The Cost – and Joy – of Disconnecting

Posted on September 16, 2011 | 2 comments

I plan to hit "Mark all as read."

586 work emails. 770 emails awaiting me in Gmail. 2700+ Google Reader posts. And untold thousands of tweets.

But it was so very worth it.

I just returned from 19 days in Asia. When originally planning the trip – as part of a class for my Master’s in Integrated Marketing Communications through Northwestern University’s Medill School – I had thought about how great it would be to travel this time while remaining connected to life back home.

But the more I thought about it, I realized that this 19 day trek provided a very real opportunity to escape from the fog of social media. And since Facebook and Twitter are blocked in China, that automatically made 8 days possible.

Could I do it? The thought made me nervous. Sure, I often pick a weekend day and cut myself off. 19 days is a very different animal, though, especially while traveling and likely encountering great pictures and Twitter fodder. And imagine the FourSquare points I could accrue!

I decided to go whole-hog and cut myself off entirely. I was bringing my netbook so I could write about my experiences – several blog posts coming as soon as I finish them – but I didn’t get an international data plan for my phone.

My plan was to not touch the internet for three weeks. No social media, no email, no phone. I communicated my plan to everyone who needed to know, providing emergency contact numbers. I scheduled things to auto-publish for work. And then I packed my bags and left home.

Landing at San Francisco after the first leg of my flight to Seoul, I checked in on FourSquare and texted a few people, nervous about the looming cut off.

The first couple of days, I found myself reflexively reaching for my phone during lulls while waiting in line or riding the bus. I kept trying to fill the downtime. Once I got through the digital shakes, though, it was fantastic. I was much more present, much more aware of and in tune with my surroundings. I observed things I wouldn’t have noticed otherwise. I stared out windows. I relaxed and wrote – some by hand, some on the netbook.

I didn’t completely attain internet-free nirvana, though. Since I was traveling for class, I did need to connect to email a few times to access files, prepare for presentations and send thank you notes. But when I did, I refused to open any emails not related to the tasks at hand, cringing a bit as I watched the unread count climb each time I logged in. (I’m thankful I proactively unsubscribed to several different email lists in the weeks before my trip.)

In China, I tried accessing several websites, just to test the limits of the Great Firewall. (Verdict: nope, you can’t access Twitter, Facebook, Wikipedia or certain books on Amazon.com. Some news sites were strangely “unavailable.” And even Gmail mysteriously went down for a two-day period in Shanghai.) Never fear, though, the Chinese government operates 16 TV channels to ensure you’re well informed!

Sadly, I can't mark all my work emails as read. But once I clear out all the newsletters, notifications and expired meetings, it should be manageable.

On the long trip home – nearly 28 hours from my hotel in Taipei to home, via Tokyo and DFW – I thought about my break from social media. My head is clear of distractions and detritus, and full of new ideas and connections that may not have been made if I was busy scrolling through Twitter.

Since my job as a social media strategist entails a lot of Twitter time, I know I’ll likely never get another such break again, at least not to this magnitude. But I’m glad to know that I can do it, and that I’ve been reminded that it’s possible to just be without needing a digital crutch.

And now to tackle my inboxes.

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We Aren’t Philadelphia, Either: The Hidden Tax of Poor Schools

Posted on August 23, 2011 | 6 comments

Schools - and their perception - are vital to attracting and keeping residents

Before Finals began consuming my every waking, non-work thought, I read the thoroughly fantastic account of the near-death of Philadelphia, Buzz Bissinger’s A Prayer for the City.

Last night, as I scooped up a pile of books to return to the library, I stopped and flipped through Prayer, looking for a passage that has been gnawing at me since I read it earlier this month. On page 372, I found it, transcribed it, and bolded the parts that have been haunting me:

“There was no mystery as to why people were leaving the city. Regardless of what Rendell had accomplished, the city’s pull was still almost purely an emotional one. Those who stayed did so on the basis of loyalty, or because of a job, or because the qualities that had turned so many away from cities were the very qualities that enticed them – difference, diversity, diversion. By any economic basis, the basis on which most people made decisions, the city was still noncompetitive with its surrounding suburbs to the point of impotence. Taxes were still far too high. The perception of crime, far more corrosive than actual crime figures themselves, had not been ameliorated. The school system continued to flop and flounder and had the trust of no one, in large part because of endemic problems, but also because the mayor, cowed by the politics, had never brought to the schools anywhere near the intensity that he had given to the union negotiations, or the budget, or economic development. Those who went to a public school in the city had little faith. Those who did not were forced to pay the burden of the city’s greatest hidden tax – private and parochial schools – until they could no longer afford it, or got tired of affording it, and moved across the boundary.”

[Context: During Philadelphia Mayor Ed Rendell’s first term (1992-1996), Bissinger was allowed unprecedented access to the mayor and his advisors, and chronicled the story of a dying city that had lost $2 billion of its tax base during the prior 20 years and was facing a deficit of $1.246 billion. The city had lost 400,000 people between 1960 and 1990, including a 30% drop in the number of mid-income families, and had a poverty rate of 20%.]

Now, just as Elgin isn’t Detroit, nor are we Philadelphia. America’s truly big cities – and Philadelphia was once the third-largest – have always faced far greater challenges. But some parts of the passage certainly rang true.

Our city is safer than every city of similar size in Illinois, save Naperville, and yet the old perceptions of crime still loom heavily in many people’s minds.

The schools problem rings very true, too. As our local U46 begins its new school year, many continue to send their children to private and parochial schools because they don’t trust the local district. In Philadelphia, during Rendell’s tenure, the Mayor appointed the school board, and thus had oodles more direct accountability. That isn’t the case in Elgin, where our school board is elected, but the “hidden tax” certainly is.

In response to my last post about bringing technology education and training to town, I had Facebook posts that mentioned the vital importance of primary education. People don’t quibble as much when high school taxes go to a district that performs very well. But when their taxes are high and they don’t think the schools are good enough for their children, they either pay the hidden tax of private schools, or move.

More thoughts on this after Finals are over and I can breathe again, but I wanted to start the ball rolling while it was fresh in mind. I don’t have kids, so my experience with the schools is purely perception, but that’s part of the problem. Even if the schools are fine, they are perceived as quite the opposite.

We must work together to fix our schools (and, just as importantly, their perception) before we lose more good residents and before more decide against moving to Elgin in the first place. In an era of terrible funding challenges, this is a gigantically tall order, but not impossible. Suggestions on how we start?

I highly, highly recommend the book. Bissinger weaves together several stories of average citizens and their struggles, from a welder in the doomed shipyard, a city employee, a prosecutor and a woman raising her great-grandchildren, while incorporating the years he spend with Rendell and his chief of staff. Plus, he’s a fantastic writer and storyteller.

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Bringing Education to Elgin

Posted on August 10, 2011 | 1 comment

Education is vital to our economic growth

My recent What Elgin Can Learn from…Detroit? post generated quite a bit of buzz and conversation, both here and on other social platforms. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and you’ll be hearing more soon. (In the mean time, your feedback is still appreciated!)

In that post,  I talked about how non-negotiably vital it is that we diversify our Elgin economy while also prioritizing education at all levels.

Yesterday, I saw a post from Laurie Faith Gibson-Aiello of the Gibson Group that discussed how important an educated workforce is – and how the Elgin Technology Center is trying to bring these skills to town. ETC has applied for a Motorola Mobility Foundation grant that would enable them to build a tech training facility right in the heart of downtown Elgin, educating the 150+ members of ETC while also serving to mentor new entrepreneurs.

This is exactly the kind of energy we need in Elgin. Through coordinated efforts, we can bring in new businesses that can leverage some of our great attributes, like our location and easy connections to other cities. Good luck to the ETC in their efforts!

http://youtu.be/1pwlOChkRM0

And maybe in the fall, we can apply for an IBM Smarter Cities grant, too.

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Peachapalooza!

Posted on August 9, 2011 | 4 comments

Twenty orbs of summery goodness.

Last week, I split a half bushel of peaches with two neighbors. The fine folks at Trogg’s Hollow, our ultra-local neighborhood farm, took orders and went to Rendleman Orchards in downstate Alto Pass.

We had anticipated that a half bushel would give us each 10-15 peaches – a slightly daunting challenge for a person living alone, given the fleeting perfection of summer peaches, but I was excited by the possibilities.

When Jody called to let me know she had picked up our half bushel, she cautioned that there were more than anticipated. I brought my basket over and loaded up, walking home through the neighborhood with several pounds of fragrant fresh fruit. Twenty peaches in all.

I started eating the first one before I had even closed the door behind me. It was delicious – about a day from perfection, so I left the basket on the counter overnight. The next morning, the kitchen smelled divine, and I ate one with breakfast. The juice dribbled down my chin and tasted warm and sunny, like summer.

Thursday night, it was Iron Chef: Peaches at my house. I started by making peach daiquiris, blending a peach with rum and a squeeze of lime juice. Divine. I made peach crisp and peach-oatmeal-blueberry bread and muffins. While it was all in the oven, I retreated to the hammock in the backyard and sipped my daiquiri under the stars.

But there were still more peaches, and despite eating them for breakfast and snacks, they were starting to turn. Somewhat frantic, Sunday night I pureed three with some yogurt, added ginger and lemon juice and poured them into popsicle molds. After they were partially frozen, I added some crystalized ginger, which definitely tempers the sweetness a bit.

And yet, there were still more peaches! I had one for a morning snack today, and eyed the last two suspiciously. They had started to shrivel just a bit, but cooking could salvage them. So how to close out my week of peaches?

I’d heard that grilling peaches really intensifies the flavor, so I decided to try Jenn’s grilled peaches with balsamic glaze. The grill was already nice and hot for my eggplant caponata, so it was a cinch to slice the last two peaches and throw them on the heat. The balsamic glaze was easy. They were fantastic, though I think I don’t even need the glaze. I have two halves left in the fridge for later in the week – perhaps I’ll just warm them up and add a little dollop of vanilla ice cream? And there’s still another serving of crisp, which will be great after a late night of class tomorrow.

What’s your favorite way to eat peaches? And is there a fruit that better epitomizes summer?

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Art & Soul on the Fox

Posted on August 2, 2011 | 2 comments

Saturday, I took a (very long) detour on the way home from studying/coffee and walked through downtown Elgin’s Art & Soul on the Fox festival. It was fantastic! I had passed through the festival last year while out for a run, but hadn’t really stopped.

Booths lined Grove and Spring Streets, and DuPage Court held a stage and a variety of food and drink options. I bought a few pairs of earrings and almost bought a ring, before I remembered the pretty inlaid mother-of-pearl ring I bought in Istanbul on a similarly humid day that I’ve never been able to actually wear.

Besides the plethora of fun jewelry, there was a wide variety of art, from oils and photos to mirrors and pens and kitchenware.  As I travel, I try to buy souvenirs that I can see or use daily. I have watercolors from San Francisco, clay puppets from Greece, painted frogs from Cancun, a little diorama from Krakow, a tile adorned with whirling dervishes from Istanbul… but I have nothing from the place I actually live. One of the artists helped me fix that, as Elginite Steve Sturgill had some great prints of local landmarks on display. I was struck by a print of the Tower Building, with bright hues that will look great in my living room. He also had some nice prints of Metra trains that are far better than any of my feeble attempts, so I picked up one, as well. He said the Elgin prints had been selling very well all day. How many other towns   can do such brisk business selling photos of their landmarks? (Heck, how many towns have recognizable landmarks?)

While wandering, I ran into several friends and neighbors that I stopped to chat with, and I waved hello to several others. Live music wafted through the streets. Finally, I grabbed fresh squeezed lemonade for the walk home through brilliant sunshine.

It was hot and sticky, and I got home two hours later than planned, but it was a great summer Saturday. I’ll definitely go back next year.

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What Elgin Can Learn from… Detroit?

Posted on July 24, 2011 | 12 comments

This quarter, my Economics class is reading and discussing Spend Shift, a fascinating look at how the economic recession is pushing Americans back to more traditional values and, as a result, shifting how and what we buy.

Each chapter features a case study of how a city is experiencing a shift in these values. One of the chapters, “The New American Frontier: Detroit,” had me nodding vigorously and thinking, “Yes! Absolutely!” while also wondering, “Detroit? Really? Detroit-Detroit?”

In a sweet little twist of irony, I was reading that particular chapter while sipping coffee at downtown Elgin’s Domani Cafe, where I often go for Saturday studying. (Try the Cuban sandwich. Trust me.) Downtown Elgin has suffered some of the same challenges as Detroit, though on a much smaller scale. The manufacturing base that was so strong a century ago has fled – the watch factory and its supporting industries employed thousands, as did the dairy industry. Crime was a very real problem in the downtown through the 80s and 90s. Property values dropped (and are doing so again, though not quite to Detroit’s level, where the median home price is $8,000 and the Silverdome recently sold for a mere $583,000.)

When I first moved here in 2006, many still knew Elgin by its old reputation and asked if I was crazy. But I saw a great town with more character than most of the commuter suburbs, and an opportunity to really make a home.

A handful of brave entrepreneurs have also seen opportunity over the past several years and moved into the downtown core, taking advantage of low rents. More recently, the Downtown Neighborhood Association and the city have been working to help promote this migration. Not all the fledgling businesses have made it – several years of streetscaping construction have made it difficult for potential customers to navigate and park – but things are looking up.

In Detroit, entrepreneurs aren’t afraid to try new things, because the cost of failure is relatively low. With very low overhead and building owners desperate for tenants, businesses can afford to experiment a bit and be creative in their efforts. Spend Shift talks at length with the owners of a French bistro, an art gallery, and a creperie – all of whom took risks that have paid off. The business owners are united for a stronger city, and in early 2010, they drafted what they called “The Detroit Declaration,” a set of twelve principles that is to guide their future. This movement continues to gain momentum, and a related Facebook page has nearly 14,000 fans who actively discuss many of the city’s issues.

Several of the delcaration’s tenants could be taken to heart by Elginites who want to improve our fair city. Here are a few that seemed most relevant to me, with my take on how they apply. (View the full thing.)

Preserve our authenticity – “Celebrate and elevate” Elgin’s unique qualities, like our river, our location, our parks. How many cities our size have a zoo, an opera, a world-class symphony and an award-winning library? Sometimes, when certain proposals come up, naysayers moan, “We’re not Naperville/Geneva/Chicago.” And we’re not. It’s time to stop trying to be something we’re not and celebrate who we are.

Diversify our economy – For decades, Elgin relied on a couple big industries – namely watch-making and dairy. When they went bust, so, too, did our city’s employment rate. While the city is making strides at this with new industries (Siemens, Wanxiang, etc), they should do more to promote the smaller businesses that actually create jobs, rather than existing companies that merely import jobs. Groups like the non-profit, grass-roots Elgin Technology Center have a lot of potential to incubate these small businesses and build connections among them to help them succeed. Giving incentives to multi-national companies who have already signed leases to move here only make us more dependent on large companies, which is never ideal. If the city must spend money on incentives, invest in smaller, innovative businesses who have room and ideas to grow. A little bit of money can go a long way with start-ups, rather than hundreds of thousands of dollars to multi-nationals.

Enhance quality of place and Demand transportation alternatives – Detroiters define this as “a comprehensive vision for transit-linked, high-quality, walkable urban centers,” which is good, and valid for Elgin’s downtown core. But connecting the other parts of Elgin to the downtown core – via bike paths and other links – are just as important, as big portions of the population live within 5-10 miles of downtown proper. Currently, they spend their dollars along Randall Road, often out of city limits. I occasionally run into lifelong Elginites who haven’t been downtown in years and have no idea what has developed there.

Prioritize education, pre-K through 12 and beyond – We must do something about U46, as it is the biggest detractor for many potential residents. People with children want to live in areas with good schools, where their tax dollars fund a solid public education. They don’t want to have to pay private school tuition on top of their taxes – of which U46 comprises the largest share. Whether or not the current reputation is deserved is another issue. But regardless, we must demonstrate that education is vital to this town – and then prove it. We have two higher education institutions – ECC and Judson University – an advantage few other towns can boast. Let’s leverage them.

Demand government accountability – Especially during  a recession when many have lost jobs, are underemployed, have seen pay cuts, etc, we become more concerned with how our tax dollars are being spent. We’ve all tightened our belts – shouldn’t government do the same? Elgin is making some cautious steps towards this. I’m holding my breath until the Budget Task Force is announced – who will they pick from the 57 applicants? – and to see how wide they open the books. We can hope their recommendations are truly in the taxpayer interest and that the Council enacts reforms. Meanwhile, groups like Elgin OCTAVE show promise for being good, necessary watchdogs that can ask tough, necessary questions of our spending habits.

Think regionally and leverage our geography – We’re just 35 minutes from O’Hare – and the opposite direction of the worst of the traffic. Chicago is less than 40 miles away, and we have a relatively reliable train link to Union Station. We’re halfway between Chicago and Rockford, with a huge pool of available workers. If we play our cards right, we can draw from a huge metropolitan population. I’ve heard the city make similar claims, but I don’t think we can do too much of this.

What do you think? Do we need an Elgin Manifesto of sorts to rally around? Or are we already on this path? Does this resonate with you – or am I completely off base?

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Floating on a Sunday Afternoon

Posted on July 21, 2011 | 1 comment

Sunday morning, I left the house at 5:30 and drove west, through the cornfields where the land begins to roll gently towards the Mississippi. The sun was growing brighter and stronger, and water vapor rose from the corn tassels, setting up for another humid day as the sky turned from rose to blue. It reminded me of a Van Gogh painting, with ready-to-harvest crops on one side of the country highway and freshly harvested grain on the other, the landscape dotted by the occasional farmhouse. I cruised along with the sunroof open, feeling the breeze, smelling the manure, slowing when approaching small-town speed traps.

I arrived in Oregon, IL, not quite 70 miles west of Elgin, and found my way to Castle Rock State Park, where other runners began to appear as I slathered on sunscreen.

Soon my friends arrived for the Oregon Trail Days Run-A-Muck 8k. They had done it last year and were eager for the “muck” part of the event. We all looked at the 8k portion – a run along open country roads that reflected the sun – as a necessary evil to get to the downriver floating afterwards.

It was hot and sticky, with full sunshine and high humidity. We all carried water – last year there wasn’t enough – and set off.

The run itself did indeed suck. It was so very hot, and there was no shelter along the majority of the route. It was relatively flat, except for one big “hill” as we ran up and over a railroad bridge. My allergies and the humidity made breathing difficult, so Danielle, Shelley and I took it relatively easy, with short walk breaks every mile. We may have slowed a bit when we hit a couple of blissfully shaded residential blocks, where one homeowner had his sprinkler aimed out at the street. Near the end, firefighters had a hose spraying a gorgeous arc of cool water.

Like last year, the course was shorter than its advertised 8k (4.97 mi). Everyone with Garmins clocked it at 7.24k or 4.47 mi, but given the heat, we didn’t really care. We were glistening with sweat and grossness when we arrived at the finish, where we sucked down Gatorade and water before our Lions Club pancake breakfast. (This is one of the cheapest races I’ve done – $25 – and you get a shirt, breakfast, and innertube rental.)

Our merry band, before we hopped in the tubes. Not pictured: Iggy the dog.

After we ate, we started preparing for the main attraction: an innertube float down the tranquil Rock River, back to our cars. We reapplied all the sweated-off sunscreen because last year, my friends discovered that such a float takes 3+ hours. We strung our tubes into a flotilla for nine adults, two kids, a dog, and coolers full of snacks. We waded into the river, settled into our tubes, and slowly – so slowly – began our float.

It was magical. Divine. Blissful. Exactly what I needed after spending all day Saturday chained to my desk after a long hard week. I had no concept of time. There was no wind, and the dry summer means the river is low, so the current was lazier than a lazy river – we (literally) bottomed out in several places. We intermittently kicked and paddled a bit, and when we hit the shallower sections, we would walk forward a bit, but for the most part, it was just idle relaxation. We had nothing to do but lounge and sunbathe and chat. I alternated between sprawling on top of the tube and dangling my legs in the perfectly cool water. We passed around granola bars, chips and water and enjoyed the peace and quiet, watching hawks swoop overhead.

I would have been okay if the float portion was a bit shorter – there was no shade whatsoever, and I was worried about sunburn – but overall, it was exactly right. When we arrived back at Castle Rock, we rinsed off our legs and feet, changed into dry clothes, and set off for the east.

When I finally got back to my car, it was 3:30 PM and 94 degrees – but I didn’t care. I can’t imagine a more perfect way to spend a summer day than outside with friends, floating lazily down a river.

And I didn’t even really get sunburned, just a nice golden tan and a couple mildly burned spots in a place I didn’t even consider putting sunscreen: my armpits.

I need to find out if you can do similar tubing down the Fox River anywhere, without the pesky 8k first.

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Eating Alone

Posted on July 16, 2011 | 2 comments

Over spring break, I borrowed What We Eat When We Eat Alone from my local library.

The concept intrigued me, as I eat alone more often than not. So what might others have to say about the ritual or the reality?

I was sorely disappointed. Most of What We Eat was about what people eat in the rare instances that they eat alone. The majority of the book involved tales of saltines and sardines or cottage cheese, and the joy of not cooking when there’s no one to cook for. The recipes were odd and strangely old-fashioned, heavily reliant on canned goods and tinned fish. I had to check the copyright at one point to make sure this wasn’t a reissue of a book from the 50s, with talk of “batching it” and painfully outdated gender roles. Women eat salad and men eat meat, right?

There was a single, thin chapter given to people who habitually eat alone, but it was told in almost a pitying tone, as if chronic eating alone is a transitory state that should be avoided. While the book celebrated beer and popcorn as an acceptable “eating alone” dinner, that’s not sustainable in the long run.

Looking for topic salvation, I picked up Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant, and found much tastier food for thought. This compilation of 26 essays from foodies, writers and food writers spanned a wide range, from those who have eaten alone for years to those who do so only rarely. And while the latter share some of the same features as What We Eat, the stories felt more honest and interesting.

Most telling, though, was the split among the chronic alone-eaters, between those who philosophized about how cooking for yourself can be nurturing and empowering, and those who look at cooking as a burdensome means to an end. This resonated with me, as it’s a dilemma I face frequently.

Until about a year ago, cooking was a chore. I didn’t think I knew how. Cooking meant finding the quickest way to fill my growling belly after a long day at work, which often meant pre-packaged foods, pasta or grilled cheese. (Not that there’s anything wrong with grilled cheese.)

I’ve since grown to love cooking, as it keeps me healthy and fuels me so much better than the old stuff ever did. When I have the time, I love being in the kitchen, chopping and prepping and experimenting. Since joining a CSA, I’m enjoying planning my meals around the weekly baskets (though stumped by this week’s head of Chinese cabbage).

The reality is that I don’t always have the time to cook. In a packed day, sometimes I can’t take 30 minutes to cook, let alone eat, because I need to be out the door in 20 minutes and I’m not dressed yet. I try to cook proactively – and abundantly – so I have a ready selection of nukeable sustenance. That doesn’t always happen, or I’ll burn through my stock quicker than it can be replaced. And that’s when I have peanut butter and jelly or granola bars or piles of raw veggies.

I went through a phase where I religiously ate every meal sitting at my dining room table, pouring water into a real glass, rather than drinking from one of my omnipresent steel bottles. I’ve relaxed that – if I nuked leftovers or have a big salad or pizza, why not eat on the couch? And this time of year, I eat as many meals as possible outside at my little patio table.

What do you eat when you eat alone?

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Thanks for the Memories, Q101

Posted on July 15, 2011 | 3 comments

I was up way too late last night, but I had to see an old friend off.

For many who grew up in Chicago during the 90s, Q101 was a constant. It’s my longest-held radio preset, a fixture in my daily life since about 1993 or 1994. Q101 was there from the angsty, flannel-clad  junior high days through the whirl that was high school, for late-night college studying and working around my current house.

The last few years, I haven’t listened as much. I don’t spend much time in the car, and I wake up better with talk radio – something about shocking the brain awake. And with the ease of digital music and streaming sites like Pandora and Grooveshark, Q101 and other terrestrial radio seem terribly clogged by commercials.

But without traditional radio introducing us to new stuff and reminding us of the old, how would we know what to download? Before rewriteable CDs existed, I would record songs off Q101 onto cassette tapes, creating mixes marred by bits of DJ overrun or commercials. I listened to those tapes until they nearly wore out, and only tossed them about two years ago.

I heard a couple weeks ago that Q101 (and The Loop) had been bought (by Randy Michaels, the same man who tried to destroy the Chicago Tribune) and would likely be switching to an all-talk format. I hoped the switch wouldn’t happen. Early this week, when it was confirmed that Q101 would indeed flip formats Thursday at midnight, I turned my radio there – and it’s stayed.

The DJs, knowing their time was limited, really rose to the occasion and played what they wanted – and it’s been spectacular, like revisiting my teenage years. You don’t realize how much music imprints with your memories until you start hearing a string of songs that you intrinsically tie to specific moments – driving home from senior year in the Blazer with broken AC, coming home after a party, or just staying up late, studying, plugged in with headphones to not wake my parents.

Last night, I got home from a tweetup and settled in to work on a presentation for next week’s Econ class. I curled up on the couch with my laptop, streaming Q101’s last hours. I was exhausted from a five-hour commute Weds night, but I was determined to make it until the midnight format change. I was transported, listening to all these songs that I knew after just a few chords. Suddenly I felt like I was 17 again, cramming for Mr. O’Leary’s AP Bio class, alone in a quiet house with just the radio for company.

On Twitter, thousands were commiserating – at one point, #q101 was trending worldwide, more than #hp7 or #harrypotter, despite the opening of the final movie. All day, we’d been tweeting about the station’s demise, compiling playlists and singing virtual karaoke as Nirvana, Oasis or the Smashing Pumpkins were played.

When midnight came, Chris Payne went into over time, but could no longer legally use the Q101 name, though it’s so entrenched he slipped a few times. I finished my work and flipped on my bedroom radio as I settled in for the night. I lay in bed with the lights off, listening to the last few songs, just like I used to.

They went out with the Pumpkins’ “Tonight, Tonight,” which was perfect, and then the Cure’s “Friday, I’m in Love,” which was the first song played on Q101 in 1992. At 1:01 AM, they went to commercials, and that was that. It was exactly the right way to end, and I’m glad they were allowed to say goodbye properly rather than a middle-of-the-night, unannounced switch.

Did you listen to Q101? What will your new preset be?

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Low-Hanging Fruit

Posted on July 5, 2011 | Leave a comment

This is not a metaphor. It’s literally a post about the dearth of low-hanging fruit in my backyard. Sorry if you were looking for something deeper. (But yesterday I did wax on about celebrations and birthdays and milestones and fireworks.)

Anyway, the mulberry tree in my backyard has been the source of some consternation over the years. For the first three or four summers, I grumbled about the neighbors’ stupid tree that dropped berries all over the yard. It shaded the yard so nothing would grow, and the berries made a mess. The birds eat the berries, and then leave streaks of vibrant purple poo down the side of my white house. While mowing the lawn, my legs get stained Grimace-purple, and once the berries start rotting, a stench like stale alcohol dampens the air.

And then in late fall, the tree drops all its leaves in about 36 hours, typically the week after the city ends its free leaf pickup for the year.

The tree is wrapped around wires, so I called ComEd at one point, who came out and said that the affected wires are actually phone lines. I called AT&T, who said that until the tree caused a service disruption, they wouldn’t touch it.

When I rebuilt the fence two years ago, I discovered that the mulberry tree was actually on my side of the property line. I rejoiced, because I had always thought it was the (indifferent, bad) absentee landlord’s tree. And then I discovered removing a tree is very, very pricey, especially when involving utility lines and a tight space wedged between two garages. So my good neighbor brought over his chainsaw and helped remove the worst offending branches that stretched into my yard.

The mess of berries has been reduced, and my backyard has enough light for a feeble attempt at a garden, though I have learned that 3-4 hours of sunlight isn’t enough for most crops.

The irony of the whole situation is that I had never eaten a mulberry. I had once stepped out of the shower and seen a neighbor’s kid up in the tree with a bucket, right at my eye level, but I was so bitter at the tree that I assumed the fruit must also be bitter.

The other night, I finally tried a couple mulberries off a tree elsewhere in the city. They’re pretty damn good. Sweet, juicy and worth the stained fingers. All this time, I’ve had a bumper crop right in my own backyard.

So yesterday evening, while lounging in the yard with a book, I decided I should try to harvest some of my own berries. And I promptly realized that there is no low-hanging fruit – all the low branches were removed by my overzealous efforts. To reach berries, I need to either climb the tree or a ladder to the garage roof (where the raccoons spend their nights, fighting and pooping).

You can see the sprouts of non-berry-bearing leaves protruding from where a giant limb was removed.

Or I can just pick them up from the ground, as I did, carefully stepping to minimize the purple stains on my bare feet.

Once I settled back into my chair to read, the squirrels helped, running through the tree, shaking berries loose.

But beware the perils of cutting away low-hanging fruit.

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