It's a Brand New Day

Let me address the elephant in the room.

I was relieved of my duties as editor-in-chief of Chicagoist Tuesday. The site will “go in a different direction” as Gothamist executive editor Jen Chung said when we met.

That direction, I have no doubt, will continue to be upward and at a faster pace than I was able to steer it the past year. I can’t say I didn’t see this coming; things had been tense behind the scenes for months and I was reticent to change with the times. But the growth of the site the past 4-½ years is one of a litany of positive experiences I’ll take from this job. The most important one is having the chance to work with so many dedicated and talented writers whose words and faces graced Chicagoist during that span. The contributions of these men and women cannot be discounted and were instrumental in the site’s growth to become one of the best and most-respected media outlets in Chicago. I've taken it as far as I can and it's time to hand it off to someone else. The current staff under the guidance of Lisa White is primed to navigate the Good Ship Chicagoist into uncharted waters and embrace what they find there. I wished I could have offered them a proper goodbye; this will have to suffice.

(Please do keep in touch, y’all!)

I also have to thank Jen Chung and Jake Dobkin for taking a chance on me when I became editor-in-chief in October 2010. Confidence is something I often lack—every day during my first year as editor I felt like a fraud at the job and wondered if they would let me go. Their hands off approach allowed me to sink or swim with my editorial decisions and that instilled in me the belief that I could do this job long-term. It was their faith that allowed me to leave with a proven track record of success and will carry me into the adventures that await.

What those adventures entail, I’m not sure. I know I have options, tons of marketable skills way more important than having a degree and have spent most of today reaching out to professional colleagues for feelers. I'm taking solace knowing my "fight or flight" response is pegged to the max on "fight." (And if you have any leads, I'm around.) All I ever wanted to do was write, journalism in particular. I remember holding up a copy of the Sun-Times as a senior in Ms. Cervenka’s debate class at Lane Tech and giving a speech about how I one day wanted to see my byline in that paper. In a still-volatile local media landscape, I achieved that dream and so much more thanks to Chicagoist.

I’m not angry with Jen’s decision to part ways—it actually came as a relief. It’s only now that I’m starting to shed a few tears thinking about how wonderful the journey was while it lasted, and the staff with whom I’ll no longer be able to discuss story ideas or talk through edits, and chatting with my “work wife” Lisa all day and who knows more than anyone the stresses that come with this job. She was the Riker to my Picard but she’s ready for this, although a niggling part of me feels like I let them all down.

Ultimately, being an editor (whether it's a website, a newspaper/magazine or for broadcast) is like living in a home. You get the keys, determine what stays and what goes. You make that home your own until it's time to move on and hand the keys over to someone else. But you hope you leave that home in good hands with the foundation still solid. I sincerely hope I did the latter.

I told some of my closest friends the news Tuesday; others have reached out after finding out second hand. Those friends will help me get through this and so will she.

                                         Photo credit: Jill Howe

Progress, Not Perfection

Three months ago I remembered I have health insurance and could visit a doctor about a rash I had on my chest that needed attention, without it affecting my bank accounts or credit rating. So I found a physician through my health insurance referral who made up in efficiency what she lacked in bedside manner. (Seeing as how infrequent my doctor appointments were over the years, part of me embraced her bluntness.) This doctor prescribed me some antifungal medication to treat the rash, but was satisfied with my vitals as she sent me on my way to have blood work drawn.

Two days later my doctor called me with the results of my blood work. "You have Type II diabetes," she said, matter-of-factly.

Not, "you're at risk for Type II diabetes." "You have Type II diabetes."

She said my hemoglobin levels (my 120-day blood sugar measurement) for a man my age, height and weight should be near 7; mine were pushing 12. I took the news in stride, knowing my mother's side of the family struggles with it. (Mom had been Type II for years and recently worsened to Type I.) The doctor gave me prescriptions to keep my blood sugar levels in check and said she would send me some paperwork in the mail on how to manage my condition with proper diet and exercise.

"Don't go looking online for information. There's a lot of misinformation out there," she instructed me while I was already researching the American Diabetes Association's website for more information. Three days later I received 15 pages of printouts from what looked like an archived Geocities website, with a tasteful post-it note reminding me of my new reality.

By the time the doctor's reading material arrived I had already started changing my dietary habits.Gone were the twice daily snack breaks involving a 20-ounce bottle of Pepsi and a four-pack of Reese's peanut butter cups, chips, simple carbs and most of the processed food that were a part of my diet. Then I took inventory of the rest of my larder and pantry to assess the building blocks I had in stock—plenty of dried fruits, nuts and legumes; whole  wheat flour; sweeteners such as honey and maple syrup; spices, hot sauces and salsas.

The silver lining with my diagnosis was my weight was lower than I expected at 225 pounds, my blood pressure was normal and my pulse rate was commensurate with someone who works out 2-3 times a week. That and my food inventory indicated some good habits were in place that could serve as a foundation for change.

Cutting out the soda and candy was easier than anticipated. (I once went two years without a Pepsi, so I knew I could do it again and, thanks to my Sodastream, I could drink juice/seltzer mixtures.) And I've never been a fan of white bread, so eating multigrain was OK. 

But I love pasta and white rice, and Italian bread with olive oil and Parmesan, and a thick hamburger and hot dog bun. The thing about diabetes is sugar isn't your only nemesis. An excessive intake of simple carbs can result in elevated blood sugar levels, since the body processes carbohydrates into sugar. So I've spent the past three months working to adapt my normal recipes requiring regular flour for whole wheat. Mom's biscuit recipe was simple to adapt. And I'm making rouxs and gravies now with masa harissa and potato flours. White rice has given way to brown and wild rice, and I've added quinoa and farro to the mix for variety and flavor.

I've become very familiar with kale, arugula, collard green and other dark, spicy greens rich in minerals. I've become re-acquainted with my love for leeks, mushrooms, carrots, celery, cauliflower and broccoli, all non-starchy vegetables which make great additions to salads and are outstanding for dips. As far as meats are concerned, I've been eating lean for years, ever since I stopped being exclusively a food writer. The major addition there is fish. Tuna and tilapia are versatile and I do love a good fish taco.

But the biggest change has been when I dine out. Before the diagnosis, I was the type of person who would look at a menu for a hot second before ordering something heavy in my ongoing quest to be a stunt eater. Now I have to take my time and consider portions and balance. It's been humbling, but it is doable.

And the results have been promising. I went to my doctor for a follow-up check-up a few weeks ago and my hemoglobin levels were down to 8.7. My triglycerides and LDL levels, which were also through the roof in October, were normal. My blood pressure remained normal and my pulse rate was lower by eight beats per minute.

Because of the holidays, I was worried about losing weight but I weighed in at 219. I'm still on the blood sugar medication but things are looking good, overall. I don't need more motivation than I already have but I started a weight loss wager with a friend where the loser has to do an exercise of the winner's choosing. We're looking to lose 10 percent of our initial weigh-in weight by the spring solstice, which means reaching 200 pounds by March for me. Neither of us plans to lose, but we're encouraging each other to stick with our plans.

I've never wanted to keep tabs on my weight, preferring to be healthy regardless of my waist size. My new reality has me seeing things a bit differently. Having to be vigilant about this diagnosis has me shooting for a target weight I haven't seen since I was a teenager. If it doesn't happen, no worries. These days it's enough to be content more often than happy. And when it comes to eating, I ask what would my spirit guide do?

"Groundhog Day"

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Who Says You Can't Go Home?

Well it's been a while, hasn't it.

Four-and-a-half-years can be a lifetime online. The last time I frequented this dusty corner of the Web, Facebook and Twitter weren't as ubiquitous as they are today, I had just turned 40, and I was on a mission to finally and definitively make my mark as a writer.

(To be honest that goal started five years prior after a weekend of drunkenly celebrating my birthday and later receiving a phone call from someone I hadn't heard from in over a decade who threw me for a loop; it's a story for another time and I will write it.)

Suffice it to say that my 40s have been immensely rewarding. I'm (mostly) content professionally; I have a great group of friends who encourage and support me; my family and I have begun to reach some common ground; and I'm dating a smart, sassy, talented, driven and beautiful woman who makes my life better simply by being a part of it and has inspired and encouraged me to become a better man for myself, her and the people around me.

I started building a professional writing career when I was 30 and it's taken me this long to finally feel as though I achieved it. In my role as editor in chief of Chicagoist I'm finally comfortable enough to let others steer the ship for a while and the site has grown by leaps and bounds in my 3-1/2 years at the helm. After all this time and hard work I'm finally ready to enjoy the fruits of my labors and take stock at what I can view these days.

One thing I promised myself this year was to "write more for myself," whatever the hell that means. My girlfriend is a storyteller and has introduced me to the depth and talent in Chicago's live lit scene. (Something I used to partake in often before concentrating on solely writing.) She's a natural on stage and watching her has re-awakened the passion I had for performing and writing to entertain others and uncover truths about myself.

So I'm blowing the dust off this blog, giving it a new paint job and some better furniture, and sitting down to write. What I'll share here is definitely not intended for Chicagoist; I'll rarely mention the site here. While I promise to not wait another 4-1/2 years to update this blog, I won't be posting every day. Or every other day. Mainly I'll be posting when I have something to say. Which is good, don't you think? Keeps you interested.

What I will do is work out some old muscles that have atrophied while chasing pageviews 300-500 words at a time. Some of it will be funny. Some of it may be uncomfortable. But it will be honest and, hopefully, always entertaining.

Saddle up. The last of the hardcore troubadours has returned to sit underneath your window until daylight, Rosalita.

Harvest Time

My Pumpkin, originally uploaded by bridgeportseasoning.

Yesterday I dragged Kevin, our political writer from Chicagoist, down to St. Anne, Illinois, just east of Kankakee. I had reserved seats for the Local Beet's farm dinner at Genesis Growers, an organic farm in St. Anne.

Even with the rain that came down, it was a wonderful time. I was glad for a change that I didn't have 3G service down there (thanks, AT&T) as the conversation was good with other guests. The social aspect of farm dinners is very underrated; it's another reason I like dining at places with communal tables like the Publican, Urban Belly and the Bristol.

Anyway, at one point farm owner Vicki Westerhoff brought us to her pumpkin patch while touring the farm and showed the assembled guests how to pick their own pumpkin. I went right in there and went to town, picking this beauty. Kevin also picked his and gave it to me. So now I have 2 pumpkins and a lot of ideas for what to do with them.

I'm thinking about finally diving in and making pumpkin beer with some of the meat.