I’m rabidly watching the DNC this week, stomaching as many political anachronisms from Chris Matthews as I can handle, and so far I’ve been impressed. I loved Michelle Obama’s grace and adored those little girls (can they please campaign with him more often?), and I was bowled over by how spirited and inspiring Hillary’s keynote address speech was last night. Whether people believe her or not, she’s working to unite the Democrats, and lines like “No way, no how, no McCain,” and her Twin Cities riff were right on target. With Bill’s speech tonight, and the stadium-shaker that I assume Obama will give Thursday, the campaign is invigorated and hopefully paving the way towards Pennsylvania Ave.

But with all the campaign hubbub, I’m in the midst of a smaller campaign of my own: My mom. Mom went red the last two elections (for which I’m still a bit upset) so I was glad to hear that she was back in the blue column this year, and that Hillary was her pick. But after Hillary fizzled out, my mom wasn’t done. I’ve called her repeatedly to gauge her thoughts on the convention and the election, and she’s still smitten, and still undecided. And so, while I watch the pundits parse out every single word of the speakers utters, I look to my mom for how women like her are reacting. And its fascinating and frustrating at the same time…

(Photo: bbc.com)

A year ago this week, I quit my job and decided to completely overhaul my life. In the next few weeks, I started a new job, moved in with my boyfriend, and left New York for a new city. And, though I’m learning to like D.C., the New Yorker in me has still lingers. People in D.C. still ask me all the time what I miss most about the city, and to be honest, it changes with every answer. I miss my circle of friends, the pace of my life, the level of comfort I reached in a place that always seemed so foreign to me as a kid. I miss the fact that I can get on the subway in New York City and see a mariachi band in full regalia who will perform for four stops before switching back uptown. So it was interesting for me to come across two stories in the last two days that tugged at my sentimentality – but from opposite ends of the spectrum.

The first was, of all things, a story about Buffalo. My wonderful buddy Adam wrote a terrific piece for New York about a group of people who were leaving the New York City for the cold, gutted-out alternative up north. Buffalo is the second poorest city in the country, but offers people the option of large apartments and, more importantly, a blank slate for rewriting their lives. He writes:

But the problem is, you can’t simply leave New York—you have to quit New York. You have to admit to yourself and the world that you’re packing it in, calling it a day, turning out the lights. You have to walk away from, as Joan Didion put it, “the sense, so peculiar to New York, that something extraordinary would happen any minute, any day, any month.” (It should be noted she wrote that in an essay about her decision to leave New York.)

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My first batch of stories is out in DC Magazine’s restaurant issue this month – on cupcakes (pg. 100-101), Durian fruit (pg. 26), and wine (pg. 27). And I got a nice little shoutout on the contributors page (pg. 20) as well. You can find all of the stories online – flip through the mag or click thumbs to head right to the page.