Requiem for an Old Blog

Over the years, I've written for lots of blogs, many of which have petered out without a whimper, but Chitown Chatter has been my longest running one so far. So, it pains me to announce the retirement of this blog, but my time in Chicago has run its course. (Besides, All Blogs go to Heaven.) I've been informally murmuring about starting a new blog for a couple months now, and I finally sat down over the weekend to work on it. Without further ado, please update your feeds and bookmarks, and check out Lady Parmalade for my adventures in Italy for the next year. If you would like to be added to the blogroll, just say the word. Feedback, comments and deconstructive criticism are also welcome.

http://ladyparmalade.wordpress.com/

Media Dinners

So the other night I went to a media dinner for the opening of two new restaurants. It was incredibly stressful. It was also extremely rewarding.

Media dinners are held by restaurants to quickly spread the word about an opening, advertise a new menu, introduce a new chef, etc. Back in the old days, this was a good way to get local journalists, writers and publicists all on the same page and to answer any questions at once. Nowadays, the lines between journalists, free lance writers and bloggers have blurred, and many mainstream media publications forbid their staff from accepting gifts. That prevents traditional reporters from attending these sorts of galas, where you are plied with all sorts of complimentary food and drink. Wait, so this is a party with free food and wine, what's to be stressed out about?

Mistake #1: severely underdressing. I've been to these types of functions before, but they were smaller and more low-key than this particular party. I'd just come from work, so it wasn't as if I was wearing jeans, but as I walked into the lounge I quickly realized that in a sea of black cocktail dresses, I stuck out like a sore thumb.

Mistake #2: arriving alone. Since I'd gotten the invitation last-minute, I didn't have a chance to grab someone else to accompany me. (Usually I show up with my editor.) Picture the discomfort of going to a bar by yourself. Now add the unease of being a lowly grad student at a prestigious conference. As I cast glances at the unfamiliar faces around me, I overheard snippets like "You were at Blackbird with Thomas? Who else was he with, Grant? But of course!" That would be eminent chefs Thomas Keller and Grant Achatz, by the way. Great, I not only look like a hot mess, I am surrounded by people (who know people who know people...) who are my heroes. I beelined to the champagne station.

After chugging a flute of champagne, I resolutely dove back into the crowd, looking for openings and people who seemed amenable to making new friends. At your average party, you ask things like where do you work, what do you study, and where are you from. Here, the default was to quiz people on the publications they write for. Invariably, I would mention that I work in economics research at the Fed, which resulted in a casual "Oh, that's interesting" before the conversation came to a dead end. Let's just say that my knowledge of asset-backed securities was of no help in this setting. Just as I was wondering if my inner hotelie had died and I'd completely lost the ability to make small talk, I struck up a conversation with a guy who works in film, and we started talking about Miyazaki and my recent trip to the Ghibli Museum. Everyone else began tuning out, but heck, I was thrilled to have made a friend, and one who watched anime to boot.

Mistake #3: chugging alcohol. Though this goes against my usual behavior at places with open bars, I strongly recommend not getting drunk, or even tipsy, at these affairs. After all, you need to remember these people's names, jobs, publications, etc for next time. And I am so bad at remember names and faces to begin with, I really don't need any extra handicaps.

The rest of the night went more smoothly as I met other area publicists, bloggers and minor Chicago food scene celebs. Some were quirky and eccentric, others were stand-offish, but the majority were friendly and interested in meeting people. Stories were swapped on who to call to kill your chickens (Mike Sula), and how David Chang (of Momofuku) decided to go get tacos at Big Star at 3 am while he was in town for a book signing last week. I debated the ethics of media dinners and journalistic integrity with other bloggers, and discussed asshole chefs and past scandals (like the ad Rick Bayless did for Burger King) with publicists. I met the chefs and management team for the host restaurant, and we were regaled by the manager's stories of working for his aunt as a youth. The aunt in question is none other than organic revolution figurehead, Alice Waters. My jaw dropped when I heard that.

I need a Twitter account. Also a black cocktail dress. And a better memory for names.

On the Chicago Food Blogosphere

Tonight, for the first time, I went out with a bunch of Chicago-area food bloggers. I imagine this is what it feels like to discover that other people share a weird fetish of yours on the internet (cough, FA). Though we spanned a large range of ages and professions, we were all united in our love for 1) food and 2) the internet.

About eight of us gathered downtown for a promotional event (few things makes me happier than several rounds of great food and drinks on the house), armed with notepads, cameras and lots of opinions. I briefly mentioned having been in London and Paris last week, and was immediately bombarded with questions. "Where did you eat? Oh, you went to Brick Lane? Awesome, we did too! Oh oh, I know a great place for fish and chips...you went to Rock & Sole Plaice? That's my favorite place for fish and chips! But never mind London, tell us about Paris..."

Twitter follows were promised. Podcast previews were offered. The competitive sport of the night was Guess the Next Hot Food Trend (pork belly, out; ramps, in?) and What's the Last Restaurant You Ate At (my answer: TAC Quick). "Oh, I went there but I ordered the wrong thing!" someone would say. "I hate when that happens!" three other people would blurt out. We all sipped our wine and commiserated.

The highlight of the night was when someone mentioned the Chicago Fed, and I said, "Oh, I work for the research department!" "No way, really? I worked there until about a year ago! It's good to know there's another food blogger at the Fed." A discussion of all our mutual colleagues ensued, gossip on people's weddings, etc. It is indeed a small world after all.

After a heated discussion on the merits of the meat dress and the bacon bra, I heaved a satiated sigh, and headed for the door. Is the NYT still hiring to replace Frank Bruni??

Word Clouds

I started playing with Wordle this afternoon and decided to generate a few word clouds based on AIM log files between Dec 19, 2006 and Aug 22, 2007. (For a variety of reasons, this was the easiest period/client to generate.) A few words have been removed (e.g. "haha") to make the frequency distribution a little more uniform, but other than that, the text is unaltered. Prizes will be awarded if you can guess the identities of the following people:




I have a feeling that clouds generated on my gchat logs for the same people would look a lot different.

Finally, here is the word cloud for my blog:

Why I Blog

<rant>

In reference to the lengthy post below, someone just asked why they should read it. Rather than extol the merits of my concise history of the Chicago World's Fair (where I have done all the heavy lifting of analysis and summary), I bit my tongue and said "Well then, don't read it."

Let me make one thing clear: I write this blog for me. No one else, just me. I have never, ever asked anyone to read it. There are enough ways that people can stumble upon it on their own, and if they feel it's worth their time, revisit occasionally. I never assume that people have read these posts when I speak to them in person. It's nice to hear comments and interact from readers, but I could care less if I didn't have an audience. I strive to make my posts well-written and interesting, and try to post frequently enough that the blog doesn't get stale. But when it comes down to it, I'm not trying to tailor to your needs, I'm writing to satisfy mine. It's a selfish perspective, I know.

< /rant>

Sorry, I'm probably in a crappy mood because Air India has informed us that they've canceled our flight. After hours on the phone, they only thing they'll tell me is that they won't give at refunds at this point, and that I should call back in a week. Let's hope they're not about to file for Chapter 11.

Chitown: the soap opera

In honor of the circus that is working as an AE at the Chicago Fed, I hereby propose to write our lives into a soap opera. I'm not sure what I expected when I moved here, but it certainly wasn't the dramatic heights that this weekend entailed. After all, aren't economists supposed to be reasonable? Didn't we invent the (myth of the) rational actor? I digress. Here's my outline for the up and coming new sitcom, Chitown.

Cast

• Crystal: don't let the facade fool you, she's evidence that bad-assery can come in tiny packages. When she opened Schrodinger's box, the cat was in fact, simultaneously alive and dead.
  
• Chris: still undergoing delayed adolescence (read, emo) and perpetually misunderstood, particularly when his dirty jokes fall flat on unamused targets. Takes pride in being ambiguously gay, freakishly strong, and wearing his Birkenstocks until they develop holes in the heel.
  
• Haley: type-A organization extraordinaire, has her sights set on business school, owning the J. Crew catalogue, and providing the invisible hand that Makes. Things. Happen.
  
• Nate: happy-go-lucky mediator with a penchant for wearing argyle and kayaking without a boat, he asks if you've heard the one about the 3 econometricians who went hunting?
  
• Erik: proof that justice should be meted out with a clipped British accent, he seeks to shine the light of truth in places of darkness. Hopes to some day make it big with his single "Bernanke."
  
• Ricky: Erik's girlfriend, who is vying for positions in the publishing industry. Between her indie rock playlist, cave-woman underwear, and unorthodox name, she's alternative, baby.
  
• Britton: a sorority girl with a heart of gold, embodiment that you can take the girl out of Ohio, but you can't take the Ohio out of the girl.
  

Recurring Characters

• Phil, gamer and internet-snob, with an encyclopedic knowledge of classic Greek literature. His New Year's resolution is 1280 x 1024, and he'd love to hang out with you in meat space...if only it didn't interfere with his WoW time.
  
• Alex, a model of chivalry for the ladies, though this is only on display when he can tear himself away from his 16 hour work-days
  
• Rich, Crystal's "boss," with a cynical, dry humor and an affinity for flicking butter pats across the table during lengthy lunch meetings
  
• Gay Bartender at Debonair
• The Lunch Lady
  
• Ithaca Joe
  

Pilot Episode: The One Where It All Began

Fresh out of college, the new cohort of Fed AEs start tackling new jobs in a new city. Much to his dismay, Chris discovers the bathrooms do not have paper towel dispensers, only hand dryers. Rather than touching the handle, he waits stealthily behind the door until someone else comes in. In between the drudgery of cleaning data sets, Erik and Nate scheme to invent adult cereal boxes, complete with keychain Rubik's cubes and samples of organic bourbon. The girls organize a ladies' night out with manicures and Manhattans. On the way there, Crystal gets hit by a taxi, and then gets hit on by a rescuer cyclist.

---

We'd probably have to drop the Federal Reserve bit, since that would induce yawns faster than turning down the lights in a lecture hall. If anyone knows how to contact FOX, I'm all ears.

Dungeons & Dragons

Well, I never thought I'd say this, but the line has been crossed and left far behind in the dust, so I may as well announce: I am playing Dungeons and Dragons. Somehow, the idea sprang up at the lunch table, and so, Phil is guiding a few of us neophytes through the process of playing a role-playing game.

At this point, some of you are cheering wildly and mentally upping my nerd score, while everyone else is inwardly grimacing or scratching their head. DnD, isn't that the game played by those kids in high school who carried around bags of dice and wore dragon necklaces and drew fairies in notebooks and claimed they were Wiccan? Yeah, that game.

As it turns out, DnD is not really a game in the traditional sense, but more like collective story-telling. Each person assumes the role of a character, and that character interacts with a fictional world and other members of that world. Furthermore, this world includes plenty of fantastic powers (spell casting, exotic weapons) and mythological threats (dragons, orcs) to keep things interesting. It's much more creative than I had imagined, and frankly, I'm surprised that more girls never got around to playing. (Isn't this what we're supposed to be good at? Playing make-believe?)

Over the last few weeks, we've gradually been schooled in the process of character generation, coming up with various personality traits and numeric statistics. For the final bit, I came up with the following back story for my character. After all this effort, let's hope I don't die when we get together in Phil's basement next weekend.

---

Daevon Nimvirrea Ansatz, 178, was born to a moderately wealthy family of spice merchants in Waterdeep. Her mother died at an early age, and as an only child, Daevon grew up strong-willed and independent. Noting her interest in nature and wildlife, her father tried to channel this energy into horsemanship and gardening. This backfired when local authorities discovered that the garden plot was filled with poppy plants. For her part, Daevon insisted upon her innocence and said that she had simply wanted a field full of crimson blooms. One summer, a band of gypsies set up camp on the outskirts of town. Daevon became fast friends with the children and adopted Mama Mirela as her own. When fall approached and the gypsies were readying for the winter move, Daevon opted to skip school and leave with the gypsies. Over the next few years, she roamed much of the High Forest, and the gypsy elders taught her how to purify water, track and hunt animals, identify edible plants and the like. With her nimble fingers, she became an expert archer, and those who crossed her might see their hats whisked away by arrows.

When Mama Mirela died, Daevon silently mourned her passing as the mother she’d never had. Then, she opted to leave dry land for a spell at sea, working a stint as a deckhand on a crab fishing schooner. Though she spent most of her time cleaning and sorting the catch, she had a stellar eye for navigation and learned to track the movements of the constellations. After two seasons in the Sea of Moving ice, Daevon decided she’d had enough of laboring 24-hour shifts in wet, freezing conditions, and at the next port, she took off with her trunk over her shoulder.

Currently, Daevon works as a sherpa at the base of the Nether mountains. The pay is high, but the work is mundane and she is itching to travel again. Occasionally, she does meet interesting travelers, who bring her news from the coasts. Last week, a druid by the name of Phineas Crumplebeard passed through, en route to Icewind Dale. Though she paid little attention as he babbled about his exploits, Daevon was duly impressed when he successfully healed a sprained ankle of hers.

Blog Reading Level

Typically I find quiz results on blogs quite irritating, but I thought I'd cave on this occasion because the results actually pertain to the blog itself. (It's meta, no?) It looks like all that time in college paid off, because my writing is on par with someone with an undergraduate education.

Since I'm uber competitive about such matters, I did a quick survey of some of the other sites I frequent (and competing blogs). Here's how the results stacked up:

Random sample of 4 friends' blogs: 2 elementary school, 2 junior high
The New York Times: junior high (this surprised me a bit, but it's likely due to only headlines being posted on the main page)
Slate: high school
Marginal Revolution: high school
Chronicle of Higher Education: college (undergrad)
Greg Mankiw's blog: college (post grad)
The Becker-Posner blog: genius
The Economist: genius (woo, best publication ever!)
Ars Technica: genius

Conclusion: it helps to write about a specialized topic (you use more obscure terminology), longer posts tend to be more complex, and the Brits are amazing.

(lack of) Progress

November's over halfway over and there's pretty much no way I'm going to hit 50,000 words by the end of the month. I got distracted by work, there were birthday parties to attend to, my mind has been focused on pursuits far from the solitude of writing.

Which is not to say the effort I've expended so far has been a complete waste. I actually think the germ of an idea I started with could (with a lot more TLC) blossom into something that would be enjoyable to read. But that path is dark and toilsome, and my resolve is faltering. Then, in an effort to see good writing, I start reading instead, and wonder how Bill Bryson manages so effortlessly to weave his sentences into a narrative, and be funny to boot.

Add to all this increasing anxiety about what I want to do with my life. Lately, I've been shying away from the idea of econ grad, but then I don't know what I'd pursue in lieu of academia. It's not so much the misery of being in grad school that scares me, I've just been giving more thought to the other opportunities I'd be passing up. Sure, I'd be happy in a research environment, but I think I'd also be highly effective as an entrepreneur. And then, I daydream about being a food critic. Or a university president. Those are my current ideal jobs at the moment, and both fields are naturally quite competitive.

Norman Mailer died last week, and though I've only read one of his works and wasn't a huge fan, he is certainly part of the canon of 20th century American literature. More importantly, in this age of celebrity, he had an outsize personality to match. From the NYT memorial article, we get this colorful description:

At different points in his life Mr. Mailer was a prodigious drinker and drug taker, a womanizer, a devoted family man, a would-be politician who ran for mayor of New York, a hipster existentialist, an antiwar protester, an opponent of women's liberation and an all-purpose feuder and short-fused brawler, who with the slightest provocation would happily engage in head-butting, arm-wrestling and random punch-throwing. Boxing obsessed him and inspired some of his best writing. Any time he met a critic or a reviewer, even a friendly one, he would put up his fists and drop into a crouch.

Well, whatever I decide to do, it looks like it's never too late to change your mind.

Nanowrimo

In other news, it is November, so I am participating in Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) for the 2nd year in a row. The goal is to finish a novel or write 50,000 words by the end of the month, which comes out to about 1,667 words a day, or 2 1/2 singled spaced, 12 font pages. (Of course, my real goal is to simply beat Matt's word count...) For those naysayers who say that this results in an emphasis of quantity over quality, you're right, but I think it's better to get people to start writing, period. I don't think any literary masterpieces are going to spring from Nanowrimo, but it does provide impetus for people to sit down and write. And maybe I'll be motivated enough to add to my lexicon and help stop world hunger while I'm at it.

As for last year's try, let's just say that unless you counted my thesis proposal toward my word count, my attempt was rather a miserable failure. Also, I didn't really have a plot in mind when I started writing, and the stream of consciousness dried up fairly quickly. But this year, sans classes and with a large supply of cute, bohemian cafes at my disposal, I am feeling much more optimistic! See you all in December.