(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.

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.

http://www.twitter.com/KatieMaryBarry

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.

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 http://www.nogameschicago.com as well as various other sites such as http://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.

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

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.