Her Little Diane Keaton Hat

 There was an 80something woman behind me at this coffee shop. She was drinking an orange juice and wearing a pale blue button-up, circular glasses, and a Diane Keaton hat. I adored the whole image. I love seeing women enjoying themselves alone. "I won't bother her, but when she gets up to leave, I will pay her a compliment," I thought. I started into my B_rbie revisions and got tunnel vision, like I so often do. Just popped my head up for air, and the woman is gone. I'm sending her the message telepathically. I wish I hasn't missed my chance.

Last month I was here writing, morning after the Taylor Swift concert. I was wearing my t-shirt, a proud ambassador for the greatest cultural event of my lifetime. A man, 70s, approached me asking if I went to the concert. I said I did, and he decided to spend several minutes telling me she bought a house in his area on the east coast. Of course I know this. I would wager there's not a single thing that man could say about Taylor Swift I didn't already know. And I felt myself getting angry. Why did he assume he could teach me when I was the one in the literal t-shirt of our subject? He made a jab at her dating history, and I had to ask myself if it was worth spending five more minutes of my life educating a stranger who did not respect me. (Decided, no.) He then wanted to talk about Lizzo's assault allegations, which also bothered me. I said the situation seemed very complicated. He scoffed that she is an abuser. And maybe she is. But my generation is far more comfortable with complexity, and sometimes that's wrongfully considered as ignorance. In actuality, I care so so much. So much more than that man. I care so deeply that these issues rattle me to my core. I spend lots of time sussing through the difficult webs, questioning the narratives and where they're from and who would want them projected and when and why.

I try to see it differently in hindsight. At least that man knows who Lizzo is. Maybe that's what it was all about. Him presenting to me, "I know your world too!"

Last night I had a brand new experience. I went to a friend's comedy show expecting it to be a semi-sparse attendance of pals. But when Puhg and I got to the lobby, we found ourselves in a huge crowd of buzzing 20somethings. Fans, it turns out, of my contemporaries. I was happy to see it and also have never felt more ancient. I'm jealous of how the world treats Gen Z. I felt so hated for my entire post-college decade. The butt of endless jokes and poor and desperately smiling through it all. Don't complain or you'll be made fun of, you'll seem like "bad energy," you may even be let go--you are expendable beyond your wildest dreams. I still feel that way. Millennials are losers with too much debt and too few houses. Be careful!

Two Reasons to Love Bisque

1. On Sunday we went out for farewell coffee with his sister Fizz. Bisque asked for a macchiato, and I got a biscotti. When the barista chirped "MACCHIATO" I did a double take. At Starbucks a macchiato is basically a latte. At this trendy place where I always get terrible service, but there are very nice love seats and a giant open window, a macchiato is about a thimble of caffeine. I brought the "beverage" over to my guy. He looked at it, I believe on the cusp of playing it cool and being disappointed. He said, "This is not what I was expecting, but I'll try it." And I really liked that. I think a lot of times we pretend like, "Oh yeah, I knew that." But it's just so much better not to. Being honest about the smallest, most frivolous things is how we build muscle to be honest about the big swampy messes--how we learn to have open minds to admit we were wrong about a political candidate or professional mistakes.

2. He said to me last night, "If you're too focused on your dream, you might miss a dream."

Bro and sis post-pizza.

A dream is a wish your heart makes.

Walkin' Around Buyin' Stuff

Today is the one year anniversary of getting my tattoo.

Bisque is in LA for a film premiere.

Chicago was predicted to be above fifty degrees.

All this is to say I hatched a plot.

I laced up my new flower tennies and dug a sundress out of my summer suitcase.

This bakery had the highest Yelp reviews.

I asked for a Pop-Tart.

There was only one flavor (peach) left for the day.

The last time I ate a peach anything

was the second to last time I saw my cousin alive,

and it was bad too. A watery orange hand pie.

But, yes, I did come all this way.

I didn't like the cafe.

There was a fluffy boy at the register who listed every single thing in the bakery case.

In a Rainman-esque way.

Even though my previous sentence was, "I'd like a Pop-Tart."

I sat down, made notes in my planner, and took a bite.

The pastry was just chewy enough.

It tasted like brown butter.

No canned peaches.

Real deal, simmered slow.

But the place still creeped me out.

Maybe I should have gone to the second best Yelp bakery.

I packed up my journal and walked another half mile in the opposite direction.

This place was hidden in an alley.

There were no tables or chairs.

There were five Pop-Tart options, so I chose cherry with chocolate icing.

I found a sunny patch of grass to dine on, but I became distracted.

There are possibilities today!

I'm still a chubby wren delicately hopping along.

My pay is meager. My schedule too full.

But right now, it's Friday afternoon, and I have nothing to be.

I went to a barber for a trim.

I can afford this today, and so, I afforded.

The number 8 bus was due to arrive in 9 minutes.

I pulled up my grey hood and ate the pastry after all.

When I saw the CVS in the bus window, I pulled the cord.

Cashews on sale, a birthday card. and a new eye shadow.

Swim with the tide, and buy when it's time to buy.

Let's Hear It For Science!

When I walk down the garage staircase of the Museum of Science and Industry, I think of all the times I've peered out with the tiniest spark of excitement onto the bright white cavern of a ticketing center and gift shop. Field trips, on a half day with my middle school besties, with Wiz when she visited, with KHo on Spring Break of 2007, with immediate family, with distant family.

I intended to go to S&I last Monday morning for bite of nostalgia--see the Swiss pinball machine, the chicks, maybe buy a postcard and head out. Right before leaving the apartment, I wondered if maybe I should just get some work on my new play done. But, I figured, I could be brief. I stayed for three hours.

Because! Because! Once I was there I was suddenly hit with all the things I love there. The circus exhibit! Omg the model train! Historic Main Street USA for goodness sake! I had forgotten my old friends, and this was the first time I was ever alone with them. I soaked in every signpost about Barnum and Bailey, every turn in the miniature tracks, every brick in the faux road.

And, then, I was captivated by new things! Like you're supposed to be at a museum! I wanted to know about the greatest inventions of today--like a printer that prints edible paper that tastes like what it looks like! Like seeing "What if you could send a hug in the mail?" on a wall next to an ugly sciencey sweatshirt. Because I had gotten in free for being an IL resident, I splurged and bought tour tickets to the Smart Home. Wow eco-homes! The future! The future!

I felt overwhelmed with love for mankind, hope for the future, and a heightened sense of passion for education. I prolonged leaving and stopped in to finish basking in the feel of one of my favorite Chicago spots at the tiny cafe. They had just started serving pumpkin lattes.

It was the best way to spend my morning. I can't believe I almost missed my own life.