Boondocks.

After that 2009 lukewarm BS I'd really like to make note of this beautiful summer Chicago is having this year.

There are very few pleasures in living with my parents again, but breakfast out on the deck under a bright orange umbrella is always enjoyable. The deck juts out from the second story so its like sitting in a tree house really with all the trees and plants growing high around me.

Does it make me more civilized that i drink my coffee from a cup my mother purchased 20 years ago as opposed to the "going green" Starbucks paper cup? Am I better off because my neighbors actually speak when they see me? That's suburb living for your ass.

Yes, I live in the Burbs. The Boonies, the sticks... Far & Away. I'm reminded every day by all my friends who live in the city. Why do you live so far? They ask. You need to move, they tell me at the beginning of every conversation. Not, Hello, how are you? or Just calling you back, what's up? No, its "You need to move" every time.

Now, I'm well aware of this need. Especially because I do the majority of the traveling. As I'm sure you learned from Train Theory, the conductors and I are on a first name basis. Milwaukee District North (Purple Line) yeah, they know me there. This summer in particular, I've spent at least a full week of my life riding the train back and forth. For the most part, I don't mind. Love the city, love to travel and see friends I don't often see. Nevertheless, I would like just once to do the picking up and dropping off. I'd like to play hostess once and a while. See, I'm having the hardest time getting any of my friends to come out this way. Had the house to myself for seven days last month and I barely got one stay-over visit.

In conversation with Loren, I tried to put a new spin on the prospect of her coming to stay. She was going on and on about how her job and friends were wearing her down. Things were bad all the way around- even her couch was rubbing her the wrong way. Dude! I said, Come visit me.

But you live so far. Like really, where do you even live? She says. It takes her 45 minutes to get home (from within the city!) and she's asking me where I live. Go figure. Its only an hour ride, you can read, write- all those things you say you need to do, but never do. She's still whining, still skeptical, but not as much. I decided then to put it to her a different way:

Come out to the country, I say. Like back in the day when women would swoon or men would go bankrupt; a monotone doctor always advises a stay in the country. The country air will do you good. Country living as a cure-all! Seriously, in the 1800's a woman could get into a little trouble with love; a nine month spell in the country and suddenly all her problems were solved.

How Dickens of me to present things to her this way. It works. She makes some awkward sound of agreement. I'll take care of everything, you just get on the train. And when I pick you up we'll do all those things you city people think we do out here in the burbs. Ironically, I do horseback ride and I have witnessed cow tipping.

I left Loren pondering all the wonderful things about the boonies. Shimmering lakes, breezes through the trees, perpendicular parking, Cracker Barrel...