The Point of No Return
Last month, I accepted the job offer of my life in New York City. Today, I turned it down. At long last, I admit it. I am hopelessly in love with Chicago. I’m staying right here.
In NYC: Stomping Grounds
I don’t remember being here, yet nothing ever changes here. I’ve spent almost four weeks staying with friends in New York City; it’s almost as if I’ve already moved and settled in. So much has changed in the four-and-a-half years that I’ve been away. Funky neighborhoods have become Establishment while former slums have become exclusive. It’s hard to realize that this is my home.
In NYC: State of Collusion
Before I left NYC in 2003, I knew the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation to be somewhat less than a class act. I’m surprised at how short my memory has become during my tenure on the shores of Lake Michigan. Here’s the story of the worst interview I’ve had–or haven’t had–in years.
In NYC: GLYNYing Again
So I’m GLYNYing again. This past spring, I chronicled the sudden and miraculous Internet reunion of my 1980s cohort of Gay and Lesbian Youth of New York (GLYNY, pronounced ‘GLIH-nee’). The nation’s first-ever gay youth peer support group, GLYNY was founded in New York City in 1969 as a splinter cell of the historic Gay Liberation Front. Back in the day, the group and I were inseparable.
In NYC: Roberta of Rego Park
You never know the characters you’ll run into in a Rego Park laundry room. Doing my mid-trip laundry with Jen of the mountainous bosoms, I ran into two of New York City’s most storied types of inhabitant. Neither one of which you can shoo away with a broom.
In NYC: Two Degrees of Doctor Piglet
Catching up with my GLYNY AGAIN reunion friends at Astoria’s Bohemian Beer Garden, the world became smaller than usual. No one expects to learn their long-ago, two-timing, perv boyfriend is the current family physician for an NYC Council candidate. At least he didn’t tell the pol to call him Piglet.
Right of Return
A few weeks ago, I sat down with my Korean foodie friend, (dammit I don’t look like Margaret Cho) Rozella, on the breakwater at Montrose Harbor and ticked off my personal pros and cons surrounding my impending move back home to New York City. After four-and-a-half years in Hogtown, it wasn’t an easy cost-benefit analysis to do, even for a former urban planner like me.
The Taste for Old Times’ Sake
My last Taste of Chicago was definitely the best. Protest though I did last year about Chicagoans’ proclivity to attend the Taste year after year although everyone rants how much it stinks, this being my sunset summer in Chicago, I decided to take one final opportunity to eat lunch over a garbage can.