Fear

     They say all we have to fear is fear itself.
     But thats a lie, there's clowns, and needles, and heights, and one of my personal biggies, roller coasters. Lots of people like them, heck people pay lots of money to go on them when they are usually just 60 seconds of sheer terror. I have always found them horrifying, even as a small child I didn't even like the little roller coaster on out local FairyTale Town.
     For me though it was never the actual height or the speed of them, it was feeling I got when I went on them.
     Some people are adrenaline junkies, they crave that rush, the pressure in your chest as adrenaline floods your blood stream, and the euphoric lightness of being as your limbs become tingly as the euphoria melts away, that feeling; that some say is the closest they've ever felt to god, I've always hated it. It creeps me out, I feel as though I am having a heart attack, or dying or some other even more horrid inconceivable thing is happening. To me that feeling is the worst thing in the world.

Midnight Train

     As the summer turns to shorter days and longer sunsets, I begin to miss the nine o'clock sunsets and the allure of  summer, the outfits, the possibilities, the heat. But as the start of another school year looms closer, so does the re-emeergence of my school friends. One of my friends from New York came back this week and me and another mutual friend immediately took advantage of his return and whisked off to out favorite haunt, White Palace. A favorite diner of ours that is conveniently open 24 hours. It is always there for us at 2 am when we need a break from painting, or sewing, or weaving, or when we need food and there is nowhere else to go. I have been there so many times that I don't even need to look at the menu, its not like I can just tell the waitress, "I'll just have the usual."(I've always wanted to have a "usual"), but I almost always order the Midnight Train (a belgian waffle fries and chicken strips) and a strawberry shake. It is golden carbo-load deliciousness and I love it.
     We took his shiny white cadillac down to White Palace, and I realized I hadn't been in a car since spring break (thats like a bit more than two months). Even then I was only in a car from from the train station to a friends house. I haven't driven myself in almost a year when I got my license. I am not a big fan of driving, I prefer public transport whenever possible, and when you are driving its so much harder to absorb the scenery.

 Anyway I'll write more about our cadillac adventures later... once I've recovered from one.

Alone

     I like being alone. I like the peace and the quiet and the ability to think about whatever tickles my fancy with out hearing some one else's voice buzzing in my ear.     That being said its not like I'm one of those sad loner people who has no human friends and 13 cats. I just don't mind the calmness of being alone. I like not having to be considerate about other peoples opinions and feelings, I am a bit of a control freak, and not hearing about peoples relationship issues is always a plus. Trust me listening to someone squawk on for 30 min plus about weather or not he or she likes you and how every insignificant move they make could be symbolic of their true feelings, I have a solution to this problem and its called asking them.
     This is why I like sitting in Starbucks for hours reading a book, or wandering around AIC with my headphones on looking at Picasso, Liechtenstein, and Rauschenberg. Its not because I want all the boys to "holla" at me or because I'm a sad girl who wants to eat her feelings, I just like the peace and quiet, and the stress lifted off my shoulders as soon as leave Jones Hall.
     I am an RA for the summer at my college which would be tons-o-fun, but during the summer my building isn't full of college students, its full of high school students. So things can be a bit stressful and highschooley...
     I deal with kids who are constantly worried about their reputation, appearance, and the opposite sex. So lets just say life here is never boring even if we wanted it that way. This plus living in a city makes being alone like the search for the fountain of youth, the northwest passage, the lost ark. Searching for silence, and solitude in Chicago can make you feel a little like Indiana Jones. So lets just say I've had to re write the definition for such words. 
     On my time off I like to just be. Its never silent, even with noise canceling headphones, and I am rarely truly alone, but if I spend too much time here I get a serious case of cabin fever.
     Its not that I don't have friends. Its just the ones that I miss the most, the ones that truly matter, aren't here, and I don't feel like replacing my fleet of porsche's with pintos.

The List

     I love writing lists. Lists for my favorite songs, favorite designers and artists, favorite webs cites, inspiring people, even grocery and chore lists are fun. When you write something down be it a list, a story or a thought. its a commitment. A commitment made between you, and your pen and paper, (or in this case between me, my laptop and the internet...) writing forces you to acknowledge your thoughts, even if you never show what you've written to anyone you know it's there. But when it comes to lists I just like being able to acknowledge accomplishments and keep track of things that make me happy and appreciate what I have.
     One day while watching late night TV I saw a show called The Buried Life, it was on MTV so I was expecting trash, but it made me cry.  It is a show that asks a simple question:
      What do you want to do before you die?
Basically these kids hopped in a bus to travel North America and cross things off their list of things they wanted to do before they die, but for everything they cross off on their list they help someone cross something off of theirs. What resulted was a show full of people doing things they never thought they could do on their own, they have helped people reunite with relatives, conquer their worst fears, and even won thousands of dollars at roulette (which was donated to charity) for me it's one of those weird shows I cant watch with other people because it always makes me cry, I cry because im happy that these people are making other people happy and for some reason people being unusually kind to strangers always makes me cry.
      Anyway, since I was a little kid i've always had this list of things I wanted to do before I die, I wrote it down in a notebook in middle school as a nagging motivator to make something of my life and actually do them. I've done a few of them, go to college, go to Paris, go skinny dipping, but I know if I just bury my notebook in my piles of stuff one of these days I'll forget about it and not find it till im old enough to regret not doing the things on my list so I'll just leave it here (theres always a link to it at the header) so I can be reminded of my future adventures ( and my past ones) every time I log on.

the Weather

     When I decided to move to Chicago for college people told me the weather was going to be awful. Being from Northern California where its freakish if it's below 35 in the winter, but not uncommon for it to be above 100 in the summer, I got used to the idea. However it didn't even snow here this winter. Well it did, but it didn't stick and it was certainly no "Snowpocalypse"like the year before, it was just uber cold and windy. I had prepared for the worst, down jacket, snow shoes, costco packs of coco, tons of cute winter accessories, but it was never that bad. In winter Chicogans rock the Michelin man look with down jackets and puffy layers.  Even native Chicogans in winter remind me of the Lumpies in The Secrets of Droon books I read as a child. All puffy and pillow-like  they could lay in the street and use their massive jackets as sleeping bags and nap rather than face the frigid lake winds. I certainly wasn't used to the cold winter I experienced here, I never had a "mental health day" but I never had to trudge through snow.

Chicagoans look like Lumpies
in their winter wear

     The summer here is completely different. Its actually not that hot. Only upper 80's low 90's, but the humidity is what makes summer disgusting. If it were like this in Cali I know I would see wayy more girls walking around Raley's in bikinis and the micro short would be worn by everyone. But the midwest has a whole new fashion compared to California when it comes to summer. First off short shorts. In Cali it's the norm, they are so common there is no need for repetition, they are just shorts. Here in Chicago most women and ladies shorts reach to mid thigh, where as my shorts from home just cover what on most people would be my ass (but I am assless). Secondly lots of women wear huge sun hats, although common on the beach scene, wearing them while walking around Chicago forces people to give the hat wearer a very wide girth as if she was inside a bubble. Quite impractical for a crowded city. When the wind blows from the lake creating stroung gusts that blow through the canyon like streets these ladies look like blushing nude sculptures as they hold their dresses down and their hats on. Thirdly, people are wearing a lot of really long and over sized stuff, long jersey cotton maxi dresses, big parachute- like pants, oversize tees and mens shorts. Sure these are all the fashion these days, but when it comes down to it weather should be the deciding factor when it comes to fashion. Sure these people look cool and they got swagger, but it it really worth it to be uncomfortable all day? The humidity makes even the coolest cotton shirt stick to one's skin like temporary tattoos, so why make the problem worse. I admit it though, as a fashion student there are some occasions when I suffer to be beautiful. However I have learned that in such cases I just end up complaining the whole time. I personally detest and utterly despise complainers so I have learned to sacrifice fashion for comfort in certain situations, as to not be a hippocrite.
    Chicogans I say do, it adopt the Cali staple, wear the short shorts, and the bikini tops, if you can. The maxi dresses and oversize clothes are not functional in such a humid climate. You will be much happier in this sticky summer rockin' shotie shorts and showin some skin, I know I am.

Escape

     I like walks. I like the wind in my hair, the feeling of the ground under my thin flip flops, the noise they make as I wander, the feeling of the outdoors, and the freedom to go any where.
     When my family moved to our current home in Sacramento we were excited to be closer to the bike trail. "We will go every weekend now its so close," we said. "We can even bike to the lake," we said.
But the thinking of going biking all the time is very different from actually doing it. We constantly ran into excuses. "My bike has no air in it." we said. "It's too hot" we said. "We're too busy," we said. "I don't even have a bike," I said.

     As much as we originally said we would go biking, it just never happened. Then on my 16th Birthday my friend came over, we wanted something to do, but we didn't have a car, and Sacramento isn't exactly known for its public transportation. So we resolved to for a walk to curb our restlessness.    
     As we reached the bike trail, the sounds of the city faded away. Long gone were the sounds of cars whizzing by on the pavement. Lost were the sounds of kids and their dogs. We left the scent of freshly cut grass and boiling asphalt behind. We had barely walked half a mile and the only trace of humans was the bike path and the neat yellow line running down its belly.
      Along the trail we saw wild flowers bursting through the grassy meadows, dear grazing and pausing to see who was passing through their emerald lands. We heard the calls and chirps of finches, crows and magpies, working a symphony with the ra-ta-ta-tap of woodpeckers and the constant wushing of the river.
     As we reached the river we were greeted by the uneven and smooth stones under our feet, the cold tickle of the water under our toes, the smell of fresh earth in our nostrils, and the sight of this beautiful oasis tucked into the outskirts of suburbia.
     Since then my family and I have made the short trek to the river many times. During the summer its our weekend ritual to walk down to see the sunset, and feel the cool breeze as we escape from the heat of Sacramento.
     This summer is different. I decided to spend it in Chicago to continue my studies, and I am working for SAIC as a Summer Resident Educator. (its like being an RA, but for the high school students who are studying here for the summer) So i've been missing the escape the river had always brought me.

     Chicago is a much bigger city than Sac and also boasts its own river, but it is surrounded by concrete and even had its flow reversed in the 1900's because it was polluting Lake Michigan. I crave the escape the calming summer sunsets the river brought, the escape from noise and people. In Chicago its hard to get away from city life. The beach is fake, its sand imported, it lacks a tide, and the people who visit it take no regard for others so its littered with every thing from wrappers, to broken liquor bottles and even clothes. Its noisy with seagull calls, car honks, and police sirens. The shores of the beaches provide no escape for me.

     The only place that brings me peace is a gated park just north of Navy Pier, Olive Park.
 -Its named for a Chicago native Milton L. Olive III, who served in the Army during Vietnam. He gave his life for his fellow soldiers when he threw himself over an enemy grenade he was posthumously awarded a Medal of Honor and a Purple Heart.-

      Its such a peaceful place, the tree lined main path reminds me of the bike trail back home. The cool breeze from the lake washes over you and takes the sticky humidity of the city away. Deeper in the park is a fountain long drained of its water, providing a gathering place for water after summer showers. Its here that reminds me most of home. I sit on the edge of the fountain with my toes in a puddle, leaning backwards to lay my body on the dewey grass that surrounds it. If I close my eyes and put on my headphones, I can forget everything on my mind. I can ignore the noise of the city. I can escape the smell of warm sewage and sweaty tourists. I can leave the taste of dirty air behind. I can forget all my worries, and my homesickness for my river path. I can forget how much I miss my parents, and my dog. I can forget all things I have to do, to remember whats important, and for a moment I am back home sitting on the edge of my river with my toes in the water my body on the grass, and my head in the clouds.

"No"

    The best piece of advice my father ever told me wasn't  really advice at all. It wasn't "never wear white after labor day", "or always look people in the eye", it was more of a philosophy.
      "The worst thing someone can say to you is no,"
    It became one of those pieces of fatherly advice that became cliched. When he begin to speak those words and my sister and I would butt in and finish the line before he could. We had heard it so many times that by the time we were in high school we just wished he would stop giving advice at all. But when it came time for college applications my junior year of high school all I wanted from him was advice.
    I had decided when I was very young that I was determined to have a job that I loved. Not just a job that I could survive and paid well, I wanted a job that made me excited to get up in the morning and sad to leave at night, no matter what the salary was. The only thing  I had found at the age of 16 that made me feel this was was creating art. Art being art, I knew money was something I was going to have to sacrifice for the joys of being an artist. So when searching for colleges I always cross referenced ceramics and fashion, my two real loves at the age of 16. This led me to the discovery of Art colleges, institutions where everyone was after the same thing I was, the dream of being paid to do what you loved. As much as I loved this idea of going away to study with those who also loved creating, expressing, and showcasing their thoughts and experiences through art, I was terrified of telling my parents I wanted to go to art school.
    My parents had saved money for my sister and I to go to college since before we were born. In every christmas bonus and birthday check they selflessly put away money not so their dreams of taking a Parisian vacation or an Alaskan cruise could come true, but so our dreams of becoming A helicopter pilot and the President, (my sister and my future careers according to out uncle) could be a reality. However this "dream career" my parents presented to us came with the idea that we would surpass our parents, make lots of money, and make them proud. At the age of 16 I slowly began to dread talking with my parents. Every dinner conversation, car ride and neighbor hood walk, I feared they would ask, "So, have you decided what you want to do about college?" I feared this question more than failing a math test, more than taking the drivers test, more than I feared the SAT's. Because in my mind telling my beloved parents who had sacrificed so much for me to be better than them that I wanted to go to art school was like me telling them, "I know you want me to go to school get a good job make lots of money and be happy and not struggle in life, well instead of that I am going to make stuff and try to sell it, be famous and maybe homeless in the process." I saw art school as a pipe dream, something that everyone has in their back pocket that they know will never be, like sleeping with a playboy bunny, or solo sailing across the globe.
    Then one day after my father picked me up from swim practice and we began talking about how I wanted to ask one of my teachers for a letter of recommendation for a scholarship I was applying for. However I knew my teacher was a very busy man and had a general "No" answer for these types of things. My father being my father, he started off with his usual rant, and like an epiphany had struck me I actually listed to him and his obnoxious advice for the first time in years.
     "Well, the worst thing he can tell you is no."
And it hit me, truer words were never spoken, it was true my teacher could only tell me no, he couldn't deny me the scholarship, or fail me for asking such a ridiculous question and so I realized that the worst thing my parents could say was no, they couldn't crush my love of art or take away my creativity, they could only tell me that no, they wouldn't pay for art school. This was the first time in years I had actually listened, I mean really listened and saw the sense in his words, to a five or ten year old this phrase was just the sputterings of a weird old guy, at that age the worst thing some one can say is , "We're not getting ice cream" or "You are not going to that party." But at 16 I finally made sense of his madness.
     I finally had the courage to tell my parents that I didn't want to enter college "undecided" or reply to their queries with the standard "I'll get a degree in business" I could finally tell them "I don't want to get a degree in business, or go to a UC or even go to a regular college I want to go to art school, " and know that the worst thing they cold say to me was no.
     So that night after Jeopardy, and reruns of Star Trek I told my parents that I had decided what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, I nervously told them and my mom being my mom said,
"You know we will love and support you in what ever you decide to do in life."