“I Love That Dirty Water…”

This baseball season, I’ll be wearing my away jersey.

As I gear up for my first full Red Sox season away from New England, I’m kind of in panic mode (it became an even harsher reality when I realized the Red Sox don’t come to Chicago for a series until the last weekend in September). I’m a little envious of Chicagoans as they buzz about the starts to the Cubs and White Sox seasons, hopeful that maybe this year will be the year (that idea will die pretty quickly… hey, good to know I can still trash talk like a Boston fan!)

This time of year is a magical one for baseball fans: the slate is wiped clean, the series are even, and the fresh-cut grass smell is still, well, fresh. In Boston, life begins again and people start emerging from their winter shells, ready for spring and ready for the Red Sox. Yawkey Way is hopping and even the normally most impatient, crass Masshole can’t help but crack a smile.

But I can’t help feeling like I am on the outside looking in this year. I can read all 12 of the daily Boston Globe articles online, but I can’t fully soak in the anticipation of the season. The opening of Fenway Park evokes such a tremendous feeling, one that somehow engages all six senses (the sixth being ESP, because we all insist we KNOW this is the year for our boys. Screw you, New York).

The closest I have come to being giddy about the new Red Sox season was last night when I saw a commercial for ESPN’s Sunday Night Baseball. The network is airing the Red Sox home opener –against the Yankees nonetheless—on Sunday night! JACKPOT! Happy Easter to me!

I am now allowing myself to officially get excited about the season. I woke up this morning and checked Boston.com for the latest scoop on my team and crossed a day off on my calendar, bringing me one box closer to euphoria.

Now that I am no longer wicked depressed about missing the Red Sox, I am able to reflect on baseball in my new town.

A Tale of Two Teams
As I sit here thinking about my home team 1,000 miles away, I can only wonder how cool it would be to come from a city that has two baseball teams. Would I love one and hate the other like people in Chicago do? Would it be cool to hop from the Southside up north to Wrigley when the Sox were out of town and vice versa (I would always have a home team in town!)? Or would it annoy me to see a cross-town team’s logo cross my path as much as it annoys me to see a Yankee hat in Boston?

I’m going to go with when you love one team, you hate the other. Could I stand the Boston Braves if they were still around? I guess I’ll never know. But hopefully I can enjoy my options of two teams here.

Choosing Sides
While I have two baseball teams to choose from in the Windy City, it just isn’t the same as rooting for my home team. I feel like I am cheating on the Red Sox if I know more than what’s above the surface when it comes to the White Sox or Cubs (unless the stats or tidbits of information involve Boston somehow).

And just an FYI, two is not always better than one. After some hard thinking, I have decided not to profess any allegiances to either baseball team here (mostly out of concern for my own personal safety). Whenever anyone asks the question, “Are you a White Sox or Cubs fan?” and glares at me as they await the answer, I have learned to say: “I’m a Red Sox fan.” They mutter an “Oh” and don’t really know what else to say. In Chicago, there are pros and cons for picking either team to root for, but I feel like I’d get hotdogs thrown at me if I picked the wrong one. And if I’m going to be assaulted, I’d rather suffer while wearing my Red Sox hat.

For Love of the Game
Although I’m not a fanatic of either Chicago team, I am a fan of baseball. I love going to games, enjoying over-priced beer and over-steamed hot dogs while hanging out with friends. This baseball season I will catch my share of Cubs and White Sox games (I have a hat for each team just to be safe), and enjoy one of the best parts about this city: dueling ball clubs.

The lesson learned here: you can take the girl out of Boston but never the Red Sox out of the girl. Is it Sunday yet?

Chicago Newspaper Vendors Try to Make Ends Meet

Below is the final project two classmates and I made. We followed around several newspaper street vendors (Chicago Tribune, Sun-Times, StreetWise and RedEye) to find out how the lagging industry will affect their futures and how they use these jobs to survive. There is a video followed by the print article.

My professor posted it on his website (click the link for a cleaner view and an additional slideshow. I just copied and pasted the article and video below for easy access).

The link was also posted on one of the city's news sites Windy Citizen, where readers vote on their favorite top stories. As of late afternoon, our story was still holding strong at the top of the front page and people were even commenting on it! Please vote for us!

And now, on to the presentation!

Chicago Newspaper Vendors Try to Make Ends Meet

By Kim Dunbar, PJ Randhawa and Randell Golman

“Good morning, good morning, Chicago Tribune, 75 cents!”

Keisha Coolidge repeats that phrase as people pass her on their way to work. She is peddling the Chicago Tribune from her spot on the corner of Van Buren and Michigan Avenues.

Coolidge is one of many Chicagoans who sell newspapers on the street in order to make a living. According to the Encyclopedia of Chicago, street peddling is in fact part of the city’s legacy, and has provided an important service to Chicago residents and continues to operate as an economic option for entrepreneurs.

From hot dog vendors to impromptu performances, people can find many things on Chicago streets. But for those who hawk newspapers to pay the bills, their reliance on selling what some experts say is a dying industry and product is a growing concern.

Coolidge, 23, is prepared for the worst.

“I’m looking for another job right now,” she said.

Low Pay, Long Hours

Coolidge and her colleague Jeremy Williams, who camps out two blocks north on Jackson Blvd. and Michigan Avenue, both get paid $10 an hour for each of their four hours of labor every morning.

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” said Williams, 23, who has been peddling papers for the last three months on his assigned corner. “You have to pay the bills to survive.”

A few blocks northeast of Williams, Gino Smith and James Smith are trying to sell copies of the competing Chicago Sun-Times. For Gino and James, the survival of print newspapers is equal to their own survival. They are both homeless and make commission off the number of papers they sell.

“These people go to work every day and buy papers and when they give us that (money) that’s our ticket to eat,” James said. “Being homeless and all, that’s our ticket to eat. I appreciate when they come and I appreciate when they sometimes give me the whole dollar and don’t wait for the quarter.”

After seven hours of street sales, from 4 a.m. to 11 a.m., the men sometimes only earn about $15. According to them, the weather often has an effect on their sales.

“When it is cold, people don’t like to dig in their pockets for the change,” James said.

But the cold isn’t the only reason the men have noticed a decline.

“The Sun-Times and the Tribune are both going down in sales,” said Gino.

Sagging Sales, Circulation

In October 2009, Crain’s Chicago Business reported that the average weekday circulation at the Chicago Tribune fell 9.7 percent and the Chicago Sun-Times circulation dropped 12 percent from the same period the previous year. The article also revealed that U.S. papers suffered a 10.6 percent decline overall for the April to September time period.

Gino’s boss, Bob, has seen this change first-hand.

“There has definitely been a decline for sure,” he said.

Bob, who did not give his last name, spends his mornings delivering and picking up copies of the Sun-Times from his street vendors and recruiting new salesmen and women. In his six years in the business, Bob has noticed a decrease in the street sales of the newspapers.

“If it all goes online, I’ll lose my job and they’ll lose their jobs,” Bob said.

Bob said there are about 40 Sun-Times street vendors in the downtown Chicago area, half of which are homeless and others who spend time in mission houses.

Brendan Wolfe, a 23-year-old auto mechanic starts his day off at the Fullerton El stop passing out RedEye newspapers to commuters.

“You know, if it all goes digital, which it already is, I think we’re all out of job,” he said.

This is Wolfe’s second job and uses the $10 an hour to supplement his income.

“I’ll just have to find something else,” he said.

For some, finding another job won’t be as easy. William Klee sells copies of StreetWise magazine outside Dominick’s on the corner of Fullerton and Sheffield avenues. Klee, who is homeless, spends eight hours a day in this spot, sometimes longer if there is a new issue out, in order to make money – but it’s still not enough.

“In line with today’s standards of life, no you don’t make enough,” Klee said. “You make just enough to keep you going from day to day. And hopefully someday you will find something that’s better.”

Klee, who has been peddling the paper for three years, said StreetWise is valuable more for what it’s meant to do.

“They’re going through a lot to help people have some type of income,” Klee added. “I’ve had times where I haven’t had any and that can be very depressing.”

‘This is Good for People …’

Street newspaper sales might appear to e a novelty upon first glance or while passing by, but for people like Klee, it serves a purpose of not only providing some income, but also increased self-worth. It is their livelihood.

“This is good for people who are homeless or unemployed,” Klee said. “It gives them a chance to have something to do and to give them some income until they can find something better. It keeps them out of trouble.”

Because selling newspapers on the street does good things for those in need, Gino and James are confident that print newspapers and street vending will survive.

“If it does go all online, a lot of people aren’t going to do that,” James said. “A lot of people appreciate us being out here. That’s the God’s honest truth. We’re not shaking a cup, we’re not begging for money. We’re selling papers. At least we’re doing something. ”

Whether that day ever comes or not, you can find Williams on his corner no matter what.

“Rain, snow, thundering, hail, Monday through Friday, I’m out here,” he said. “You have to come out here and get the job done. I’ve got to survive. I’ve got responsibilities.”

Toyota Sponsorship of Wrigley Field: Wrong Turn?

Toyota is about to catch a lot more flack-- this time from Cubs fans.

According to ESPNChicago.com, the automaker and Chicago Cubs owners are working on a deal that would result in a giant Toyota sign sprouting from the left field bleachers of Wrigley Field (the ESPN article includes a mock up illustrating how it would look).

I remember my first visit to Wrigley in May 2007 (I took this photo at the time). It was like stepping into the past. Just like the first time I laid eyes on the inside of Fenway all those years ago, I could feel the history and enjoyed not only the game, but the purity of the park. The famous ivy-covered walls, the generally advertisement-free walls.... Let's just say I did not feel the same way when I passed through the gates of U.S. Cellular Field (the contemporary stadium the White Sox call home). Not sure what I hate more: pink hats and jerseys or gross advertising.

While this deal would bring in revenue for the organization, the gaudy sign would taint the classic feel of America's second-oldest ball field (Fenway is two years older). It's not like the front office would bother spending the new money on any decent players (Oops... I promised myself I'd leave Milton Bradley out of this). Here's to hoping that maybe the new owners will be wiser when it comes to picking players to help the team win its first World Series in 101 years.

Back to the giant elephant, er, Toyota sign, in the room. Is nothing sacred anymore? I'm sorry, for a fleeting moment I forgot that baseball (and sports in general) is a business, not a favorite national pastime.

Here's to hoping the deal proves to be as faulty as some of Toyota's sticky accelerators.

The Seven-Month Itch

August 20, 2009...
It was a sticky summer day. After dropping off the last of my boxes at Fed-Ex, my mother and I dragged four suitcases to the airport. Destination: Chicago. No return ticket for me.

I cried in the middle of Terminal C of Logan Airport when I said good-bye to my sister and father and thought how far off Thanksgiving seemed at the time. Three months! I had never gone without seeing my parents for more than three weeks in my entire life. Four days later, I would nearly attempt to leave Chicago with my mom when she boarded her flight back to Boston.

(Photo: I wish I had some of this good-bye cake leftover to eat...)

Seven months later... thanks to the family and friends who convinced me I was doing the right thing and that I just had to stick it out, I am happily living it up in the Windy City.

However, it hasn't been all flowers and fun during this time. There have been some hiccups along the way, sprinkled with some major homesickness and a longing for many things back home.

Like when I see a Corolla driving along the street, I think of my Silver Bullet and miss it. Especially on nice days like the ones we had this week, where you can cruise along with the windows down and the radio blasting. I've traded it all in for walking, stuffy El trains and crowded buses while listening to my iPod.

I miss my Somerville apartment: a two floor place with a spacious bedroom. And a grocery store at the foot of the street.

I long for my old job. Maybe not the place I worked, but I miss waking up and having a purpose every day, a routine to follow (work, gym, dinner, relax). I also miss that paycheck too I guess!

Most of all, I miss the ability to follow the Mass Pike home to my family and friends. Like on weekends like this one--when I have nothing to do because all my friends and roommates are tied up or out of town--I could pack up the Silver Bullet and surround myself with friendly faces in an hour's time. Or on a special day, like a birthday, I could drive home for dinner. Now, unless I have $240 and a ticket booked weeks in advance, that just isn't happening.

There are plenty of great things about my life here--all things I wanted. Like a break from the real, stressful, working world so I could enjoy being a student one more time. Virtually all flat surfaces and cute neighborhoods and side-streets to run around and along. No worries when it comes to finding a parking spot or if someone has scratched up my car.

Seven months to the day after I stood in that airport bidding adieu to my old life, I realize that there are positives and negatives to every situation, ups and downs to endure, and sometimes the grass always seems greener on the other side. I miss a lot of things--family, friends, my comfort zone--but wouldn't trade my current situation for anything (well, except for maybe for a few more visits home).

March 20, 2010...

A snowy, chilly day. While my time zone has changed, I still feel like I'm in New England--I spent the week enjoying 60-degree weather but woke up to snow on the ground and 30-degree temps. I guess Mother Nature is helping me celebrate my seven-month itch here in Chicago by reminding me that no matter how much some things may change, there are some things that will always remain the same.

Operation Chi-rish: Mission Accomplished

It's March 20th and time for an Operation Chi-rish wrap-up.

As predicted, the weekend before St. Patty's Day in Chicago is ridiculous and crazy. But also extremely fun. I woke up early to head down to watch the river get dyed with my roommate. Walking the streets at 9 a.m., I passed by groups of people dressed in green, some who were already drinking and others beelining it to the bar. When I got to the El, I had to wait for a second train because the first one was so packed!

Downtown was filled with shamrock shakers despite the rain. The skies stopped spitting at us for about 30 minutes, just enough time to watch the river change colors without an umbrella. However, the rest of the day we weren't so lucky. It poured, but my roommates and I hopped to a few different bars throughout the day and after taking a dinner break, ventured into the night.

Last Thursday, I shared a list of things I wanted to do during my first Chicago St. Patty's Day. I'm happy to tell you that I was able to complete my mission--and then some.

1. Finding a spot along the river to watch the boats dump the dye into the water. As I said, it was wet, but so cool to watch! Motorboats drive back and forth along the area of water sprinkling some kind of dye in, turning the water an electric or neon greenish-yellow (it turn bright green once it spreads out). The crowd cheered every time the boat came around.

2. Drinking a glass (or two, or three) of green beer. Try three. Even got to keep the souvenir Chi-rish plastic mugs! At the first bar, the one with the mugs, me and Laura enjoyed a corn beef sandwich. It was delicious and so filling!

3. Drinking that beer at one of the many Irish pubs hosting live Irish bands. This didn't happen until actual St. Patrick's Day when me and Elli enjoyed a couple green beers during happy hour (well, I had the beer...she had her vodka-soda drink dyed green to fit in).

Needless to say, it was a very successful day, er, couple days. The party didn't stop because the weekend was over. The actual St. Patty's Day--a Wednesday--gave everyone an excuse to drink an extra day in the middle of the week!

God Bless the Irish!

Let the Madness Begin!

It's only Day One of March Madness, but already living up to its name.

The first wave of games offered a one-point margin upset (#11 Old Dominion U over #6 Notre Dame), a double-overtime game (#7 BYU outlasted #10 Florida), and a #15 seed (Robert Morris U) nearly toppled a #2 seed (Villanova) in an absolutely unreal overtime game decided by just three points. Biggest upset thus far: #13 Murray State just beat #4 Vanderbilt at the buzzer.

This is why a lot of people, including myself, consider this the most wonderful time of the year.

That line, borrowed from the Andy Williams holiday ditty, is synonymous with yuletide and tidings of comfort, joy and all that jazz. But for sports-loving grown-ups like me, we wake up on Thursday morning and get just as giddy over our brackets as kids on Christmas morning who awake to find a pile of presents under the tree.

Kids believe in Santa Claus, we believe in Bracket Busters.

For kids, Santa brings magic to the season and his long-awaited arrival is the climax of the holiday. For us, it's the NCAA tournament. While we all enjoy our respective seasons (Christmas and college basketball), the build-up in no way matches the excitement of the big day. (Photo: Even Santa fills out a bracket... thanks to photoshop).

There are other similarities as well. We all enjoy an entire day filled with joy: presents and non-stop basketball games (but we get multiple days of fun, kind of like Hanukkah). The excitement of unwrapping a gift equals the excitement of watching a first-round game unfold (40 minutes of awesomeness). An upset, especially if predicted correctly on one's bracket, is like getting the most coveted gift on your Christmas list.

And we don't even have any wrapping paper to clean up when the fun is over. Also, instead of having to wait a whole year for more fun, we can look forward to the start of baseball season and the NBA playoffs (although not as fun). This is why sports are great.

But back to the brackets. I had high hopes of being productive today, however, those thoughts disappeared as quickly as Villanova's hope for an easy first-round game. I don't know why I even bothered--I never plan to be productive on December 25th.

I'll be busy unwrapping my gifts until CBS takes its first basketball break at 4 p.m. This really is the most wonderful time of the year.

One man's trash... becomes my Scavenger Hunt

Today was a beautiful day and I was able to hang out with my old friend-- the sun. It felt like spring, not just because of the 54 degree weather and the fact that I could enjoy my daily run in a short sleeve shirt and capri pants, but because there was no sight of any snow whatsoever...anywhere.

A naked ground, which looks mostly like mud piles mixed in here and there with some limp grass, would be ugly on any day other than the first true day of spring. However, with the melting of the cursed white stuff, it is also quite a sight to discover the debris that has accumulated underneath said snow during the near four months of winter.

Today during my run I began to take note of all of the strange things I passed along my way. About halfway through, I had already accumulated a mental collection that resembled a scavenger hunt list.

Here are a few things of note:

• About 12 editions of the RedEye newspaper
• A toothbrush
• One... no... two... wait, make that three green feathers.. no doubt leftover from this weekend's festivities
• A muddy black raincoat--clearly someone is going to be screwed when the April showers get here
• The equivalent of three pairs of winter gloves
• A hubcap

Chicago is generally a very clean city. I can't wait until they collect all of this um.. treasure?... from the sidewalks and the new green grass begins to sprout. The sun and this weather are like crack; once you get a little, you want more and more.

However, growing up in New England, I know better than to expect more of it until Memorial Day. It's days like these that give me hope for a brighter future. Or at least a string of spring-like days in a row.

One can hope.

Syracuse v. DePaul Final

This is the final video package for my Sports Producing class. It focuses on the February 27th game between the Syracuse and DePaul Women's Basketball teams, in particular the performance of DePaul freshman guard Anna Martin.

Nomar and the Beast of Burden

Sometimes my iTunes shuffled playlist can transport me back to a different time. Today, it played the song “Beast of Burden” by the Rolling Stones and reminded me of the 2004 Red Sox, pre- World Series championship. I remember reading a column in a Boston newspaper when the playoffs came around that year; the author had given each team a theme song and the Red Sox were tagged with the aforementioned Stones hit.

With lyrics like these, who can disagree?

I'll tell ya
You can put me out
On the street
Put me out
With no shoes on my feet
But, put me out, put me out
Put me out of misery

Next, iTunes fast-forwarded a month or so and played Bruce Springsteen’s “Glory Days.” (Seriously, this thing must have a mind of its own).

Before this musical trip down memory lane, the 2004 Red Sox had already been on my mind. On Wednesday, Nomar Garciaparra signed a one day minor league contract with Boston so he could retire as a Red Sox player.

Older Sox fans remember Carlton Fisk and Carl Yastrzemski, and some even have the memories of Ted Williams. But for Red Sox fans around my age, Nomar was our man. He was our Teddy Ballgame. Our Fisk. Our Yaz.

Nomar was a product of the Red Sox system. He was dreamy (despite the Nose-mar thing, a joke probably made up by guys jealous of the shortstop’s female fan following). He looked great in his tight baseball pants. He had the most annoying at-bat ritual, but we loved him unconditionally.

Nomar gave us moments like the 1999 All-Star Game at Fenway Park when he wheeled Williams out onto the field. He hit three home runs on his 29th birthday in a 22-4 rout of the Devil Rays. In 1999, he hit three homeruns—two of them grand slams— in a win over the Mariners. In fact, his first at-bat in a Boston uniform was a home run.

Sounds like the stuff of legends, myths too good to be true. In Boston, Nomar was a legend. But he was also pretty damn good.

In nine years and 966 games with the Red Sox, Nomar hit 178 HRs and posted a .323 batting average and .553 slugging percentage. He was Rookie of the Year in 1997 and a five-time All-Star.

Most fans have never gotten over the Nomar breakup. Probably because for the last six years our team has yet to find a decent shortstop to replace him (really, look at some of the attempts or should I say overpaid mistakes…Orlando Cabrera, Edgar Renteria, Julio Lugo, Alex Gonzalez). I think Nomar at age 36 would be better shortstop than some of the substitutes.

Or perhaps the problem is that no one is good enough for us. Like your first true love, after the relationship ends, another can ever really take his or her place. There will always be a hole between third and second base. One where Nomar used to stand and one no one else has been able to fill (statistically or nostalgically).

Maybe the Beast of Burden still roams the streets of Boston. He wasn’t satiated by the World Series win in 2004 (which felt a little sad to celebrate without Nomar). He continues to skulk around corners, hoping just maybe each spring someone might come around to ease the aching and fill that gap Nomar left in Boston lore.

Perhaps the Beast can now rest after this spring. Although it was just for one day—Nomar was and is once again part of Boston baseball.

As we never forgot Nomar, he never forgot us. He wanted to retire in his Boston Red Sox uniform, but little did he know, in our hearts Number 5 never belonged to anyone else.

Next on the playlist: Tom Petty’s “The Waiting.” (Okay, so maybe I searched and played the song manually…iTunes isn’t THAT good…)

Countdown to Operation Chi-rish!

T minus two days until Chicago's biggest party of the year! Word on the street is that St. Patrick's Day weekend is a pretty big deal around here and I am so excited for it!

At first I didn't believe that Chicago was "better than Boston" when it came to its St. Patty's Day celebration (how could anyone?!), but I'm starting to believe this myth that I once considered as real as a leprechaun or a four-leaf clover.

The first clue: Chicagoans have dubbed themselves the Chi-rish. I found it very clever... Chicago (often referred to as The Chi) and Irish together, seems like a perfect match! (Still doesn't beat the fact that Boston has a team dedicated to the Irish in the Celtics though).

Second clue: I went for a run this morning and I have never seen as many beer distribution trucks lining the streets as I did throughout my 2.5 mile journey. I was tempted to ask one of them where they were keeping the green beer, but didn't want to look too eager. Plus, I was wearing my Kelly-green Boston shirt (which used to have a shamrock on it but kind of got washed away after a few laundry cycles-- guess you can't expect much more from a T-shirt sold outside North Station before a Celtics game).

Third clue: The fact that I have made a checklist of the things I want to be doing this weekend in the "Kiss Me I'm Irish" shirt I found at Target.

Operation Chi-rish is outlined as follows:

1. Finding a spot along the river to watch the boats dump the dye into the water. I cannot wait to see the Chicago River dyed green! Don't worry, I will take plenty of pictures!

2. Drinking a glass (or two, or three) of green beer. If they're all out, perhaps I'll try a Guinness on behalf of my Irish ancestry (maybe).

3. Drinking that beer at one of the many Irish pubs hosting live Irish bands.

Okay, so maybe I only need to do three things to make my first St. Patty's day in Chicago complete. But I have high expectations for a city that is plastered with Millet Lite "Chi-rish" ads and has a baseball team (the White Sox) that hosts a half-way to St. Patrick's Day night in September.

Boston or Chicago, one thing is for sure... I will thoroughly enjoy this holiday --the one day of the year in which I embrace my pale skin and freckles! And I have plenty of freckles to drink to... three cheers for that!

Highlight #2- Orange and Blue!

Highlight package #2 for my sports producing class: Syracuse Orange take on DePaul Blue Demons at McGrath Arena, February 27, 2010.

March: In Like a Lion

Here's a round-up of my SIX.. yeah, you read right!...six articles I wrote for the March issue of Pulse magazine:

I wrote three articles as part of the cover story, which focused on fitness (as it was dubbed "The Fitness Issue").

This article is about the Tyson American Cup, a gymnastics event coming to Worcester's DCU Center.

I had the opportunity to interview Chaske Spencer, who plays a werewolf in the Twilight movies. He's a pretty nice guy... consider this girl a member of Team Jacob (whatever that means).

And finally, this article profiles a local MMA fighter.

This should give you plenty to read over the next few days, which is good, because I have class and probably won't be back until Friday!

Photo: Tianna Ta graces the cover of Pulse's March Fitness Issue.

Order's Up!

The other night, my roommates and I ordered pizza from Ian's. A 16-inch, Smokey the Bandit, extra sauce. Delivery, please.

It got me thinking: what if we lived in a world in which we could order our men like we ordered our pizza?

Yes, hello, I would like a 72-inch (six foot) man, easy on the eyes, mature, able to make responsible and sound life decisions. Hey, I'd even get off my butt and go pick him up myself.

I guess these days, the closest thing to this kind of utopia would be online dating sites like eharmony. Except ordering a man up like a pizza doesn't require $60 a month or filling out an hour-long survey about your hopes, dreams and personal and religious beliefs. Now that I think about it, seems like those dating sites run more like a Rotisserie baseball league in which data is collected and the person with the best stats wins the dating game.

Fail. I tried it once before (on a cheap promotional trial) and it was definitely not for me. Online dating is worse than meeting someone in a bar--you are judged by your tiny thumbnail photo--and the date, if you finally get one after the eight rounds of back and forth email questionnaires, feels like a job interview.

I guess when it comes down to it, someone may look good on paper, but there's no replacing or making up for the personal connection that attracts two people to each other.

There goes my whole ordering men up like a pizza idea.

I guess customized orders are restricted solely to pizzas, subs and beer. The guy in this commercial had it right all along...

... I'll just stick to ordering Miller Lite at a bar in hopes of bumping into my soul mate.

All this talk about pizza has made me hungry. I'll take a 16-inch cheese please...

Cupcakes, Visiting Friends and Wine= Good Times

It's finals time, but I could not resist the opportunity to hang out with two Boston friends in town for the weekend on Saturday afternoon. Jamie, who is pretty much like my second brother, flew in for the weekend with his girlfriend Corey.

We managed to make a date for a Saturday afternoon rendezvous--Clark U style (we're all alums). The cloudy day cast the perfect backdrop for a lazy visit over coffee... and cupcakes! I capitalized on the opportunity to show Jamie and Corey one of Chicago's unique (and delicious) offerings and one of the cupcake places I had yet to try-- Molly's Cupcakes.

I am now able to officially cross it off my list and provide this ensuing review in my running Cupcake Crusade commentary:

Apparently I wasn't the only Chicagoan who had the idea to hit up Molly's at 3 p.m. on Saturday afternoon. The place was hopping. All the tables were filled, even the swings (yes, you read that right, swings) that hang down from the ceiling were occupied. Luckily, we found a spot to squeeze into among the families playing board games (Molly's has a collection of games on hand to entertain yourself with while chomping on the desserts-- I know a few bars that offer a collection of board games as well. I once played Guess Who? while downing a pint of Miller Lite).

Now on to the important part: the cupcakes. The three of us split three different kinds in order to enjoy and enhance our experience. We chose Mint Blast (chocolate cupcake, creamy mint filling and mint frosting), Cookies and Cream (chocolate cupcake, cookies and cream filling and white frosting with an Oreo sticking in the top) and Boston Cream Pie (for nostalgia's sake, and because Jamie loves the donut.. lucky for him, it tasted JUST like it!).

In my opinion, these cupcakes can be summed up in two words: unbelievably delicious. I think this might be the new front-runner in my personal and made-up Best Chicago Cupcake competition.

After inhaling our cupcakes, which we attempted to cut into threes (I'm sure it was amusing to watch three college graduates, one with a doctorate and one in a master's program, try to slice a cupcake into three perfect slices), we were filled to the brim and on a sugar high. So, the three of us walked the 20 minutes back to my apartment, where we made stop number two: the bodega (Spanish: wine shop) next to my apartment (literally, one house separates my apartment and Bodega Ramos, my new favorite hot spot and go-to wine shop).

Mateo, the owner whom my roommates and I have befriended, is a wine expert, super nice and always seems to know what kind of wine I'm in the mood to drink (I guess it's not that hard, I always go for the Riesling).

The shop hosts free wine tastings on Saturdays (and beer tastings on Fridays), so the three of us spent a good 40 minutes chatting and testing the wines. We even posed for this picture before we left in order to document our travels.

By 5 p.m., we were all on a sugar high complemented by a wine buzz.

After giving a whirlwind tour of my apartment, I was forced to bid adieu to my friends. I can only hope that the cupcakes, free wine and clever conversation left them with enough of a craving to come back. Apparently, Jamie and Sean planned a man-cation to Chicago via Blackberry Messenger after the wine tasting (and upon inspection of my porch, which is allegedly an optimal space for a keg party).

Now all I need is for spring to come so we can make good on the promise. I'll bring the wine. And the cupcakes.