OyChicago articles

Linda, celebrating 25 years as a working girl

This month is the 25th anniversary of the day I started my first real job. That first day of work was blistering cold, like today. I was wearing a suit with a skirt—no pants for women allowed, then—and I remember making my way across the bridge over the steaming Chicago River, trying to suck it up and act like a tough commuter.

I spent a lot of that first winter trying to suck it up and act tough.

The job market that year was as horrendous as it is now, so here I was, with two degrees, earning jack shit. My last year of college cost more than my first annual salary. My student loans and rent ate up most of my take-home pay, and I was broke. I can still see myself shopping for groceries with my mother, finally explaining to her that I wasn’t buying the economy-size jug of laundry detergent because I just didn’t have enough cash. I had two fancy degrees, and was too poor to buy an extra-large bottle of Tide.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, if someone had just taken me aside and said: “Okay; here’s the deal. The first year or two out of school completely suck, but then it will be okay. It’s not because this is The Real World. It’s because you’re 24.”

Looking back, it all makes sense. I had a fabulous education, but worked an entry-level job. I had developed an appreciation for the finer things in life, but had no money to pursue them. I had made intense friendships in college, but those friends were scattered across the globe. Plus, I had a bad body wave and no boyfriend.

And then, shit just happened to me. I overslept on a work day. My storage locker was broken into, my car was burglarized, and my wallet was snatched out of my purse. It never happened again, but I swear, all this shit happened when I was 24. It was like falling into a cosmic black hole. It took a year or two, but it was an incredible relief to find that this was not my permanent reality.

However, what was permanent was the realization that exchanging academic quarters for fiscal quarters had not been a good trade. Let’s be real: It is a lot more satisfying to end a term with a few days off and a couple of beers than to mark it with a news release about your company’s earnings. Plus, I’d learned to schedule my classes to avoid, you know, morning, so it pissed me off to have office hours at all, let alone office hours that began before the crack of noon. Again, this was not a good trade. Admittedly, when I wrote something, now people paid me instead of giving me a report card—a much better deal—but no one ever suggested that I take time off for an Independent Study or a trip overseas to explore one of my brilliant ideas.

I think I was afraid of having an examined life during this winter of my discontent, so I sleep-walked through my life during that first year or two after college. I found an apartment I loved, managed my own finances, and learned how to deal with patronizing male co-workers (who did a whole lot of things that would be utterly illegal today) without noticing that I had landed well on my feet. I received three promotions in three years without realizing I was a success. I discovered what I truly wanted—and didn’t want—in a life partner without considering how long that took most people. I got involved in causes I believed in without understanding that I had found my life’s work. And I had a body that I would die to have today, but was ashamed of at the time.

So now I wish I could go back and enjoy those accomplishments as they happened—and enjoy the kick ass bod I didn’t appreciate back then.  Basically, I want a do-over. Which is probably the same thing I’ll say about how I’m living today in another 25 years.

Alyssa, whipping up a batch of kugel, and memories

My friend Naomi is intimidated by chicken soup. Another friend recently tackled a fear of Thanksgiving turkey. For most of my adult life, I have resisted noodle kugel.

These dishes have been cooked for countless holidays by our mothers and grandmothers. The familiar aromas wafting through our kitchens inspire feelings of comfort and familiarity, and evoke memories of less complicated times. These dishes hold such esteem in our minds – and our bellies – that we angst over the prospect of cooking them ourselves.

My grandma’s noodle kugel is famous, at least in our family.

When we were little, my grandparents lived in the condo unit farthest from the elevator. After fighting over who got to push the inside button and who the outside button (the inside was far more coveted, as there were many buttons from which to choose), my three brothers and I would burst from the elevator and race to #110, where Grandma and Poppy would be waiting for us in the hall with open arms.

We would proceed immediately to the kitchen, where two noodle kugels always waited for us. The Corn Flakes topping was golden and crispy, coating the layers of sweet, creamy noodles and pineapple morsels. The four of us, with help from Poppy, easily devoured an entire kugel, which is why the second batch was so important. Grandma never let us go home empty-handed.



 Alyssa and her brothers, kugel connoisseurs

The kugel appeared at most major holidays (except for Passover of course); it was requested each time we slept at Grandma’s, and every time we came home from college for a visit.

She never shared the recipe with anyone, saying she wouldn’t be able to write down the exact measurements because everything was “in her head.” Fortunately for me, she was able to figure it all out just in time for my wedding shower, where she presented me with a handwritten recipe card.

Still, it took me two years to attempt the kugel.

My grandma is not doing a lot of cooking anymore, and I recently found myself with the perfect opportunity to whip up a batch, which quickly turned into a trip down memory lane. I was inspired by our Dinner Club, a group of friends that gets together monthly over a theme dinner. I decided to host a Jewish meal, and dug through my recipe books for my grandma’s card. As I gathered my ingredients, my fear that the dish would be a sure failure began to dwindle away. Following the pretty cursive on the recipe card, I could almost hear my grandma telling me I should probably think twice about a third helping, and my poppy telling her to let me eat as much as I want.

It turned out almost perfect. My timing was a bit off and the kugel should have sat for a while after coming out of the oven, but I served it immediately. The result, while delicious, was a bit wetter than Grandma’s.

Of course, the true test will come when I gather the nerve to serve the kugel to my family, the only critics able to discern the differences between mine and the original. And even if my version doesn’t quite meet their standards, Grandma will be thrilled to know that we sat around my table eating her kugel together, just like we did in her kitchen.

DJ Avi Sic

Avigaeil Furhman is a jack of all trades. She is passionate about music and can be found most nights DJing at many Chicago hotspots, including Town Hall Pub, The Continental and Swig. But she also makes a living writing for online magazine BuzzNews and is interested in becoming an artist, dancer or actress one day soon. She loves all kinds of animals and once planned on a career in oceanography. Originally from Connecticut, Avi attended the Savannah College of Art and Design before moving to Chicago in 2005. Chicago has been a perfect fit for Avi who wanted the feel of a big city with a thriving theatre and music culture, but smaller than New York and closer to home than Los Angeles. You can see her spin at Liar’s Club every Wednesday night.

So, if you enjoy listening to music, but can’t carry a tune or crave Chinese food, Avi Furhman is A Jew You Should Know!

1. What did you want to be when you grew up?
Pretty much everything! I always liked performing, music, and the visual arts, but I was also into the ocean, animals and dinosaurs. It’s funny because today that’s totally what I’m still into! When I was really little I wanted to be an oceanographer, then it turned into astronaut. Then I started playing “band” with my friends. Sometimes I would be playing an instrument (which I eventually took on for real), other times I would sing (but quickly realized I have no talent in that arena even after massive singing lessons), sometimes I would play back up dancer hence my later in life stint with dancing. Then I wanted to be an actress which became an on and off passion (and my college major). I wanted to be a writer (my minor), a slam poet, and a rapper…all of which I did for a while during college and post. From middle school until college I wanted to be an artist and took lessons. In college I double minored in art history as well. I pretty much wanted to try everything. My mom is the greatest; [she] let me dabble around in a lot of different areas to allow me to figure myself out.

2. What do you love about what you do today?
It’s the best!  I basically [get to] live and breathe music. I DJ at [local] clubs and bars, it is the most fulfilling thing in the world to open people up to new styles of music or to play their favorite track in a whole new light. I spend all my time researching, digging, working on sets, remixing, bettering my skills, and challenging myself to become the best I can be at what I do. I learn something new every time I put the needle on the record or turn on my computer to research an old blues track. I am constantly on my toes. It’s a timeless art form and I am proud to be able to help preserve, share and create it.

3. What are you reading?
Wax Poetics – it’s a hip-hop, funk, jazz & soul quarterly.

4. What's your favorite place to eat in Chicago?
My kitchen has become a favorite lately, but I’m [also] a sucker for a fancy chain restaurants [such as] P.F. Chang’s.

5. If money and logistical reality played no part, what would you invent?
A machine that cures all diseases and aliments.

6. Would you rather have the ability to fly or the ability to be invisible?
Fly. Invisibility seems a bit creepy.

7. If I scrolled through your iPod, what guilty pleasure song would I find?
Single Ladies by Beyonce.

8. What's your favorite Jewish thing to do in Chicago-in other words, how do you Jew?
Sneak into the high holy days un-ticketed. What a rush!