#’you were in wicker park?’ ‘yeah by Monroe’

[we-re-always-alright]

I’ve been watching the Shining Girls on and off because a) takes place in Chicago and b) do enjoy an Elizabeth Moss performance but. you can tell they got like some parts of Chicago right. but then other parts…. oof. painful for a local

[manicpixxiedreambitch]

Come on man, let me take you to my grandparents house. No, not THAT one. The house down the street from the public park. The brick house with the porch swing. Yeah no the one where you always hear wind chimes when you’re in the yard. The one with the old creaky floorboards that somehow always sound friendly. The house that feels like the personification of being a little kid falling asleep while you hear people laughing in another room. The one that smells faintly of cigarettes and aromatherapy and a hint of weed. Bro I’m talking about the one where you always hear some sort of old music playing in another room, and it’s such a tangy and savory and lively beat that you can feel it faintly shaking in the walls and the floorboards and the very air you are breathing. The one with the beautiful stained wood staircase. With all the abstract art? Yes, the one with all those cactuses and flowers in the flowerbed in the back yard, the backyard that’s surrounded by a wooden fence? The one with the lawn that’s always perfectly manicured. Yeah with the screen door on the back snaps shut loudly but somehow the sound feels like a hug. The one with the big basement, that had a small shrine to Marilyn Monroe and a big leather couch and a table for playing cards? The one that has the bathroom with the pink tiled walls and the black tiled floors with the big bathtub. Yeah you know how that bathroom has the mini vinyl records hanging on the wall? With the air conditioning that seems to be working perfectly all the time. I love how grandma has those cut glass ornaments hanging in the kitchen window. Remember when grandpa went up to those and spun them and we tried to catch the rainbows they flashed on the walls thinking they were fairies? I miss that. The kitchen was beautiful, with the multicolored tiles on the wall and the woven rugs. Grandma was always keeping that kitchen so clean. Yeah the one with the cement patio in the back yard that grandma kept so clean that she could bring out that popcorn machine and pop popcorn with the lid off and we’d try to catch it in our mouths and whatever ones we missed we could pick up off the ground and eat because we trusted that it was clean. Grandpa was always the best with the grill. Whenever you are in the kitchen or the back yard you can hear ice clinking up against the edges of a cup of iced green tea. The one with the grand piano that was almost never used. Yeah we could stay in my aunts old room, the light green one, with the big bed and the quilts, and the vanity desk that had the pretty beaded lamp. When we stay in that one you can crack the window and hear the outside evening while we get our pajamas on. Or if you prefer we could stay in my uncles old room, the beige-yellow one with the sports art on the wall. You can crack the window and hear the outside with that one, too, and you might have a better view, but for some reason I’ve never been able to sleep all that well in that room. The house where there is always at least one light on. The one with the red dining room that has that one silly Coney Island poster on the wall. Yeah with that big stained wood dining table? Though no matter how big that table was grandma and grandpa always had to put out another folding table in the living room. Yeah the living room, with the big windows that showed the street? And the fireplace, and the couch with the crochet blankets. And the wicker rocking chair that I was forbidden to sit in after a certain age. Yes, my grandparents house. The one that the whole family loves. Let’s go there.

[theliterateape]

Why Worry When You can Sail or do Whatever Makes You Happy

By David Himmel

If we had asked for a better day, the gods would have descended from the heavens and risen from the seas to pimp slap the teeth out of our mouths. We’d have deserved it. We’d have been greedy.

We bought a 28-foot Benetau Oceanis sailboat. Used. Old. Built in 1995. It's a beauty. The previous owner stored it in Kenosha, and Dad and I were bringing it home to Monroe Harbor via an estimated 10-hour trip straight south along the shoreline. (We made it in just under 10 hours. Neat.) The sky was cloudless. The water was without swells. The wind, however, was blowing northeast, which was the opposite direction of where we were headed. So we motored most of the way. I’d have preferred to tack up to Muskegon then head straight into the harbor but Dad was right in suggesting we use our time to get our new boat home. Tacking would have filled our Memorial Day Weekend, and I have a wife and an infant, and Dad has a wife who loves having him around. Oh well. 

“If you don’t have a destination, sailing is the way to go,” he said.

“Tell that to Christopher Columbus,” I argued.

“Columbus missed his destination point,” Dad countered successfully.

"And then he ruined everything," I said rightfully like a smug SJW.

Though I would have preferred to be under sail rather than motor, it was 10 hours of the most incredible hours of my life.

I’m made for the water. Made for a life at sea. It runs contrary to my decade living in the desert, and a life resigned to typing on a plugged in MacBook Pro in Wicker Park instead of eeking by as the captain of a chartered schooner in the Caribbean. But I grew up on boats. We had a small outboard speed boat when I was a little kid. At summer camp, I preferred lakefront activities like canoeing, skiing and sailing to the land-based fun like golf and basketball. I taught sailing at that same summer camp and was waterfront director for two seasons. Sailing is me at my most Zen.

It calms me. The quiet noise of the wind filling the main and jib. The creak of the hull as it heels. The splashing of the water against the hull as you cut through on a broad, beam or close reach. And my god… if you can run with the wind… I have a wooden sign that has hung in every home I’ve had since 2003 that says, “Why Worry When I can Sail.” That’s the truth. Even when things go awry, I’m calm. Problem solving at sea is my forte. To be one with the elements, to be among the waters and sun and my own thoughts is to be happy.

Cue Christopher Cross, or N’Sync, if you prefer that jam.

We named the boat Knot Write. Because boat names are best when they’re puns. It’s not the only boat we own. Dad’s got a 38-foot Carver cruiser he keeps in Hammond Marina. It’s a beautiful beast and one could easily live on it, if one is OK to forgo all the crap landlubbers tend to collect and hold on to. Dad finds calm and happiness in boating, too.

Lucky us. Because everyone should have something that makes them happy. Something that brings them joy. Something that calms their nerves and pushes out the constraints of the anxiety and depression that haunts daily life. For me, that’s sailing. And I’m fortunate that my daddy earned enough money in his career as an attorney and slum lord to purchase such pleasure. Yeah, I’m one foreskin away from being a rich WASP.

Dad and I always had an unspoken agreement that he would buy the power boat and I’d buy the sailboat. When we purchased Knot Write, I was gainfully employed at a company that paid me enough to be Boat Rich. The layoff that occurred a month after we signed the papers put a damper on that agreement���as if my father would let me pay for anything anyway. Just as I won’t let my son, Harry, pay for anything as long as I can afford it. Providing joy, monetarily or otherwise, to a child is a father’s job.

And I realize that not everyone is as fortunate or privileged as I am. Not everyone has a Boat Rich daddy. But everyone should find the thing that gives them the kind of calm joy sailing gives me. It doesn’t matter what it is.

If you’re unemployed or underpaid, maybe you scrounge together 50 bucks for a bit of weed, get stoned and read the work of Lewis Carroll. If you’re trapped on Chicago’s Westside, maybe reporting Chicago Police squad cars parked illegally while the officers eat lunch at Chipotle is your thing. I don’t know. I can’t speak for you. I don’t know your situation, and frankly, I don’t care. All I want is for you to have something, anything, that you can do that takes you away from your troubles and brings you a grin wide enough to make you look like a stupid idiot. Because when we’re really, really happy, we all look like stupid idiots. Want to see Don Hall look like a stupid idiot? Go on a road trip with him.

Granted, I might sound like a spoiled, entitled white boy with a rich daddy. But I’m not. Spoiled, entitled, rich kids don’t appreciate their fortune or luck. And all that fortune and luck I have is not lost on me. I'm ever grateful for all I have and has been provided for me. Boats, summer camp, college, good health, a hot wife, a kid better looking than yours, a mom hotter than yours... We use our boats for good when we can. Both the power boat—Son Spot, Too—and, already, Knot Write are offered up as auction items at charitable organizations' events. Four-hour cruises on Lake Michigan tend to bring in lots of money for good causes that help those who cannot help themselves. And we invite friends and family out for Navy Pier fireworks and the Air and Water Show, and beautiful, summer days on the water with nothing to do but kick back, relax and coast along the Third Coast.

If you’ve read this and are thinking, “David Himmel is a prick. Rich, Jew prick,” well, OK. But fuck you. Because you’re missing the point. I’m simply telling you about my thing that gives me an escape and brings me happiness, and I am encouraging you to do the same. You want a sailboat but can’t afford it, OK. Set a goal. Be my dad. Be me, I guess. Every dollar I earn and try to earn is so I can pay for a boat, and house and feed my family. Be the person who wants something and gets it. It doesn’t have to be a 28-foot 1995 sailboat. It can be a Sunfish. Those are much more affordable, though we did get a killer deal on Knot Write. Or, and here’s where shit gets real exciting, ask me for a boat ride. What good is a boat if you can’t sail with friends? No good, that’s what.

Otherwise, or in addition to, find your thing. Do your thing. Escape. Make yourself happy.

And now that I’ve come clean about this whole Boating is Life thing, perhaps you’ll understand why I’m such a miserable cunt during the winter. And that’s why I tell myself, “Why worry when I can sail.” You should tell yourself, “Why worry when I can do whatever it is that makes me happy.” There’s always something. There’s always a way. You need to be fortunate or wily enough to find it, and when you do, you’ll find your way to true joy.

BONUS CHRISTOPHER CROSS FEATURING MICHAEL MCDONALD!