i love this song

when i first heard it, i asked Mr. T (my new reference to the Husband, I've decided) if it was an old Patti Smith song. Then perhaps I thought of the Violent Femmes next time I heard it. No, someone new. Old sound. Love it.

That is all for today.

Somedays, all ya need is a song.

a few days until New York City...

My younger brother has settled into NYC life over the past few years an has seemed to adapt well to it.

I, on the other hand, did not find any sort of peace and harmony to the land when I set off for its landscape over the years. At one point in my very early twenties I even walked around with a stack of resumes, applying for jobs in Manhattan, just to see if something would 'click' for me there.

I found minor frustrations around every other corner, and while they were minor, I ended each day feeling agitated. The turnstile not being calibrated properly so I lost a subway ride on my pass and had to either wait fifteen minutes or go buy another fare. My hotel reservation being overbooked and having to find a friend in Brooklyn for a last-minute place to sleep. Holding on for dear life with a stack of suitcases on a bus to LaGuardia. Ordering a lunch in a busy restaurant and not having any place to sit and eat it properly except out in the cold, walking aimlessly. A jerky shuttle driver dropping me off five blocks from where I needed to meet a friend and then giving me wrong directions as I lugged my suitcase.

But just as minor frustrations occur here and there in any sort of life in any kinda landscape, I still enjoy going back for a visit. I have experienced some equally amazing moments and observed some wonderful sights each visit.

1. Three African gentlemen were carrying their belongings in large cloth sacks and just walking around with wide eyes and dropped jaws inhaling the atmosphere as they stared up to the skyscrapers as they witnessed something never before seen in their new journey in a new land.

2. Being on a 'guest list' for Joey Ramone's 50th birthday party days after his passing and a Little Debbie food fight at the finale, cream-filling splattered all over my hair.

3. A cab driver getting lost in Brooklyn and turning off the meter to find the best route for his weary passenger. Also waiting for me to be let in the building to make sure I'd be alright.

4. Lengthy conversations with strangers in a bar about the drive from the East Coast to the smokestack filled industrial wastelands of Indiana before you see the Chicago skyline.

5. The kindness of the food service employee at the Statue of Liberty cafeteria.

6. Walking around Immigration Hall at Ellis Island.

7. Trying on a crazy dress with cowgirls imprinted all over I could never afford at a cute boutique run by two Japanese girls...

Anyhoo, I am headed to NYC again for an extended weekend later in the week and I look forward to future discoveries.

hibrrrrrrnating some more

Oh the cold weather.

It gets the best of me. I never have two consecutive days off so I try to make the best time of my free days. But that dang Chicago cold!

Attempted to write some more. Fueled by coffee and warm fuzzy slippers and itchy brain cells, I 'vomited' on paper some more. Kind of like I'm doing now. Fruitless. Perhaps I need to re-read Stephen King's On Writing. Whatever happened to my copy?

There is a tale in me that I want to tell. Or as some say, perhaps everyone's got a book in 'em. What carries the stories that we hear in our lifetimes? The relatedness of our journeys? The fantasy? The hook? The character development? The dilemma? The unique voice?

I draw from a unique set of experiences. I have this itch to explain them and paint them and share them, but they will not hold any meaning to me unless they are understood. Well, not even understood, but I do ask that they have the ability to connect to the reader. I try out some of these stories/experiences in spoken stories with my husband and a few select friends, and the reaction I get is not one of connection. "Do you understand? Does this make sense?" And the answer is always various stages of 'No.' If I can't allow them to make sense for those close to me, how do I know what connection lies beyond?

I once tried my hand participating in an art show. I don't think it's fair to label myself an artist because I do not possess the God-given gift that others do. But as a creative person, I wanted to challenge myself in a new way. It was a staff show that took place at a gallery in Pilsen, joined together by my coworkers at the time of Museum of Contemporary Art. The pieces included installations, paintings, drawings, videos, you name it - coming from all levels of talent. It was a nerve-wracking experience for me. But I did it.

My piece was something I came up with as a means of connecting a conversation with other artistic mediums. Being a fan of music and such a lover of words, I often wonder what stories lie behind the reality of a song. I scoured thrift shops for the perfect worn-out stereo speaker surrounded with the perfect type of wood to which I could burn the words. I skipped an Easter Sunday with the family and sat in my old apartment by the lake listening to music on the radio as my woodburning wand spent 15 plus hours engraving a message across the broken-down sound system. The message was as ephemeral as a three-minute song and doesn't even bear repeating at this point, but it was clear to at least one person.

Someone sitting at the gallery relayed the message to me that a man came over to her to comment specifically on how much he enjoyed my piece. All of those works in that space and he chose to comment on mine and mine alone.

That's all that mattered to me, especially in remembrance of everything that had happened a few weeks later in my life.

Maybe one day I'll muster up the courage to try it all again.