Chicago Adventures

"Why you looking at me like that?! White bitch!" The short, stocky man was barreling in on me. He shouted rapidly, not all of it words that I could completely understand, getting "all up in my face" as I like to put it.

I had been innocently eating an oat and honey granola bar on the sidewalk in front of the Harold Washington library. I must have been concentrating pretty hard, because I tend to look angry when I do so. The man came out of nowhere, obviously enraged at the assumption that I was "looking at him wrong." Naturally, I glared and walked away, around the corner toward the brown line Library El stop. I sighed and raised my hands to my sides, palms up in a shrugging motion.

Instantly he was racing toward me again, shouting garbled words and repeating "white bitch, white bitch!" I turned to face him and thrust an outstretched finger in front of his face.

"Hey, you get the fuck away from me!" I yelled. I had lost my temper, but I felt strangely calm, and what probably was a sense of release. He paid no attention, but did not advance or back down. He did not lunge forward or grab my finger and break it as I had feared. He shouted after me as I turned away and kept walking, down the street and around another corner, craning my neck only once to look over my shoulder. He hadn't followed me. I avoided State and Van Buren, taking a less populated street to sit in the plaza in front of Barnes and Noble. I breathed in the cold air, tranquil and satisfied with myself. I smiled.

"I finally got to yell at someone in Chicago," I said quietly. My smile grew wider and I laughed.

I haven't updated in ages.

I even took the "updated weekly" out of the tagline for my blog. Actually, I did that a long time ago.

I haven't been completely unproductive. I've been reading, at least. Short stories for Creative Nonfiction and The Alchemist for Magical Realism. The latter was good, but not mind-blowing or life-changing like some people have claimed.

I also started re-reading Fat Girl by Judith Moore. I have realized that there is almost no dialogue, and it reads like she started writing, memory leading to memory, and continued that way for the rest of the book. It is still probably my favorite memoir.

I especially like the introduction.

"I am fat. I am not so fat that I can't fasten the seat belt on the plane. But, fat I am. I wanted to write about what it was and is like for me, being fat."

(There's a paragraph in between)

"I am not a fat activist. This is not about the need for acceptance of fat people, although I would prefer that thinner people not find me disgusting."

Also, the first sentence of the first chapter is "'You're too fat to fuck.'"

Pretty good stuff.

Also, I read a story at a reading, which was terrifying, but worth it.

Talkin' about Megan Baker

www.mbakerphotography.com
So, I know this girl. She's pretty good at photography, if I do say so myself. Maybe I don't know much about photography, but I can talk about what I feel when I look at her photographs.

Her live shots of musical artists show their love for what they do, their intense happiness and passion on-stage. While backstage, her portraits express the artists' dedication to their music. Admittedly, I have been with her on some of these photo-shoots. While trying to make myself as small as possible backstage, I watch as she flits around the room, capturing the excitement of these musicians at the coming show, or the satisfaction they feel after a job well done. Megan loves what she does as well, and talks about it often. She loves being involved in the lives of these musicians.

Know what else she loves? Road trips. Since she now knows someone (other than her mom) who can drive (that being me), we talk about going on a road trip someday. Probably to New Orleans. Hopefully it will be a food-oriented road trip, because I enjoy food a lot.

On previous road trips, she has done some photo-series, one called Little Boxes and one called Decampment. They are mostly pictures of broken-down houses and other structures. They have an almost eerie, dream-like quality to them. Anyway, you should check it out. I can't say I'm exactly an art critic, but I've said my piece. Now go to her website! www.mbakerphotography.com