You're Such a Doll

Last night I went to the Dollhouse Reading Series in Chicago because when I saw the name Matt Guenette on the list of people who would be reading, I geeked out.  Like a lot.  Because this is the type of person I am.  I love poetry.  I also really love this community that I've stumbled into, the community that gathers in an apartment and settles onto hardwood floor to listen to some fantastic poets read their work.  When my friend tells me, "You've tapped into the Chicago artistic community," I can no longer deny that that's probably true. Plus I now own an autographed copy of American Busboy.

Also last night, I realized that I'm getting a little behind in Poem-A-Day poems.  Again.  So...I tweeted about the poetry reading and received a challenge for a poem.

@BriannaKratz You should write a poem about this. #poemaboutapoetryreading
— Polly Yukevich (@PollyYuke) June 16, 2013

And I never really can back down from a challenge.  So here is a draft of a poem about a poetry reading for Polly Yukevich.

June 15, 2013

The dolls come to the dollhouse
where they gather in clusters
on the dusty hardwood.
All facing the same direction,
toward the empty picture frame
clinging to the plaster
with a determination rivaled
only by the doll in front of it.
Her painted on mouth smiles
at the gathered collectibles
as she clutches at her paper
with the left-aligned text
and no stanza breaks.
She speaks
into the silence,
a glassy-eyed attention trained
upon her.
The dolls are supportive,
welcoming of the new
with porcelain fingers snapping.
She exhales a sigh
after it's read
and settles down
with the teddy bears.

And tonight I'm going to the Poetry Made of Diamonds reading series, which I'm also really excited about.  I'm particularly interested to see how many people overlap between readings during this poetry packed weekend.

I think this just might be heaven.

"Dolls with no little girls around to mind them were sort of creepy under any conditions."

- Stephen King

Things I've Learned and Some Things I'm Grateful for...

There's a lot that's been going on in my life right now, which would be a pretty good reason why I haven't written a blog post in about a week.  I'd say that it was because I got a job, but unfortunately that would be a falsehood.  But really, lots of good things and lots of just things have been going on, and so it feels about time for another list.  I have a list of things I've learned at home...but I'm thinking I'll post that after I've been here for six months.  One more month to go.  Well, half a month.

Anyway.  Here's a list of things that I've learned recently, and a couple of things that I'm grateful for.

1.  Everyone in the Chicago artists community knows one another.  I'm convinced that if I mention the name of somebody artistic and based in Chicago, my boss at Here's the Story will know them.  (See: Robbie Q. Telfer)
2.  You really should drink that super tall glass of water and swallow some sort of painkiller after a night of drinking, and then your hangover will magically either not exist or be manageable.
3.  Superior is the name of an ambulance company and they like putting their name on the backs of their EMTs.
4.  You shouldn't be surprised if you make someone feel/look awkward if you ask them if you can write a poem about them.  This is not a normal question!
5.  The most actively energetic booth at a street festival will be the one that performs literary related things rather than the people selling books.  Go figure.
6.  "Where are all the college aged people?"  Oh wait.  It's summer.
7.  Knowing that someone (for example, your boss) appreciates your writing abilities is really awesome.
8.  Apparently Tuesday evening is a popular time for traveling by train.
9.  It doesn't matter what it's for, being asked for an autograph will always make me feel like a rock star.
10.  Oh, you want me to read the poem I wrote aloud?  Why yes, I will do that for you.
11.  Poetry dispensed from a gumball/vending machine will be the most popular poetry.
12.  "I read your poem yesterday, and it was the most beautiful thing I've ever read.  And I'm a librarian!"
13.  You will get hugs when your poetry is deemed good.
14.  The most terrifying experience is watching someone read your poem while you're standing right there.  ("Do I watch their face for a reaction?  Do I pretend I'm not here?  Do I ask them about it when they're done?")
15.  There are some people that you make friends with and you just want to punch your fist into the air over your head in triumph when you succeed.
16.  Third party outsiders are usually the best for relationship advice.  Even better when the asking for this advice or the venting doesn't make them feel awkward.
17.  Spontaneity.
18.  You have no idea how many different interpretations can result from the instructions of "eat lunch with a stranger."
19.  I am not hitting on you if I ask how old you are.
20.  When you manage to pack three days worth of clothes in your purse that can apparently eat the world...this will be a gigantic accomplishment, and you have full rights to gloat.

So Saturday and Sunday I participated in the Printers Row Lit Fest where I stood at the Here's the Story table and sold poems from my Poem-A-Day Project out of this gumball/vending machine that I'll have pictures of soon.  It was a really neat experience because so many people walked by and commented about how cute the idea was, and a TON of people stopped to buy poems.  Some of them asked me to read them aloud, so the performer in my obliged, and some asked me to sign them in case I ever get famous.  I was overwhelmed by the people who told me they were good or beautiful or fun or funny because, well, for some reason I didn't expect to get much except a couple quarters.  I set my expectations low so I don't get disappointed.  Another thing that came out of Lit Fest was the experience of hanging out with other people from Here's the Story, and talking to them really made me feel more a part of the Here's the Story family.  Strange how hours under the sun out on the street can bring you closer to people.  Shared experiences for the win.

One thing that disappointed me was a father tugging on his son's hand at Lit Fest and telling the little boy, "No, those aren't candy, they're poems.  You don't want those."  I'm not saying that because I wanted to sell a poem to a small child, I mean to say that I was disappointed because to me, being at a lit fest means exploring new literature, new ways of reading, or creating written work.  If an 8-year old kid wants to buy a poem out of a gumball machine, he should.  If he wants to read a poem at all, he should.  It's stuff like that comment, that tugging arm, that make me sad.  I was surrounded all weekend by people who love the written word and who love writing or reading, and so to stop someone from reading something feels like one of the worst and most violent actions you can take towards a person.  We're not really talking literally, so we're ignoring maim and torture.  I just kept thinking that if that kid had bought a poem, what would have happened?  Maybe he would have thrown it out at the next trash can (though I would hope he would recycle).  Maybe he would tear it up and use it as confetti.  But maybe he would have read it and it would have inspired him to write something, whether it be a poem, an essay, a story, or a grocery list.  Maybe, just maybe, that little kid was a writer in the making but he had a father telling him that he "doesn't want those" poems.

"My hour for tea is half-past five, and my buttered toast waits for nobody."

- Wilkie Collins

Challenge Day 9

It has been a really rough week.  Lots of things happening, lots of people being seen, lots of hearts being broken, and lots of food being eaten at restaurants paid for with money that I don't actually have.  This is my life right now.  And this is why I'm writing a response to the daily writing challenge.

Though this is going to be difficult, because I don't really have one favorite city.  Oops?  And we're not going to talk about how these are probably not cohesive "stories," but whatever.  Anyone going to call me on it?  I should also mention that these are fictional.  Just sayin'.

Day 9: A story in 250 words or less about your favorite city.

Chicago

I’ve lived in this city for my entire life, I even went to school south of this city, and when people said they were from my city, I was allowed to get upset.  Because they were from the suburbs.  But I never really got to know Chicago for whatever reason.  I suspect it was fear.  Of muggers, gangs, tourists, everything.  This fear permeated my being even when you grabbed my hand and dragged me onto the El.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” you said with the grin that always made me melt like cheese in the microwave.

“I don’t know…” I waffled, like I do.

“Trust me?” you said, raising your eyebrows and peering over the tops of your glasses.

“Never,” I joked.  But it was seeing the reflection of the skyline in your glasses that finally convinced me that everything could be okay.

Paris

“I don’t want to go with just Grandma, it’ll be a total drag.”

“Alright, I’ll go with you.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

A six hour plane ride, and we landed in Paris, France, the place I had been dreaming of since I realized French was a foreign language.  The only problem being that I never imagined I would have to cart around my grandmother who doesn’t speak a syllable of French.

“Pare—lay vooz English?” she asked, prompting a groan from me and a sigh from my mother.  Then Grandma whips out a handful of Euros and promptly informs us that she will be paying for everything during our trip.  And suddenly I can see all of my frustrations just melting away…

"Yet once you've come to be part of this particular patch, you'll never love another.  Like loving a woman with a broken nose, you may well find lovelier lovelies.  But never a lovely so real."

- Nelson Algren, Chicago: City on the Make

Aaaaand...look, distraction!

It looks like we're nearing the end of the month, which means a lot of people who are participating in NaPoWriMo will be done with their challenge to write a poem a day for a month.  I'm really excited to go through everybody's blogs and read what they've come up with, because that'll no doubt give me more ideas for my own poems.  Plus I'm really excited that I'm not the only one out there writing poems daily.  Is that selfish?  Maybe a little bit.

Anyway, Poem-A-Day April has been going really well.  I only fell behind that one weekend when I went to camp, but I caught up pretty quick because it was only a couple poems behind.  As for the zodiac challenge, that I've failed on.  I had every intention of writing them, especially because I have people who were excited to read a couple specific zodiac signs.  I'm really sorry!  I'll probably use the whole zodiac/horoscope thing as inspiration for random poems rather than a month challenge.  And there we go again, learning what challenges work and don't...

Poem-A-Day May promises to be exciting because every month is cause for excitement.  but I'm looking for a challenge.  Something that I can do weekly.  No ideas yet.  I'm thinking back to a couple older challenges, and one of them was to start one poem a week with "Where were you last night?"  That was a really neat concept because I got to play around with different ways of handling that.  Kinda similar to the challenge to write drunken poetry.  So I'm thinking I should find some sort of challenge that will be like that, because it might make me think more.  Or try forms.  Which might break my brain, but who knows, maybe I'd learn something?  Learning is good.

On Monday, I visited the Poetry Foundation downtown.  First off, I took the El into the city and then had to take another line north of the Loop.  Because I had a lot of time on my hands, it didn't ultimately matter, so that adventure was fun.  Except that I thought I could transfer at one stop, and it turns out that you can't, so after getting off the train and making my way onto the street level, I walked a couple blocks to another station where I had learned I could make my transfer.  Luckily it was a nice day.

Once I got to the stop where I needed to be, I went the wrong direction on the street and had to turn around, but I finally got to the building.  [this is where Brianna realizes that she's told this story in a previous blog post, oops?]  Anyway, it was closed until later.  So I went to Starbucks to get a drink.  That's when a woman came up to me and asked, "Did you just try to go to the Poetry Foundation?"  I shuffled my feet a little and said, "Yeah..." She was very nice when she said that they didn't open until 1 PM, and I was bashful about her having witnessed my embarrassing door-pulling from the other side of the gigantic glass windows.

Clutching my iced mocha of joy, I took the El back in the direction I had come from and met up with my friend for lunch.  He bought, because he's a nice person and knows that I'm unemployed.  It was underlined by the fact that he was on his lunch break from his job that he's pretty happy with.  I'm not going to hold that against him because he bought me lunch AND dessert.  Hey, I can't complain about a toffee cookie, that thing was delicious.  Actually, the whole sandwich was delicious.  There was cheese and vegetables and pesto, and yum.  I should have taken a picture that I could post here.  Darn.  Missed opportunity.

Yesterday, I visited my friend who's involved in drag shows.  She was looking for costumes for another show that she's going to do, so we went to a couple costume shops in Boystown and another shop that I shouldn't mention because this should be a family friendly blog, but let's suffice it to say that there was a lot of lace, silk, and rope.  Special rope.  Then we went to get food because Brianna had eaten a pocket of trail mix for lunch (and learned that M&Ms and the letter M are trademarked by Mars, Inc.  Though I feel like the letter M shouldn't be able to be trademarked...that shouldn't be allowed.).  All around it was a really good afternoon and it was really great to see her because I hadn't seen her in person for close to a year.  Craziness.

And then another friend came over and we watched Woman in Black.  It's a miracle I didn't have nightmares, but it was my idea, so...

I really should never complain about having no friends again [Brianna goes back through her post and sees how many times she mentions "my friend."].

And tomorrow, tomorrow I'm going to C2E2 with my friend (aha!) because she's going for her work.  Yeah, her work is paying for her to go to a comic book convention.  I suddenly find myself wanting a job that would do that for me.  That would be really exciting.  Anyway, I'm super excited because I've never been to a comic book convention, and I'm looking forward to shamelessly people-watching.  Because that's what I do.  Should I bring my TARDIS notebook?  Hm, the possibilities...

That's all I really have to say, so that's all, folks!

"Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life."

- Mark Twain

Living in the Library

Source: writingprompts.tumblr.com via Katie on Pinterest

There are definitely perks to living in each of these places.

Library  --  You get to read to your heart's content.  You can travel wherever and whenever you want through the power of the written word.  You can use the strips of paper and the golf pencils to write your own novel or leave notes in the stacks.  Sleeping in the children's section on a bean bag or curling up in the reference section because it's always quiet.  If you live in a neighborhood library, then there would be movies and music to entertain you as well, you would just have to find some place to play them.

Museum  --  There will always be a food court or some sort of snack-y place here, unlike the library.  You can sleep in the exhibits and explore and learn to your heart's content.  You can play with the ancient toys or musical instruments and you can compare yourself to the height of mummies because I swear they're smaller than contemporary humans.  You can leave notes and play around with the security guards.  Living in a museum reminds me of From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.  If I were to live in a Chicago museum, I'm not sure which one I would pick, though I feel like it would probably be the Field Museum.

Zoo  --  Living at the zoo might be the most terrifying prospect if only because predators could eat you if you went exploring in the exhibits.  Then again, there would be an endless supply of food and you would be able to cuddle with the cuddly animals.  You could climb around with the monkeys and go swimming with the penguins (or the fishes), and then of course you could pet every single animal that looks so soft, but you're always separated by glass.

I would love to live in a library.  As it is, I spend a lot of time at my local library and the libraries of the surrounding suburbs because sometimes the suburban libraries just have a better selection.  Sorry, Chicago Public.  I could easily live in a library because I'm curious about so much, and I would love to read about everything.  I really want to learn more about just about everything with the exception of lots of the sciences because I'm bad at learning about them in the first place.  I know that living in a library probably wouldn't be the most social life because well, you have to be quiet in the library, but I can always invite friends over after hours and we could bask in the silence.  I can just imagine how cozy a library is in all its quiet.

"A library is a good place to go when you feel unhappy, for there, in a book, you may find encouragement and comfort.  A library is a good place to go when you feel bewildered or undecided, for there, in a book, you may have your question answered.  Books are good company, in sad times and happy times, for books are people - people who have managed to stay alive by hiding between the covers of a book."

- E.B. White

Stress

Let's face it, this post has been a long time coming.  We all knew this was coming, and now you people who actually read my blog can rest at ease because it's true, I'm stressed and I'm going to be writing about it.

After the end of the Disney College Program, I found my way back to my hometown, which means that I'm living with my parents.  This doesn't feel like it should be a really big deal, but with my brother returning to university, I'm (for all intents and purposes) an only child.  I mean this in the sense that my parents' attentions, concerns, aggression is all concentrated on me.  I've only begun to realize this now.

(BRIANNA sets about packing up a bag with her laptop and other things.  DAD comes down the stairs, just woken up.)

DAD:  Where are you going?

BRIANNA: The library.

I understand that it's a parent's job to know where their child is, and I understand that they're really just looking out for me and worrying because that's all part of their job description, but I've never given them reason to worry about me, and it really shouldn't matter where I'm going because it's broad daylight, I'm a responsible pseudo-adult, and I don't have any bad influence friends to meet up with.

That's another stress that I have.  Once again I've sunk into the feeling that if I contact the friends who are nearby, I'll be bothering them.  Only a couple of my friends have steady work right now, so I really shouldn't be worrying about this as much as I am, but there it is.  I need to see people every now and again though, because otherwise I get lethargic and sink into a funk.  Which I've been on the verge of doing multiple times right up until I go to the library for some sort of human interaction with the lady who checks out the movies I'm torturing myself with.

Because there it is, the broken heart that I'm nursing.  And the cliche of saying it makes me weep more than the actual thing, so I've been telling people that the reason I'm so cold all the time is because my soul is made of ice and I don't have a heart anymore.  Because frankly, that's what it feels like.  I'm quick to cry, and I sit there remembering good times on loop.  I feel like the epitome of a romantic comedy heroine who's stuck in the misery montage with no hope of pulling myself out.  So basically, I feel not a little bit pathetic.  Through some terrible coincidence, I keep pulling romantic films off the shelves at the libraries and insisting that they'll make me feel better...and they don't really.  Which shouldn't surprise me, really.  I'm just at a loss there because no matter what I do, it hurts.  Everything hurts.  Doing things, not doing things, listening to music, skipping the familiar songs, writing horrible break-up poetry, avoiding writing poetry at all, reading, watching movies, talking, not talking.  Everything hurts, and it feels like my insides are frozen and my outsides are burning up.  Like my skin'll just turn into steam and escape through the roof and the rest of me'll just freeze and connect with concrete.  I have no idea what to do to fix this.

Oh, and money.

(BRIANNA comes back through the back door, bright and excited from a lunch with a friend.  MOM is playing a Facebook game on the computer.)

BRIANNA:  So my friend and I are planning to go on adventures in the city and maybe take some day trips out of town--

MOM:  Brianna, I'm not going to fund your fun.  I can't.

BRIANNA:  I--what?

MOM:  I can't fund your day trips and your fun.

Once again.  I understand this.  I have no job.  I should be looking for a job.  Preferably one that will pay me money.  With that money, I can have fun.  But at the same time, I need to have fun and see my friends in order to remain sane or run the risk of becoming a hermit.  That's ignoring the fact that hermits can have friends.

Well, if I were a hermit and friends with The Doctor, things would be different.  Point being, if I don't leave the house and have human interaction, I feel less human, more stressed.

And then I'm looking for a job.  I don't even know where to start, so I'm making it up as I go.  I keep forgetting that I'm supposed to call to follow-up and make sure that places got my resume after all, and I constantly lose track of where I applied anyway no matter how many lists I keep.  I'm looking at positions in libraries, small publishing houses, and universities, anything that I might be vaguely interested in.  Once it starts warming up, I'm planning on knocking on doors all up and down the streets where the small businesses live nearby my home, but I'm really hoping that it doesn't come down to that.  And all I want to do is write.

What it all boils down to is: I'M STRESSED!  Living with my parents is a weird dance thing that I have to do so everyone retains some semblance of happiness, I have no friends, busy friends, or friends I'm afraid to bother, I'm looking for a job, dealing with a broken heart (or lack of a heart), and wanting to write.  And there it is.  So now I've spent 20 some odd minutes writing this post instead of searching for a job while I've been at the library, but you know...it kinda helped in a weird way?  Happy Tuesday!

"To achieve great things, two things are needed: a plan and not quite enough time."

- Leonard Bernstein

Dreaming of a White Christmas

That's right, I'm in Orlando and I'm still dreaming of a white Christmas.  Because it's what I'm used to, and it's what I love.  When I hear about the snow back home, I feel super jealous, and then I get reminded by those people at home that "it's warmer where you are, be happy!"  And I'm here to tell you, my friends, that it's not so much warmer here, it's only about 51 degrees here, windy and humid.  Just sayin'.  This is a poem that I wrote ages ago, and I felt like posting a poem because I haven't recently.  It needs another draft, so...here we go.

August 31, 2012

On days like these
I would wish
for a light covering
of snow,
just powdered sugar
on top of this donut.
Or a blizzard.
Despite knowing
it would melt
within seconds
of reaching
this zip code.
But that never stopped
my wishing
for hot chocolate nights
when I could break out
my winter jacket
and Doctor Who scarf
because I forgot
to finish the arm-warmers.
Oh well.
I always figured
I could steal your pockets
anyway.

White Christmas

Today we're nearing the end of November and the beginning of December.  Yesterday I walked around in jeans and a t-shirt, and this morning I seriously considered taking off my army jacket that makes me look super cool because I was warm.  But for the sake of coolness, I kept it on.  (I'm sure you were worried.)  That and I didn't want to have to carry it to the Dollar Tree.

It's weird that it's so sunny all the time, and I can safely assume that what it looks like through the window is reflected in the temperature.  For example, sun means warmth.  Comfortable warmth.

And the trees haven't gotten the memo that they're supposed to get naked by now.  I'm not kidding, all the trees are still completely dressed.  Although I'm not sure I really want to see a palm tree naked, I do think it would be funny to see all those big fan leaves yellowed and crumpled on the sidewalk.

This is when I start realizing that I'm not in the Midwest, but it's supposed to be fall turning into winter.

Right about now if I was back at home, I'm pretty sure I would be bundled up in a jacket, scarf, hat, and gloves.  I would be sharing pockets with the boy because his gloves don't have fingers and my pockets are warm.  I would probably wear a sweater to class and then remember that it's in the general classroom building which is usually hotter than Hades year round.  And when I forget that I have class in the science building because that's where they stick business classes, I'd just shiver through it.

It might be sunny back home, but if you step out of the house without a jacket, you'll just have to turn around and grab it because sunshine does not equal warmth in the autumn months back home.  Some of the more reckless folk would just venture out in a hoodie, but I've always been one of those people who's always cold, so...jacket and scarf it is.

All the trees would be naked and prancing about.  That's right, the trees prance about in the Midwest.  Yes, yes they do.

And any day now there would be snow.

I'm swiftly coming to terms with the fact that I can dream of the white Christmases I used to know as much as I want, but chances are it's not going to snow in Florida.  This is slightly depressing, but the prospect of finding a palm tree to decorate with Christmas lights is just about as exciting as the idea of putting Christmas lights on a cactus.  Not sure how it work...but it would be worth a shot.

"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas.  Just like the ones I used to know."

- 'White Christmas'

Goodbyes

Any time you leave home, you're reminded: Goodbyes were always difficult.  It came with the territory, all wrapped up in the "seeing off" presents, but hidden in a corner away from the Hallmark cards with the checks from family members who couldn't remember what they needed when they first moved elsewhere or who had never been to college.  And it was a big box that was actually more of a glorified "nesting doll" with box within box within box, each holding a different category of farewell.

There were the family goodbyes which were the lowest difficulty.  Relatively easy when compared with others because your plans were always the talk of family dinners and gatherings, even if you weren't actually present to confirm facts or quash rumors.  Yes, you would be moving into an apartment and yes, you would have to feed yourself.  No, the pets would have to stay home, and no, you wouldn't be home for the holidays.  The "missing" of family members was a given.  They sent you with cookbooks that they probably didn't have in their own cabinets because they were thinking about your budget (or lack thereof) and how you would in reality live off of Ramen despite the fancy recipes in the cookbook.  At least one family member will send you with salt and pepper.
Your immediate family will drive you to the airport, probably even make sure that you remember to tip the skycap for taking care of your magenta rolly bag.  They'll follow you as far as they can, and hopefully you'll remember to hug them all before you put your shoes on the conveyor belt to be scanned because ballet flats are dangerous shoes.  Especially when they have cut out stars.

There were the general goodbyes, to familiar places and the librarians you probably won't miss anyway.  You'll have to bid farewell to the Walgreens within walking distance, various libraries in town, the train station, the bank where you don't have much money anyway, all the streets you're familiar with because you've lived there all your life...

Less general but still impersonal-ish goodbyes went to things like your house.  Your bedroom.  Your car which wasn't really "your" car anyway because you shared it with your brother.  The backyard.  The dog.

There are various specifications of friend goodbyes, but the most common are the last minute goodbyes that actually happen via text or Facebook post because everyone forgot that life happens.  One of you has a job and the other one of you has a plane to catch.  Some of these goodbyes could be frustrating, and that's okay.  It's one of those things that you shouldn't let fester.  Let it go.  It's really not the end of the world if you don't see every single one of your friends exactly a week before you take off.  Really.  It's okay.

And then there are the goodbyes to that special someone.  That one person who tolerates all of your cliches and all of your cheesiness and loves you anyway.  And I'm not talking about your mom.  I'm talking about your special lady friend or your gentleman...friend?  Yeah, that person.  You'll spend just about every waking moment cuddling and doing everything you can to stay as close as humanly possible and socially acceptable. You'll do all the cute little couple things and pretend that it's just another weekend, that one of you isn't leaving the state for five months.  You'll pretend that you live together and eat off the same plate because you don't want to do the dishes...some chores are just always intolerable, it doesn't matter who you're doing them with.  One of you will tell the other not to cry when they leave and the other one will promise, but they'll cry anyway when the other has their back turned.

You'll miss everyone and everything, partially because of your change of locale, the increased distance between people, and the unfamiliarity of where you'll be.  And you'll probably feel homesick.  And that's okay.  It's really just a temporary goodbye anyway.

"Why does it take a minute to say hello and forever to say goodbye?" - Unknown

First Lines and Openings

In my Writing Fiction class, we had to write openings for stories.  Five per week, and post them on a class blog.  If anyone's interested in reading these nuggets of creativity, you can find them here: http://455fictionopenings.wordpress.com/

Today we had an award ceremony for these openings.  My classmates and I nominated lines within six different categories, and today we learned who won.  I won three out of the six categories.

Best Dialogue:
"So I got an e-mail from an April Diamond," Seth said, taking a long drag on his cigarette.
Lucy shook her head, "Sounds like a stripper."

Funniest:
He never understood the appeal of Marilyn Monroe and even standing by the statue on Michigan Avenue staring up at her gigantic white panties, Steve still didn't get it.

Best Overall (because it was unopposed):
I told him because I'm afraid.  Afraid of everything that might happen, and everything that might not.  Most of all, I'm afraid of being happy.

Actually, three of my openings were nominated for best dialogue.  It's fun because all of them sprang from real life conversations that I had before I submitted my first lines.  This one actually happened.  It's a part of a tradition of my school's chapter of the National Residence Hall Honorary to send out these cryptic e-mails from an e-mail account that's registered to April Diamond for the induction ceremony.  It's super creepy, I remember being confused about the whole thing and not really wanting to go to the quad after dark to be jumped by a stripper, because that's what April Diamond sounds like.  Luckily, people still show up and induction happens and everything's good, but it still worries me that one day someone won't come and won't even realize that they're a part of NRHH.  That would just be strange.

I personally don't think that my line was the funniest of the nominees, but hey.  There's a statue of Marilyn Monroe in downtown Chicago.  It's based on the still from Seven Year Itch with Marilyn's billowing white skirt.

Spring Break in Chicago.  Two of my friends are scandalized.

This statue is near the Tribune Tower, and honestly, I thought it was a pretty ugly statue.  I was more interested in taking pictures of the Tribune Tower, so this picture is one of a grand total of two pictures that I have of the Marilyn statue.  And I honestly don't really understand Marilyn Monroe's appeal, part of me feels like I should probably figure out because she's technically an American icon...if I'm correct.  But the Marilyn statue was kinda like The Bean for me.  I don't really get it.

My last line shouldn't have won, but it did.  Only because it was unopposed.  If it had gone up against someone else's line, I have no doubt that other line would have won, and it would have deserved it.  Meh.

My Life as a Poet

So this morning I saw on my blog feed list thing that Poets United has a feature called "Life of a Poet."  Though this is an interview type feature, I decided that I should do something similar for my blog and talk about what I'd like my life to look like if I was just a poet.  Here goes some fictional imagining.

If I was a poet and nothing else, I would live in a city.  Probably Chicago because I don't think I could get myself to move to New York, just because it's a matter of principle that I should display disdain toward the "big apple."  I would live in a tiny apartment with one bedroom and a drippy ceiling in the kitchen.  My living room window would look out at a tree-lined one-way street.  I would have to sleep on a double bed because anything bigger wouldn't fit in my bedroom comfortably, and I would have an east facing window so the sun will slant over my face and wake me up when the heat gets uncomfortable over my eyelids.

In the morning I'll wake up and pull on whatever t-shirt and pants are within arm's reach.  I'll pull my hair up and off my face by twisting it up with a pen.  I'll wear my glasses, of course, and pull my beat up messenger bag that's already packed and walk out the door, taking to the sidewalk.  The walk will always be nice, even if it's raining because the people I'll pass will be friendly enough to smile and sometimes stop to chat, but not that weird middle ground where you just mumble "hi" and keep walking.  They'll all understand that when they ask "how are you?" I will answer honestly and sometimes at length.  And that I'll really care when I ask the same question back.

I'll go to my favorite little coffee shop where I'll eat a blueberry muffin and drink a mug of hot chocolate every morning, but sometimes I'll shake things up and drink chai or order a cinnomon roll or maybe a freshly baked croissant.  I'll sit at the same table every morning and all of the employees of the coffee shop will know who I am, even the owner will come over to say hello.  I'd have the same tattered notebook every morning, maybe it'll be leather bound or maybe it'll be a composition notebook that's frayed around the edges of the cardboard cover.  I would write with a Bic crystal pen because fancy pens would just get smashed in my bag.  Visitors to the coffee shop would muse about what I was writing, and they would even make up stories about what they thought I was writing, some of the regulars will know my name, but will be too bashful to talk to me.

After breakfast, I would probably wander the streets looking around and window shopping.  I'll take a different route every morning.  Maybe I'll even ride the El all day one day.  I'll spend time in the museums, taking notes on things that I learn, and visiting some exhibits so often that I memorize what the little placards say.  I'll sit on a corner of State street and watch the shoppers, taking special note of who frequents which stores and following around the most interesting people.  I'll go to a tourist spot and observe non-Chicago-natives.  On nice days I'll even visit the beach and draw sketches of pigeons and waves and maybe some stick figure sun bathers.

I'll eat a proper lunch at a small sandwich shop or a diner that I pass on my wanderings.  It'll be a surprise every day, and I'll try whatever the man at the counter suggests even if it features sauer kraut because lunch should be spontaneous.  I'll sit in a park and eat whatever I bought and skip rocks in fountains.

In the afternoon I'll run errands.  Pick up dry cleaning if I have it, buy another gallon of milk because I finished off the last of it at midnight the night before, replenish my stock of honey sesame sticks because I always manage to run out at the least convenient times, and maybe meet up with a friend for coffee.  By this time I'll probably drink coffee because I'll be all grown up.  I'll listen to speakers and go to free events mostly because I won't have any money to spare, but also because I'll want to keep learning forever.

In the evening I'll read with a glass of wine under the glow of a single reading lamp.  The rest of the room will be hidden in shadow.  I'll eat dinner on my own and maybe dance a little while I'm making it.  And after watching a movie or a random television show on my TV that has a dysfunctional color tube or whatever, I'll settle into bed to cuddle and fall asleep.

"A poet looks at the world the way a man looks at a woman."

- Wallace Stevens

St. Patrick's Day

Today is the day when everyone would like to pretend that they're Irish.  And if they're not pretending, chances are that they're probably Irish.  And when it comes to living in Chicago, there's an even greater chance that the people you're talking to are Irish.  Mostly because Chicago is notoriously Irish.  I say "notoriously" because of our former mayor, both of the Daleys, but I have to be able to acknowledge that we have a large Polish and Mexican population as well.  I'm not going to swear on that mostly because I can't promise that I know what I'm talking about.

In Chicago, there's a tradition of dying the river green.  The Chicago River.  Because yes, there's a river through Chicago (I have a friend who didn't know that there was a river in Chicago and got confused when I told her not to cross the river or she'd get lost).

I take no credit for this photo, I found it on Google.

According to the Story Behind Dyeing the River, other cities have attempted to dye their rivers...with no success.  Clearly there's something special (or sinister) about the Chicago River that allows the dye to take hold and refuse to let go for a couple days after the St. Patrick's Day parade.  I've never seen the river get dyed this special shade of emerald, but apparently the powder they use is orange...and it turns the river green.  It makes so much sense now.

Thank you again, Google!

I have had Green River.  It's a lime pop drink that's all bubbly and delicious.  According to Wikipedia where I get all the best information, Green River was created as a non-alcoholic alternative in Chicago during the Prohibition Era.  Although after Prohibition ended, the brewery that created it made Green River a second priority to making alcohol, which would make sense considering it's a brewery.  I remember that I had Green River for the first time at my uncle's house, and I loved it.  I was probably around eight when I first had it, and my brother and I loved it so much that I'm pretty sure my dad brought home some cans of the stuff from his brother's house.  And then there was a period of time where I had no Green River.  I suspect that's because my uncle stopped buying it, but since then it's come back into my life and it's pretty much glorious.

"There are only two kinds of people in the world, The Irish and those who wish they were."

- Unknown

Tourism

Yesterday, David and I played tourist in my hometown, Chicago.  And when I say "we," I really mean me, I was a tourist, because I walked around the streets taking pictures of everything.  First, because I now have a camera that's pretty and not ancient and second, because I don't go downtown very often and third, because there were things that we saw that normal tourists probably don't think to go see.  Though we were right by the Art Institute, we avoided going there because admission prices are outrageous and we're poor students.

We did get to see the Chicago Model City.

Picture provided by me!  This is a view from the North Side of the city.

I didn't know that this or that the Chicago Architecture Foundation existed, but they had a really cool gift shop deal where they had really neat toys and books and bags and interesting things--but the model.  I tried to find where my house is, but they didn't go that far north or west.  Because apparently Chicago's too big for that.  Silly.  Anyway, I did find the Kennedy expressway which is what I would take to get to downtown while driving, and so I ended up taking a picture as if I was coming off the highway.  There was also information about how the lighting changes every so often to simulate the path of the sun on June 21st, the longest day of the year.  I'm a little unclear as to why they chose that particular day, but I suppose it might have something to do with the amount of sunlight...and that the sun's out for the longest on that day?  I guess that makes sense.

We also saw the Chicago Cultural Center which had mosaics EVERYWHERE.

This is the ceiling at the Chicago Cultural Center.  Just look at that zodiac!

It was really beautiful in there.  There were quotes on the walls in the mosaics and the names of authors and scientists, and then there were writings in different languages like Arabic and ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics and Chinese, it was really pretty.  There were other sections of the Chicago Cultural Center, one which had an exhibit called "Morbid Curiosity" which I regret going to because it was super creepy.  Like really creepy.  The "Write Now" exhibit was a lot more of my taste because it was all word-based art.  Really cool.  (How many times have I used "really" in this paragraph?  Who's counting?)  But I liked just wandering around!

Throughout our wanderings I kept thinking that it was really cool that we were just wandering.  We didn't have anywhere in particular to go because all we had to do was kill time in between events.  I like the idea of just wandering around the city because I feel like that's how the hole-in-the-wall places get found.  That's how you can find little historic places and never even realize it until you're standing right in them.  Chicago's got a lot going for it, and I never really thought about it because I just grew up here.  I always think about other cities as having more history than Chicago, but this city has a lot more history than I ever would have thought.

"Eventually, I think Chicago will be the most beautiful great city left in the world."

- Frank Lloyd Wright