A Little Restraint, Please

Yesterday, Chicago -- like many other cities across the country -- enjoyed a fantastically hot and sunny day. Seeing as how there have been late-April blizzards here in years past, I'd say an 82-degree afternoon on 4/10 was major cause for celebration.

I made it a point to get outside, and ended up taking a two-hour-long walk along Lake Michigan (apologies to those I blinded with my neon-white legs and arms). On my way home I was pretty close to Lake Shore Drive, and in particular the exit that leads to Lincoln Park Zoo. This free zoo is a popular destination for locals and tourists alike, and a lot of the cars that I walked next to (literally just feet from) were packed with kids.

That was when I noticed how few people wore their seat belts. The traffic was almost at a standstill, and so I probably passed 50 cars. I'd say about 70% of the people I counted weren't buckled up.

I was astonished. I would NEVER NOT wear my seat belt. You know how some people don't buckle up in cabs? (Which is exactly when you really need to the most, by the way.) Yeah... I'm not one of those people. It is just an instinct. I always reach for my seat belt the second I get into a car. Any car.

From what I saw at the Fullerton exit, however, I may be in the minority.

This bothered me the rest of the way home. First I was upset by how many people seemed to think they were invincible. But mostly I was disturbed by how few children were wearing belts. I mean, if you want to take chances with your own life, fine. (Not really... I think you're stupid... but fine.) But to not ensure that your kids are safe? I find that reprehensible. That's beyond lazy parenting -- it's almost like intentionally putting your offspring in harm's way. HOW HARD IS IT TO PUT ON A SEAT BELT? HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE? Answers: Not hard, and a millisecond.

It's over 24 hours after my depressing discovery, and it's still bothering me. I never feel my seat belt, so it can't be a comfort thing. (And for the record, some of the people who WERE wearing belts were, um... let's just say a bit overweight. Yet they still buckled up and didn't use "It's cutting into my skin!!!" as an excuse.) The "But there's never any traffic where I drive" or "I only go on really slow roads" or "I've never been in an accident" excuses also make no sense. That's like telling me you can predict the future or control everyone else's actions. Last I checked, Oprah didn't have you on her show, so you must not be all-knowing and all-powerful. NEXT EXCUSE!

Now, I know I've been a bit harsh in this post, but I promise I will not personally degrade you if you're brave enough to write in and tell me why you're among those who don't buckle up. I just want to know why. Do you really think there's some sort of "seat belt conspiracy" and that it WON'T save your life? This inquiring mind needs to know why you're ignoring the facts.

(But please DO NOT TELL ME if you don't make your kids buckle up. I will never forgive you!)

- e

Too Blessed To Be Stressed*

"I'm grateful I live really close to a place where I can get awesome sweet potato fries for $3."

The above is but one of the genius entries in my new Gratitude Journal.

Last week I mentioned Happier, the book I was reading (and have since finished) about the study of "positive psychology." Considering how I dog-eared literally half of its pages, I think it's fair to say that I liked and would recommend the book. I wouldn't really consider it a self-help tome -- it's more a mix of research findings, interesting anecdotes, and simple "exercises" you can partake in if you want to put some of author Tal Ben-Shahar's theories to the test. One such exercise I gravitated to right away was "Keeping a Gratitude Journal."

The concept behind a Gratitude Journal is pretty simple -- research has proven that those who are acutely aware of the good things in their life tend to experience higher levels of emotional and physical well-being. So by consciously reviewing what you've got going for you, or what you have to be thankful for, on a daily basis, you're bound to keep things in perspective and not let setbacks rattle you as much as you might have otherwise. In short, you'll be happier.

Ben-Shahar recommends jotting down at least five things you're grateful for each night before you go to bed. I'd bought this cool "e" notebook last year (for $1! I'm grateful for $1 bins!) and decided it would be perfect for the cause. I've been keeping up with it every evening since March 28, and now truly look forward to composing my nightly entry just moments before I hit the hay. You don't need to come up with monumentally huge things you have to be thankful for (see sweet-potato-fry line above) -- and you don't have to worry about repeating yourself over the course of time. The key is to make a habit out of the practice -- to keep what's good in your life at the forefront of your mind.

Knowing that I'll be writing at least five "gratitudes" in my journal every day has helped me to be more conscious of things I usually take for granted -- things that actually make me REALLY happy. The sound of my dog snoring. Working in my pajamas. Lighting a new candle for the first time. The neighbor who's always fixing up our building. A coupon for a place where I would've gladly paid full price. A message from an old friend. Losing myself in a great book. My morning cup of Earl Grey.

None of this is life-changing stuff. But that's kind of the point. I've traveled to third-world countries and have seen awful, awful things -- conditions no human being should ever have to live in. And every time I returned from one of those trips I swore to myself that I would never complain about anything again. Ever. That I would never get jealous of anyone, that I would never get upset about something stupid, and that I would always remember how incredibly lucky and privileged I am compared to the vast majority of the rest of the planet's population. (Anyone reading this can most likely say the same thing, right?)

But within a week... definitely within a month... I would somehow push those sad memories and experiences from my mind and be back to fretting over lame, inconsequential stuff.

Humans are simply hardwired to forget what they've learned from life's most painful or uncomfortable lessons. Typically it takes a horrifying event or natural disaster to make each of us stop in our tracks, put things in perspective, count our blessings, and treat one another more kindly... until our memories fade and we're back to worrying about the silliest of things again. I'm the worst offender of them all.

That's why I think the idea of a Gratitude Journal is so genius. Every 24 hours it forces you to reflect on how much you have to be thankful for. If we're not taking note of the things that have the power to bring us joy, keep us safe, and inspire us, then it's going to be really tough to achieve any sort of lasting peace in this lifetime, isn't it?

- e

* I saw this saying on a t-shirt some guy was wearing at The Taste of Chicago years ago. It popped back into my memory when I was struggling to think of a creative title for this post. So consider me grateful for the Random Dude Wearing the "Too Blessed To Be Stressed" tee!

I Spy

Something that happened yesterday made me realize I might have enough material for a whole new blog-post category: Confessions.

I was at a movie screening, and a critic next to me had his/her laptop open (keepin' it vague on purpose!). The seats in this particular theater are REALLY close together, and I found it pretty much impossible not to glance over at the glowing screen just inches away. An email program was front and center. I quickly scanned the "From" column (and saw a lot of names I recognized, too...) and the "Subject" column. I even peeked at a message my colleague was writing.

This is not the first time I've done such a thing. In fact, I don't remember having been in a situation where someone's laptop is right in my face and I HAVEN'T checked out what that person's working on. In airport lounges, on airplanes, on trains, in cafes and coffee shops -- there are tons of opportunities to take a look-see at others' work. Sometimes I've come to regret doing so -- like when a fellow traveler's watching an ultra-violent movie while seated next to me on a flight. Ooh, I didn't really want to see that guy get stabbed in the neck. Now I can't UNsee it. Crap.

It's not just laptops I steal glances at, either. Back in the summer of 2002 I was living in Boston and interning downtown at Fidelity. I would ride the very, very crowded "T" (subway) every day, and inevitably get smushed against other passengers. On one particularly hot and sweaty morning, I started reading an article another rider was holding up in front of him. The subject was some sort of medical study... and it was really, really graphic. I started feeling woozy. Then I announced to the countless other passengers that somebody better give up their seat because I was about to pass out. I did get to sit down... and then somehow found myself outside the train (but still underground) on the next stop's platform. A woman and her young son were with me and I was sprawled on the station's dirty floor.

"Here, have my son's juice box!" the lady offered. I took it. The kid stared at me, wide-eyed.

"Are you going to be OK?" the mom asked. I nodded, but before she headed on her way, she called a policeman over to ensure I would be able to stand.

Let me just say that I've done a lot of dumb things in my life and have made a fool of myself many times, but there are few instances I can recall where I felt AS stupid as I did that day. I eventually stood up, got on the next train, went into Fidelity's offices -- where the building's security guard noted that I looked "REALLY PALE" -- and then eventually shook the whole incident off a few hours later.

Obviously I didn't learn my lesson, though.

So does anyone else out there do this sort of thing -- read over others' shoulders... peek at nearby laptops... glance at documents someone else is reviewing? Please tell me I'm not the only one. Isn't this sort of curiosity just ingrained in our nature?

- e

Flat Out of Luck

So I hope it goes without saying that only the most extenuating of circumstances would justify my lack of posts over the past few days -- especially considering how I made such a big deal about trying to stick to my new schedule, getting back into a writing routine, etc., etc. Rest assured that since I last posted, life has not been fun. I'm just going to leave it at that so as to not come off as a whiner, because I know in the whole scheme of things, what's gone down on my end since Friday isn't THAT awful.

But I did want to write about one thing that happened Monday afternoon. My husband and I were about 45 minutes away from home for an appointment we had in a northern Chicago suburb. We returned to our car after the appointment was over, got in, my husband drove a few feet... and that's when we heard a sound that was not right. Yep, one of our front tires was completely flat.

We were within a pay-to-park lot, so my husband slowly steered us outside to an open, flat area, and then turned off the engine. When it became apparent that he was going to attempt to change the tire himself, I totally freaked out and told him he'd never be able to do it.

"I've done it before," he replied.

"Oh yeah? When?" I asked. We've only had our current vehicle for two of the twelve years my husband and I have been together -- and before that we didn't even have a car. So I was quite positive he'd never changed a tire since at least 1999.

"I did it once in high school," he said confidently.

"THAT WAS OVER TWENTY YEARS AGO!!!" I yelled, freaking out even more. I mean, if we'd been in the city, or ten minutes away, I would've been OK with the situation. But I knew we had to go along Lake Shore Drive (pic to the left) in order to get home, and that at a slower pace it would probably take a full hour.

So I made my husband humor me and call a service place. They said they'd make it to us in 40 minutes. He told them we'd be waiting, and for the next 10 minutes it appeared that he'd abandoned his quest to change the tire himself. He was checking emails on his Blackberry, while I was Googling "How to change a flat tire" and becoming more and more convinced that we should definitely leave the job to professionals. I read things like, "You must use BRUTE FORCE to loosen the lug nuts -- pretend you're Mr. T" and "If you don't put bricks behind the other tires, the car might start rolling backwards." D'oh!

Now, I don't want to imply in any of this that I think my husband is a weakling or something. I don't at all. But he was wearing a nice suit, going into the office after dropping me at home, and I hated to see him get all sweaty and dirty... IF he could even succeed in getting the flat tire off and the spare on in the first place. Alas, my husband is not a patient man. After going through his emails, he just couldn't help himself. (Or perhaps he simply wanted to prove me wrong -- it had kind of turned into a matter of pride.) He got out of the car and proceeded to take the spare, a jack, and a bunch of other stuff I didn't even know we had from our trunk. And dammit if he didn't replace the tire.

"Don't you think we should wait until the service guys show up to make sure everything's right?" I asked sheepishly after he got back in and started the engine without so much as a word. We'd been there exactly forty minutes, so the repair team should've been arriving at any moment.

"No, we're good," he replied, before calling the service place to cancel... and learning that they HAD NOT EVEN DISPATCHED ANYONE OUT TO OUR LOCATION YET.

So in the end, I'm glad my husband gave it the old college (or I guess in this case, high school) try. We would've been sitting in the suburbs forever, just assuming the service team was on its way. We would've called them again... and they would've eventually shown up. But then my husband wouldn't have gotten a chance to prove me wrong. And such an opportunity almost never happens, you know.

- e

Oh, Here Go Hell Come.

Have you ever worried and worried and worried about what you might do if a certain situation you were kinda dreading -- but also kinda excited for -- actually happened?

I've been stressing about something since early February, and it finally happened today. How do I feel now? Relieved. But not at first.

As Inigo Montoya said best in The Princess Bride, "Let me explain... no, there is too much. Let me sum up."

Here's the deal: My book is about the 2007 multibillion-dollar bidding war for the Chicago Board of Trade, where I worked at the time. The bidding war was started by a company in Atlanta called ICE.

Fast-forward four years. Zero-Sum Game came out in November, and now I'm finally wrapping up marketing and promotional duties for it in order to start working on my next big endeavor (which I publicly committed to on this very site just days ago). Meanwhile, for the past several weeks there have been rumors that ICE was going to kick off yet another bidding war -- this time for the New York Stock Exchange, which in February had entered into a merger agreement with a huge exchange in Germany called Deutsche Börse ("The Germans" in my book, for those of you who've read it).

So why would any of this make me worried? Because I knew ICE would in fact end up making a bid for the NYSE. And I knew that would really give me no choice but to take a deep breath and reignite my media efforts. (Yes, all of that stuff is MY responsibility, publishers typically only help out their most famous authors -- ironic, no?)

Sure enough, this morning ICE and NASDAQ jointly announced a hostile offer for the New York Stock Exchange (technically NYSE Euronext, but I don't expect you guys to be that nerdy and follow all that). Just when I was finally being able to relax and, in LOST terms, "let go."

What did I do? My first reaction was straight outta that awesome clip from The Fashion Show (which I never watched, but heard about from The Soup): "Oh, here go hell come." It was ON. Why? Because mine is the ONLY book in existence about ICE, its CEO, and a bidding war between exchanges. Before today, the vast majority of people don't even know or care about what ICE is or who's running it... but when that same company comes out of nowhere and announces an $11.3 billion offer to buy one of the most iconic American businesses in existence? Um, people start getting interested real quick.

Therefore, even though I'm so, so, SO tired and desperately need a break, I know I owe it to myself to take advantage of the opportunities this headline-making news presents. After all, I spent four years working on Zero-Sum Game! What's a few more weeks? I'm extremely proud of my book, and I want more people to know it exists and to read it. So I cannot rest -- not just yet.

I canceled all of my plans for the day (sorry Julie... sorry Glen... sorry gym...) and sprang into action. I somehow still managed to attend to my redbox duties, but also made contact with a few people I'd met in the media through my first round of book promotion. I was quoted in an Atlanta Journal-Constitution article that just posted, and have a few other cool things in the works for early next week. I was dreading this situation and all of the hard work it would entail, but now that I'm in the thick of it, I'm going to try and enjoy it, be thankful for it, and have fun with it.

My weekend is not going to be very restful now, but maybe that means my eventual FINAL break from book marketing will be that much more sweet. At least that's what I'm telling myself to get through this. Do something relaxing in my honor Saturday or Sunday, won't you?

- e

One-Trick Towns

Last night I had the great pleasure of finally meeting one of my most loyal blog readers who I've been chatting with online for years -- Glen from the UK. He's in Chicago this week for work and surprised me with two boxes of Cadbury chocolates (yum!) and a bunch of cool Beatles memorabilia from Liverpool (his hometown) that I'm going to fight my husband over.

As I was excitedly going through all the goodies like a kid on Christmas morning, I was a bit caught off guard when Glen casually mentioned that he pretty much can't stand The Beatles. First I was like, "Huh? Whaa....?" and then I was like, "Boy, shut yo' MOUTH!" Blasphemy! How could he and I remain friends?

But then when he went on to tell me what it's like living in Liverpool, dealing with the constant stream of Beatles tourists, cover bands, festivals, museums, and statues, as well as not being able to remember the last time a day went by when he wasn't asked to take a picture of a Fab Four fan posing in front of some Beatles-related landmark, I began to understand. Seeing as how he lives extremely close to John Lennon's old home and just around the corner from Penny Lane (yes, it does exist), he's learned to adopt a good attitude about it all -- but draws the line when it comes to the band's music. Here's one of the funniest things I learned about his hometown: On Penny Lane there actually is "a barber selling photographs" (well, postcards now)... but the guy doesn't even cut hair anymore -- he's able to make a living off of all the tourists coming in and buying stuff just so they can say they visited the barber in the song. I love it.

These Liverpool stories got me thinking about a daylong drive my husband and I once took up the east coast. After spending a few hours in Salem, Massachusetts, all we could think about was how weird it must be to grow up in a place that was famous for witches and witch trials and hangings and burnings and whatnot. I mean, you cannot escape that stuff in Salem.

When I got home last night I was still a bit sad about Glen's Beatles Hate, but got over it by trying to think of "one-trick towns" (for lack of a better/catchier phrase) in the U.S. I can only imagine that because of the Twilight phenomenon, Forks, Washington, residents must be up to their ears in vampires and werewolf t-shirts and tchotchkes. And then there's Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, known only for its weather-predicting groundhog (and, subsequently, the film Groundhog Day). Glen said that when he visited Bangor, Maine, it was all about Stephen King (it's the horror-writer's hometown) -- his hangouts, his homes, and "where he did this, where he did that."

I know there are a lot of really, really small towns across America that boast "the world's biggest ball of yarn" or other random oddities like that in order to attract tourists (and more importantly, their money). But to me that's not the same as a Liverpool or a Salem or a Punxsutawney that has garnered worldwide recognition or association with ONE SPECIFIC historical or pop culture figure. Can you think of any others?

(And thanks again to Glen for all the Beatles loot -- I know it must have been tough for him to have to act like he was a fan/tourist when buying it!)

- e

e's Favorite Things: My L.L.Bean Backpack

When I was in Michigan last week I had a book signing in my home town of Rochester Hills. As luck would have it, a nasty sleet storm whipped up about 1.5 hours before my event was scheduled to begin, and a lot of people I'd been looking forward to seeing again or meeting for the first time couldn't make it. Heck, I didn't even want to go out in that weather! But duty called.

One of the brave souls who toughed it out was my former classmate Leon -- we went to Michigan Business School together and I hadn't seen him since 1996! While many of you know me as "e" (which I took on as a shortened nickname after being called "egrrl" by my co-workers during my years in the Internet industry), Leon always used to call me "ESO" (pronounced e-so). Why? Because of a backpack with those initials (which are, of course, MY initials) that NEVER LEFT MY SIDE during college. When I found out that Leon was planning to come to my signing, I made sure to bring my backpack with me for the big reunion.

And here we are!


Yay! The backpack was totally feelin' the love, I'm sure of it.

What I wanted to focus on today was the fact that even though I finally "retired" this beloved L.L.Bean backpack last year (I got it in 1992 -- so it had been on duty for nearly two decades!), I can't bring myself to throw it out. Nor could I bring myself to mail it into L.L.Bean to have two of the broken zippers fixed. They have a lifetime guarantee on their products and I knew they'd be able to breathe some new life into my backpack, but I just couldn't bear the thought of it getting lost in the mail.

I did check to see if they still make this same item, though... and they do! Here's what it looks like brand-spankin' new:


I'm assuming I'm not the only person in the world who has a somewhat irrational attachment to an inanimate object. In fact, I know I'm not. For me, my backpack represents the best times of my life: college, grad school, all of my vacations, and all of my travels for work. In fact, even though it was totally busted at the time, killed my shoulders and back and had lost absolutely all of its structure and shape, there was no doubt in my mind that I would bring my ESO backpack with me when I finally checked the seventh continent off of my To Visit list. How couldn't I? It had gone with me to all of the other six!

You can see its strap here as I get ready to board the Endeavour to Antarctica.



Last year I finally had to break down and buy a new backpack (while keeping ESO on standby in a nice comfy spot in my closet), and I absolutely love it. It's functional, sturdy, provides silky padding for my laptop, and is comfortable to wear while trekking through airports or around cities. But it has no soul... it has no character.

It will never be ESO.

- e

Throwing the Knapsack

Now that I'm slowly but surely trying to work my way back into a routine that includes at least a couple of hours of reading for pleasure every week, I'm a little overwhelmed by the number of books vying for my attention. I have a habit of buying tons of books in random spurts, knowing full well I probably won't be able to get to all of them for years.

In the last few months I finished two books that came out shortly after mine and are complementary to the story I covered: The Futures by Emily Lambert, and The Asylum by Leah McGrath Goodman. I've had the great honor of meeting and/or talking to both of these authors and loved reading what they had to say about other aspects of the world I used to work in. Now, however, I'm ready for a little break from business reading.

So last night I scanned my enormous bookshelf (that's it, to the right... it's two rows deep on all levels -- and if you want to know what in the hell that crazy bird statue is, you'll have to wait for my next book!) and my eyes came to rest upon Brisingr. I bought this novel when it came out in September 2008 and still haven't touched it -- how sad is that? It's the third book in a fantasy series that revolves around a boy and his dragon, and so I figured that's about as far away from Corporate America as you can get. Ding ding ding... we have a winner. But then a bright yellow book on the top shelf seemed to call to me, and I decided to pull it down. It was Happier -- a gift from my Aunt Sue a few years ago. It was written by one of my cousin's professors at Harvard, Tal Ben-Shahar, who teaches an extraordinarily popular class about happiness, of all things.

While I apologize to poor Brisingr for giving it the brush-off once again, I am really glad I picked Happier as my next read. I am LOVING it so far -- it's exactly what I needed to motivate myself for my next big project (the aforementioned book). It also inspired a great conversation with my husband last night, as well as all sorts of blog post ideas -- including today's about "throwing the knapsack."

What that phrase refers to (in Happier) is a fictional hiker whose path is suddenly blocked by a high barrier. The hiker only has a knapsack with him, and he decides to throw it over the barrier. Now he has no choice but to devise a plan to get himself over to the other side, too.

Professor Ben-Shahar gives a few examples of famous people who "threw the knapsack" -- people like Thomas Edison and John F. Kennedy who publicly made huge promises (the lightbulb! a man on the moon!) and declared aggressive deadlines by which they'd complete their tasks... even though their chances of success at the time seemed very slim.

These stories resonated with me, because I have learned that I am definitely the kind of person who needs to throw her knapsack in order to really commit to a goal. I've always had a huge fear of failure, but an even bigger fear of not doing something I say I'm going to do. So in August 2007 when I left the financial services industry to try and make a 180-degree career switch and work on getting an agent and publisher for my book, I told all of my closest friends and family members what my intentions were. I asked people I respected if they'd review a draft of my book proposal over Thanksgiving, so I would have to be done with it by then. I promised my husband that if nothing had come from my efforts on the book within a year, I'd return to The Man. (Nothing did come of the book within a year, by the way... but my redbox gig fell into my lap just in the nick of time!)

More recently I started realizing that I was stuck in a creative rut. I felt so overwhelmed by all of the things I could be doing that I wasn't being truly productive on any front. I knew I needed another big goal to kick my behind into gear. That's why I made the promise publicly on this site -- both to myself and to awesome readers such as yourself -- that I would start posting here again every day. I've also thrown down the gauntlet on my second book -- I will write it, dammit! I must.

With that, I must ask you to prepare for a lot of soul-baring on this site in the coming months. While I definitely have plenty of silly and/or lighthearted posts in the works, I'm understanding more and more that I'm meant to be writing about topics that are not always so easy to tackle... and then subsequently share with others. But the reward (for me) is greatest when I'm brutally honest and in turn hear from others who relate to how I'm feeling or what I'm going through. So move over Jack Handy, e's Deep Thoughts are a-comin'!

'Cause this here is real!

I'll end with one of my favorite quotes that sums up the whole "throwing the knapsack" idea:

Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it!
Boldness has genius, magic, and power in it.
- Goethe

- e

Michy's Miami: Best Short Ribs Ever

At the end of January I spent a long weekend in the Sunshine State with my friend Miss M -- she traveled south from NYC to run the Miami Half Marathon, and I tagged along in order to get a break from Chicago's winter weather and, of course, cheer her on. (Some of you may recall that I've been lucky enough to go on several exotic-destination vacations with Miss M because she's got mad Starwood Points. When you have a friend like her it really pays to be a freelancer, be able to work from anywhere, and not have to ask The Man for time off!)

Miss M had thoroughly researched the Miami restaurant scene and made reservations for us every day and night at fabulous spots. The place we visited our first evening in town, Michy's, ended up being my favorite, which thoroughly surprised me. It surprised me because I thought its owner/head chef, Michelle Bernstein, was a bit of a you-know-what when she appeared as a guest judge on Season Seven of Top Chef. It was actually her recent return to the series during the current All-Star season that reminded me to write about my experience at her restaurant! (And yes, I realize that someone's personality doesn't have any bearing whatsoever on whether or not they're a good chef. I guess I was just mentally prepared to not like her food because she rubbed me the wrong way on the show.)

Now, usually I'm the kind of person who's all about appetizers and desserts. I'm not really a main course kind of gal -- meaning that's not what I usually look forward to when I go out to eat, if that makes any sort of sense. But while I generally recall everything being wonderful at Michy's, I seriously can't even remember what else I had there besides THE FREAKING BEST SHORT RIBS IN THE WORLD. Their superiority crowded out the memory of anything else I consumed that night.

Am I allowed to deem them the Best Short Ribs Ever when they were actually the first short ribs I've tasted in my life? Yes, I am, because: 1) It's my site and I can do whatever I want, and 2) I ended up having short ribs for dinner every night for the duration of our trip just to compare and contrast... and have also had them at a few other high-end places here in Chicago over the last two months. Michy's short ribs blew the competition away. It was no contest. Not only was the meat excellent (and this is coming from someone who rarely eats red meat), but the accents (is that the right word?) just did me in. The diced squash with cinnamon KILLED ME. And guess what? I found a picture of it all:


Perfection.

Guess what else? I actually found the recipe, straight from the chef herself! But since I don't cook that means someone out there is going to have to offer to recreate the meal for me -- preferably on a day when I need cheering up. Because this dish is guaranteed to do it. Who's up for the challenge?

- e

Not a Fan of the Millennium Trilogy

Last summer, around the same time I picked up The Ten Best Days of My Life, I also started reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. (Talk about your opposites...) I wanted to see what in the heck all the fuss was about with these Stieg Larsson books -- also known as "the Millennium series" -- that seemed to be EV-ER-Y-where. (What pushed me over the edge was when the first novel of the trilogy made Entertainment Weekly's cover in June 2010. I can't stand it when I'm clueless about a mainstream pop culture phenomenon.)

I mentioned to my friend Nerdy P that I was about to start reading TGWTDT, and she was shocked.

"You know it's really dark, right?"

I'm usually not one to seek out anything that's even the slightest bit scary, whereas P grew up on horror movies and most likely realized that I was treading into questionable territory -- and that I'd probably regret it. But at the time I thought, Hey, if everyone else in the world is reading these books, how hardcore could they be? Turns out my logic was seriously flawed. For what I can only assume is the same reason people are drawn to sad or violent stories on TV, the masses were/are attracted to all of the extremely effed-up stuff in Larsson's works. But since I'm the type of person who avoids watching the news at all costs so as to not be haunted by images of war, murder, or anything else horrific, the Millennium trilogy was so, so, SO not for me.

I'm not intending to write a review here or anything -- you can easily find out what the books are about elsewhere, and there are literally countless sites debating every last little detail about the series. Today I just wanted to bring up the fact that I abandoned the second novel (The Girl Who Played with Fire) about a quarter of the way through, and that is something I've never done. I've never STOPPED reading a book.

I loved the main characters Larsson's universe revolves around -- Lisbeth Salander and Mikael Blomkvist. And I always appreciate a complex mystery. I was impressed by Larsson's attention to detail and his incredible knowledge of the criminal underworld both in Sweden and elsewhere. But Nerdy P was right. The Millennium books are just too damn dark for me. I wasn't enjoying the second one in the slightest, because I always had a pit in my stomach about what awful, graphically violent scene was lurking around the corner (let's not forget the translation of the first book's title is Men Who Hate Women -- I should've known the series wasn't going to get any less explicit as it went on). I don't need to read about that kind of thing -- there are enough lurid stories we're all exposed to in other ways every single day. So I put the book down and felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I now understand why there's so much hoopla about the world Larsson created, but I'm also OK with being on the outside of it.

The question still remaining is whether or not I'll watch the Swedish film adaptations of books two and three. (I watched The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and simply left the room during the worst scenes... but forgot to hit the mute button. Big mistake.) Since I haven't read the other books, however, I won't know when to cover my eyes and/or hit mute in order to avoid seeing something that I'll never be able to erase from my memory. One way or the other, if I watch those films I'll be opening myself up to the same darkness I'd decided to avoid by shelving the novels. And so TGWPWF and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest remain in a box in my closet (I have them because of my redbox gig), taunting me.

I'd love to hear from anyone else who's not been able to get into Larsson's books. I'd also like to hear from brave souls who have read all three and/or seen the films. Let me know if you think I should risk a week of nightmares and watch the other two adaptations. (Because of my job I don't think I'll be able to avoid the American version of TGWTDT coming out later this year -- but I'm OK with that because 1) I already know what happens, and 2) David Fincher (The Social Network, Fight Club) is at the helm, and he's my favorite director.)

Now I'm off to spend the rest of my Sunday looking at pictures of kitties and puppies.

- e

The Twisted Thrill of the Urgent

Back in high school, my guidance counselor noted on my profile that I seemed to work best under pressure -- that I was in fact happier when I was stressed out. She was correct. There's always been something about an impending deadline that's shifted me into high gear and motivated me to kick butt, be it for an assignment at school, a PowerPoint presentation at work, or a marathon cleaning frenzy right before visitors arrive at my condo. Name any task, chore or errand, and I've always preferred to handle it when it reaches Critical Mode, and not one moment sooner.

But while there's something to be said for the adrenaline rush that comes from tackling an urgent task, I'm now at the point where I feel like EVERYTHING has become urgent, and it's my own damn fault. I do everything just in time. What's worse, I seem to have lost the ability to ease back into a more leisurely routine. I'm consciously putting things off because they're not "due" yet and I've got too many other pressing matters to take care of... but those pressing matters are only pressing because I neglected to deal with them at an earlier point in time. I'm caught in a vicious cycle.

Take today's looming chore, for example: gathering all of the documents for my tax return. As a freelancer I get to expense certain things related to my writing business. If I had kept a running list of all of those charges as 2010 rolled on, I wouldn't be sitting here on this sunny Saturday with mountains of cash receipts and credit card statements to rifle through for hours, just weeks before the return is due (I used to get all of this done in early February, at the latest).

The question now becomes, "How do I get out of this habit?" How can I get back to the point where I'm tackling errands and To Dos as they saunter in, rather than waiting until the situation's become desperate?

I have a plan that I'm hoping will work, and it's pretty simple. I just need to make a schedule for myself, every day. I literally have to write down what I will do every single hour between 9 AM and, say, 8 PM... and then stick to it. It's worked for keeping up with this blog for the past few weeks -- I basically just told myself that I was going to dedicate some time to writing every morning while I'm drinking my tea. So I have hope this trick can work for all of the other things I need to do as well. Basically I'm trying to fool myself into thinking things are urgent because I'm "assigning" them to myself, if you will. Silly, perhaps, but at this point I don't care. Because the thrill is gone, my friends. I'm sick of always being under the gun and am no longer at my best when I'm pressured. Now I just feel stressed (in a bad way) and OVER IT. I am desperate to get to a point where I can read a book or go shopping or just do nothing and not feel guilty about it because there are 2,000 urgent things I've put off that should be getting my attention instead.

I'll provide a progress report in a few weeks and will be brutally honest about how my new schedule and rules are working out. (And yes, I'm very conscious of the fact that publicly promising to write about my success or failure should hopefully further motivate me to embrace the move out of Overwhelmed Land.)

Wish me luck! And if any of you have any tips that might help, I'm all ears...

- e

You Better Belize It!

First off, stop yer smirking! I know the title of this post is goofy, but guess what? That phrase is on ALL of the souvenir t-shirts and knickknacks in Belize, so I couldn't resist. It's kind of weird because I didn't think the country was touristy or cheesy in the slightest, but some marketing genius must have thought up that slogan and it stuck. Which is really unfortunate.

Anywhoooo... if it's not already obvious, today I'm going to write a little bit about my trip to Belize this past November. It'll take many entries to cover everything my husband and I did there -- and I still actually have a few other vacations from years past (when I was neglecting this site) that I want to post about as well, but today I'm going to focus on an introduction to where we stayed in what I felt was an absolutely gorgeous Central American country.

I should begin by explaining our reasoning for going to Belize instead of any of the other places on our To Visit list. Basically it came down to the fact that we were going to be at a wedding in Atlanta and wanted somewhere that we could get to quickly from there so as to maximize our time (as in, we didn't want two full days taken up by flights). We wanted our destination to be warm, and we wanted to just relax. We got our wish on the first part... not so much on the second. But that's for another post.

It just so happened that one of my friends from the Chicago Board of Trade (Franco, who's briefly in my book for those of you (which better be all of you!) who've read it) had been planning a trip to Belize and had done a ton of research. He and his wife and some friends were going to be spending part of their vacation (which was about a month before ours) at Francis Ford Coppola's Blancaneaux Lodge, which is way, way up in the Mayan mountains. Coppola owns another property in Belize that is by the beach, and a lot of people choose to split their time between the two places. But I really wanted to just stay put for a week. And to me, chillin' in the mountains -- totally cut off from civilization -- sounded like heaven. So Blancaneaux it was. (And yes, since my career now revolves around movies... and since we've always liked Coppola's wines in addition to his films, those factors played a role in our decision, too.)

There are only twenty cabanas on the grounds. Since we went over Thanksgiving I was aware that they were fully booked, but it never felt crowded by any means. We really only saw other guests during meal times, which was fine by me. I meant it when I said I wanted to be cut off from civilization!

Here's the main room of our cabana:



And this is the lovely path leading up to the main lodge (you can see the overlook of the restaurant on the right).



This is a path down to a little outlook over the creek where we'd spend hours reading (or, in my case, writing in my journal).




Here's a view of the outlook hut thingy from across the creek.



And here's me maxin' and relaxin' in the hut -- I'm a total sucker for the sound of rushing water, so this was just a great, great, great spot. There was a mini-waterfall to the left which you can't really see in this picture.




But the best part was back up in our cabana: THE HAMMOCK. For whatever reason, Dustin and I have an obsession with hammocks that started back on our big trip to Southeast Asia in 2001 (which will hopefully be the topic of my next book). Our favorite place we stayed in Thailand had one and we just loved it. So even though it was a little awkward to write while simultaneously trying not to lose my balance and flip over, I did my best.




OK, that's enough for today! I'll eventually cover all of the crazy excursions we took in Belize, but I'll space those posts out a bit. Especially since now I'm all depressed because it's thirty degrees in Chicago and supposed to snow for the next five days. Grr.

Have a great weekend,
- e

A Quail of a Tale

I'm back from my five-day trip to Michigan and happy to report that my travels provided lots of ideas for blog topics. I actually intend to do a few different posts about the pros and cons of driving, since I don't drive at all in Chicago but spent a lot of time behind the wheel of a rental car this past week. Today I'll start with one of the cons: RANDOM ANIMALS THAT RUN OUT IN FRONT OF YOU ON THE HIGHWAY.

There I was, driving in the far-left lane of a three-lane highway at 70 mph this past Sunday afternoon. It was the day after I'd stayed over at Nerdy P's for the Fab Faux concert I wrote about on Monday. I was on my way from Ann Arbor to Flushing, Michigan (about an hour-long drive) to visit my grandma, aunt and uncle. It had been an uneventful journey on a relatively nice day and I was having a grand ol' time jamming to some tunes... when all of a sudden the car in front of me slammed on its brakes. I could see absolutely no reason for the driver to be grinding to a halt -- there weren't any cars ahead of us, there was no accident, and I didn't see a police car lurking anywhere. But I knew that at the speeds we were going, I would need to not only pound my brakes as well, but also swerve into another lane. Thankfully, no one else was close to me, so I actually drove diagonally from the far-left lane to the far-right shoulder before coming to a COMPLETE STOP. Why? Because there were four huge bird-like creatures running slowly from the median to the wooded area off the side of the highway. ?!?!

By the time I went from 70 mph to zero, three of these things had sauntered in front of my hood and continued on to their destination like it was no big thang. The fourth at least picked up the pace a bit to avoid getting run over by a car behind me that had caught up to us. Once the birds had cleared out, there were eight cars at a dead stop across all three lanes. I truly couldn't believe that everyone had managed to avoid hitting the birds... and, of course, each other.

When I got to my grandma's house I was still shaken from the incident, and told her that "quails" had come thisclose to causing a multi-car pile-up on the highway. But later I realized that the birds definitely weren't quails. I think they were guinea hens. They were REALLY big (and apparently not too bright).

That night I drove another hour back to my parents' house -- this time in a torrential rainstorm. It was one of the most harrowing experiences I've ever had. I could barely see because of the downpour, the car constantly felt like it was hydroplaning, and then in the back of my mind I kept worrying about what animals might be planning to dart onto the highway. I knew there were lots of deer in the area, and figured that in pitch-black conditions on slippery roads, it wouldn't be as easy to avoid a disaster as it was with the not-quails on dry pavement in the daytime. But thankfully I made it back in one piece. Needless to say, now that I've returned to Chicago, I'm glad to leave the driving to cabs for the foreseeable future.

The Fab Faux at Michigan Theater

As longtime readers of this site will remember, I'm a huge Beatles fan. So I was really looking forward to seeing The Fab Faux in concert this past Saturday night at the Michigan Theater in Ann Arbor.

I had been back on the University of Michigan Ross School of Business's campus that day to help determine the winner of a stock pitch competition (which served to confirm my suspicions that I could never be part of the panel on American Idol because I have a hard time "judging" others -- so please Fox, don't approach me). My friend Nerdy P lives just a few blocks away, so I made plans to stay at her place that night. She'd heard about this Beatles cover band that was going to play the Abbey Road album in its entirety and figured I'd be interested in going... and, of course, I was.

Now, I've seen A LOT of Beatles tributes bands over the years. From The Fab Four in Vegas, to The Cavern Beat at Dick's Last Resort's Beatle brunch, to American English at a private event, to BritBeat at the Ravinia musical festival... the list goes on and on. Then of course there's Cirque du Soleil's LOVE show in Vegas as well as movies like Across the Universe that also pay homage to The Beatles. I can't get enough of this stuff. Unfortunately, however, The Fab Faux's concert wasn't quite as enjoyable as I'd hoped. I like to be able to close my eyes and feel like I am hearing The Beatles. The Fab Faux focused more on recreating the music rather than the band members' voices. I'm OK with a group of professional musicians not donning floppy haired wigs and putting on Beatles costumes and whatnot, but when they're not even trying to match the vocals, that's when it kind of falls apart for me.

Don't get me wrong -- I had a great time and the band is outstanding (although the lead singer reminded me SO MUCH of a cross between actors Bill Nighy and Andy Dick that I really couldn't get past it), it's just that I didn't find myself swept up in the experience. I'm curious as to what my husband would have thought, as all of the guys in The Fab Faux have quite the impressive resumes, and he would've been a better judge of whether or not they nailed the guitar, drums, and special effects parts.

I also think the fellow Beatles fans surrounding me and Nerdy P had a bit of a negative effect on us -- a trio directly in front of our seats danced SO STRANGELY that I literally cried three different times because I was laughing so hard at them. And then the woman next to me was one of those No-Rhythm Clappers that was really into it and there were several times when she looked over at me, nodding to encourage me to join in. No thanks, lady!

But all in all it was a fun night, and I would certainly think that if you're a hardcore Beatles fan you would want to check out The Fab Faux if they came to your area. The first half of the show is a mix of songs across all albums, with the second half being Abbey Road performed in its entirety (which might be a bit challenging for those who like and/or know only the most popular Beatles' tunes). From their web site it appears that the band will be on the east coast next, followed by a tour of the south this summer.

I'll leave you with their Letterman performance of "I Am the Walrus" from a few years ago. They played this one Saturday night, too, and it was one of my favorites.