In one month, we've had a cougar shooting, a bank robbery, and today, on my very own block, a man has a stand-off with police.

You know what you never want to see when you walk out your own door? Police tape sectioning off your block and a SWAT team. The dogs and I decided to get on out of there before we were allowed otherwise and made our way to dog beach. By the time we got back an hour or so later, it was all over. I talked to the guy who owns the coach house in question, and he said his tenant went nuts but that there wasn't a gun or anything. He seemed like he wanted to down play it, which I don't blame him, but I'm willing to bet he's looking for new tenants tonight.

Every block has those people, though. I want to say I was shocked when the house in question was confirmed but as soon as I walked out and saw where the police concentration was I just shook my head. I've always said hi when I walked by, mostly because I live in the only multi-unit building on a block with people whose house are worth millions, and I'm sure a couple of them view me as a those people, too. There is one uppity bitch I truly hate, who never says hello, even when you're saying it and looking right at her, who looks as though she's very bitter for having chosen to stay home with the kids, and subsists on a diet of disappointment for her husband and downers. And Chardonnay. You know those sorts of women drink that by the boxful.

Anyway, I've always loved my neighborhood for being so small and quiet, and the kind of place that unless you live here, you're not really familiar with it, and the number of assholes is pretty small, even for being so close to Wrigley, which attracts the town's finest assholes every spring and summer. So while we may be making headlines these days, I'm still not leaving.

posted by Erin at 11:16 PM | | filed under: Chicago

On one of my walks with Glinny last week, I happened to walk by a home that had been newly renovated but, like so many homes, had been on the market for a very long time. As I passed by, I realized the big sign posted out front, which had been bragging for months about features such as marble something-or-others and stainless-steel doohickeys, was gone. I looked closer at the house and saw a flickering light coming from the basement level windows.

I quickly glanced inside and saw a couple sitting on what looked like an old, ratty couch, watching television on a very large screen, entangled in each others limbs, flipping through the channel selections. By all accounts the rest of the house was very empty, and to think about a house that expensive, that massive, that empty, it immediately makes you wonder where people's priorities are.

But I have learned that you don't get the luxury of questioning other people's priorities. Besides, even from that quick look, those two looked pretty content in that big house, in that little basement.

*****

The other day, I was at the doctor's office and ran into an elderly couple I've seen in there before. Which officially means I'm old and sickly, because, really? Who remembers the faces of those who share her doctor? Only those who are at the doctor all of the time.

They're both in Jazzy scooters and they both sort of look like each other in that way that only people who have been together an eternity can be. It was hard to tell who was there for what, or if both had appointments, until the woman asked the following question:

"Do you remember the name of my medicine for my constipation?" She was the one filling out the paperwork.

He paused and said, "No I don't, baby," then went back to his magazine.

Several moments later she let out a gentle, muted cough and he immediately looked up to watch her. It was all very protective and instinctual. She smiled at him as she covered her mouth, he smiled back, and again went back to reading. It felt entirely too intimate for a general practitioner's office on a Wednesday afternoon. I was an interloper, no matter how unintentional.

In those instances you begin to understand how it happens, how two peoples' lives can merge to become one, how two people end up looking alike, even. It's born out of all of that routine and care and kindness, each serving as a witness to the life of the other, mirroring that life back to the other.

*****

Last night, under somewhat a certain amount of duress, I ended up at Excalibur (watch the music) by 11 p.m. on a perfectly fine Friday night, one in which I should have been, by all accounts, in bed, but was fully done up in about three shades of eye makeup and four shades of eyeliner because my fiance had to be there on assignment for work.

We both talked about how, when we were younger, we'd drive into the city, past Excalibur and assume that, due to the line and its proximity to everywhere we were familiar with, it was the hottest place in Chicago. As locals know, it takes just one trip there in your early twenties to reveal how incredibly horrible and cheesy this place is and, if you're lucky, you'll have two amazingly horrible and cheesy nights there in your lifetime and never return ...

... unless you're fiance tells you that you're going with him for the story he has to write for the magazine. To be fair, I once made him come with me there for a freelance piece I did for his magazine, but only for the span of one drink, so I could interview some guy who said he'd be there, and certainly not to dance. He made me dance, you guys, and I can't dance.

We stood back near the main level dance floor and tried to ascertain if the group of kids - and they were kids, and they even had that one girl who was terribly drunk already and gyrating up against all of her girlfriends, trying to get the crowd to believe that she was going to start making out with any one of them.

My friend Jenni, who is an actual lesbian, calls those girls "Queer by Beer."

The boys didn't have a chance, though they tried, and while at first I wanted to poke a whole mess of fun at these girls, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was them ten years ago, though not Ms. Queer by Beer, and traveling in a pack of people, getting drunk, dancing, making a complete fool of yourself in public, is what you need to do to figure things out for yourself, to appreciate a night on a couch on a Friday night watching TV, in bed by 11 p.m., sober.

"Thank you for marrying me," Scott said, putting his arm around my waist, laughing as he watched those girls.

"Oh you're welcome," I said. "But I was them once. You're just getting the improved version."

*****

Thanks for the emails and IM's and Twitters and MySpace messages and Facebook posts, everyone. We're so touched by the well-wishes from everyone. Even our alma mater, and the reason for our meeting, gave us a shout out yesterday. Most of you know I'm already a total shit about email, but I'll get back to everyone.

Thanks a lot, though. We're really happy too.

posted by Erin at 02:19 PM | | filed under: Chicago , Odds and ends

I met Scott before I actually met Scott.

We'd both worked as editors for Chicagoist, a Chicago-centric blog owned by the fine folks at Gothamist in New York City. Back then, Chicagoist was very much a start-up production, not the uber-popular local blog it's become. Back then, there were only a handful of us writing the thing and it meant that we all got to be fast friends.

Beginning in November that year, long emails would frantically fly back and forth amongst a small group of us at the site, all day long. There was much planning and strategy going on, as far as the site was concerned, but mostly the communication consisted of me and my seven new best friends cracking each other up. Never in my life had I experienced such an instant connection between such distinctly different people. Especially considering it would be several months before I'd see any of them face-to-face.

When March finally rolled around, Rachelle, the site's editor, called a gathering for brunch and we all met in person, finally, one Saturday morning at Wishbone. There were a whole slew of people there - I think almost 15 at that point - but it's safe to say that all I really remember is meeting Scott. Despite never having laid eyes on each other, he came right up to me and hugged me, an act for which he later apologized but explained that he'd felt like he'd known me my whole life and it seemed perfectly natural.

A fact which I've only recently recounted, and certainly did not in the immediate, subsequent months of that meeting, is that in that instant I knew too. Only I knew in a bigger, more all-encompassing way that knowing him was going to change my life completely. I'm hesitant to say that I was "hit by lightning," because it was much more subtle than that. Besides, such a turn of phrase implies something rather bombastic. The knowing kind of rolled over me like a very gentle wave, and what was once true was no longer and I was completely at peace with such a change in my reality.

He became the very best friend I've ever had.

I never believed in fate or destiny. I am of sturdy Midwestern - nay, Joliet - stock, I'm like a Mullingar heifer, really, and we don't have the time or the patience for romantic notions. If we wanted any of that we might as well move to California. Besides, you can travel to the farthest country imaginable and it still wouldn't matter because ultimately you just want folks back home to validate your existence in some fashion. Validation is in the water in Joliet like so many fluoride compounds. But instead of something beneficial like reducing tooth decay, all you get is anxious and susceptible to caring too much about what everyone else thinks.

I don't necessarily blame the town in which I grew up for my predicaments, or my parents, or myself. I was ripe for the picking, and you throw such an insecure person into a community where pack mentality is king? It's bound to cause lots of problems for someone who lacks a finely honed sense-of-self with which to wiggle out from under. There isn't really anyone to blame for that inability, either. I had a rough adolescence and the only thing I got out of that experience was the desperate, awful, painful need for things to just finally be OK, no matter what I had to do to make that happen. You know that feeling? Of wanting everything to be OK, nothing more, nothing less? For almost twenty years I lived my life in service of achieving the moment where I'd finally be able to exhale and feel that everyone and everything was ...

... OK.

posted by Erin at 10:46 PM | | filed under: Odds and ends

The City Council of Chicago can be the biggest group of nincompoops. Honest to Pete, you'd think this was Mayberry, as opposed to the third-largest city in the country.

From Save Chicago Culture: Tomorrow the council will vote to approve an ordinance that has the power to stifle creativity in Chicago's musical, theatrical, and general cultural scenes. With no public discourse or commentary, this proposal has been approved by the City Council Committee and is on the fast track to be pushed into law. It is up to us to let our elected officials know that Chicago's creative scene is too rich, too varied, and too vital to be regulated in such a blanket fashion.

This ordinance will effectively shut down and paralyze any independent music, theater and other assorted live performances, the stuff this town's cultural heart is made of. A city where I can only go see Dave Matthews Band or Wicked is not the city I signed up for.

Scott interviewed Ald. Brendan Reilly, 42nd ward yesterday, and is as we speak trying to get press access to the council meeting for tomorrow. He wrote a great piece on the issue at his blog, as well. Sign the Save Chicago Culture petition and keep up with the Time Out Chicago blog for the latest!

posted by Erin at 12:20 PM | | filed under: Chicago

"Well, anyway.. he shows up at the church in his golf pants, caked in mud. Well, ol' Bill Brasky pushes the priest aside and says, "I'll baptize that piece of calamari!" Then he pours Scotch all over my baby son and says, "There! You're baptized!""

This post is solely and completely an inside joke devoted to one of my very favorite family members, Jeffrey, who brought this up over Mother's Day dinner tonight and nearly had me choking with laughter on my Brown's Chicken, just when I needed it.

Dude, I could not find a video for this but I am still looking.

UPDATE! Thanks to Dena - thanks, Dena! - we have video!

posted by Erin at 09:25 PM | | filed under: Random Stupidity

Our friend Matt is such a gifted and amazing writer. Scott and I are huge fans, and would love his stuff even if he wasn't a friend.

Honestly, you need to make him a regular read, especially you parents out there. But don't ask him to update more because then he won't have time to write for me, and I can't lose that on my staff. He's stretched thin as it is.

But definitely make him a regular read.

posted by Erin at 11:40 PM | | filed under: Blog move

Carmen Electra has officially done for Cosmo readers what virtually no one in the past decade has been able to do:

Provided them with NEW, horribly fucking inane tips by which they're supposed to believe they can nab a man. Readers have had to use the recycled, horribly inane OLD shit for YEARS now.

A "sexiness kit?" And in this kit she says we should stash perfume, lip gloss and a pair of heels. I can assure you that if I'm not wearing an outfit that doesn't already necessitate heels, I'm not about to pair up something like my yoga pants and hoodie with purple stiletto pumps. Scott would laugh so hard he'd never regain composure.

Ugh.

posted by Erin at 12:49 PM | | filed under: Random Stupidity

This is my nephew, Chase. Scott and I stopped by my parents' house Saturday night, and Chase was staying with them for the night.

We walked in the door and he ran up to me screaming and wrapped his little arms around my legs. Later on, he insisted on sitting next to me on the couch, pillow tucked on our laps, shovel at our side, Halloween book being read. This little guy loves books more than anything. I couldn't believe how he cuddled up next to me. I only see him a couple of times every month; living an hour and a half away is just far enough that I don't get to see him, or his cousin, Aidan, my other nephew, nearly as much as I'd like.

My heart melted all over the place. Scott said he could hear my uterus thumping. Mostly I just liked getting to know Chase a bit better that day.

He's so sweet.

posted by Erin at 09:49 PM | | filed under: Odds and ends

Scott asked me to do this and I hate saying no to him:

"As these endings were lost, it was necessary for the language to rely upon other means of showing relationship between sentence parts such as adjective and noun, subject and verb, verb and object, etc. The means which developed was, of course, that of Modern English. The subject cane to be indicated primarily by the verb; nouns began to be identified less by their endings and more often by the noun-marking or signaling words that preceded them, such as the, a, some, his, et.c; prepositions increased in importance and took over more of the task of signaling relationships that formerly had been shown also by the cases of nouns."

For a grammar book, those are some shitty sentences. I am probably the only person from JCA's Class of '94 who kept, and regularly reads, her English book.

posted by Erin at 12:14 PM | | filed under: Blog move

April has not been the most prolific of months for me. I just checked this blog and realized there were just a handful of posts, none of them particularly revealing or interesting, save for the one about Omar and his daughter.

I am so envious of women like my friend Carissa, and her friend Amy, who take pictures and write gracefully, lyrically, as though being a creative person is an honor and a gift and the act of creation is reverent and holy. As opposed to how I tend to view my own brand of creativity, which seems to possess all of the grace of a monster truck rally. Each, I know, has it's place. One isn't necessarily better than the other. Both are necessary in the grand scheme. I just wish I could be prettier about it sometimes.

I turned 32 last week to much fanfare with my boyfriend. It was the sort of fun-filled, jam-packed day that I could have only been provided by someone who knows me well. There was Jesus, booze, burgers and full-frontal nudity. Plus an hour-long massage at a spa and a cheese plate. It was not a bad way to usher in a new year especially if you like gratuitous penis shots in your movies, which I do.

I have been trying to be nicer to myself. All of this discontent I feel needs a new home, preferably one several blocks away. I am always nervous and dissatisfied, mostly manifesting itself in the state of my body. Which is silly. This winter, in an effort to combat the cold and to avoid sloth completely since I'd lost total interest in running indoors, I began lifting weights. As it stands, my body is stronger than its ever been, with real muscles everywhere. But you get a photo in front of me, wherein I'm caught at an unflattering angle, and I spazz out completely, for days on end. One of these days it will have to be OK that I am not perfect. Maybe when I'm 42?

I really need to go back to yoga.

Work continues to be amazing and lovely and challenging and filled with kind people who do things like make me margaritas for my birthday and volunteer to help me pick out shoes for soon-to-be dress purchases. I like these people, these new friends. I like working with them and creating with them and they've helped me to navigate through this new world where words like "engagement" and "agency" are relatively new to me, but make me feel pretty grown up. Newsrooms, it's probably not surprising to you, were pretty juvenile in every way you can think of. Agency life has its moments, to be sure, but it doesn't make me want to run in the bathroom and hide like Lynn Sweet once did to me when she didn't get her way.

But mostly my days have been the same, Glinny starts whining when the sun comes up, not to go out, but so that I'll wake up and cuddle up with her. She plops her entire body down onto mine and rests her head in the crook of my arm. Afterwards we start our routine, we part ways, I return later and ask her how her day was. It's usually pretty restful, to be honest. If it's not pouring rain or stupidly cold, we go for walks in the neighborhood. Sometimes I leave to go out - actually I do this more often than not, as I never feel like I'm ever caught up with seeing friends - but other times we just sit on the couch and yell at Tyra Banks or Top Chef or some other Bravo show.

Things feel rather suspended at the moment, which is not a bad thing. I'm waiting for the tide to turn, for things to change again, just after I'd gotten so used to taking up so much space.

posted by Erin at 04:51 PM | | filed under: Odds and ends