stories and cigarettes have ruined lives of lesser girls

Underwater New York Essay

2010-02-08T16:18:00.001-05:00

Rules for Underwater New York contest:

Underwater New York is looking for stories inspired by our list of found objects. These are objects discovered by divers or chanced upon by everyday New Yorkers. They are objects with documented histories and objects unexplained. We are not looking for explanations, but rather for the stories these objects evoke, in whatever form such stories might take.

“What each must seek in his life never was on land or sea. It is something out of his own unique potentiality for experience, something that never has been and never could have been experienced by anyone else.”

-Joseph Cambell

We enter from light to dark, falling deep into its murky depths rather quickly. We know, as we enter, that the ride is only temporary, and that we will almost indefinitely emerge on the other side in the same condition that we have entered. The shadows eventually subside, and light breaks through the dark, and no matter whether the trip was terrifying or terrific, we are transported safely back into the light. Each experience, is different, yet the same. We come to understand the process; we come to expect certain aspects of the journey— in one side, out the other— a beginning and an end. Sometimes, we remember the details, and sometimes we’re oblivious to the specifics of the adventure. Hell Gate, offered what Dreamland quintessentially stood for in its final hours. An escape from reality; a voyage into the depths of hell, that is, technically, a perfect doppelganger of the process of dreaming. A soon-to-be disillusioned component of an overall magical structure; Hell Gate turned into a literal nightmare, one that ended the beauty of Dreamland just as its full potential was set to wake in just a few short hours.

It was fitting, really, that the fire started at Hell Gate. Dreamland, a name that implies such a saccharin connotation, within a few short hours, just fell into the sea. It was a dangerous year for dreams and the sea; as less than eleven months later, the Titanic, proudly prophesized as the “Ship of Dreams,” also met its demise at the deepest depths of the Atlantic. Like our body houses our mind, which facilitates a structure for the ability to dream, so did these ground-breaking structures; housing achievements of grandeur which turned the mundane into the fantastical—the wheel of progress in motion. Like our dreams, which, more often than not, are a pleasant escape, these early 18th century innovations offered the same escape to their inhabitants. They showcased their wildest imaginations, their most vivid imaginable realities— if only for a moment. But much like our transition from sleep to wake, the fantastical is fleeting, and reality always startles you, even from the sweetest slumber. The light at the end of the tunnel sometimes seems to be lit much less brightly by the time we finally wake.

Now, Dreamland is a lingering ghost, haunting the New York border of the Atlantic, like a maiden waiting for a lover lost at sea. Dreamland’s skeleton of 18th century avant-garde, like most illustrious grandeurs of time past, is the stark reminder of imminent reality of dreams—the luster doesn’t last. Almost a century later, we still grasp at these “dreams” of the human condition. No matter how many times failure comes to pass. We believe, and find hope, in not only things tactile, but also things imagined. Decade after decade, more dreams are tried and tested, and while some foster success and revolution, others mark irrefutable failure, like Dreamland. It begs the question, why is it that our dreams, mere fleeting thoughts that play out during our most silent hours, make up the drive for success of the human experience?

We base our ideals as a country on the idea of an elusive dream. This, “American Dream,” still chased each day, whole-heartedly, by millions of people. And no matter what the cost of that dream, we see, time after time those hopes, especially those of grandeur, seem consistently fatally flawed. Whoever controls the capturing of dreams has no bias towards where they take them from. Both places and persons alike have met their demise at the hands of their search for something better. Relics are lost, lives are lost, and like Dreamland, these dreams seem to disappear into the sea. Into the confines of time and space, sometimes resurfacing, sometimes lost to the depths forever, but always lingering in unseen places, deep in a consciousness that may, or may not ever be reached again.

As humans, maybe all of our dreams are lost in the sea. It makes perfect sense from both a literal and a figurative perspective. Sometimes, we cast a line, we pull out a fish. Sometimes, we cast a line, we pull out the weeds. But with more persistence, and as more of these cobwebs of the sea are fished out, it tends to lend room to find more fish. The grander ones, the ones hiding in those murky depths, the ones we never dreamed we’d see. We live for those. For those big fish, for that snag on the line. For that adrenaline that pumps through cold and tired veins. That little bit of strength that keeps us believing that we will finally see our reward, to find the process had been worth it. It seems to prove true; however, that our dreams can only be as large as the fish we can carry. Our burden to create our own dream has to be a load that we are willing, and able to bare. If we try to reach the unobtainable, chances are, we will end up in the belly of the whale; not with the whale on our line.

Or maybe it’s not that at all, maybe it is that spark that disregard for fear and safety, which bring even our most implausible hopes to reality. Whatever it is that sparks our need to dream, it assures that we will keep building. We will keep dreaming. We will keep fishing. And every once in a while, instead of pulling out a fish, or, a weed, we will discover a piece of the past— a relic of someone else’s dream, and we will continue their same search in the hopes that we can find our own unique experience, our very own Dreamland. An uncommon denominator that will differentiate us from the rest of dreamers. We will create our own proverbial sea; one that, undoubtedly, if only for during the darkest hours of night, will lull us to sleep, and facilitate our ability to dream.

For Chrissy

2009-04-20T12:12:00.009-04:00

This spring, my faith was fleeting as
I saw people holding signs and scripture
saying God is Love.
Patriots proudly professing
Jesus Christ would save our souls,
if we just believed,
and they actually believed it.
Who the fuck were they
to try to save my sinning soul?

I used to have blind faith.
For years I didn’t understand
her agnostic point of view.
Until last Christmas, when twice
we sat on a child size bed
a blonde and a brunette
splitting a pack
of our parent’s brand of cigarettes
discussing the history of the world
and the history of us.

Once, when she was twelve,
she told me in the middle of the night
that she didn’t believe in God anymore.
She cried, for hours
inconsolable. I didn’t know what to say.
So I said nothing.
I didn’t know then that a decade later
Sitting, again, on that same child’s bed
that I, too, may not believe.

New Ingrid Poem- Nonverse

2009-04-20T12:12:00.001-04:00

Ingrid’s New World

She was different, literally, in our college town; she’s a Technicolor dream now.

She was different.
A silhouette in black and white.
Two dimensional, almost
in our vibrant world
no one seemed to notice
her beauty in grayscale.
No one paid attention
lost in a haze of five cent Jacks

literally,
a siren of the screen.
A stranger in our scene.
In our world,
her beauty is
out of place
in place and time,
she didn’t belong

in our college town;
her color starts to change
their minds
turned on to this new appearance,
fill her up with alcohol
and arrogance.
She smiles,
with each sip

she’s a Technicolor dream,
in flushed fuchsia cheeks
in green glassy-eyed lonliness
we knew we couldn’t be her
although we didn’t really know her,
in this place,
in our place,
we were all the same

now,
in full color
she stands
like the rest of us,
jaded
in a crowded room
waiting for someone to
take her home.

Hayley Press Release

2009-03-11T22:50:00.002-04:00

Like a good shot of whiskey; Hayley is raw yet sophisticated, simple but refined. It’s an acquired taste that keeps you warm after the first sip, a buzz that keeps you coming back until it becomes your drink of choice. The sound becomes familiar but always satisfies. Still surprising, it provides you a new experience every time you listen. If avant-garde is the 21st century sound, Hayley is top shelf.

Hayley is based out of Williamsport, Pennsylvania showcasing some of its most talented young musicians. Stemming from diverse musical backgrounds, all of Hayley has grown up appreciating and experimenting within many different genres based on their eclectic combination of musical influences, including their previous bands, personal tastes, and family music history.

With families in the business, Hayley learned all aspects of the industry before most musicians learned their first chord progression. Focusing on producing an intimate and exciting live experience, Hayley wants their provocative sound and relationship with the audience to keep their fan base always wanting and expecting more.

Hayley breaks the barriers of current rock music by injecting their bold precision into classic rock’s epic standards. Learning from past experience and continually evolving into the modern precedent, Hayley’s ability to engage and innovate provides them the opportunity to challenge the status quo and surpass all expectations of the current scene, lulling their audience into sweet submission.

Time Stood Still

2009-03-11T22:40:00.004-04:00

Time stopped
the day he left.
Broken branches, dog dirt,
leftover leaves
from fall’s last stand against the cold,
are all scattered across the unmowed lawn.

I sit in a chair
on the patio
and smoke a cigarette.
Where they would sit
and smoke a cigarette.
Drink coffee with cream on Sunday mornings.

I remember
they were happy
on those summer days,
we were happy
when they let us sleep through church.

Last summer,
he moved out his things.
Twenty years of memories
fit onto one gray flatbed truck.
As tears stained hardwood floors,
three similar faces stood helpless behind French doors.

Now,
He’s traded coffee with my mother
For martinis with the secretary—
Smoking a cigarette on a patio
Staring out at new yard
someplace where he doesn’t have to mow the lawn.

Bruce Weber Article

2009-03-10T20:26:00.003-04:00

Bruce Weber successfully transcended the American paradigm of beauty as the modern propulsor of homoerotic art and photography into mainstream American culture. As an American fashion photographer, paradoxically, Weber prefers to photograph his primarily male models nude or with minimal clothing. Captured from a voyeuristic perspective, his pictures furthermore parallel the images of the venerated nude male carved from stone in ancient Greece.

Previously declared as taboo by critics, Weber’s portraiture photography contemporarily translates the depictions of the idolized male physique once captured in the Hellenistic art period by Greek sculptors. Only now, the medium shifts from stone to film, yet still embodies the essence of human sexuality and sensuality as his primary theme.

According to the Victoria and Albert Museum in the United Kingdom, photographer Bruce Weber was, "one of the most influential members of the fashion community throughout the 1980's"— a title that he still holds today. The "human factor" displayed in Weber's images is said to show the person and not the clothes, a trait that few fashion photographers can capture on film; a reason why the V&A prominently displays much of Weber's photography. Fashion icons such Karl Lagerfeld, Calvin Klein, and Ralph Lauren have trusted Weber to capture their vision. His versatility as a photographer is apparent through his ability to capture the European styles of Lagerfeld as well as the All-American styles of Klein and Lauren while still evoking a signature look that to the trained eye is distinctively Bruce Weber.

Although best known for his photography, Bruce Weber has been able to transcend one genre of the arts and show his creative genius in many other forms, among his most famous is his books and films. His 2005 book, Blood Sweat and Tears: Or how I stopped worrying and learned to love fashion, as Harper's Bazaar explains it is, "a celebration of fashion in all of its forms." Blood Sweat and Tears highlights Weber's charm and imagination through his photography and journal entries. When interviewed about his book, Weber explained,

"At first I thought strictly about a book of photographs on fashion. As I worked on it, I thought more and more about something my friend the late, great fashion designer Gianni Versace once said, in giving me advice before an assignment, 'Call me des mode, but give me beauty.' And with these inspired words, I wanted to make a record of how I journeyed out into the world and recorded what most people call fashion. These photographs were not just about the shape of clothes, but also how one sees fashion in nature, architecture, and in the human spirit."

Weber also expanded on his famed homoerotic themes in his 2001 limited release book, All-American, which features photographs that are quintessentially the "All- American" stereotype that has been one of Weber's biggest inspirations.

Bruce Weber has become a notable name in independent film making as well. Directing his first movie, Broken Noses, in 1987, Weber proved that his visions could be as aesthetically pleasing on film as they were on paper. In 1988, Bruce Weber displayed his talents for filmmaking again through his documentary Let's Get Lost. New York Magazine hailed the touching yet haunting “homoerotic homage” to his friend, trumpet player Chet Baker, as "relentlessly cool." Capturing as much about Baker's life, as his music was easy for Weber who explained, "I think he made music the way he lived — and as a photographer and a filmmaker, I really appreciated that."

Weber dabbled in film again in 2001, creating Chop Suey, another homage, but this time to all of Weber's favorite things. Using different themes and perspectives, Weber uses the film to discuss one of his most poignant themes to his craft, his obsession with sexuality and the homoerotic subtexts of his photography. In addition to Broken Noses, Let's Get Lost, and Chop Suey, Bruce has written, produced, and directed many other short and feature length films that capture his unique style through a different medium than that which he is most notorious.

Weber’s small town beginning in rural Pennsylvania, ostensibly rendered little foretelling of his soon-to-be big city career, yet his father’s amateur photography offered some foreshadowing. He grew up a bit of a recluse, only to find sanctuary in his mother’s Vogue magazines and his artistic fantasies. In an interview with Tim Adams, from Britain’s The Guardian, Weber explains the tribulations he faced as a child. 'Well, I suppose, for a start, I wasn't very popular, so I had this huge kind of fantasy life, I'd always be looking at Vogue. Sometimes now, when I am photographing young people, and I'm with a whole group of perfect bodies, it seems to me they have no fantasy life at all; perhaps that's the payoff.'

Knowing that he was different from a young age, Weber struggled primarily with his sexuality and artistic impulses, which ironically, became his greatest strengths in professional life.

“Photographing Peter and his friends in the shower, I remember myself at that age. I wanted to be one of those kids padding around without a care in the world, but I couldn't. I'd be swimming all day in the country club and my mom would tell me to shower and dress [there] for dinner but I told her I couldn't. The locker-room would be too crowded at that hour and it seemed to me that every guy in the Midwest would be in the locker-room showering and dressing for his six o'clock date. Instead I'd wash at the washbasin wearing my underwear and a towel. We sometimes photograph the things we can never be.”

Tim Adams also established that he believes that even today Weber has trouble coming to terms with not only his own sexuality, but also the actual concept of sexuality. He explains,

“He seems to want to keep it that way [his sexuality], so we skirt the issue a little. He talks about his father, who was in the furniture business, wishing that his son had photographed more girls; he suggests that his pictures and films depict the complexity of his own identity.”

Weber explains the importance of keeping an open mind about sexuality in his article with Tim Adams. Comparing being a photographer to being a bartender in the East Village, Weber offers this advice, “Just leave yourself open to all kinds of people and listen to their stories, mostly about sex, and come away with a little piece of their lives. I think it is what you do with that information, how you handle it that is what distinguishes you.” He explains, “the things they leave unspoken are the most important things about them.”

Although most of Bruce Weber’s photography sustains itself upon the theme of male sexuality, he refuses to let sexuality in general define his personality or character. Weber states that sex is something we do, not who we are and expresses that America’s perpetuation of the significance of the physical aspect of relationships shifts its true focus away from the emotions of the mind.

Weber’s blatant disregard for the definition of sexuality has become his greatest achievement as an artist. While most people are blinded by gender roles, human sexuality, and the concept of conventional beauty, Weber lets his camera lens determine beauty, an achievement few other photographers have been able to accomplish. His appreciation for the human spirit is present when he speaks of how he unconditionally accepts love. Weber explains,

“I've had a lot of great romances,' he says. 'Men and women, I mean I feel like I can fall in love almost every day feel sorry for people who don't feel that."

Queen Victoria

2009-03-10T20:22:00.001-04:00

Looking up into the bright blue sky,
there are no clouds.
Just rays of light penetrating my fair skin
turning it an alarming shade of scarlet.

After a lengthy pause
the wind picks up and the sail becomes taut—
standing proudly against the bullying breeze.
I hope this wind stays steady.

The wind today only comes in gusts;
each one lasting just long enough to tease one edge of the craft out of the water,
before instantly plunging back into the darkness.

With careful precision I steer her clear of the buoy.
I head out one more half mile.
I wonder how much deeper I should travel.
I’ve ventured far enough.

I turn her around and find the wind again.
As the wind dies down for a moment I can start to feel the sun beams.
I point her straight and glide smoothly through the shallow pools.
The shells below slow her down and she gracefully stops.

I climb out and look out into the crystal water.
I close my eyes and feel the breeze.
So many times I have been to this island.

I had collected its shells,
swam with its fish,
caressed its white powdered sand.
I had bathed its sun.
I had never done this.

Finally I had sailed by myself,
out in a deep blue ocean
counting on the wind to bring me home.

Art Chosen for Kalliope 2009

2009-03-10T16:53:00.002-04:00

Spicy Tuna Roll

2009-01-28T16:56:00.004-05:00

if you died
id have one wish
to have you come back
as the tuna in my favorite sushi dish
so your protein would grow my hair
and when the wind would blow
I could feel you there.

What Ingrid Said

2009-01-28T16:49:00.001-05:00

I know that each time I walk through the door

I still will not find what I’m looking for

Names scribbled all over the bathroom wall

I read and wish that I could have known them all

Here all alone in a stranger filled room

Which reeks of stale smoke and day old perfume

It’s much colder outside than it is here

I add to the warmth and order my beer

This is the winter of my discontent

Please someone tell me where my sunshine went

I need to know where I can find the light

But it isn’t something I’ll find tonight

Heartbreak and alcohol calling my name

Each night I come here it is always the same

A ten digit number on my right hand

A crush on the boy that plays in the band

The beginning of another story

The tragic tale of my faded glory

I already know how the story goes

It starts with a kiss and ends with no clothes

Knowing the end without hesitation

Continuing on, no reservation

I don’t remember if I know his name

But he’s just a pawn in my silly game

If a kiss is designed to stop our speech

The goal of silence is within my reach

If I can shut him up for long enough

I guarantee it won’t be very tough

To get him to come home just for tonight

To make him leave by the first signs of light

Then in the dark I will not be alone

A childhood fear I’ve never outgrown

He’ll be just one more notch in my bedpost

Safe in my closet, what’s one more old ghost?

There will be no bride, there will be no groom

Just me all alone as light floods my room

New Poetry!

2009-01-28T15:43:00.002-05:00

I am taking a poetry writing class this semester, and have rediscovered a love of an old hobby, writing poetry. I am adding now, two of my most recent poems... What Ingrid Said, which was a practice in iambic pentameter (at least the ten syllable part of it)... the inspiration came from Ingrid Bergman's quote "A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous." I was wondering if Ingrid Bergman was around today, what kind of girl she would be at age 22, I decided to make her a slut, and that's where What Ingrid Said... came from. I am also including a couple of recent pieces including "Spicy Tuna Roll" and "Lottery". Enjoy!

2008-07-31T15:56:00.000-04:00

hopefully one finds many happy little bubbles in their life.

The Gold Is Gone

2008-06-20T19:41:00.002-04:00

Check out my friend Jared Salvatore in this YouTube video.

The song is one of the many beautiful songs my talented friends have written recently.

the gold is gone- Jared

“Quit pondering on your problems for faith and courage will be your medicine.”

2008-06-03T14:51:00.004-04:00

my great aunt jean died yesterday.

i've only met her maybe a dozen times in my life, but she always struck me as a genuinely wonderful person.

once, when i was maybe five or six, my sister needed an MRI so my parent's took me to stay with my aunt jean and aunt eleanor for the day. i sat in their living room in the dark for hours watching tv. i was so scared of them, i have no idea why.

late in the afternoon my aunt jean brought me into the kitchen, and taught me how to make sponge cake. we sat there for the rest of the afternoon eating cake and strawberries. it's my favorite memory of her.

every time i saw her, she would always say what a beautiful girl i was... and it makes me wonder, what makes someone beautiful to someone old? it has to be different than the way that men, my friends, even my parents think of me, right?

is it easy to see beauty in people when you've been around for a long time? Or does it make you feel like the world isn't such a beautiful place? maybe it's all in the person's outlook. i'm not sure. is it faith in people?

my mom sent me a stumble upon link to "divine caroline" today, and it was a excerpt about Faith.

the last line read...

“If you believe and faith comes and helps you, you will not suffer any longer. If it doesn’t work for you, you will be right back where you started. You have nothing to lose when you believe"

Amen to that.

summer time

2008-06-02T14:57:00.003-04:00

So the first two weeks of summer have gone splendidly (I really like that word).

Still no job besides the writing center, but I am loving life more than I have in a long time. Having a great group of summer friends, a pool at my apartment complex, and nothing to do all day or night, has made time go slow for the first time in a long time.

Although I'm looking, I'm in no hurry to find a job right now. I have just enough money to get me through summer without starving. If I don't find a job, well, I'll live. Last summer I worked 40 hours a week for the whole summer. This summer, after such a stressful and not-fun year, I am really enjoying just finally having some time to myself.

Right now I'm tutoring, although tutees are few and far between for summer I am finding out. It's still good to get on campus and out of my apartment twice a week. I'm becoming increasingly afraid of turning into a recluse.

Ha.

here is the scene where you save the day

2008-05-29T13:09:00.004-04:00

it's a beautiful day in central pennsylvania.

check out stars. really good. i love bands with female leads.

bluebird don't fly too far, i won't know where you are

2008-05-25T13:21:00.003-04:00

check out paper rival, i'm really digging them.

www.myspace.com/paperrival

100 Guitars

2008-05-23T22:29:00.005-04:00

My mom and I went to 100 Guitars tonight, it was a concert put on my by the Collective, my old music school. It was outrageous. Dave Brambaugh is a genius. I really miss the Collective, and especially him, a lot. He was the greatest teacher I ever had. He really taught me discipline and respect for the art of playing music, and playing it well. I remember distinctly the night my senior year of high school when he made me cry... I was working at a bar, taking three dance classes, running my church's youth group, and playing in "Pocketbook Assault" Uptown's only girl band. He told me that if I wasn't going to practice to just leave and not come back. He said I shouldn't waste his time. No one had ever told me that I was wasting there time before.. I was so upset, it taught me a really valuable lesson about managing my time. It was one of many, many great things Dave taught me that didn't even relate to music.

Looking at Dave up on stage tonight, with a 100 of the many hundreds of students that have come through his doors the last eight years, and it's amazing that he has changed so many lives..I remember my senior year of high school getting a certificate from Catholic Relief Services after I did the Tsunami dinner at Annunciation, and they sent me a certificate that said "I had changed the world." I was so excited at the time to think that something that I did had made a difference in other people's lives, but somewhere between school, my own life, and my own selfish wants and desires, I have lost sight of helping other people...

I need to do that. Figure out what I can do to change lives I mean. Like my dad has always said to me, "look outside of your three foot circle and pay attention to whats around you."

Say Cheri Cheri

2008-05-23T01:14:00.003-04:00

I went to Barrel 135 with Gina and Josh tonight to see Mallory play. I guess the place is new, who knew Williamsport had a wine bar? Mal was outrageously good as always, a lot of people from home were there too which was nice.

One of the songs Mallory played was 32 Flavors by Ani DiFranco, and, to me, it has always been one of those songs I forget about for a while, but then come back to later. I forgot how amazing it was. God, I love that song.

It also reminded me of the beginning of my love for playing guitar. I remember going to Rockstation and picking up my first Ani album. I used to have a poster of her in my room, too. What a bad ass woman. My all girl rock band, I had a great childhood.

Mal also played Martin Sexton, a bunch of Counting Crows, some Traci Chapman... it was a great show, good atmosphere, and good friends.

Bed time!!

Home...

2008-05-19T00:12:00.003-04:00

I know, I know... it's been forever... too too long. It's summer though, so I'm back for good!!

I came to a strange realization tonight, it was the first time I felt like since I came to college... I got incredibly heart sick for home. I actually had an ache in my heart. A commercial for the Who! came on, and made me flashback to all these childhood memories, times in the car... listen to Clapton, the Who!, Mott the Hoople, Blue Oyster Cult. I love those memories...

It makes me think of the Garden State quote,

"You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of the sudden even though you have some place where you can put your stuff that idea of home is gone. You'll see when you move out it just sort of happens one day one day and it's just gone. And you can never get it back. It's like you get homesick for a place that doesn't exist. I mean it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place."

Outrageous.

A Bittersweet Symphony

2008-04-29T01:22:00.004-04:00

A Bittersweet Symphony

His quiet confidence and hint of dangerousness make him immediately intriguing. Tall, dark, and handsome, he has that charm New England boys all seem to possess. He is rough and rugged, confident, with a strong pride in where he came from—he is a product of Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts. He is the rebel in a family of over-achievers. The succession of two brothers graduating with honors from Princeton and Penn State, and the older brother to a sister, a seventeen-year-old lacrosse star. Trading his education for a shot at fame, he quit college at eighteen to move to New York City and play guitar, but that was just the beginning. Now, after a series of downward spirals, twenty-two-year old Brian Alexander (more commonly known by his stage name Nodd Morris) has ended up here again to give Penn State— and a sober life— one last shot. A rolling stone, it’s still anyone’s guess how long he will stay this time.

A rebellious character with good intentions, Nodd’s nervous habits and tired eyes prove immediately that he isn’t an average college student. Almost immediately after meeting Nodd, you are struck by a sense of familiarity. As you process what he says, his expressions, his look, it hits you— he is a modern day James Dean. With his disheveled, dark hair and strong bone structure, you’re instantly struck by his attractiveness, especially when he is on stage. He has the ability to engage every girl in the room with one chord progression. His wardrobe is predictable— a combination of thermal shirts and worn-out jeans. He plays only in Wolverine work boots or a well-worn pair of loafers.

Aside from his good looks and charm, Nodd has other characteristics similar to Dean. He speaks openly and profoundly about death. Many times he mentions the possibility of dying from his addictions, living life in the fast lane, and burning out before his time. “I believe that music is a form of self-medication for me. Without it, all of my ideas and feelings would well up in my chest until I died of a heart attack. Music is his only salvation.”

His story is the sordid tale of the addiction and struggle of State College’s “guitar boy”—the boy who claims to always have symphonies of music playing in his head; “Because I always have music in my head, I came up with the stage name Nodd. I am always nodding my head to the music playing inside of it. When you search for Brian Alexander on Google, thousands of hits pop up. How many people do you know named “Nodd?” It’s a good name for a performer.”

Nodd is best known in State College for his gigs at Café 210 West, where he plays guitar every Tuesday night. Café 210 is an intimate spot on a week night; Nodd’s audience usually only includes a few people, mostly employees, serving the few Tuesday nighters half-price pitchers and drafts. The room is dark and smoky; it smells of cigarettes and beer. It strikes you as the last place a recovering addict should be. Nodd interacts with the audience often making jokes about himself and his addictions, telling stories, and taking unusual requests. He is a favorite among the Tuesday night crowd because he is not afraid of embarrassing himself on stage. Nodd, at least in this atmosphere, is an open book. He is in his element. While most are intoxicated by their pitchers of beer, Nodd is punch-drunk on his own lyrics. He expresses that being on stage is the only high he still receives.

Nodd is talented— more so than many of the amateur musicians seen strumming away at coffee and frat houses at Penn State. He is talented enough that he's currently signed with A&R Select, the premier indie A&R label in Hollywood, which produced his first album appropriately titled Burning Bridges. His producer, Jimmy Parr, recently produced Carly Simon’s new album, Into White.

Nodd describes his style as “indie pop rock.” He identifies Paul McCartney as his biggest influence, always referring to him as “Paul,” as if the two have been friends for years. As well as writing his own music, Nodd covers a wide range of genres at his shows at Café 210. His extensive cover list includes Britney Spears’ “Hit Me Baby, One More Time” and the select stylings of G. Love and the Special Sauce. He plays classic rock like The Beatles and The Doors frequently. Led Zeppelin and CCR are also among his favorites. On a good night, you can catch him playing his “special medley”— an intriguing mix of melodies spanning all genres.

There is one song, however, that Nodd will not play. He does not “do Freebird,” as he puts it, and, by the inflection in his voice, you can tell he is serious. As a few unlucky patrons have learned, if you ask for Freebird, Nodd will embarrass you. One night, a very intoxicated man screamed “Freebirddddddddd” during a song change. Nodd quickly responded, “Dude, for a second there you almost seemed cool. You never scream out ‘Freebird,’ dude, never.”

Sitting in his one room apartment on East Beaver Avenue, it was immediately apparent that I had picked a bad day to talk to a Boston sports fan— it was the Celtics pre-season opener. With plenty of time to browse his surroundings, I found that Nodd fit the quintessential “starving artist” stereotype. His apartment is smaller than the average dorm room. No light shines through the small window above his bed. With cracked walls and little lighting, his apartment looks like a luxury prison cell. Amongst the piles of clothes and clutter there is only a bed and small set of kitchen appliances, a guitar in the corner. The room is unlivable, even by most college student’s standards. He jokes, however, that after being in jail, his apartment is “quite spacious.” As you get to know Nodd better, you wouldn’t expect his apartment to look any other way.

“Fuck! That was a sick shot! Did you just see that?” Nodd yells, staring intently at the game on TV. Sitting on a chair next to his bed, it’s impossible to get more than a word from him before his voice trails off and he starts rambling obscenities at the muted television screen; flecks of potato chip and turkey sandwich catapulting from his mouth. Nodd Morris has a lovely mouth. During a break in the game, he looks over intently and asks the same question that he asked a dozen times over that last half hour, “Sorry what did you say?” even when nothing has been said. Finally, half way through the game, he begins to tell his story.

In the length of the Celtics halftime, Nodd describes almost a decade of addiction and struggle. From growing up with hopes of becoming a basketball star, to selling those dreams to drugs and alcohol, Nodd spins an incredible tale. He dropped out of Penn State at eighteen, entered in rehab in Minnesota at twenty, and relapsed a few weeks after finishing the program. He fondly recalls being the group leader at the Hazleton Rehabilitation Center. When asked about his experience there he explains, “It was awesome— I ran the fucking place.” The stint in rehab had little effect on Nodd’s sobriety. “I wasn’t going to the rehab center to get clean. I was facing up to twelve years in prison for selling drugs. All I wanted to do was stay the fuck out of jail.” Proving that Nodd’s power of persuasion, he once even convinced a friend to help him buy an RV decorated with Penn State paraphernalia, in which they sold marijuana to make money, and played music to pass the time.

After rehab, he spent six months in Centre County Prison, and then moved back to Martha’s Vineyard to be an electrician. After a few months of working, he realized that he needed a change. Nodd decided it was time to try to graduate from college one last time. His first semester back, he made Dean’s List, an impressive feat after he had been temporarily expelled after earning a 1.44 GPA in his first attempt at Penn State. Nodd is currently a sophomore studying business. He hopes that with his degree he will some day be able to produce artists like himself.

His road to recovery, however, has already had its bumps. Nodd recently suffered a minor heart attack from his drugs and alcohol addiction. He’ll tell you proudly that for the first time in years he is not “on something.” He has stopped smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. Every time you see him, he has a water bottle in hand to fight the temptation to drink. If you smoke around him, he will crack jokes about how unhealthy it is, but when you look into his dark eyes, you can see how desperately he is trying to keep from asking to bum a cigarette.

“I’m a masochist.” He takes a long sip of water. “A masochist as well as an addict— I like the pain of getting tattoos. It’s an addiction just like everything else in my life.” It’s a commercial break during the Celtics game and Nodd pulls up his shirt sleeve to display the Alcoholics Creed tattooed on his left shoulder. In the shape of a cross it displays the Creed’s motto: “serenity, courage, wisdom.” He then shows the treble and bass clef that he has tattooed on his ribs. “This one hurt like a bitch,” he explains as he pulls up his shirt. “When I first told my dad I was getting a tattoo he said, ‘No, absolutely not,’ but when he started thinking of all the other shit I’ve done— well let’s just say the tattoo wasn’t such a big deal anymore.” He pauses and reflects. “He’s real conservative. He wants me to be what I’m not. I don’t know, I guess that’s why I get along with my mom. She’s a little more liberal. She tries to understand what I do.”

He is most proud of grandfather’s World War II dog tags, which he wears around his neck. “These keep me sober,” he says. “I’m not really sure why I drink. I have an addictive personality, I guess. My grandfather did too. He helps me stay clean.” As he tucks the tags back under his thermal shirt, he explains that his thermal is unique. He is right. When you look at the tag on the back, it reads: “Property of Centre County Prison.”

At a month sober, Nodd is sitting in my apartment. Some time over the last few weeks, Nodd and I have become friends. He is excited about his recovery. He looks over at me and says, “Being sober now, it’s amazing. You name it I’ve done it, Speed, Coke, all of it. I decided to give up everything. All I wanted was to do drugs and be a rock star, but I had to stop. How many twenty-two-year olds do you know that have had a heart attack?” He gets quiet, contemplative. He relaxes again and taps his water bottle on the table, presumably to the music playing in his head. He still gets panic attacks. He still has urges to drink. He’s still a long way from clean and sober.

His addiction has turned from drugs and alcohol to music. He is facing his demons. Nodd Morris is ready to stay clean, but Brian Alexander may be a different story. Nodd sits at the bar every Tuesday night with his water, looking out at everyone with a beer in their hand and a cigarette pursed between their lips, yet the temptation doesn’t break him, or at least it hasn’t yet. I look up at him playing, sweetly singing Neil Young’s “Heart of Gold,” I am reminded of something Nodd said the first time we met. “I’m not saying it’s not hard. It’s hard. It’s fucking hard, but I’m doing it, I have to.” He paused, concentrated hard on his words, and then finished his thought: “I like thinking the way that I do now— musically, I mean. It’s the only thing that’s going to keep me alive.”

***

We sit down six months later over coffee. As he walks over to the table, water bottle still in hand, I’m surprised by how happy I am to see him. We catch up for a while; about his new girlfriend, his music projects, his academics. Having just finished recording his second album, Love Wall, Nodd says he is “worn out, but happy.” He smiles and takes off his aviator sunglasses.

He explains that his life now is a house of cards. Everything is beautiful, but he is waiting for it to all come crashing down. When asked about his sobriety, he explains that he is still sober, but it’s a daily struggle. “My sobriety is like doggy paddling; I feel like I could do it forever, but I’m always afraid of getting too far from shore.”

Musically, however, Nodd is at his best. “I’m trying to gear Love Wall towards a more intellectual crowd. I’m getting tired of the bar scene.” He explains that there has been “a lot of growth” since Burning Bridges (an album he says was inspired by jail, drugs, and his addiction.) He believes that Love Wall captures his essence as an artist. Nodd is finally discovering his identity as a musician. “I want people to listen to the new album and know that my favorite color is red. If I can figure out my sound, who I really am, well then I guess everything else will come.”

new blog title?

2008-04-28T16:03:00.003-04:00

I'm thinking about changing my blog name to don't undress the mannequin... a la the brilliant Charles Bukowski... it fits the purpose of my blog... my love of all things literature and my passion for fashion. i was hoping to have a title that i would never want to change, but maybe it is time.

Thoughts?

slacker

2008-04-27T23:52:00.002-04:00

i know, i know. i'm slacking.

finals this week and next week.

can't wait for summer.

got an email from rolling stone about being an editorial intern for their website tonight. outrageous, right? i have to email them writing samples by wednesday.

this just pretty much illustrates the fact that i'm pretty damn bad ass.

tegan and sara are awesome. download nineteen.

cheers...

Mecca

2008-04-21T00:57:00.003-04:00

This is where I want to be....

Taken by fashion photographer Eugenio Recuenso

Check him out at
http://www.mdolla.com/2008/04/fashion-photographer-eugenio-recuenso.html

I know, I know I'm a nerd...

2008-04-19T23:42:00.002-04:00

I just found this site, which is a compilation of the 100 best first lines in novels.

It's great.

Yes. This is what I do when I don't go out on my Saturday night.

http://americanbookreview.org/100BestLines.asp

carpe diem?

2008-04-19T23:03:00.004-04:00

Today was not a good day by any means. Luckily, I got a lot done.

I finally got my clothes all washed, I re-organized my closet, cleaned the whole apartment...

I should have been at the Blue and White game, but due to this new divorced parents bullshit, well, it fucks up lots of aspects of your life.

I needed to get things done though, so I'm glad I took the day to do all the things that I did.

I also got a fortune cookie tonight that I think says something really important to all I was just complaining about..

"The stars appear every night in the sky. All is well."

This is true, I needed to see that.

I walked outside tonight to take out the garbage and it was so beautiful out. Warm and breezy. Hopefully this weather will help me remember that all is well. God damn it, all I want to do is live my own life. Is that is that so hard to ask. When was it decided that I had to be the parents to my parents?

I'm watching Iron Chef which I love. That brings me a little bit of pleasure. It's the coffee episode. I like this one.

So, while watching, I am also Stumbling Upon to see what I can find. I found this...

http://www.needles-pens.com/plrdkiddartsale.html

I am jealous of two things. The documentary photographer himself, because that would be the most brilliant job in the world..

Anddd, for some strange reason, the railroad kids.

What would life be like if I didn't need money, or talk to my childish parents, or finish school?

What if I could just see the world. Do whatever the hell I feel like doing.

I think about MK who is Thailand. Her and a backpack. No parents, no school, no bullshit.

I know I would miss home, and my family, and my friends...

But at the same time I know I would miss them eventually.

Fuck. I just want to give up my phone, my internet (only using my laptop for writing I can upload later)

I want adventure. Or at least something different. I want to breathe, I want to grow. I want to just say fuck you to Penn State, to my school loans, to grades, and tests and stupid politico bullshit in the organizations I am in.

I want to leave and have people follow my travels through this.

I'm just so sheltered, and suffocated, all of these things I don't think about all the time but when I do, they hit hard.

I am so much more independent that I have ever been.

I want to live in a shack, eat pomegranates, listen to good music. I want to drink only tea and grow my own vegetables. I want to read for as many hours a day as my eyes can stand, I want it to be a constant 72 degrees.

I know I'm saying I want a lot right now, but I need the change.

I may be independent enough, but I'm not sure if I'm brave enough just yet.

Blogging for OTR

2008-04-16T02:07:00.002-04:00

It's official, I'm now a Penn State blogger for www.collegeotr.com.

My handle is kmm5o83 so check out all the insightful things I have to say about life at Penn State!!

eight days

2008-04-15T20:23:00.005-04:00

I found this the other day and thought I would put it on here. It was the voice mail/piano song that my ex-boyfriend Chris made after our break up when I went to college. It's intense, and the piano part is beautiful. Check it out.

If you open the link, it should open with whatever music player you use.

http://h1.ripway.com/kmm5083/01EightDays.m4a

Oh, and the voicemail is about me accidentally calling him another ex-boyfriend when I was drunk.. haha, oops.

honest to blog...

2008-04-15T11:14:00.004-04:00

JUNO comes out todayyy. Yes. That girl is amazing. She is also the only other person I know who has a pet named Banana.

new poetry!!

2008-04-14T16:41:00.002-04:00

And if I could.
I would.
Say it in a second.
In a word.
Or two.
Or three.
Who am I kidding?
When I talk--
I talk for hours.
About nothing.
About everything.
All at the same time.
It’s how I am.
And how you are.
Which is why
If I could.
I would.
Say it in a second.
In a heartbeat.
In a synapse.
In one syllable.
It would be the perfect word.
Or two.
Or three.
That’s who I am.
The keeper of perfect words.
If only I knew,
When to spill them out.

This is Hollywood Baby, What's Your Dream?

2008-04-12T17:59:00.002-04:00

I really want to watch Pretty Woman after talking about The Pirates of Penzance last night.

I love that movie. Richard Gere is so sexy.

I'm exhausted and don't have much to say. I am going to work on putting up some new writing samples up this week.

I also think I am going to get my burning heart tattoo this week. I'm so excited.

I've been thinking about London a lot again. I have to go soon.

Okay, it's nap time.

high school kids, macs, and michael moore

2008-04-08T11:24:00.003-04:00

As I was coming into the library to work on my paper, I saw a group of high school seniors taking their college tour of Penn State. I feel so weird when I see them, because I remember looking at kids like me going into the library when I looking at schools... and now, I only have two semesters left. Those kids looked so old, and now that kid is me.

Life goes by so fast.

On another note, I really want to get a Mac. Since I'm an art kid, I guess I probably should.

Now, I have to write my paper about how empirical evidence shows watching Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11 affected public opinion in the 2004 election. Blahhhh.

Back to Life in Separate Towns

2008-04-07T16:53:00.008-04:00

Since coming home yesterday afternoon I have been itching to write on my blog about the road trip this weekend that was, to put it in no uncertain terms, fucking awesome. So here it is.. creatively written in letter form to our favorite musicians...

Dear Lucas et al.,

I was getting coffee at Panera this afternoon, waiting for my bus to come back to the apartment, and as I was standing there pouring my raw sugar in my styrofoam cup, I was so sad... realizing I wasn't taking it back to the table with all of you... listening to whoever is playing, singing along with the table...taking pictures of the most ridiculous things... "

"Alicia, you know that has caffeine in it, right?"

Oh no, I was taking the stupid Cata bus to my apartment so I can work on all the work I didn't do this weekend.

It didn't help that in class today, I just thought about our badass Huntin' hats (which is sitting right next to me) they really are sexy...

And it didn't help when I was on the bus that I saw a Lucas Carpenter look alike walking down Beaver....

Or that I was listening to Shotgun Wedding on my iPod...

Or that I was anticipating more picture comments from all of you on Facebook...

I don't know how we all fit together like we did. It was a strange thing. We were all a part of this random anomaly that none of us expected.. it was a perfect combination of personalties.
Which reminds me of a quote from one of my favorite movies, Stranger Than Fiction, and even though this reference is a little heavy, bear with me, I know you'll all know exactly what I mean. At the end Will Ferrell's voice says,

"And we must remember that all these things, the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties, which we assume only accessorize our days, are effective for a much larger and nobler cause. They are here to save our lives."

I have had that on my Facebook for a long time, and even though I liked it, it never quite fit with my life, and now it does. All three of us girls have had a rough year; bad break-ups, parent's
divorcing, losing a sibling... and for the last few days, we were all just happy. Alicia and I haven't been like we were yesterday... driving down 15 in the sun, singing and laughing and being silly.... in so long.

And Julie felt the same, I knew this when she said, almost spitting out a mouth full of $4.50 carrot cake from laughing, when she said to me..."where have you been all my life?"

it was my brilliant assertion, "it doesn't matter what we do, we're across state lines..."

To put it simply, we're glad to have met you.

It was a random chance that we have all said has been pretty awesome. I had no idea that when I went into Sozo's by myself Wednesday, so mad at all the girls for being late and making me sit there by myself, would have turned into a road trip to Rochester...

You guys are amazing, and I think for the first time in a long time, the coolest girls I know (us, obviously) got to finally see what it's like to be around guys that aren't douchebags. Like Alicia said, guys we can be friends with...

Guys you can discuss the size of Dawson's head with at 4 am in a Motel 6, three to a bed with the best blanket I haver seen in my life...

So, I guess what I'm saying here, is thanks. You all keep thanking us for coming to the shows, but thanks, for being fun and talented enough to make us want to keep coming to see you.

If you ever need tambourine, triangle, or kazoo players... you know we will drop everything and hit the road...

'Til the next adventure don't be too sad to not see our faces in the crowd....

Love,

Katie and the Band-Aids

Bat your eyes girl, be otherwordly, count your blessings, seduce a stranger...

2008-04-02T16:17:00.003-04:00

So I just got selected to be a "chief contributor" at Penn State to CollegeOTR.com.

Pretty awesome. The site is cool, check it out. I am so excited to be working on this since it's blog based. With all of this blogging, I'm thinking maybe online magazine is the way to go... at least to start my career off.

I scheduled my classes for next semester the other day. 11 credits to graduate. 11!! I can't believe it. Where has college gone?!

Today is so busy. I got up showered, ate ramen noodles, submitted a sample blog to OTR, went to class (no group project meeting after... woo!), at the lib now for a few more mins, meeting with Nodd at 445 to talk about his music career so I can update my bad-ass-soon-to-be-published essay about him, Lucas Carpenter show at 730 (i'm missing Anne Coulter which I actually really wanted to see what she had to say, but oh well), and then VALLEY magazine release party at Cell Block til 2.

What a crazy day. This is how most of April is going to go I think. Hopefully I can stay on top of everything.

I have had Warning stuck in my head today too. I love that song.

Kudos to those who can see through the sickness--
(kudos squared if you knew that was the song)

Merci Beaucoup, To you. -Tim Reynolds

2008-04-01T11:55:00.007-04:00

I went to see Tim Reynolds with Gina on Saturday night at the State Theatre. Tim, who is most widely known for his collaboration with Dave Matthews, was absolutely out of this world (I am not speaking completely figuratively either, he literally put on "alien antennas" and acted like an extra-terrestrial). His guitar skills were second to none.

Mind you, this comment comes from the girl who when asked in third grade to name a classical musician (i.e. Beethoven, Mozart) raised her hand and said Eric Clapton.

There are no words to explain how excellent that show was. I think Joe said it best when he said "Dude, that melted my face off."

Not only was he talented, he played for three hours. The show (which was only $18 to begin with) started at 8, and he played until almost 10, then took an intermission. When he started playing again around 10 30, we thought he'd play a few more songs. We were wrong. Tim played for another hour. He played til 11 30 (making up for the intermission even).

I was impressed, thrilled, moved. Wow. That show was incredible.

Tim Reynolds really makes you think, Dave who?

Tim Reynolds is a Guitar Hero.

GO SEE HIM!!

Multi-Modal Project is Up!!

2008-04-01T11:33:00.005-04:00

Today I presented my multi-modal identity project to my English 250 class.

There is a link on the right hand side of this blog, or click here:

katemcdmm.blogspot.com

I got really great feedback, and most importantly, I was really proud of it. My class seemed really receptive to the contents, and a lot of people told me how impressive it looked.

I really love it. It turned out much better than I expected.

Hope you enjoy it..

Katie says: "Barack Obama is Not My Hero. " gasps and looks of digust from all Penn State students

2008-03-24T18:42:00.013-04:00

"Those who stand for nothing fall for anything."
-- Alexander Hamilton

So many love Obama, but do they know anything about him?

We all need hope but are we looking in the right places?

Are my peers jumping on the Obama wagon because it's cool?

Don't we need to look at ourselves, our values, our own individuality before we have a stranger tell us what we need?

Do we need what Barack Obama tells us we need?

What is this "change" Obama is promising?

Is it this??
www.chicagotribune.com/news/nationworld/chi-galesburg_obama_webfeb01,1,6024020.story

Maybe This??
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/03/us/politics/03exelon.html

Do some research on Obama's response to infanticide taking place in his home state of Illinois.

Is this what he believes is effective health care?

Check out this article written by Rick Santorum.

http://www.philly.com/inquirer/opinion/16066877.html

I am not an uber-conservative; I don't hate people that have abortions. There is a big difference though, between abortions within the first trimester, and abortions happening to an almost full term baby. When a Senator shows no mercy for something that is obviously a living, breathing BABY that could live outside the womb, he shows no compassion for human life. Do you know what they do during a partial birth abortion?? Maybe he should be for the war instead of against it.

I would like to see a change in the world as much as the next person...

But Barack Obama is not my hero.

everyday she writes words and more words...

2008-03-24T18:10:00.006-04:00

Far Far is now the song on my blog. This song is exactly what I was trying to say in the last post. This is a song by Yael Naim, who's song New Soul is that catchy little ditty on the new Macbook commercial. She is awesome. She also does a haunting rendition of Britney Spear's Toxic. Check it out.

Far Far- Yael Naim

Far far, there's this little girl
she was praying for something to happen to her
everyday she writes words and more words
just to speak out the thoughts that keep floating inside
and she's strong when the dreams come cos' they
take her, cover her, they are all over
the reality looks far now, but don't go

how can you stay outside?
there's a beautiful mess inside
how can you stay outside?
there's a beautiful mess inside
oh oh oh oh

far far, there's this little girl
she was praying for something good to happen to her
from time to time there are colors and shapes
dazzling her eyes, tickling her hands
they invent her a new world with
oil skies and aqualung rivers
but don't you run away already
please don't go oh oh

how can you stay outside?
there's a beautiful mess inside
how an you stay outside?
there's a beautiful mess inside

take a deep breath and dive
there's a beautiful mess inside
how can you stay outside?
There's a beautiful mess
beautiful mess inside

oh beautiful, beautiful

far far there's this little girl
she was praying for something big to happen to her
every night she ears beautiful strange music
it's everywhere there's nowhere to hide
but if it fades she begs
"oh lord don't take it from me, don't take it yourselves"

i guess i'll have to give it birth
to give it birth
i guess, i guess, i guess i have to give it birth
i guess i have to, have to give it birth
there's a beautiful mess inside and it's everywhere

so shake it yourself now deep inside
deeper than you ever dared
deeper than you ever dared
there's a beautiful mess inside
beautiful mess inside

It's a Strange Condition...

2008-03-20T12:09:00.006-04:00

I haven't written a personal entry in a while, so I figured it was about time. The entry below this one is for a multi-modal English project I am working on. The idea of the project is to define your identity as a writer in some other way that just words. My blog seemed to be the perfect fit.

I have been working hard on it lately. It was neglected for so long. School is tough this year, home is tougher. I'm not sure where to begin, or even if I want to. Let's just say, growing up isn't easy. I thought that I was grown up before now, but this year has taught me, like everything, growing up is a process. There isn't one day where BAM! I'm an adult now. This year has taught me that. So many things have just knocked me down, luckily, my faith and good friends have helped me back on my feet.

I am looking forward to this summer and next year. I am hoping to hear back from some of the places I have applied for internships soon. My future is so bright, and I know that. I think that's another thing that keeps me going.

I can see myself growing as a writer this year. That is the most beautiful thing to me. I have learned to take criticism and it's been very helpful in advancing my writing abilities. I always heard that if you give a little you get a lot. This is so true. The little that I have given has really helped me grow as a writer, and as a person.

All I want to do is write. Forever and ever. I want to be a great story teller. I want to be like Joan Didion, who I think is absolutely brilliant. I know I keep saying this, but for some reason I am realizing this today. I am so blessed. There are so many good things on the horizon, and although sometimes I feel like I'll never get there, I will just keep moving. But what else can I really do?

It felt good to write this. Really good.

<3

my photography

2008-03-13T23:46:00.003-04:00

for full size pictures go to my portfolio link on the left hand side.

My Creative Projects Online

2008-03-09T01:40:00.000-05:00

http://katemcdcreative.carbonmade.com/

check out my internship work and photography!

I Wondered How My Underwear Ended Up In My Soup

2007-11-13T12:10:00.000-05:00

The title for this entry came from a quote from the essay I read for my creative non fiction class today, I thought it was wonderful.

I was thinking today, well, recently.. maybe longer, about what it means that I'm a media studies major. What is media studies? More importantly why am I making that the choice for my career?

This got me to thinking (it's only noon and I've done a lot of thinking already) that I really need to do what I talked over with Matt in Georgia this weekend.

For one year after I graduate, I'm just going to find a place to sit. I am going to find a place that each day I can research, read, look at, discover, and learn about all the things that I want to.

I am going to go somewhere that people get to know me, and wait for me to come in each day. They will know how I take my coffee, and it will be ready when I get there.

I want to learn. That's pretty much all I want to do with my life. I want to spend time putting as much stuff in my brain as will fit, and then fill it more.

I want to take time to eat pomegranates, and discover which type of tea is my favorite. I want to get better at speaking French. I want to travel for a little while.

I am truly sure that I will not be ready to work after I graduate next year. I have much more to discover, before I know what I want to do with my life.

I am going to have to win the lottery. I would like to win between $10-20 thousand dollars, and then I can "make it work."

I love Tim Gunn.

Oh, the soda machine also gave me two orange juices instead of one this morning. It made my day.

Fiction Piece

2007-11-12T22:16:00.000-05:00

A Little Bit Closer

The clock in the car was blinking 4:00. The Greyhound was half an hour early for the first time in history and Kristin wasn’t ready to say good bye yet. Three days hadn’t been enough time. She had some sort of romanticism built up in her head that this trip would put the last five years of her relationship with Jake into perspective but it hadn’t. Still too young to have such a long distance relationship but old enough to know that it was something good; she was leaving disappointed again. James’ ice blue eyes, his wit, his charm, were all characteristics that she searched for in boys after she came home from trips like this one. She never found them. There was always something missing. She still didn’t know what that something was exactly, but it was impossible for her to find outside of Kennesaw, Georgia. Now, with her second departure this year from this station quickly approaching, Kristin realized she only had twenty-three hours before she was home again. A grand total of seventy-two hours on the Greyhound for only six days worth of time with James this year. Kristin felt like she spent more time on the bus than with James. She was desperate to make the last few minutes with him go slower.

“Go wherever you want to go, Kristin. If you’re not happy, why not go somewhere else? Just remember just being somewhere won’t make you happy.” She thought about how impossible that was while James started rattling off places she could go. She hoped he would say “Georgia”, he didn’t. As he was talking, she heard a bus screech to a halt on the other side of the station. The simple sound of the bus hissing to a stop made her heart sink into her stomach. She knew that sound meant she would soon be going home. “Kristin, are you listening to me?”

“I think that’s my bus” she replied trying hard not to her voice shake. She opened the door and stepped outside.

They took her bags into the station. She wanted to say so much to James on the two and a half hour ride back to the Greenville station but the timing never seemed right. The silence was too comfortable and she was too scared to ruin whatever it was that they had. She had only a few more minutes to tell him how she felt, but there was only more silence. He leaned over and gently kissed her head. With a sudden rush of confidence she finally opened her mouth to speak only to be interrupted by the crackling of the station’s loudspeaker. “The four-thirty Greyhound to Charlotte will begin boarding at this time.” “I guess that’s you, sweet cheeks.” James whispered and smiled and he squeezed her hand.

She knew he was trying to make the best of the situation, but unlike him she had never been good with good byes. The tears started welling in her eyes again. “Damn it Kristin,” she thought. “Just five more minutes, just don’t cry for five more minutes.” She regained her composure. Knowing it would be at least a few months, maybe longer, until she saw him again, she gave him one more kiss. She picked up her bags and headed for the bus. She didn’t know how long he watched her walk away, she couldn’t turn back around. So many times she had told herself over the last few years to forget about him. She told herself that she should just find another boy, a closer boy, but five years later, her feelings still hadn’t changed and that’s why she kept coming back.

Blinded by tears, she struggled to get her bag in the overhead compartment. The minute she sat down in her seat she broke down. What she had said earlier kept replaying in her head, “I just wish I knew where I was going.” She wanted to figure out things with James, but that wasn’t all. The last two years of her life had been spent taking pointless general education classes and trying to make it on her own for the first time. Kristin knew she made the right decision when she decided against applying to colleges in Georgia just to be with James. Knowing it was the right decision didn’t make it any easier though, especially now. She wished that she was just a little bit closer.

The email he had written her right after her first trip to Georgia a few months before came to mind. “Kristin, you can’t push life in the direction you want it to go, it will take you where you’re supposed to be, and don’t worry, every day we get a little bit closer to where we are going.” But she couldn’t help pushing time forward. All she seemed to be able to focus on anymore what how long it would take for the next two years to be over so that she could start a real life. All of her life she had done this. She always had to be one step ahead of the game, and she always tried to have her future firmly in place before she got there.

But she never felt like she was getting any closer. She felt as if this trip only brought more unanswered questions to add to the mountain of them. As the bus pulled away from the station her mind took her back to her first trip to Georgia that year. She thought about the anticipation of the last twenty minutes on the bus, the driver making fun of her Penn State sweatshirt, and that feeling she felt when she was finally with James. When she saw him waiting outside the station, anxiously awaiting her arrival, leaning against his beat up Camry (distinguishable by the countless band decals displayed with thoughtful precision on the bumper) she knew it was moments like this that had made the last five years worth it. It was these moments that would keep bringing her back.

For the first time since she had left for college, if only for three days, she felt like she was home on that first trip to Georgia. Everything was so different there. Life was slower, people were friendlier, and the sky had never looked so blue. She recalled James’ best friend asking her, in Southern drawl, “So whaddya’ll eat up there?” As if she was planets instead of hours away. She adored his friends and if she was honest with herself, she loved him. She left that first time, now nearly half a year ago, feeling whole. She hated that the only boy that made her feel whole was so far away.

As the hours passed she closed her eyes, but couldn’t sleep. She shifted restlessly in the silent bus. The quiet was overwhelming— just her and the sound of the tires on the highway. In any other circumstance the humming of the bus would lull her to sleep, but tonight her mind was racing. It was two a.m. and she was wide awake.

Frustrated, Kristin dug her iPod out of her purse and set it to shuffle. She listened to the first song that came on, nothing. The second, still nothing, and then a third time, finally an answer! A song that related to her and James. It was “Resounding” by Say Anything, one of James’ favorite bands. “Could you stay forever and a day /Together come what may /If only I could say what I'm thinking baby”. She knew it was a sign. Kristin did this a lot. She gave the term “iPod Shuffle” to a whole new meaning. She always tried to find ways to solidify her fate. She would do this by either playing her iPod fate game (picking every third song on shuffle) to find a sign, or sometimes she would determine whether or not someone was thinking about her by whether one of the next five television channels had anything on that reminded her of that person. She knew it was silly, but she found comfort in any sort of validation of what her life was going to hand her next. She knew the future was coming fast, and she wanted to make sure she was ahead of the curve

At five a.m. Kristin was half way home. Exhausted, she dragged her duffle bag and purse into another Greyhound station. All the stations were the same, dimly lit, dirty, and there were never enough seats for everyone. She sat down next to an older woman who was sitting quietly, staring intently at the wall as if all of the world’s secrets were scrawled on its chipping paint. Every few minutes the woman would take a deep breath, close her eyes, and then again shift her gaze back to wall.

Kristin had two more hours before her next bus. She figured she might as well make conversation to kill some time. She looked over at the woman and politely asked her where she was going. The woman simply replied, “I am going home.” She said nothing more. Great. Kristin thought. What a productive conversation. She settled deep into the hard, plastic, fluorescent orange seat and began to count down the next two hours. A few minutes later, the woman looked over at her and said, “I was in North Carolina visiting my father. He is in the hospital. He has been sick for a while now. This may be the last time I will be able make it to see him, but now I am going home.” She smiled and looked relieved, like it had helped to tell someone what her last few days had been like. She saw the same tears behind the woman’s eyes that James had seen behind her own eyes only hours earlier. “I’m so sorry” was all Kristin could say. The woman put her hand on Kristin’s leg and said to her, “You know, it’s funny. When I was your age, going to North Carolina was going home, but now I have my own life, my own home. After my father dies, I probably won’t ever be back to the Carolinas. This was my last trip home.” She drew in another deep breath and said; “You really never know where you’re going to end up do you?” she smiled.

Kristin couldn’t believe what she had just heard. All night she had been waiting for some sort of sign pointing her towards her fate, going as far as putting it into the hands of her iPod. Now a complete stranger, at least three times her age, was explaining the anomaly that had been plaguing Kristin all night.

Soon after the conversation the woman’s bus was called and before she left she gave Kristin’s hand a tight squeeze, and said, “Enjoy your life while you’re young, it goes so fast.” She paused thoughtfully for a second, and then breathed words that would linger in Kristin’s mind long after she left the station that morning, “When you get older, you’ll try to remember all of those little moments that didn’t seem important at the time. The time in between the big events in your life is what you’ll want to remember when you’re my age.” Again she paused, this time her eyes got wider, and for a moment, she had a youthful innocence in her gaze. “Remember what your shampoo smells like, how it feels to be young and beautiful, how it feels to be where you are right now, right here in this moment. Remember all of those things. You still have your life ahead of you, be excited for this beautiful journey not for your destination- because if you only worry about the destination, you’ll come to realize it was the journey that mattered.” With that she left Kristin’s life as unexpectedly as she had come into it. She was on her way home.

Kristin felt a strange peacefulness after that conversation. Her mind weary from lack of sleep, she pulled out the book she was reading in an attempt to get her mind off of sleeping. As she flipped to her bookmark, she felt like someone was staring at her. She looked up to see a man peering down in her direction. A little uncomfortable, Kristin quickly looked back down at her book and continued to read. He sat down next to her and said, “I am always interested when I see someone actually reading anymore, is it any good?”

“Yeah, it’s not bad” she said, moving away from him.

“It’s a good way to pass time in a hell hole like this.”

“I’m surprised you are talking to me, most people seem to be frightened by me-assholes.” Looking at him, Kristin was intimidated, probably only a few years old than herself, the bridge of his nose was pierced on both sides and he had what used to be a mohawk lying down limp to one side of his head. He looked like he hadn’t showered in weeks.

“I hate these damn buses, normally I hitchhike and hop freight trains but my mom was getting scared about it, so she bought me a bus ticket.”

“Where are you going?” Kristin asked interested but upset with herself for keeping the conversation going.

“Florida to stay with some friends; just until it’s not cold here, I hate the fucking cold. I am allergic to it I think.” He laughed. “I can’t stay with my fucking mom any more, she is driving me fucking crazy. I just keep going from place to place, trying to find where I am going. Well, I really should get to my gate. It was nice meeting you.” He hopped up and shook her hand. She smiled warmly, “you too.”

Walking away, he turned back around and said, “Hey! I didn’t ask you where you’re going.” Kristin smiled at yet another strange coincidence with a complete stranger, and replied, “Back home.” He smiled at her in a way that could have only meant he knew exactly what she trying to say. He hoisted his bag up on his shoulder, and continued on his journey.

It was in that moment, six-thirty a.m., eighteen hours after she started her adventure home that Kristin started to understand what James was saying to her in the car. As she looked out at the sea of tired faces all around her, she realized that no one really knew what was waiting for them when they got where they were going. She thought back to her first trip, and the people she had met on the way there.

The boy her age going off to Fort Bragg for basic training, saying good bye to his mother. As he walked away she told Kristin tearfully that she “didn’t know when she would see her baby again.” There was the sixty year old man that sat next to her on the way home last time telling her about how he was going to Cambodia to find the woman of his dreams to bring to the States to be his bride- there had been so many others that she had met on that God-forsaken, broken down, dirty Greyhound. People she would probably have never met in any other situation, people she would have looked down on if she saw them on the street. Here though, if only for this moment in time, they were all the same. They were leaving home, coming home, anticipating the future, forgetting the past, they were all just moving. They were all on there way somewhere, even if they weren’t sure where that was yet.

Finally it was seven a.m. and Kristin was back on the bus completing the final leg of this journey and finally starting to anticipate the beginning of a new one. The sun was rising as the bus pulled out of the station. Kristin didn’t know when she would be back to Georgia. She didn’t know why she didn’t tell James everything she needed to say before she left. She still didn’t know where her life was going or when her “real life” would begin. She did however know one very important thing— for the first time in her life she felt like she was getting a little bit closer.

Scene Piece

2007-11-01T12:00:00.000-04:00

I wonder how much deeper I should travel before consider turning around. I’ve ventured far enough. I turn her around and find the wind again. As the wind dies down for a moment I can start to feel the sun beams. I point her straight and glide smoothly through the shallow pools towards the sand. The shells below slow her down and she gracefully stops. I climb out and look out into the crystal water. I close my eyes and feel the breeze.

So many times I have been to this island. I had collected its shells, swam with its fish, and caressed its white powdered sand. I had bathed its sun and washed in its tropical rain. I had never done this. Finally I had sailed by myself, out in the ocean blue, with only the wind to count on to bring me home.

Behemoths and the King

2007-07-16T20:21:00.000-04:00

I love the word behemoth- I heard it today and wish I had a reason to use it all the time.

I am so tired, and recently have felt like I have nothing to say.

I need sleep.

I want it to rain, or thunder even. It's been too hot and things look too dead. It makes me feel deadish and I don't really like it.

I finally took my laptop to get fixed, hopefully it will be done soon, and I can write all I want. Woo!!

Also, I hope I hear back from Teen Vogue soon. It actually won't be like another month. But I really want to do this Fashion University thing.

I lost my ring from Marc Jacobs. I really need to find it. He was a cute little guy.

I saw a rock on the news today that had the face of elvis in it. When you look at it, by damn you see Elvis. It's so strange. And it made me wonder how things like that happen. As silly as it seems, things like that make the universe so unexplainable to me. I mean I understand that it's just a coincidence, but seriously, what are the chances that a rock forms to look just like a picture of Elvis.

It makes me excited. If anything that the world is just full of such mystery and amazement, that you can find one rock out of all the million in the world. It's amazing what kind of things can renew your sense of wonder and awe.

Sometimes it just takes Elvis appearing in a rock to renew your faith in everything...

Arts Fest was a good, good time.

2007-07-15T15:18:00.000-04:00

This weekend wore me out.

I came to a few realizations this weekend at arts fest:

-I really love the song Rocky Raccoon, even more than I thought I already did.
- I wish I was short enough to wear shirts as dresses, but I am glad I'm not a midget like most of my friends, and I don't have to worry about my ass poking out all night
- Taking 5 shots, drinking a beer, and having three cups of jungle juice with everclear in it will make you still drunk the next morning, no matter how much sleep you get.
- I don't like the backstreet boys...at all.

Such is a weekend at Arts Fest.

I am tired and should be outside since it is nice out.

But, I think its time for a nap... I'll write more later.

Happy Hookers, Cat Power, and Marc Jacobs Sunglasses

2007-07-12T21:45:00.000-04:00

And for the zillionth post today...

I have decided that "flickr" has the best pictures maybe of all time, and from now on I will use only that to capture the essence of each of my posts.

The one for this one will have to be good.

Right now, the hooker is my favorite...

My dentist used the word neoclassic today, and I loved it.

2007-07-12T20:01:00.001-04:00

I am a creative genius.

Or so I think... Well at the very least, I am hoping I'm starting to learn my craft better.

I came up with a sweettt ad today. I would put it on here, but the idea is too good to share.

It's for "Eco-friendly" appliances.

Also, my letter to the editor got printed today. I liked it, and am going to post it here:

In response to Dee Frazier’s newest letter: First of all, I empathize with your situation and your frustration is not without merit, but you again set yourself up for criticism.

I understand that you’re not saying all Social Security beneficiaries are “spending days drinking in bars and smoking pot,” but in trying to defend your argument about CHIPs, you only discredit yourself again by attacking Social Security disability recipients.

Being a college student, I understand the frustration and the unfairness of government programs. I am not able to receive any government financial aid although my family has two children in college. Like your assertion about the SS disability recipients, I know college students who receive substantial amounts of financial aid who don’t deserve it — but harshly characterizing that small ratio of recipients, as “students who sleep all day and party all night” doesn’t change who receives aid.

Being cynical will not change the system. It won't provide you or others in need with health care. If you don't do your part in fighting for change, things will always stay the same.

It’s absolutely fair to say that government systems are flawed. Unfortunately yes, some people who don’t deserve benefits get them, and upstanding people that need assistance are left behind. But after creating controversy by chastising one group, taking another jab at a small percentage of disability beneficiaries only makes your opinions seem less credible and unfortunately shows what keeps government systems from changing.

Katie McDermott

Williamsport

Submitted by Virtual Newsroom

Yea baby, I'm a writer.

The Book List

2007-07-12T19:48:00.000-04:00

Hoopla by Crispin Porter + Bogusky, Warren Berger

Marc Jacobs (Memoirs) by Bridget Foley (Author)

The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2006 (The Best American Series) by Art Spiegelman, et al.

The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion

Never Let Me Go (Alex Awards) by Kazuo Ishiguro

No One Belongs Here More Than You: Stories by Miranda July

Dry by Augusten Burroughs

On the Road (Penguin Great Books of the 20th Century) by Jack Kerouac

The Sweetest Dream: A Novel by Doris Lessing

Shut the Door by Amanda Marquit

Water for Elephants: A Novel by Sara Gruen

Gods in Alabama by Joshilyn Jackson

The History of Love: A Novel by Nicole Krauss

Love Is a Mix Tape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time by Rob Sheffield

Don't You Forget About Me: Contemporary Writers on the Films of John Hughes by Ally Sheedy

How Sassy Changed My Life: A Love Letter to the Greatest Teen Magazine of All Time by Kara Jesella

Pretty Little Mistakes: A Do-Over Novel by Heather McElhatton

The Starter Wife by Gigi Levangie Grazer

The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

Everybody Hurts: An Essential Guide to Emo Culture by Trevor Kelley (

After Dark by Haruki Murakami

Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia by Elizabeth Gilbert

You Don't Love Me Yet: A Novel by Jonathan Lethem

Then We Came to the End: A Novel by Joshua Ferris

Isn't it ironic that the last book on my list is "Then We Came to the End" ?

I didn't plan that...

The Music List

2007-07-12T19:32:00.000-04:00

This is the list of 25 bands I want to check out, if anyone read this I'd ask that you let me know if they're good, but since I'm the only one who sees this right now, I will have to find out for myself... I also used Cat Power as the picture for this post, basically because, she fucking rocks..

Hem (already know them but want to check out the actual CD)
M. Ward
Red House Painters
Stephen Malkmus
The 88
The Like
Airport Catherdral
Burning Idols
Citizens Here and Abroad
Earlimart
Love as Laughter
Matt Pond PA
Bedroom Eyes
Blanket Music
Casey Dienel
Abisnthe Grow
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
Speaker Speaker
A Cat Called Cricket
Audible
The Devics
Great Northern
Midnight Movies
Seawolf
Wax and Wayne

So the search for enlightenment through music is to be continued...

I listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul

2007-07-11T19:18:00.000-04:00

What’s going through my brain right now:

--Why is it so damn hot outside?

-- I need to get that god damn laptop fixed

-- Why did I drink two travel mug size cups of coffee, and 24 oz. of water today when I know I’ll have to get up and pee every 10 minutes?

-- I hate spending 9 hours a day in a tin can.

I’m all scrambled up today. It started when I spilled coffee all over my jeans before I left for work. I hate those kinds of mornings. That and the fact that I had little sleep due to the fact that it was probably 95 degrees in my room last night, I’m beat.

So, I’m considering doing the raw foods diet for the rest of summer. I want to do protein too, so adding chicken too. I guess that doesn’t make it a raw foods diet, but it’s as close as I can get. I ate a bunch of snap peas and baby corn last night, and somehow I thought that I’d be able to eat stuff like that for the next two months… experience life as a rabbit.

But judging from the amount of sugar I put in both of my coffees, and the two frosted pop-tarts I inhaled today, my prospects don’t look good. Not to mention it’s not even dinnertime yet.

I love pop tart wrappers.

I also came to the realization today; I need to watch the Simpsons. Having never seen even one episode, obviously I have a lot of catching up to do. But, it is now a goal of mine, to at least get partially caught up on the phenomenon. I also want to start watching Entourage and some other HBO show about polygamy I can’t remember the name of right now.

This is why I love TV Links. Although, again because of my stupid broken lap top I haven’t used fully to my advantage, I think it is going to be a big distraction once I get to school.

It’s good I’m taking all Comm and English classes.

Speaking of, I am so happy, elated even, that I am no longer taking Gen Eds. Although I had a few good ones— The Beatles was amazing and the History of Jazz was pretty cool, for the most part, they in no uncertain terms, blew.

I can’t wait to just write all the time. Write and take classes for my major. No more statistics or physics, I just get to read and write all the time— exactly what I want to do.

I’m ready for school… it means time for PENN STATE football, my friends, going to bars, and making trips down south to visit boys with beards whom I greatly miss...

And another thing...

2007-07-09T21:32:00.000-04:00

I hope I am not one of those people who truly believe that they’re really intelligent, but when it comes down to it, they’re actually less intelligent than everyone else.

I hate that, not only do I hate it, I see it a lot.

I just want to learn so much. I need to start reading more again. I have that huge list on Amazon that I created before I left school, but I am yet to crack (or purchase) one of them.

After work I don’t feel like reading, and although I could probably get through a book a week at work, I think that might be a glaring announcement to everyone that I really don’t have much to do.

When Kellye and I sat at B&N last semester and read magazines for hours, it was fantastic. I learned so much that way, just reading. Nylon and Vogue taught me so much. Things that I care about, stuff that I love. Nothing gets my creative juices flowing like an issue of Nylon or Vogue. They get me so pumped to write, to get into the Fashion and Pop Culture scene and make my splash. Now that I bought that The Fashion Book, I really hope I can start to get a good understanding of the industry.

Hopefully purchasing my Marc Jacobs flats didn’t hurt either.

Although I spent more time reading about couture than statistics last semester, I feel like I became more educated in something that I enjoy. It was a good feeling.

Also, I need to get my laptop fixed; I could and would write much more that way. That damn Acer. It has done more harm than good over the past two years I have had both of them. So frequently I think, “I would really love to be writing write now”, but that stupid hinge, that stupid piece of cracked plastic that makes it immobile.

I will not let this blog turn into what I always do; creating something and then letting it go to the wayside, that is what I do with everything. I need a testament to the pastime I love more than anything else, the one thing I excel at.

So here goes…

Happy Hooker

2007-07-09T10:29:00.000-04:00

This life is just a pastime, and I'm just passing through...

Accepting the terms and service of Blogger, I wonder, who is watching me and wondering again, what the hell is that girl doing over there?

I’m not sure if they know my name, but what I am sure of is they don’t care.

They know that I came from creative, and that I am, their intern. As they all peer over their cubicles at me, I know they are still wondering, why is she here and why doesn’t she ever have any work to do?

I wish I knew. I am not a media buyer. I don’t even really know what one is, but judging by the little I have learned about the job, it’s not something that I would want to do.

So I am starting my blog, finally. My aspirations to write are getting stronger by the day, and when you have eight hours to sit in a cubicle and look busy, maybe this is the way to go.

At least this way I can open up Word and pretend that I am coming up with the world’s best advertising headline for Outdoor Power Equipment.

At the beginning I had so much to do. Working in the creative department, I quickly became enamored with my colleagues and bosses. Friendly, funny, and a little nerdy, they took me in from the very beginning. I loved being the Creative Intern. I got to write copy for ads, write headlines for windows, and play Frisbee at lunch, after intense conversations about ones’ obsession with Battle Star Galactica of course.

Now I am here— the tin can. A converted warehouse filled with cubicles and the background noise of a thousand key strokes a minute.

I spent the better part of the morning trying to find the title for my blog. I poured through some Dylan, the Decemberists. I checked out Ingrid Michaelson, and Say Anything. I decided on Regina Spektor.

Although the song is Happy Hooker, I am satisfied with, “my life is just a melody and chords”. Who can say that their life is much more? Hopefully my life is more than a few simple chords, and a pop melody. I’m striving to make it more interesting than that. But when it’s all said and done, my life could be a lot worse things than a pop song I guess, as long as its not Avril Lavigne.

I will have to contemplate what song’s melody/chord’s I wound identify with my life. This could become a good project, seeing as how I have eight hours a day to think about it.

I am excited for my turkey sandwich, but sadly, that is still over an hour away…

stories and cigarettes have ruined lives of lesser girls

Underwater New York Essay

For Chrissy

New Ingrid Poem- Nonverse

Hayley Press Release

Time Stood Still

Bruce Weber Article

Queen Victoria

Art Chosen for Kalliope 2009

Spicy Tuna Roll

What Ingrid Said

New Poetry!

The Gold Is Gone

“Quit pondering on your problems for faith and courage will be your medicine.”

summer time

here is the scene where you save the day

bluebird don't fly too far, i won't know where you are

100 Guitars

Say Cheri Cheri

Home...

A Bittersweet Symphony

new blog title?

slacker

Mecca

I know, I know I'm a nerd...

carpe diem?

Blogging for OTR

eight days

honest to blog...

new poetry!!

This is Hollywood Baby, What's Your Dream?

high school kids, macs, and michael moore

Back to Life in Separate Towns

Bat your eyes girl, be otherwordly, count your blessings, seduce a stranger...

Merci Beaucoup, To you. -Tim Reynolds

Multi-Modal Project is Up!!

Katie says: "Barack Obama is Not My Hero. " *gasps and looks of digust from all Penn State students*

everyday she writes words and more words...

It's a Strange Condition...

my photography

My Creative Projects Online

I Wondered How My Underwear Ended Up In My Soup

Fiction Piece

Scene Piece

Behemoths and the King

Arts Fest was a good, good time.

Happy Hookers, Cat Power, and Marc Jacobs Sunglasses

My dentist used the word neoclassic today, and I loved it.

The Book List

The Music List

I listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul

And another thing...

Happy Hooker

Katie says: "Barack Obama is Not My Hero. " gasps and looks of digust from all Penn State students