So I’m writing this piece for New City Magazine about the 2008 campaign and the design-friendly things you can wear to support it. While doing all this research about buttons(You know, the things you pin to your lapel… do people even wear lapels anymore? God, do half of you even know what a lapel is?!) I come across a npr article showing buttons created from previous generations and elections.
What struck me most was not the vintage graphic design and fonts used to create these relics. It was the dates. Pin after pin after button after button were dates: “The Election of ’76!” or “Nixon for ’68″ or “Cinton/Gore 96!”… and the years kept going.
Now, this may be obvious and is so obvious and may sound ridiculous that I’m even saying this after all this time… but dang, we finally have a non-white guy on a button… and it took only two-hundred and nineteen years to get there.
From a graphic designer’s point-of-view… this is exciting… more color options. For a writer’s point-of-view… this is exciting… more cool things to write about. For an American’s point-of-view… this is scary… more things to really think about.
After hearing what I heard from all the speeches today, I think about my grandma and all the people who wore the buttons from years ago and how many of them are missing the first time in graphic and American history that there is a non-white guy on a button.
More importantly, as I get older and start thinking more about kids of my own. I know that one boring rainy afternoon they will be finding in an old box of mine tucked in my future attic(in a very Dwell Magazine-like modern architecture home) will be a button that says: “Obama 08″ in which they will take it out of the box and giggle and say something like: “Why do you still have this, Dad?”
And I will totally say: “So one day I could show you the year America woke up.”

Growing up in the Midwest, you’d think you’d get used to changes.
You know, we’ve got seasons that are so different and if you’ve lived all your life in these parts you get good at knowing when it’s time to move on to the new part of the year. When fall turns to winter, the sky has a harsher blue to it. When winter turns to spring, it rains more than it snows. When spring turns to summer, the light stays longer and the nights stay warmer. And when summer turns to fall… well, it starts to feel like how it’s been feeling lately– cooler winds, leaves start to droop a bit and that feeling summer gives us: carefree, fun, laid back… it’s replaced with that feeling to get cozy.
But somehow, no matter how in tuned you are to season changes in weather, the season changes in life are harder to pick up on.
Today I helped Josh move in to his new apartment in a new neighborhood with a new girl… a great new girl who he is going to pick up from Colorado and bring back to Chicago and start a new life with.
As we lifted boxes out of his old apartment with just enough jolt from my coffee, my mind started doing that whole “college mother” thing. You know, when your parents helped you move in to your first new place and had those puppy dog faces that are totally saying: “We are so proud of you, but can’t believe this is all happening.”
I know what you’re saying. It’s what Josh has been saying. It’s what everyone has been saying: “It’s all fine. Nothing will change. You’re still going to be great friends and his girlfriend is going to have to kick you to the curb to get rid of you and coffee shops will still see Byron and Josh chilling with their look-a-like laptops. The only thing that will be different is the street names you’ll be meeting up at and the new places he’ll have to show you in his neighborhood.”
And it’s true. I couldn’t be happier for him! He’s a great guy and she’s a great girl and he deserves nothing but the best. He has been a phenomenal friend to me and any girl would be beyond lucky to have him. She knows this too. She’s the type of girl that does appreciate what he has done for me as a good friend. The way he let me sleep in his bed the night Dave and I broke up. All the times we would go through bottles and bottles of wine while sitting on his floor listening to play-lists we had just invented on our itunes. The time he taught me how to make latkes on his studio apartment stove.
And as we took the last few things, I looked at the empty apartment filled with random dust bunnies and a few cords. I felt a change. Just like when you feel the change in temperature when a new season is starting, I felt a change in our lives.
It has nothing to do with him moving in… it has everything to do with him moving on. All my friends are doing it. They’re in great relationships–successful and loving relationships. They’re moving in with boyfriends or girlfriends. They’re going on fancy vacations. They are getting married. They are having babies. They’re… moving on. And ever since my break-up… I often feel like I have been moving backwards in comparison.
Josh’s new apartment is great. It’s one of those loft-like joints with hardwood floors and dishwasher. I can imagine the place in a month looking fantastic while he’s hosting a “make-an-itunes-playlist-party” for him and I. This time, though, his kick-ass new girlfriend will be around to see what she’s gotten herself in to. Plus, now I have an excuse to leave my neighborhood more often.
That’s what you have to do. You have to look at what that change in seasons will bring. Like how fall brings new sweaters and fun jacket options to wear. Winter brings snow angels and an excuse to watch a lot of movies from your Netflix list. Spring brings alleriges and that warmth you crave after you’ve been in winter.
In the end, you have to accept it just can’t always be summer–carefree and light. That’s what makes us mid-westerners a little tougher. We’ve got to deal with changes more often. Sometimes having that skill helps with understanding other kinds of changes.

Get a ride home on a hot mother of a motorcycle with a straight guy after a long day of work. Add major humming of thighs after aforementioned ride to get perfect effect.

So I’m sitting outside the other morning journaling in my moleskin notebook and sipping on a coffee. It’s one of those summer mornings during the week where it’s quiet, even on the street, because people are at work or in offices and not journaling on a sidewalk cafe in the beautiful August weather.
I’m in mid-sentence trying to get thoughts on my page when a guy sitting next to me says:
“People don’t do that anymore, you know?”
I look over. At his feet his a wrinkled face dog. It has brown eyes and it’s panting with its collar loose around it’s neck. I look up. A guy in his mid forties and backwards hat is holding a small coffee cup in one hand and the dog’s leash in the other. He’s looking at me then glances at the notebook on the table that I’m writing in.
“I’m sorry… they don’t do…?” I ask smiling and then smiling at the dog.
“People don’t write. You know, write write. They write emails and they write text messages and they write on laptop, but you never see people writing on pieces of paper… in notebooks. How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-five.”
“Huh.” His voice sounds a bit older than what he looks like. Think car having trouble starting in the winter… mix that with probably years of having to drink in bars that allowed smoking and then add a bit of his own smoking to that. “I think it’s great. I just think it’s great!”
We talk for awhile. He tells me he was a writer, too. He went to school for it and that his parents wanted him to do something practical, like teach. He decided to go the other way and for fifteen years he freelanced. He had something accepted to the New Yorker when he was twenty-eight and when he was thirty he wrote for Rolling Stone. When he turned thirty-five his partner of ten years needed to move to Chicago and in that he lost many of his writing gigs because “New York is better than Chicago. Writers just don’t make it in Chicago. Trust me. Chicago sucks.”
Now, living in the city you learn a few things: 1) Birds will poop on you wherever you walk. So just be prepared. 2) You will probably see more homeless people than you ever thought. 3) Those homeless people, at the end of the day, are actually richer than you… change adds up! 4) You will hear a lot of your neighbors having a lot of sex and 5) you will meet people that will say things that you either choose to trust or choose to scoff at.
I choose to scoff.
“We’ll see.” I laugh as I took my pen and put in between the pages I was writing in. “I seem to be doing OK so far…” I start to put my things in my backpack.
I wasn’t offended. I’d be lying, though, if for a second I didn’t get that gut feeling that dropped like I was plunging off a cliff. Sure. New York does have things Chicago doesn’t have. But what Chicago doesn’t have in big named magazine headquarters or publishing houses or overpriced bagel shops… it has in belief.
You can dis Chicago all you want, but I won’t listen to you talk shit about a city that has offered me so many opportunities that have let me continue to believe that I have what it takes to make it out there.
Besides. Chicago only sucks if you suck.

There comes a day in every guys life when he meets the parents.
For most, it involves a serious relationship. For some it has nothing to do with a relationship and everything to do with meeting the one and only Jenna Eisenberg.
For the last six years of knowing Josh I have gotten to know the ins and outs of his ways. 1) Don’t talk to him when he is in a serious project on his computer. 2) He will only have another drink if you bribe him with the possibility of cheese fries or pizza afterwards. 3) Don’t divulge too much in to your sex life. Use words like: “Yadi yadi ya” to get to the real point. 4) When you meet his mom, don’t gush too much about how excited you are while dressed in a nice button up shirt… because it is just his mom and not only your hero.
Wait. You don’t know Jenna? This is where I would be all: PSSHHH!!! Jenna is not only Josh’s mom, but she wrote a book. A BOOK. A BOOK!!!!!!! And before this moment, she was just someone that Josh would tell me stories about: “Yeah, she wrote a book and now speaks at events and stuff…” and then he would shrug. My response was: “WHAT!??!?! That’s awesome!”
And now, here we are having lunch with her and her partner, Ed, at an outside patio.
Now, I’ve met parents before. I’ve met Megan’s mom and dad. I met Molly’s mom and dad. I’ve met Jeff’s and my ex’s and everyone’s… and I love parents. I am so good with parents. I like seeing where my friends are coming from. But, Jenna… Jenna Eisenberg folks… she’s like my idol.
“Byron, we should go see the Sex and the City movie…” Jenna says to me taking a bite in to her salad. The summer sun shines around us. A cool breeze blows the umbrella above us slightly. It’s a perfect day for a perfect meeting.
“Totally.” I say cooly… like a gay Fonzy. But really I wanted to freak my stuff out. OF COURSE I WOULD GO SEE that movie with her.
What you folks aren’t getting is that this book… her book… was one thing out of a few that got me through my break-up. It’s between a self-help and motivational genre. But her voice is what makes me feel like I made a new friend.
And knowing the great job she did with her son, I could only imagine what her wisdom could do with me.

So when I was a kid I used to play “Talk Show”. “Talk Show… what’s that?” You say. Well, it’s when an itty-bitty Byron would line up chairs in his parent’s basement. He would pull up a desk and then have a fake audience. A lively fake audience. A fake audience that would applaud pretty much anything he has to say. I love fake audiences.
Anyway, apparently I still play with my fake audience, but this time it’s not me trying to imitate a talk show, it’s me trying to prove that I can be a travel show. Because, um, if you know me… that’s sort of been a dream of mine. I mean, what better than being all travely in some cool place with cameras and maybe even a cool opening theme song and credits… credits of people who work with you! THAT’S SO COOL! But, anyway, there was a call for submissions for a big t.v. production company… and I decided to go for it.
Josh(WHO ROCKS!) and I made this video this past weekend. And yes, people did stare a lot. Note to people who like to stare when people are using cameras on crowded streets: Don’t stare. It gives me pit stains.
Watch the video here: www.byronflitsch.com/travelshow
P.S. If you happen to be someone who wants to, you know, have me as your t.v. host… you should seriously think about that. Because, well, I make videos on my own whim which means I have to be pretty serious… RIGHT?
P.S.S. If you want to see my bloopers(because, who wouldn’t!) check here

I have the best mom and dad in the world in the sense that they will drive their convertible down from Wisconsin to pick their son up for a birthday brunch and then take him to a great birthday brunch where he will sit on a patio, down a few mimosas, babble about what he has been up to and then bring him back to his apartment where they will then pop open the trunk and say:
“Here. Here’s all your stuff from being a kid. Do what you want with it.”
Inside the small trunk of their Mustang are boxes and boxes of my childhood.
“Wait… what? What?” I repeatedly stumble out as I stand staring at these brown cardboard boxes.
“B, you’ve been out of the house for almost nine years. It’s time to get this out of my house!” My mom says lifting one of the boxes of out of the trunk.
And now I have boxes in my apartment filled with my childhood life.
I’m turning twenty-six in five days. This, of course, means a lot of things. I won’t be twenty-five anymore. That’s one thing. I’m still in my mid-twenties. I am only four years from being thirty. I have been alive for almost 9,940 days. Apparently, it also means your parents don’t want to to hold on to your previous years things and it’s time to figure out what you’re going to do with it all.
“So, what are you going to do with it all?” Josh asks me while walking down Broadway a few afternoons ago.
“I dunno… I mean, I have to go through it and see what there is that I’d want to keep. If there is anything. The hard part of it is that I actually have to get rid of stuff that I have so much attachment to.”
Josh shakes his head as we turn down the corner dodging a cab.
I know what that head shake means. I see it all the time. It means: You’re too sensitive. I saw myself do that same head shake last night as I had a glass of wine and some music playing as I started ripping open the taped boxes. Like Christmas, each box was like a surprise. One was filled with, ahem(I can’t believe I’m admitting this), Beanie Babies. One was filled with my pencil collection. As I pulled each one open, I started to remember where all the stuff was in my room and who bought me what. All the stuff was making me want to be a kid again. I would do anything to be that age again!
Except when it came to the last box… from my senior year of high school. Now, I’m not too sure how well you know me, but Senior year I was straight. Yup. It’s true. And senior year, I sort of had a girlfriend. We did things that girlfriends and boyfriends do. We gave each other gifts. We took each other to dances(and apparently I was so straight I kept the corsage she gave me in a Ziplock baggy) and we also wrote notes to each other. Many notes. I mean, probably seven notes a day.
I read them for hours. Literally. One bottle of wine later and a stack of old notebook love letters that read things like: “You’re the best guy I have ever met…” or “Homecoming will be the most romantic night of our life.” or ” I can’t wait for us to travel around the world together!” You know, things you say when you’re naive and think you’re straight.
But the second to last note got me. It read: “I’m so glad to know that we will always have each other for the rest of our lives…” Underneath that she signed it with a heart and her name.
That’s not true. Years after that letter was written she found out that I was gay and it devastated her and I went in to this huge depression that I had let everyone down. We stopped talking and I recently heard that she is married and pregnant and a flight attendant and that she is as happy as she can be living in her grandmother’s house she recently inherited.
I folded the notes back up and put them away. I went in to the bathroom to brush my teeth to get ready for bed.
In five days I am going to be twenty-six. And though there are many times where I am terrified of what the years ahead will be like and how I would love to just go back and be young… there are those moments when you realize there is no turning around because you have come too far to know that it has to only get better as you get older. No more collecting stuffed animals or pencils or stickers. And no more pretending to have to be something you knew you never where just to make others happy.
In five days I am totally going to be twenty-six and not married to someone that doesn’t make me happy and not living in a place that would bum me out and not in a job that makes me miserable to wake up for.
If I had a box to put my life in now, it would be filled with a whole bunch of mistakes with a lot more life lessons and tucked in between the empty spaces: contentment.

I’m sorry. I’m back. For reals.

This is what happens when Byron takes awesome crazy test pictures with a wedding photographer friend. This is also what happens when Josh gets ahold of these aforementioned pictures.