There are dark, intricately carved wooden beams, ornate leather chairs, a crackling fireplace, and snow globe-style views of Michigan Ave and Millennium Park. There’s no shrimp cocktail concierge, but there was a very friendly waiter who brought me water and coffee and snacks whenever I need it. I mean, you do have to pay for that stuff, but it’s basically a BYOB(ook) library with food and drink service.

While you’re down in that neck-warmer of the woods, be sure to stop across the street to see the Art Institute of Chicago’s Thorne Miniature Rooms.  

These are 68 itty-bitty rooms built on a scale of one inch to one foot, and they’re decorated to look like European and American interiors from the late 13th century all the way to the 1930s. AND, right now some are decorated for the holidays. Eeeeeee!

I recently went to look at the Thorne Rooms on my lunch break (giggity #giglife… I was posted up in the Starbucks across the street). While there, I broke a record for “Longest Time Spent Squeal-Clapping and Saying Oh This Is Just Delightful Over and Over Again.” 

Yes, Virginia, that is a Christmas marzipan hedgehog the size of a thimble.

To do: Timber Lanes bowling in Chicago

Old school wooden lanes and you track the scores yourself. Like a real man!

 

Timber Lanes Bowling Alley

1851 W. Irving Park Rd.

Chicago, IL 60613

There are several things about Timber Lanes in North Center that you can’t beat. They include:

  1. The price: $2.50 per game. Bring cash for games, shoes, and/or drinks/snacks at the bar.
  2. The digital jukebox, where frequently played favorites include 38 Special and Ah-Ha.
  3. The vibe. The ghost of The Dude is near.
  4. Me on Game 2. Bowled a 127, baybay! Must’ve been Steely Dan on the juke.

Home of Hamm’s Hamm’s Hamm’s Bowling Team.

Hell Mary.

Beat that. (Not pictured: My many gutter ball zeroes during the first game.)

Gone, Country: So that was awesome

We uninstalled Gone, Country a few weekends ago, and I want to say THANK YOU from the bottom of my blueberry heart to everyone who came out to shows, performed at shows (you all were incredible!), bought an embroidery, bought a book, and/or simply said a kind word or thoughtful insight about the work/concept in all its parts.

I can’t believe I did this, and I am pinching myself a little still… I couldn’t have survived it in one piece without all the encouragement, so thank you. Especially to Justin, and the Slate Arts Gallery team. Can’t wait to do another one following, like, a six-month nap…

I hope you think of me whenever you see gaudy lawn flamingos doin’ it for themselves. Just trashy pink collar girls trying to stand strong in a white collar world. We gonna make it, Pip.

 

 

Gone, Country is on view now!

Slate Arts gallery in Chicago’s Humboldt Park neighborhood is hosting an exhibition of my embroidery work throughout the month of September! Each Saturday at 8 p.m., join us for a **free** performance of storytelling and live lit by me and some of my favorite writers in the city. The show Gone, Country includes 20 pieces of embroidered artwork framed in repurposed barn wood, two banner collages, and a creative nonfiction book I wrote as a companion piece to the exhibit ($20). See you there! 

You and me, this Saturday.

Seven things I’m loving this month

The “Sorry to Bother You” soundtrack

Listen here. Go see the movie, too! So absurd. So perfect.

This scene and dialogue from “Peaky Blinders”

I finally caught up on the latest season (it came out last December). Despite the novel-esque length of each episode, I finished it in two days because I’m obsessed with all these characters (once, of course, I remember they exist in my magic TV box and are poised for viewing pleasure).

Anyway, this scene, where our fave anti-hero goes on a vacation only to find rest does not suit him or his repressed PTSD/ anxiety/ depression/ devils, gave me goosebumps. It’s set to Radiohead’s “Pyramid Song,” which is perfectly haunting for a clip of man left alone with nothing but his terrible thoughts.

One line, though, is what really did me in. When Tommy’s housekeeper asks him if he’s alright, says he doesn’t look good, Tommy responds: “I know what this is. It’s just myself talking to myself about myself.” Never have I heard a more perfect description of the downward spiral.

Band-Aids by Oh Joy!

So, Radiohead for the mental wounds, these cute lil guys for the physical ones. The limited edition line is sold at Target and features the colorful work of one of my favorite design bloggers, Oh Joy!

Burt’s Bees tinted lip balm in Red Dahila

Perfect for melty hot days, when you need a pop of color that won’t dry out. It looks much more natural than a lipstick and keeps your kisser smooth. More color ways here.

Pretty Cool popsicles in Logan’s Square

This new novelty shop opened earlier this month. I tried the stick-ified peanut butter ice cream dipped in chocolate and crushed potato chips. Yeah, it was as good as it sounds.

The art of Small Ditch

Go follow @smallditch on Instagram to see the most adorable and clever reinterpretations of found nature into fashion shots. (Thanks, Jealous Curator, as always, for the hookup.)

“The Magic of Not Giving a Fuck” speech by Sarah Knight

I prescribe one viewing each morning. To be watched as many times as necessary.