Tumultuous Travels to Topeka

Chicago's winter is overstaying its welcome. We all were happy to pull our scarves from our accessory closets and say the word "sleet" a lot back in January. We all enjoyed the playful little blizzard that dumped a caricaturical amount of snow on the hipsters' fixie bikes. But now it is late March, and since I have still not developed a thick layer of insulating blubber (despite my 2 sticks of butter per week minimum), I was forced to migrate south for Spring Break. Ah, the vast, scorching plains of Kansas will surely warm my frostbit heart.

Pictured above: Topeka rules!

Yes, I am back in Kansas. Home of the #1 ranked college basketball team and the #1 ranked anti-gay, military funeral picketers. This is my home. The state where I rose to fame and power at a public university, which I still defend was not just a few textbooks in a barn (there was also the Medical School barn).

Pictured above: You can almost hear the flowers saying, "I can't believe I went to a state school! What am I going to do with a bachelor's degree in Photosynthetic Theory?"

But enough for now. I should get back to enjoying the quiet dignity of returning to the home of my childhood.

Pictured above: Mom, I can't sleep here. I'm worried the fluffy cloud blanket and pink sheets may just be too masculine.

On Interior Decorating

The decor for my modest studio apartment is, for the most part, complete.

The entire process, shopping for furniture, arranging items around the room, choosing colors and more, was surprisingly satisfying. Perhaps my natural predisposition for classy threads has translated into interior decorating. This is undoubtedly a life-changing event.

It's a bit hard, but not impossible, for a man to take care of his personal appearance without sacrificing his perceived manhood. Throw on a fitted collared shirt and slim khakis and you look like a real man. But as soon as I began considering the purchase of drapes, a line had been crossed.

Interior decorating has become the death sentence for the remnants of my masculinity. To be fair, the American patriarchy is known best for its disregard for personal hygiene and desire to crush empty alcoholic-beverage cans against one's forehead, so I'm not going to miss it terribly.


Pictured Above: The death of my machismo. The killing blow was in the form of the matching napkins and tablecloth.

Is this a normal transformation? Am I experiencing a coming-of-age phase of my life, transforming me from a boy to a man? Or at least from a man to a more fabulous man?


Pictured above: A fabulous kitchen.

I have yet to entertain guests, so time will tell.