The Twin Cities

Last week, I got to tag along to an event my company was hosting in Minneapolis a.k.a. City of the Strangest Names (Minnehaha) and the Sweetest People on the Planet. Everyone calls you "lovey" or "dovey" or "lovey-dovey," and every time I heard that off-kilter Minnesotan accent, I mean, how can you not smile? Maybe I've just been in Chicago too long.


The point is, we stayed at the W Minneapolis at The Foshay, and it was...kind of incredible. The last time I stayed at the W was at the Times Square, New York with my mother, and from what I remember, it was too much, sleazy, and all wrong. But take a look at this one --

You can't really see it, but there are little welcome letters on the desk. Details, my friends!

Lobby

Foyer -- maybe the sleaze-lessness and charm comes from the building being so old. The Foshay is an art deco building from the 1920s.

I can't get a good photo, but these high back chairs were paired all along the foyer, and they were my favorite part.

Yeah, it was still a little too much, but sometimes more is more.

P.S. I studied for the GREs last night. The things Norman gets me to do...

La Parisienne

C'est parfait. Je voudrais etudier le francais a nouveau...

P.S. How do you do accents on blogger?

(photo via Style Essentials)

In Black and White Print

I turned something into the NYT Modern Love contest yesterday. I turned it in at exactly 11:58 p.m. eastern time. The deadline was 11:59 p.m. And unfortunately, my chances aren't lookin' too hot. True, I only found out about the contest two days before the deadline, but I've cranked out personal essays with less time before, ones that I ended up loving. And this was supposed to be an essay on modern love, for crying out loud! I had a whole blog devoted to the topic! I should've been trotting all over that damn park.

I don't even know if I can call it a funk? Because I've had those -- where it's just a really ugly road block, one that's only there to make you take the longest possible detour, to your convenience, of course. But at least you got there. I wrote two completely different essays, settled on a third, and hated all of them. I would read them out loud to Norman (reading out loud is essential for me), and I wouldn't even finish before I said, "Is this boring? This is boring, isn't it? Ohmygod, it's boring and you know me."

I would write them, and yes, there would be moments of pretty prose, but at the end of it, I would just stop and say out loud, "What am I doing?" I had no idea what I was trying to say. What am I trying to say? What's the point? The "so what"?

It's something that's been really bothering me lately. My professor said writers should always have a point of view. It's best to know what you're trying to say before, but you should definitely be somewhere at the end of it. But what if I don't have anything to say at all? What if I'm a creamless cannoli?

I don't expect anything. (That's a lie: I expect the NYT editors to scratch their scalps with their valuable fingers. That's a lie, too. I want this. I want(ed) this badly because for the first time I felt like I really had a shot at it. Maybe I wanted it too much. Is that wrong? To want it too much? April is going to be a long month.) I did it for the sake of the opportunity because that's what I've learned I have to do, and if I'm better because of it, that's all I can ask for. (Okay, yes, another lie. I'm in a fragile state, and I just need some validation that this is what I'm supposed to be doing.) Now, does anyone have any Funk-B-Gone?

(photos via pinterest, vi.sualize.us, a glamorous little side project)

I love you, Chicago

I slept for thirteen hours. Thir. Teen. Hours. In my body's defense, I had a pretty rough day of travel yesterday that started at 4 a.m. (eastern time). But still, that's pretty obscene.

New York was everything. (Besides the whole getting-my-wallet-stolen thing, of course--sigh--but c'est la vie, my friends.) I just kept thinking to myself how incredible it would've been to go to school in New York. It would've been beyond (and yes, I realize I would've been broke -- that isn't the point). But I did come to the conclusion that the only way to truly enjoy New York for everything it has to offer is as a non-New Yorker (meaning living there for less than 10 years). People there need to lighten up. The entire planet and everything it has to offer is in Manhattan, but New Yorkers don't know how to enjoy it. Live a little!

And I'm back in Chicago. It's funny -- I never realized how much Chicago felt like home until I left it. I've only been here for four years, but it's become a pretty special place to me. Now, we just need to work on this weather...

(photo via pinterest)

Photo Diary: New York

"This is what happens when there's a recession!" -- my cousin in reference to the cupcake size

Crumbs on Broadway (right in my cousin's office building!), Alice's Tea Cup (my cousin's favorite cupcake), Chelsea, West Village, Soho with...

my cousin, Sue Jean! She's one of the most fabulous people I know, and she always takes such good care of me when I visit. I love you, Sue Jean unni!

I __ New York

I got robbed today. Oh, "robbed" makes it sound so much worse than it is. I got pick-pocketed. I had to kill some time while waiting for my cousin to get off work, went to a Starbucks and got robbed. Praise the Lord I didn't bring my camera or any other valuables with me. They only took my wallet, and I hope they had fun with that because I had a dollar to my name and I cancelled all my cards the moment I found out it was gone (which I confirmed weren't used).

Well, I can definitely say it was an experience. I've never been inside a police station before. I always thought those Brooklyn police scenes/gags were complete cliches, but it turns out they're for real.

Thanks New York. Hello to you, too.

(photo via pinterest)