It is Friday afternoon, which means productivity is at an all-time
low HIGH after a busy week. No, really. Just this morning, I was in charge of staging the day’s new content when I uncovered a system bug on the back-end of the website. It locked us out and wouldn’t let us add new content, which is just what you want when your editor is out for the day, along with the top IT person. What would have been an otherwise easy morning posting new articles turned into a bit of a runaround trying to, you know, update the homepage (that’s my way of saying I was panicking).
So, I’m glad it’s the weekend. Normally, I’d glad for the weekend like this (hey, don’t judge). But this weekend I’m running the Hot Chocolate 15K in downtown Chicago. It’s my first race ever–9.3 miles and chocolate fondue at the end! I feel good about being able to run the whole thing, but that excitement is overshadowed by my dread of the freezing-cold wait in my race corral at 6:30 a.m. Meh.
So, to convince myself that I really am excited about cold weather and the approaching winter and running in the cold this weekend, I made myself a list of things that make life good right now (And journalists love lists FYI).
Right now I’m loving…
Time magazine. This is ironic, because I work at a magazine that, try as I might (and I do try!) I cannot read cover-to-cover. Yet, I recently subscribed to Time and several other magazines and now I am delighted to receive my copy every. single. week. Part of this is related to my love for receiving mail, but really. I brew some tea, pop-a-squat on my couch and cozy up for a night spent reading Time. Cover. To. Cover. Every page. Call me a news geek, sure, but I don’t think it’s because I’m a journalist. Granted, I have no other explanation, but I just remain ever-impressed by Time.
Trader Joe’s O’s. There’s something to be said for buying off-brand products for the sake of price. Yet, in almost every case, I think, the store-brand cereal would lose in a taste test; but hey, you saved 50 cents, so move on. Enter Joe’s O’s cereal, which is oh-my-goodness-why-would-I-ever-buy-the-name-brand-ahem-Cheerios-again good.
Pumpkin oatmeal. When it’s breakfast time and I’m not nomming on Joe’s O’s, which is almost never, I’m most likely considering how to consume copious amounts of pumpkin without turning into one. The best answer I’ve found is pumpkin oatmeal, which is about as basic as it sounds. As I explained it to my roommate, who asked a troubling number of questions given the simplicity of my concoction, “Well, I cooked some oats. Then I added pumpkin.” But really, is it wrong to want to bathe in this stuff? Oats, pumpkin, spices, eat forever and ever.
My musical tastes evolve and develop at a rate that is, apparently, several years too slow to be culturally relevant, so I only recently discovered the musical treasure that is Nickel Creek. Which disbanded years ago. Yet, much to my delight, mandolin-god Chris Thile plays with a different band, Punch Brothers, and is coming to Chicago not once, but twice, while I’ll be here. That’s right, folks: I finally like an artist soon enough to consider seeing him in concert. But speaking of music…
The Lumineers. If you are like me and lived under a rock this summer (I lived in Black Diamond; get it?), there is a fraction of a chance that you did not hear “Ho Hey” and get tired of it like the rest of society. I’M NOT TIRED OF IT. Rather, my “Ho Hey” love started me listening to The Lumineers’ latest album, which is great driving music and gets stuck in my head every day, but I’m not even complaining. Unfortunately, I did miss The Lumineers concert in Chicago.
The Prairie Path. Someone told me that the Prairie Path stretches from Chicago to Canada, but I’ve never run far enough to confirm either of these end points (though it is far more feasible to believe that it goes to Chicago). What I do know is that the several-mile stretch in the middle where I’ve run restores my faith in Chicagoland’s western suburbs. If I had to stay in Carol Stream permanently, the existence of the Prairie Path is one consolation I’d use to convince myself it’s a bearable place.