Today was a lovely day.
Hunter and I lounged, waiting for Emily to get back from St. Louis via bus, and made pancakes and bacon and potatoes and eggs and fruit.
Delicious.
I'm tired, but friends are coming in tonight, so we'll see how that goes.
My computer has come across some sort of extremely nasty virus and won't even let me get to the home screen, so until further notice, I'm merely borrowing computers to steal quick minutes with them.
Hunter and I will be home late Wednesday, but expect not to see us until Thursday. The new plan is to leave after he's done with work on the 2nd (around 6 or 7pm) and drive through the night, hopefully arriving in Denver during daylight.

See you soon!

Picture Blog

Easter 2009-Emily's mom's wedding (May 25, 2009)

My birthday was a blast.
I got back to Chicago after braving horrendous traffic and found myself exhausted. Instead of eating dinner, Emily and I lounged around, munching on chocolate (thanks Aunt Sally!) and watching "Friends." At about 8, we started getting ready to go out and our friend Coupe joined us. (He's Hunter's roommate)
We ended up on the Red Line train south to Lawrence, where we got off and entered the Green Mill Lounge. My first legal bar experience was live jazz in a muted room. Whispers were the only conversation allowed, a drink softly ordered, vodka cranberry, and then consumed amid the music. A statue stood in one corner, dimly lit but just as ornate as the rest of the room. We spotted an empty table after the first set, and settled in.
Expensive, however, so we took our leave and went to the next bar we saw, two doors away or possibly across the street, or both.
That is where our night ended.
A bouncer named Bing, a cranky bartender, and someone else's birthday made for an interesting night.
Home.
Head in toilet.
Never go out to drink heavily on an empty stomach.
As Mom said the next day, "Novice mistake."
It was indeed.

Drove back to Wauwatosa in the afternoon. Hunter had made me spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. It was sweet, cut up apples, bread, even peas.
Since then we've been enjoying ourselves. Last night we went out to experience the Tosa nightlife. Calm. Taking the dogs to the dogpark. It's wild. Forest-y, huge, trails. Today we filmed something, we're not sure what yet. I ended up dying in it, after being pushed off a HUGE log.
There's a store here that's called Half-Price Books. It's like the used bookstore next to Dairy Queen on Colorado Blvd. Romance novels abound.

Pictures to come, soon, hopefully.
Travel dates set.
June 3rd through the 9/10th?.

Twenty one today!
Got back from Wisconsin this afternoon, having spent a wonderful weekend up in Northern Wisconsin with Hunter and his cousin. We went fishing, canoeing, attempted to catch some turtles and went on walks. I got lots of sleep!
His dogs came with us, since he's dogsitting them this week while his parents are in Mexico. They took us out to dinner on Friday night, which is always lovely.
Tonight, going out with Emily and some friends.
Here's to a magical year ahead!

Looking forward to being back in Denver!
Grandma Mary's e-card was wonderful! Aunt Sally's package (including add-ins from Bailey and Avery, and Aunt Jan, Uncle Mike and Brian.

Love you all!

I'm settling into my second full day of having nothing to do.
But that's a lie: I've got tons of things to do. Mostly cleaning, lots of cleaning. So much of it to do. Car, room, apartment.
I have much to do, but have not really been able to motivate myself to do them.
I feel like that's alright.
I'm going to take a couple of days to settle in.
I've been oddly stressed lately, for some reason, I've been unable to be happy or feel confident about the future or anything really.
So I'm taking a few mental health days to breathe.

Tonight we're going to the midnight showing of the new Star Trek movie. (Lame). The boys are excited, though, and Emily and I can't help but agree to go.

PARKS

(this picture goes along with my story about my filmmaking adventure. this is the bag of unidentified white substance.
BELOW-
you may not be able to tell, but this a picture of scary crack needles)


Summer officially started for me today at 2pm.
My film final was a stretch. I took on the role of chief editor, which I liked very much, and in total we spent more than 15 hours working on the post-production of the film alone.
The parameters of the film were this:
short, Chicago-based film with less than three(ish) speakers.

And so I joined on with the group that I had worked with previously. Laura, a senior, is one of the editors of the Loyola Phoenix (newspaper), and Andre, a Polish student studying abroad for kicks.
We went to various locations throughout Chicago, including some rather interesting places. I don't spend much time west of Clark St. in Chicago, which basically means that I'm spending most of time on the very East side of the city. The northeast side, essentially, since I live in the northernmost neighborhood inside the city limits.
We went down to the far southwest side (I may have mentioned this previously) to Douglas Park. There, we saw the startling juxtaposition of raw, earthly beauty with the stark concrete inner city. The gas stations were all cluttered, crowded, dirty, small and all boasted a thick wall of bulletproof glass. There were no holes with which anyone would be able to reach a hand through to access the clerks.
On the corner, a crowd of twenty-somethings gathered. They stared us down as we walked past them, pale strangers stark against their landscape.
The park was beautiful, walkways, a lake, a small river, a bridge, signs tagged by local gangs, mostly the Bloods. I jokingly tell my companions that I can make the Blood gang sign (I can, but not easily. It's an awkward attempt, always), and they quickly shush me back into awed silence. The we're looking at says "Blood Town" although it's a bad attempt at territorial marking, and to my untrained eye, says "Blood Iowa."
We make a hasty exit, but not before we've stopped by the banks of this serene lake to see the needles scattered on the ground, little colored tops sticking out, marking their location. I step on a leaf and uncover a small (gram-sized) bag containing some unidentified white substance.
I was engrossed in my exploration of this place, so stunningly beautiful and yet so terribly realistic of the city, that they had to pull me away.
The other park, also on the South Side, but more to the east, near the lake, was beautiful. It reminded me of Denver almost. A path winding through a field, except that in Chicago, there is water everywhere. Puddles in the path reflect the trees ad the sky above. A little family of ducks swims up the river, right through my shot. Perfect.
Grant Park, in the South Loop, near where Hunter and Coupe go to school, is always beautiful. You'll recognize that name as the place where Obama celebrated his election, the place near where my beloved "Bean" sits, and where the city falls in love with art and itself all at once.

The project took forever and the five minute result is nice. You'll see it as soon as I can find a way to transfer the media online or until someone sends me the youtube link.


Have a wonderful evening!
Happy Cinco de Mayo.

I'm starting a new blog, a different focus. Think resume builder. Since I don't have a job right now, other than my meager earnings at babysitting (which are on the decline), I'm focusing my efforts on my writing, my as yet uncreated romance novel, and my volunteer efforts.
Think graduate school potential increase. All of this spare time will lead me to de-stress (sort of) and to let me flex my creative and volunteering muscles.
More info on that later. It'll be a place-based blog, with Chicago stories, traveling stories, etc.

Loyola has been hit with a case of swine flu. I was on the train this afternoon sitting across from a man wearing one of those surgical masks. I'm not overly concerned, but am still washing my hands.
I am done with all of my final tests and am now just going to turn in my documentary on Monday.
So that will be wonderful.
And then after that, I will have a few weeks to hang out and just breathe.
Simon is about to hit 50,000 miles, so be thinking about him. He says thank you for all of the gas cards, and so do I.


Hunter is coming to Denver with me in early June!!
Be so excited because I absolutely am!

Tired.

Summer in the City.

This photo is shamelessly stolen from the internet, so I'm crediting this picture. http://www.flickr.com/photos/samuelnbarnett/1234623892/
It's the journalism ethics classes that are getting to me.

Last night after the rain had cleared, the city became hot. Winds brought no sense of chill and the night was dark. We left the apartment, windows open, to join the city in its celebration of spring.
We slipped up the streets, green now and wet with rainwater. The beach stood ahead of us, taunting us, drawing us in.
Barefoot, shoes in hand, we crossed the barely crusted cool wet sand. It's hard to describe, that feeling, but if I told you it looked like walking on the moon, you'd have to believe me.
Darkness filled the sky, was the sky, but barely touched the sand and at some point, the roundness of the lake was the sky, unending, all around. Sand, dented in with footprints but mostly smooth was the moon, floating, suspended over earth. It was that.
I turned around and was surprised to see the city, so invested in my moonwalk I had been.
Our feet got wet in the lake, up to our ankles, cold, biting water, flowing in and up.
I felt the rocks between my toes and the water went away again. I jumped out, up, back to the beach where they were dried off by a sand blanket. It covered my feet, scratchy yet familiar.
The path was there, green grass and among all of it, between the beach and the busy street, trees. We climbed them, pulling our weight off the earth and into the branches.
There was jumping, the soft thud of feet landing on the earth again, and we set toward home.
Only in Chicago can you walk through an utterly beautiful ecological system and then step back into the dirty city. Under the bridge, the train would have been above us then, or in a few minutes, we passed a group of dark dressed people, conversing, by an abandoned parking lot.
We did not look at them and they looked at us, one of them leering in so close I thought he'd hit my shoulder.
He didn't, and we walked on.
Around the majestic building that is a high school. Around, fast food restaurants gleam neon in the night, cars thunder by, thumping music or hissing power.
Home, at last, quiet streets, dark night.
Beautiful, welcome at last to the city.
The summer.

I failed hard.
I got a Twitter.

www.twitter.com/KatieMaryBarry

End of Junior Year

Here we are, in the homestretch, looking at the end of the school year. It's here, somewhere, it really is, I swear.
It's also the beginning of new things.
Emily and I have decided to attempt to make our apartment a home this summer and into the next year. Currently, it's still a cluttered place, filled with random things in random places. Not at all like a house that I hope to one day come home to.
Little improvements: I bought a bright pink shower curtain with a beautiful print on it. The bathroom looks a lot brighter now, much better than the nasty dingy white we had before.
I also bought a blue and white basket for our makeup. It sits on the little white shelving unit that we have over the toilet next to the sink, and it seems to fit into the brightness of the room.
Hunter and I are discussing travel plans for the first week of June, so stay tuned for more information there. I found cheap flights on Frontier, two tickets for less than $350, so maybe we'll take advantage of that.
I'm hoping to get a great tax refund and then turn and use that money to buy a bike, but not before I'm sure to get a better lock than the one I had before. Not that the one I was using was inferior, the thief did get through a locked gate and another locked door before cutting the lock on my bike, I'm just saying I'd like more security there.
I have done my final presentation in Ethics and am due to turn in two final papers for both Advertising and Literary Journalism on Thursday. I somehow managed to get an A- on the last piece I did for dear Connie Fletcher, so that was a very welcome relief.
I register for classes tomorrow. Nothing too exciting on my schedule, at this point, I'm just trying to fill up my requirements and such. I will most definitely be taking 18 hours, so that will be interesting. I'll also be hoping to get an internship, which means I will be incredibly busy next fall.
I'm supposed to be editing my Anti-Olympics documentary for film class right now, but I've already been sitting at the computer for almost two hours and I'm getting antsy. I may go take a walk around the city before I meet Hunter when he gets out of work at 7. We're going to see his ex-girlfriend's play tonight. (Not so secret UGHHGGGHH)
Anyway, for the first time in a long time, I decided to do two other new things:
1. keep a small notebook to write down thoughts. any thoughts I decide to keep. things that may help me with my writing. writing itself.
2. a new journal. I waited and waited to find a notebook that I liked but finally at Target the other night, I found one. It's got a splash of brightly colored flowers on both the front and the back, with a white background and some black swirls dominating the layout. It's spiral, so that I can easily turn the pages and has a cute little black strap to keep it shut. Excellent find. Maybe it was at Walgreens, actually.

Well, I started writing in it today, and although I don't normally share these sort of things, I thought perhaps I might share my first entry.

April 21, 2009

It's always hard to begin a new journal. Blank pages, empty of all words but brimming with the anticipation of something great to come.
Interruption.
Jarring me out of a perfectly delightful first paragraph.
On the threat of death, laser-eyes from Connie Fletcher, I end this beginning of hopes of living to fill the pages of my journal.
Raised my hand. Asked a question that I needed no answer for. Redemption? Not likely. Wasn't ever likely. I've been marked since class began in January.
I hope this looks like notes.
No.
Hand goes up again. Studious.
Is that spelled wrong? (note: apparently not)
I am not planning on orienting my reader at all. There is a long story due at the end of this week. It's due Thursday. Today is Tuesday. I haven't started.
Oops.

Rainy day. Cold here. This is only my second spring in Chicago and I seem to have completely forgotten how cold it is up until summer actually begins.
How much money have I actually spent during my almost three years of school and what have I actually learned?
I watch people in my classes, they already have internships, they already know exactly what they want to do, they're ready.
I'm not. I know I want to write, but I don't know how or what.
I've been watching Hunter and Coupe as they prepare to graduate and I'm starting to get actually terrified.
I need a stronger resume, I need to know what I want to do. I need a lot of things.
I'm settled on grad school. It'll give me another 2 years to get all of my things figured out.
Then I'll be ready.
Hopefully.

(end of journal entry)

I used my class time well. Literary Journalism (with the dreaded Connie Fletcher, who probably has found this blog using google and know I'm going to get a D) was spent reflecting on my life.

Advertising was spent creating something of a different sort. Fiction. Pages and pages of fiction. Deliciously, I have come up with a new plan based off an old idea. I had forgotten about it until Hunter reminded me how much he enjoyed it. And so, I began to flesh it out.
It's a short story now, stretching to a novella if it had the courage. I'm going to let it grow and see what I can do with it.
The romance novel has been set aside this week, all thoughts of this seem to be pouring in at once and I want to take advantage of them.

Do you want some of it? My tuition was paid by your hard work, you might as well know what I do with your time.

Here it is: the tentatively (working) titled: The Women (yes, I know there's already both a play and a movie of the same name)

Susan: a 40-something mother: has three daughters

Susan sighed. She was standing in front of five rows of disinterested students. Some pretended to be interested, other were buried in their laptops or elbows.
She was selling something and they had disengaged. Buy? Yet another book to gather dust on their shelves.
Her once blond, now graying hair just settled on her shoulder. To be honest, she was uncomfortable standing in the suit, one she rarely dug out of back of the closet. It was tight in a few too many places, clinging to her waist and hips even as she stood.
Her bright eyes scanned the room.
She was losing them, she knew it.
The clock perched behind them on the wall seemed to have stopped it's circular dance. Was it even moving? she wondered.
"Music is still thriving in the world today," she heard herself say.
The words came out of habit and for that she was grateful.
She talked about music, letting the words spill out in a torrent. At least that much was successful.
"Always be changing," she said as a way of ending her speech.
There. Fifty full minutes of genius, she laughed to herself. A paycheck waiting to be cashed. Food on the table, lights on in the house.
"Any questions?" she addressed the now-shifting group.
A small girl wearing designer glasses in the front row threw up her hand.
She seemed to strain to push it higher, to make her presence known.
"How much of your music is connected to events in your life?" she asked in a tiny voice, pen poised over her notebook.
Susan dreaded the question. It was by far the most common question she was asked yet it was the most difficult to answer.
The answer evaded her.
She found herself answering it quickly, a flippant answer to an earnest question.
"Ask yourself. Is your music a reflection of your heart?"
The girl set her pen down, obviously disappointed. It wasn't the first time.
Susan's answer, her real answer, was yes, all of it, every note is part of the struggle, part of the smiles and part of the terrible pain. Part of her life.
She remembered the songs she'd written, the crumpled pieces of paper littering the attic room she'd once used as an office.
She'd been about to set the climax of the piece to paper when she'd heard the knock.
"Hey, Susan, do you have a minute?"
Bill sounded nervous, strained, as if something was bothering him.
She looked up and waved her pen at him, inviting him in.
"I'm about to finish it," she announced. "Finally!"
"Honey, listen." His voice was short, sharp.
"Is it Leni?" she looked past him, concerned, as if to find her youngest daughter standing behind him, holding her head in shame.
"No, Susan, it's us."
He exhaled, sharply.
"What do you mean?" Her voice was pinched now, her pen pointing accusingly at him.
"I, uh," Bill paused, his forehead tight in an uncomfortable frown.
"You what Bill?" Susan became predatory, sensing what he was about to say.
He continued to fumble for words, stammering different beginning to his fateful proclamation. His hands were clenched in his pockets, his gaze trained on the richly carpeted floor.
"I met someone."
The words fell on the room. Silence. Moments passed.
Susan snapped back to the room filled students and looked around. Fifty pairs of eyes stared back at her.
"Anything else?" Her tone was brisk. She began to gather up her notes.
No one moved.

Tarot Cards

Hunter bought me a pack of Tarot cards when he was in New Orleans! I hadn't expected such a gift and absolutely thrilled with it.
Last night we went out for our 6 month anniversary. We went downtown and had dinner at Portillo's (when you come visit, it's a must see) and then went and saw the (terrible) movie, "Observe and Report." Hunter slept through the end of it and I tried to sleep but was unable to do so. It was absolutely one of the worst movies that I've ever seen, so if you were thinking about it, don't. Run. Go see anything, and I mean, ANYTHING else.

This morning, I went with a group member to interview the head of No Games Chicago, an anti-Olympic movement that is currently running in the city as the IOC prepares to make its decision. (October 2nd) We are making an anti-Olympic documentary, so be looking for that soon. After we are done with it, it will be posted on www.nogameschicago.com as well as various other sites such as www.youtube.com and there is the possibility of entering it into random festivals just to see what happens. Either way, I'm excited to see what we got from it (I was in charge of sound and video production this morning) and to see how it cuts together. I'll be doing a good chunk of the editing and voicing over for this project.

Anyway, big day today. I've been up since 7:30, it's not even eleven yet and I'm exhausted. Class until 6:45 and then hopefully, a blissful nap before Emily comes home.
I haven't seen her in awhile, but tensions are still high, at least for me. There is a certain snap to her voice when she talks to me that I don't quite understand.
Our apartment is an absolute wreck, things everywhere, in desperate need of a cleaning but I find that I can't muster up the energy to do something that really shouldn't be a one-sided effort. This morning I realized that we are out of face moisturizer. Simple. I've bought it all year. I'm not going to buy anymore until she buys some. It's like that. She made nearly $100 in tips last night, whereas I'm not babysitting anymore, really, so I'm way short of funds.
I'm sorry to complain. I shouldn't, I know that. I just wish that things could go back to normal.


By the way, I gave myself a Tarot reading with the help of the internet (to help me understand the meaning of the cards) and was pleasantly surprised. It looks as though I will indeed graduate from college, have a large celebration such as a wedding in my future and also be incredibly poor.

Denver Easter

I'm coming home tonight!!

also, here is my parking ticket defense. More on that later. I dearly love Hunter but the boy is cursed with parking abilities.

April 9, 2009

To Whom It May Concern:

I am writing to contest a parking ticket received on the morning of April 6, 2009.

The ticket information is as follows: ticket number: 0056324020 15; date and time: April 6, 2009 at 9:50 AM. The ticket is for a violation of street cleaning, 9-64-040 (b) and is a fine of $50.00.

I regret to inform you that I will not be paying the $50.00 and here is why:

The morning of April 6, 2009, I woke up shortly before nine to move my vehicle, a Honda Civic, from where it was parked on N. Magnolia Ave. The west side of the street was decorated with signs indicating that street sweeping was to occur that day, and I wanted to be prudent and avoid a ticket.

I moved it to Ardmore, and looked around for any street cleaning signs. I could see none. There were strings tied to the trees, though, so I assumed that the side of the street that I was putting my car on had been cleaned the day before. Also, most of the block was filled with cars.

There had been a windstorm the night before; I was kept up part of the night by the wind. When I first noticed the ticket, I believed that perhaps the signs had blown off. But then I looked on N. Magnolia, and sure enough, bright signs hung on most of the trees. It was apparent then that something else had removed the signs from the trees.

I will assume that you are going to be receiving many complaints about this particular morning and this particular street simply because there were no street sweeping signs. I was informed by a neighbor that kids have been stealing things off of cars lately, so I will assume that the reason that there were no signs was the result of some foul-play by the children of the neighborhood.

This means that at the time of the “violation,” there was no notice that any of the cars on the block were violating anything. I assure you that had I seen a sign for street sweeping, I would have found another parking spot.

I believe that the third point under acceptable defenses is valid here: · The relevant signs prohibiting or restricting parking were missing or obscured.

The pictures that I have enclosed were taken at approximately 10:00 AM the morning in question, so about 10 minutes after the tickets were issued. The officer was still in the area at the time, issuing other tickets. These pictures also clearly show the street sweeper, so in case the belief is that the pictures were taken after the allotted no parking time, the pictures will prove immediacy.

The pictures are labeled on the back with the ten digit citation number (or perhaps 12, I am including the two zeroes at the beginning just for accuracy) as well as the Exhibit letter to avoid confusion.

Picture number one will be classified as Exhibit A. This picture shows my open car door (far left of the frame) and the tree directly next to it. On the tree, string is visible, but there is not a parking sign attached to it. You’ll also notice the other cars parked in front of me that fill the block. If you’ve ever driven down a street on street sweeping day, you’ve noticed that the street is nearly empty save a few poor souls who have neglected the prominently displayed signs. This street is parked as per usual, as if it were any other normal day. (All of these cars got tickets as well.)

Exhibit B is a close up of a skinny tree further west down the block to show that there were also no signs within reasonable distance of where I parked to inform me that it was street sweeping day. My car is visible in the top left corner of the frame to establish proximity. Notice again the lack of sign.

Exhibit C and D are the same picture, one as a long shot and one as a close-up. The long shot shows the intersection of Ardmore (in the foreground) and Magnolia (running horizontally left to right in the frame). It shows the stop sign and the tree with a string tied around it as well as what was later determined to be a street sweeping sign. It is completely and utterly unreadable. It is extremely difficult to see and is not legible by any means.

Exhibit D is a close up of the crumpled piece of almost cardboard. I certainly cannot read what is contained in that sign. Therefore, once again, · The relevant signs prohibiting or restricting parking were missing or obscured. (Chicago Department of Revenue Website).

Exhibit E is my last picture from the morning of April 6, 2009. It shows my car very clearly (you can read the license plate); it shows the street sweeper in the background (indicating timeliness), and it shows all of the trees lined up down the block. None of them have any signs on them whatsoever.

I hope that I presented compelling evidence as to why I will not be paying the fine for the parking ticket 0056324020 15, issued on April 6, 2009. As I have stated twice before, “The relevant signs prohibiting or restricting parking were missing or obscured.” I have provided evidence to prove that assertion and sincerely hope that you will cancel this parking ticket.

I appreciate you taking the time to read this and look at the pictures that I have provided. I will eagerly await information regarding your judgement.

Have a wonderful day!

Most sincerely,

Katherine Barry

Film Class Project!

Big Changes

Wow.
What a week.
I was sick all week, finally ending up in Urgent Care on Thursday afternoon. They told me what I already knew, a nasty stomach virus that's going around. The doctor was wonderful and told me not to do anything but rest and that there was no way I was to be around small children.
So, I had to call the lady that I babysit for every Friday and cancel. I felt terrible; I still do. It was a big day that she had been clearing with me for probably three weeks, but seriously, stomach flu-like viruses don't seem to be something that should be messed with.
So I lay on the couch for most of the week, alternating between feeling incredibly ill and attempting to eat. Safe to say, after a long night of rest last night, I feel much better. Not all the way, but closer than I've felt since Sunday.
Emily and I were taking out the trash today when I noticed our pigeon friend, Shirley, lying dead underneath some pipes. The pigeons have been missing lately and we hadn't figured out what had happened to them. Well, when one pigeon dies in a certain place, it seems that no pigeon returns. And so, Shirley lies dead down the back steps and Laverne has flown the coop. Immense sadness was felt by Emily and myself, and Hunter only made pigeon jokes.
"Surely, Laverne must be around." "Are you "sure" she's dead?" He fought a battle with terrible pigeons that must not be related to Laverne and Shirley at all last year at his apartment on the South Side.
Hunter may be moving back to Wisconsin for a few months in the fall and for that, I am stunned and saddened. While his motives are purely for necessary financial gain, I will miss him. The conversation happened while I was sick and therefore more prone to crying than usual, so we all know how that ended: me crying while Hunter tried to calm me down.
I looked at him later that night and asked him what will happen if he still loves me when he moves to California (which he is hoping to do at some point in the next couple of years). He told me that we'd cross that bridge when we came to it but that we'd find a way to make it work.
It was comforting to hear.
Ugh. Watch out for Spyware Protect 2009 popping up on your computer. I have spent an afternoon getting rid of this stupid ad that wouldn't leave my desktop. Apparently, it is an attempt to steal credit card information and other information. I don't know. It was rather annoying.

Anyway, I'm going to see a movie tonight with Hunter while Emily is at a cast party for the show that she's doing costumes for this spring. It should be nice.

Have a lovely afternoon/evening.

Well, the weekend was nice. Emily's friend Randy was in town from St. Louis, so they spent a lot of time together. Hunter and I spent a good part of the weekend editing video that he shot.
Sunday night, I fell really ill and am just now beginning to recover. Stomach flu or food poisoning, whatever it was, it's been intense. Emily sat with me for part of the first night, when I couldn't stop crying and then yesterday Hunter came over after class and brought me crackers and Gatorade and sat with me until night.
I called my doctor in Denver and the Wellness Center here at Loyola and they both told me the same thing: You'll live, just eat bananas, rice, applesauce and toast. Okay.
The abdominal cramps live on, however, as does a massive headache, making today too long of a day already and it's only 10:00 am.
Tomorrow I have to babysit at 8:30, class at 1:00, filming from 4:30-??
I've got homework piling up and I'm starting to get stressed out.
I missed a big assignment yesterday and now my teacher is upset with me, but I really don't care all that much. I just don't want her to take the tone that her emails have been taking with me lately. I'm happy to lose that part of my grade, perfectly happy. I didn't understand the assignment from the get-go, and didnt' get it done in time. My bad.
Ah, well, here's to the late beginning of a hectic week. Hopefully by the time the weekend comes, I'll be able to breathe.

Assignments.

Thorndale “El” Stop

Seconds, minutes, hours, the streets lose count. Days, months, weeks, years. There’s a pothole in the middle of the intersection; it hasn’t been touched in a long while. Cars traveling down Broadway, southbound, avoid the pothole nimbly, jumping left or right around it and continue into traffic, slipping away to other places.

Above, the “El” slides to a jerky stop, passengers departing from the silver beast to swarm the street below. The go left and right too, just like the cars avoiding the pothole. They follow a slow line, crossing the street, blending into the foot-traffic already present at this busy intersection. The passengers who are left waiting for the other train become antsy, anxious. They’ve seen the train lights coming, they’ve felt the slight hope that comes with every train signal, every blast of the horn, every warning. They shift their weight, back and forth, on the platform as they sit there, stand there, either under the heat or out in the brisk wind.

The “El” is the life-giver to this intersection. It provides a stream of people, one constant moving body, yet individuals among them. It is the pumping heart, the engine, everything pulsing and throbbing, feeding the storefronts, the shops and the small diner at the corner.

It’s in the diner that you’ll find the regulars. These people chat with the waitress at the U-shaped bar in the center of the first room. They drink their coffee as she fills the bottles of ketchup and A1, smiling as a new set of patrons walk in. They seat themselves. In the middle of a swarming metropolis, a small town feel radiates from inside this small place.

“The Little Corner Restaurant” is a gathering place for a small amount of the people who pass around the corner and down the streets of this place. The waitress who seems to act as the hostess too went to Northwestern, long enough, but not too long ago. She tells me how she came to be here, and I find the story informal and sweet.

“My friend lived right over there,” she says, gesturing vaguely over her shoulder out the southwest window of the diner. “Over there,” must mean Edgewater, an eclectic neighborhood on the north side of Chicago. “We used to come over here to do our homework.”

I laugh; we talk about the fact that Northwestern students never had U-Passes and her attention is caught by the man seated closest to the kitchen. He’s smiling and waving his coffee cup.

The waitress, another one, not so young anymore, a mother, a grandmother, a quick-witted lady, refills our drinks. She tells the boys seated around me not to cause me any trouble, because she has three boys herself. She beams as she tells us that she is expecting another grandchild sometime in April.

I smile and I’m excited for her. It’s one of those times when genuine emotions spill from somewhere you weren’t sure you were hoarding them. She turns away, slender wrinkled hands picking up an empty place on their way away.

After breakfast, I pay at the cash register. It’s a large metal instrument, a relic from some other time. There are no digital number gracing it’s front, nothing except an odd clang as the waitress, sometimes hostess, punches in the total of my bill. It’s probably sat on that counter for more than 50 years, I ask, and she doesn’t even know.

“A long time,” is her only answer, followed by a smile. Her medium brown hair hardly moves as she hands me my change and tells me to have a nice day.

I open the doors and step out into the bright light of the day. I walk across the street, cutting through the traffic waiting at the red light. They wait to go, push past the white bars of crosswalks and burst free into the world.

I dodge an oncoming taxi, its horn blaring at me, shoving my still full self into a quick sprint across the two lanes. Safely on the sidewalk, I move to the right of the intersection, past a parking lot filled with cars. They sit there, patiently, waiting for their owners to return.

Across an alley, a small strip mall sits, crumbling under the “El.” The small parking lot is littered with taxis, empty and waiting for a fare. “VideoTown” is a business leftover from the 90’s when VHS tapes ruled the face of media. There are rows of crudely constructed shelves containing empty boxes. An indifferent teen mans the counter at the back, talking on his cell phone.

“We don’t have this one,” seems to be the most oft uttered phrase. He types neon words into a computer, spitting out neon numbers. It is a rudimentary database. Clientele from the Laundromat next door filter through, wandering aimlessly. I ask one of the men what he hopes to find, and he answers, “Shit, anything good.”

VHS tapes are still for sale, three rows, long shelves, tall enough to touch the ceiling. They sell for two dollars, says a sign quickly taped to one of the shelves. Old titles, new titles, random titles fill the shelves and line the walls.

The Laundromat seems to be a hub of activity. A middle-aged Asian man stands guard over his space. He stands by the window, watching. College students, families and the like gather there to do the necessary laundry for their lives. The last wash is at 8, doors close at 10.

The liquor store across the street is filling up. During the day, beer suppliers can be seen loading their wares. They sit stacked on the sidewalk. Passerby stare at them, perhaps longingly, perhaps in disgust. They walk by, looking back. I stand in the alley adjacent, watching.

There is a bakery with a red awning. No one goes in or out and I begin to wonder who would go in. It seems to sit silent and untouched. “Bunz” advertises cookies and other delightful backed goods. I’m not tempted. It seems no one is.

Pulses of people pour from the doors of the “El.” That’s what this corner is, a station full of hope for trains. People come and go, spend time killing time to see the train slide in on those infinite metal rails. Homeless men beg for spare change as a businessman picks up a newspaper and begins to read. It’s the way things are here, ever moving, ever changing, every day is another commute, another march up an avenue and down a street.

The Thorndale “El” stop is a colorful corner filled a vast amount of diverse people, but it is never stagnant. The block is shaped by its constant motion, its constant influx of people. At night, groups of kids will loiter here, cops will drive by slowly, lights on bright, and people will walk a little faster out of the doors of the station. The next day, the sun will dawn and the hours will tick by, the people will flow through and all will be the same.

This is my assignment for "One Block" an essay describing, well, one block.

It's for the class that I hate, the one where I continuously lock horns (believe me, she has them) with the teacher, excuse me, professor. or doctor, or whatever she prefers to be called.

Also, I was in film class yesterday when my professor told me that he enjoyed my poetry that I wrote for the short film on youtube and that he'd like to see me in his screenwriting class next year. I was thrilled. So I will be attempting to learn screenplay writing and that's actually quite beneficial to me because I've been getting more involved in the boys' work, which does indeed involve the need of those programs such as Final Draft, Final Cut, etc.

Last night we watched the first forty five minutes of Hunter's movie "Westin."
He wrote it over two years ago, filmed it two years ago this May, and is finally seeing some results. The current editor is his fourth, so the post-production has been plagued by random issues. Some of the actors and some of us gathered in the living room to watch it. (It's a horror movie, by the way). The amount of film edited takes us up to the first kill scene. The editor has sort of assembled the first kill scene and I'm not sure about it, but on the whole, the film looks beautiful.
I am so proud of Hunter. The shots were all beautiful and scenic, dramatic enough to hold attention. The script was what a horror film will need. It set everything up the right way.
I was quite pleased with the whole thing.

YouTube.

Well, my little film project is complete:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BKvm2fNi2Q4

Check it out!
It's about winter in Chicago.

Concert Update

Monday, Monday. 

Emily's mom and two sisters are still here, so in order to give them some space, I've been camped at the boys. I've been spending part of my days here and parts of them back at my house. It's sort of like having two houses twenty minutes apart and it's sort of weird.

Saturday night was a success. Last time, the "band" that Hunter is in had close to fifty or sixty people in attendance. This time, double that and add some more. It was intense. The basement was packed and it was hard to get through. I wiggled my way up to the front with Emily and some of our friends so that we could see what was going on. Of course, they were sorely unprepared as far as refreshments, but all in all, it was still a rocking time.

Hunter and I left with some of his friends and went back to his house (with a quick stop for coffee) to wait for his brother and some guys from a couple of actual bands that were going to sleep at the boys' house. 

I met his brother for the first time, which went pretty well I think. Actually, I know that for a fact. I'd met most of the other dudes back in April when I was visiting and it was good to see them again.

I also asked them if they'd be interested in doing music for the production company in Missouri that I've been sort of, but not really, working for. 

They seemed to be for that, so that means that I've done my job for the week!

Ha, yes.

I'm going to start taking walks. Hey Mumu, will you please please send me the running shoes in my closet? Thanks in advance. So my first step is to walk between the boys house and my house.

I'm going to do that now. Maybe.

Sm-or-gas-bo-a-rd-of-th-ings

I'm up at 8:40 on a Saturday.
And there may be very little hope of going back to sleep.
Ha, I will sleep.

Midterm grades are back:
Broadcast A
Intro to Film Production: A
Ethics: B
Advertising: B-
Literary Journalism with Connie Fletcher, the most evil woman to ever set foot on the face of the Earth, no worse, the most terrifying soul that has ever entered a life form: Oh, I don't know. No idea. Somewhere between a C and an A. Maybe if I'm lucky a B, but if she's cackling over her grade book as I know she is, probably a C.

I'm not sure if you remember the Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle books? On Thursday morning, Hunter, Kyle, Coupe and I went to see a children's play directed by Hunter's teacher based on Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle.
Surprisingly, we were all more than moderately entertained.

I do love Emily and things are back on track as far as our relationship.
Hunter and I have been together for 5 months tomorrow and even that is going well.
Things may be hectic, but they're looking up.

Spring, please come soon!!!

Love,
Katie

Winter End Stretch

Here I am, the first week back from a very uneventful spring break, exhausted. I am tired.
There's nothing to be done about it.
I need winter to end. I need to push through until the end of the semester. And then, who knows?
Ugh. So much uncertainty and so many questions. The future is looming in front of me and I'm terrified.

Emily and I have been watching "Friends" all night and it's been nice.

The short horror film that Hunter acted in during the fall is hitting the festival circuit. It's for sure going to be shown at the British Film Festival in L.A. in early May. Even though it's only a 2o minute film, this is wonderful news.

The romance novel is stagnant. Apparently, you have to be awake to write. Who knew?

I hope that spring is settling in wherever you are.

Year in Pictures

Hunter's doberman Otto on the way back from Wisconsin.

Chicago in the rain.

Chicago in the rain.

Lakefront property. Dusk

Bonfire. Crivitz, Wisconsin

Sarah and I

Hunter and I

Emily and I and our peace cheesecake on Inauguration Day.

Hunter and I at the prom party.

Melly and I

Hunter and I

Emily, Sarah, and I

Emily, Me, Little Emily, Megan

PROM v. 2009

Me and Hunter, who was officially my prom date

Hunter's roommate Coupe and I dancing
Coupe and I
Hunter and I under the balloon archway.
Part of the crew: from left, Trif, Hunter, Kyle and me

I had more fun at a prom party than I ever did at prom the first time, although the entire time, I mourned my dress. I wore my Easter dress, but things went wonderfully. I even made punch, prom-style, which was a huge hit at the party. Cheese puffs, cheap chips and dollar popcorn rounded out the list of prom refreshments. We blew up balloons and the boys made an arch of them for photo-ops.
Of course, as the night wore on, the balloons began to disappear. POP! you'd hear. POP! POP!
Dancing was minimal but definitely happened. It was really nice to see people.

When I come home for spring break, I will have minimally horrendous hair. I always cut Kyle's hair, which he enjoys. I have no idea what I'm doing, but for some reason, he's always thrilled with the results. Last night after the Oscars, Hunter and a pair of scissors had a date with my hair. I lost two inches. He kept jumping around, telling me he was giving me the choppy, spiky look, and my face was scrunched up in absolute terror. The jury's still out on whether or not I like the look. But it was hilarious and so totally worth it either way. I also decided to grow my hair all the way out, so for the next while, there won't be any short hair, which may be a good thing.

After midterms, we are going to Hunter's cabin in Wisconsin, and I'll be there through the weekend.
I'll be home next Monday through next Saturday. So I hope to see everyone!

Prom.

Hunter is throwing a formal party this weekend, in honor of Emily being away at Randy's formal in Kansas City.
I still don't have a date, but I am expecting him to get around to asking me at any time. I've been teasing him about it all week. It's going to be like prom, only better. Because I'm sure you remember my prom experience. I looked great, but had a fail date. Ugh. So hopefully, my dress will arrive in time, and if not, it's cool, because I'm going to wear my Halloween costume dress all over again.
So either way, I am going to look awesome and have a great time!

Also, I've been sick this week, but I have been in a great mood.
Next weekend, after all of my midterms, Hunter and I are going to head up to Wisconsin and hang out at his cabin for the weekend, and then I'll fly back to Denver and then hang out for a few days and then fly back to Chicago and then finish the semester.
I'm sort of doing PR for Emily's Randy's production company. I mean, it's not a huge thing, but it's going to get me a little bit of experience.
I NEED to find an internship. I'm nervous. You know how scared I get about new things. It's ever-present, breathing down the back of my neck kind of fear. I'm anxious. So let's hope for the best here. I have zero idea what I want to do with my life.
As soon as I get my computer back, a romance novel will be in the works, but I don't feel as though that will be getting very far very fast. Hopefully by the end of the summer, I'll have something to show for it.
I'll be taking summer classes, obviously, and living here and doing some traveling and hoping to head to Africa or South America and get some volunteering in. So here's to me finding an internship, building a resume, somehow managing to create a career path while making enough money to travel a bit and get back to Denver to hang out and then building a life.
UGH.
Good news, though, I found some houses that I love.
So you know, that's a plus.

I hope your day has been filled with love and peace!

What do you think of the stimulus bill??

Email Insults.

Muslims who want to live under Islamic Sharia law were told on Wednesday to get out of Australia , as the government targeted radicals in a bid to head off potential terror attacks.
Separately, Howard angered some Australian Muslims on Wednesday by saying he supported spy agencies monitoring the nation's mosques. Quote: 'IMMIGRANTS, NOT AUSTRALIANS, MUST ADAPT. Take It Or Leave It. I am tired of this nation worrying about whether we are offending some individual or their culture. Since the terrorist attacks on Bali , we have experienced a surge in patriotism by the majority of Australians.'
'This culture has been developed over two centuries of struggles, trials and victories by millions of men and women who have sought freedom'
'We speak mainly ENGLISH, not Spanish, Lebanese, Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, Russian, or any other language. Therefore, if you wish to become part of our society . Learn the language!'
'Most Australians believe in God. This is not some Christian, right wing, political push, but a fact, because Christian men and women, on Christian principles, founded this nation, and this is clearly documented. It is certainly appropriate to display it on the walls of our schools. If God offends you, then I suggest you consider another part of the world as your new home, because God is part of our culture.'
'We will accept your beliefs, and will not question why. All we ask is that you accept ours, and live in harmony and peaceful enjoyment with us.'
'This is OUR COUNTRY, OUR LAND, and OUR LIFESTYLE, and we will allow you every opportunity to enjoy all this. But once you are done complaining, whining, and griping about Our Flag, Our Pledge, Our Christian beliefs, or Our Way of Life, I highly encourage you take advantage of one other great Australian freedom,
'THE RIGHT TO LEAVE'.' 'If you aren't happy here then LEAVE. We didn't force you to come here. You asked to be here. So accept the country YOU accepted.'
Maybe if we circulate this amongst ourselves, American citizens will find the backbone to start speaking and voicing the same truths.
If you agree please SEND THIS ON...IF NOT, DELETE!!




I worry about the state of our country when I find things such as the one posted previous in my inbox. I get several emails a day preaching Christian beliefs and how they should be tied in with government, but let me remind you of a simple fact, one that I hold dear to my heart:

SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE
Now see, the things that you believe may be one thing, but this is NOT a Christian country! No matter how hard you try, you still have to coexist with people who share different beliefs! GASP! oh no! Muslims? God, save us all!
We good Christians killed the Native American's in order to become the "Americans" that we are so proud to be.
So while I support everyone being able to speak English, I won't support this (or Australia's) right to push people away based solely on their "immigrant" status.
And this "backbone," you wish you had...trust me, if you had it, you'd be shuffling away from black people on the bus, making Jews wear stars of David on their coats and burning mosques.
Let's not, really.

We're all transplants. We share the world. Let's share our lifestyles and our love. Let's end hate and discrimination....isn't that what Jesus would do?

Oh, and by the way, I deleted the email. Perhaps I should have deleted this post, but I felt that it deserved some attention.

Update.

With the fever came the tears. Great hiccuping sobs that wouldn't stop. My eyes were red, full of water, my body ached and burned, my head was throbbing. He brought me tea and held me until I stopped crying and even then nothing felt better. The heat was quickly replaced by the cold, the feeling that you'll never be warm again, which was quickly replaced by the feeling that you are cooking, baking from the inside, which was quickly replaced by the chill....
I felt no better this morning and as of 8:30 tonight, I am feeling the same. Terrible.
This flu-like bug is hurting me. I missed class (no surprise) but for the first time in a long time, I had a legitimate excuse.
So here's hoping that tomorrow I'll wake up and be magically healed, some sort of gift.

Valentine's Day was uneventful.
We passed the four month mark.

Emily passed her test with flying colors (98%) and is currently serving customers as I type this.

It rained in Chicago and I was able to remember what Simon looked like. He needs an official car wash but something tells me that it'll have to wait until April.

I need to get a summer internship.
Or a job.
Or something.

I am stressed out.
The other day, I spent the entire afternoon cleaning my room. It felt nice. I put up some new pictures and stuff, and I was hoping that it would stay clean for awhile. It didn't, but you know...It was worth the effort.

Thanks so much for the Valentine's Day cards. I bought some, but haven't sent them out. Ha, don't think you won't get them though, they are beautiful.

PIctures.

Pictures from the day at the lake and subsequent party.
Today, Tuesday, it's supposed to be 65 degrees here in the Windy City and I, for one, am thrilled. Football is supposed to be happening this afternoon after class. Emily is taking the test for her new job today, and if she gets above a 90%, she gets to keep it. She's serving at a little family-style restaurant called Leona's.