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.

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.

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

"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.

And it makes me think about the Sesame Street kids of 2008. I mean, dang. I was a kid of Sesame Street circa 1988. And to this day I can still, on cue, recite to you the millions of classic songs from what I grew up on.

Like this:

Or this(which STILL makes me tear up...):

Or this(UM. Do you even know that I just recited the entire song while watching this...):

I keep thinking about Caleb, the little guy I get to babysit for. How, in a few years he might just be getting his groove on to musicians and music that is still not written and Sesame Street skits that aren't around yet and in twenty years watching old clips that he will remember every single word too and knowing that his then forty-year-old uncle got to watch the same show he got to watch and that, really, really no matter HOW different we all are from each other and no matter what person you want for president or what religion you believe or differences we all have with each other...

we all will always have Sesame Street.

Now, that wee little lad is all grown up and actually telling a story on a stage... and it's not about animals. Byron is actually in a theater. Byron is actually doing three shows at this theater!!!! Byron, who is writing in the third person at this very moment is flipping his SHIT out that he is headlining a three day show!

So you should see him.

JULY 23rd, 24th, and 30th, 7:30pm at Chemically Imbalanced Theater!

Details:
An evening of solo performances at Chemically Imbalanced Theater on July 23, 24 & 30th at 7:30 p.m located at 1420 W. Irving Park Rd.(Southport & Irving Park). Tickets are $12 and can be reserved. Easily accessed on Sheridan Red Line stop or by Irving park and Clark street buses. Contact & RSVP #(773)934-1806.

"Hey, can you hold this table for me while I sit down?" She yells at me over the swooshing of the milk steamer. "It wobbles when I try to do it myself."

"Of course!" I say with my 4-H 'I can do anything for an elderly person' mentality. I was raised to help old people do things. It's in my blood. I got Boyscout badges for it!

I hold the table with both my hands. She leaves her walker behind her, rests her arms on the table and pulls out the chair to sit.

"Thank you, Honey! It's hard to do it by myself."

"No problem at all!" I say in my best Superman voice.

"I think I'm gonna take you home with me," She says smiling.

Huh. Another one that thinks they don't have to take me out on a date before they try to take me home.

And while being a dork, your Pop Culture references tend to be something that a) you laugh at yourself because, well, your a dork or b) people tend not to get which really totally bums you out because in your "dorky head" you envision the moment of reference to be this brilliant moment of "totally" by the person that you are referencing with. But in most instances I get a stare and a shake of the head and a "I... I don't get it."

It happens all time. I quote Home Alone. Who quotes Home Alone? Apparently me.

This happens with quotes from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory(Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker!") or Mrs. Doubtfire("Scaliwagggggg!") and it happens with commericals.

"Look over there!" I point to my friend as we are leaving the place we had lunch at while heading down the busy street.

I point over to these really awesome dressed Asian teenagers standing waiting for a the 36 bus downtown. They're totally fresh out of punk meets hip culture with a preppy twist. Just take a second to picture it. But, what's better, they were standing around with their hands in their pockets and their heads tiled and scattered sporadic-like.

"Yah, so... they're cute!" My friend says pulling her cell phone out of her purse and checking her texts. We dodge a dude walking a golden retreiver.

"They look waif-like... you know, like those GAP commercials from the 90's! I love it!"

"What GAP commercials?" She says with her fingers flying around on her cell phone keypad.

"What!??!?!?! WHAT GAP commercials?!?!?!" I say this with a huge hand gesture... of course. "You don't... I can't... Everyone knows the GAP commercials with the waif kids singing famous songs in monotoned voices wearing the new GAP products. I MEAN, I DREAMED of being one of those "COOL" kids who got to stand around and sing "Dress You Up In My Love" while wearing a hip cool fresh GAP vest!!! How can you not know what I'm talking about..."

"I don't... sorry..."

"It's just you then..."

"No... I don't think so... I bet other people don't know what the hell you're talking about."

And so I checked. And she is right. Only a handful of people remember those. Sure they remember Sarah Jessica Parker's and Lenny Kravitz and then people start singing me that stupid Old Navy commercial "Old Navy, Old Navy, Old Navy Performance FLEECE!" and I say: "We're talking about the Gap..." and then they change the subject.

People... do you not remember these????:

IF NOT! Shame. On. You.
I still dream of being one.
Sigh.

"It's like: BERRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPHHHHHHHHHHWOOOOOOOOSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! And that's the straightest sound effect you will ever hear me make...." I say using my hand to show an explosion.

He looks at me and says: "Um. Actually... that sounds like a cappuccino machine..."

"And that's the gayest sound effect you will ever hear me make."